Dirty Like Me Page 6

They waited in silence. Shit. I was kind of hoping they just wouldn’t let me get a word in, since I wasn’t even sure what the hell to say.

  I turned to Jesse. “While I thank you for the generous offer and for thinking of me for the… um, opportunity… my answer at this time is going to have to be a no.”

  “Give me a moment with my client.” Devi hooked her arm through mine and yanked me through the garden like a Muppet on a hook. Once we reached the farthest corner of the yard, she whirled on me. “Katie. Two hundred grand. Six weeks. Don’t be an idiot.”

  “You don’t even know what he wants me to do!”

  “Let me guess. More of the same? Make him look good and make him mad cash in the process?”

  “Well… yeah. Except I don’t think he actually needs my help to look good, and incidentally ’whore for a rock star’ isn’t exactly something I’ve been dying to add to my resume.”

  “Your resume could use all the help it can get.” I frowned at her and she waved her manicured hand in the air like it was no biggie. “Just tell him sex isn’t on the table. You pose for pictures, show up where he needs you to show up, look good on his arm. Done.”

  “Right. You think he’s not gonna want to bang me as part of the deal?”

  “If he does and you don’t want to, you say no. You’re a big girl. We write up a contract and if he sexually harasses you, you walk away. What have you got to lose? Nothing,” she answered for me. “And what do you have to gain?”

  “Let me guess…”

  “Two hundred motherfucking grand. That’s enough to jump-start your life, Katie. You can get a real art studio. You can be an artist without having to starve for it. This is every artist’s dream. Just think of him as a crazy, wealthy patron.”

  I sighed. “When you put it like that…”

  She took me by the shoulders and gave me her serious face. “Look. That man out there is already living his dream, Katie. He’s making his money from it. A lot of money. Two hundred grand plus travel and expenses. He didn’t even bat his crazy-long eyelashes when I demanded a quarter million for your services, babe. He’s got money. You’ve got something he wants. Let him hire you. Six weeks is nothing, a blink of the eye. Then you get on with your life, with some big juicy bank backing your dream.”

  I knew she was right about at least one thing. It’s not like I couldn’t use that kind of money.

  I’d already spent every penny of the forty-thousand dollars Devi had gotten me for doing the video—minus her agency fee, and after setting aside what I’d have to pay in taxes—on repaying my student loans. Which meant that the expensive art school education I’d received but hadn’t yet put to use was now at least almost paid off.

  Though the best thing I’d gotten out of the entire experience was the kick-start to my creativity. I’d been painting regularly again, which was totally priceless.

  I looked over at my niece and nephew playing with my dog. I could smell coffee wafting out through the windows and hear the clank of dishes and the din of voices and laughter in the distance.

  I tried to tell myself, like I always did, that this wasn’t so bad. What other job would let me bring my dog to work? And I got to hang out with my niece and nephew on my lunch break. And Jack, my awesome brother-in-law, had cleaned out a big space in the basement for my canvases and art supplies so I could set up a temporary studio space.

  It wasn’t much, but it was what I had.

  Which was kind of pathetic, actually.

  Because really what I had was a pile of debt, an unused degree, a job I only kept because I loved my sister and I was avoiding getting on with my life, and the remnants of a shattered dream.

  My best friend stared me down with her steady brown eyes. “You made me a promise to grab life by the balls,” she said. “Well, there’s a giant set of balls over on that bench, waiting for you.”

  “Ew,” I said. “Fine. I’ll give him a big sweet maybe.”

  “Yes!” Devi kissed me on the cheek, adjusted my bikini top to show a little more cleavage and marched me back over to Jesse Mayes.

  “Way to make me not feel like a whore,” I grumbled at her, but she just smiled.

  Jesse looked up at me as we approached, the sun catching in his eyes. The man was even gorgeous when he was squinting.

  “You look angelic,” he said, getting to his feet. “All silhouetted by the sun like that.”

  “Um, flattery is always welcome, but it won’t help your case. I could really use some time to think about this.”

  “Take your time,” he said. “The tour doesn’t start ’til Sunday.” He sipped his coffee. “This really is great coffee.”

  “Sunday? Like… this Sunday?” I sputtered. “The day after tomorrow?”

  He grinned. “Yep.”

  “Um… you couldn’t give me a little more notice?”

  “Just got back into town a few days ago. I’ve been down in L.A.. And, well…” He shrugged. “Things move fast in my world. Speaking of which. We’re having a VIP party in town, tomorrow night, just a small private show to kick off the tour. Come as my date. Give it a chance. If you decide I’m a creep or you can’t hack the three-ring circus, I’ll understand.”

  Devi elbowed me slightly, since I just stood there like an idiot.

  “Um, okay?” I managed.

  “She’ll need a plus one,” Devi put in.

  “You can meet us there,” Jesse told her, then nodded at me. “I’ll pick you up. Eight o’clock.” Then he sipped his coffee, did a little finger-to-eyebrow salute thing, turned and walked out of my sister’s yard.

  I looked at Devi, my jaw dangling open.

  Seriously. What the fuck just happened?

  I had a date with Jesse Mayes?

  And a job offer?

  My best friend beamed at me and did a sexy little celebratory dance in her incredibly high heels. I couldn’t help grinning at her. Because shit. “You’re fucking insane.”

  She beamed. “Which is why you love me.”

  “Two hundred grand?”

  “Will buy a hell of a lot of paint brushes, babe.”

  CHAPTER 7

  KATIE

  At eight o’clock the next evening, I found an illegally-parked black Ferrari in front of my apartment building.

  Jesse Mayes leaned against a tree wearing sinfully fitted jeans, a loose, scoop neck T-shirt, a blazer and shades, presumably watching me try to navigate the front steps in my high heels and not slip on my own drool. His mouth quirked in a sexy smile as I drew near. My heart did a strange little lurch when he said, “Hi.”

  “Um… hi. Where’s your driver guy?” Were we going to this thing alone?

  “Sometimes I like to drive myself, sweetheart.” He slid his shades onto his head and nailed me with those dark eyes, his expression unreadable as he looked me over. He reached to open the car door for me. “Why? You got a thing for Jude?”

  “Um… the big dude with the tree tattoo? No.” Feeling the need to explain, I added, “Not really my type.”

  “What, dark and dangerous?”

  Of course, dark and dangerous could just as easily describe Jesse, though he was a different kind of dangerous; the kind that fucked you silly and broke your heart in the process. His hired muscle, on the other hand, looked straight out of a scene from Sons of Anarchy.

  “Nice dress,” he added, before I could formulate a response. “Leather and lace,” he mused, then stood back and held the door for me.

  “Thank you.” I turned and got my ass in the car, settling into the low seat as gracefully as I could. I tried not to give him an eyeful of my panties as that smoldering gaze flirted with the hem of my short red lace dress and drifted down my bare legs. Then he shut the door and I exhaled.

  Time for my little pep talk. The one I’d prepared in my head since I’d agreed to this fake date, this bizarre little trial run to determine if there were going to be more fake dates. Six weeks’ worth of them.

  I reminded myself that I didn’t h
ave to be here. If Jesse Mayes turned out to be a total dick, I really didn’t need two hundred grand that bad. My integrity was not for sale, at any price. This was just one night. Then I could walk away. Tell my future grandchildren that I once went on a date with a rock star. Even they didn’t need to know it was fake.

  The sun was in Jesse’s eyes when he got in the car but he didn’t put his shades back on, probably so he could eye-fuck me every chance he got, like he was doing now. “You look hot in red.”

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  The Ferrari roared to life and we pulled out into the street. “Can’t a guy hit on his own girlfriend?” he asked, all filthy innocence.

  “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “You are tonight, sweetheart. What I’m paying you for, right?”

  “Paying me?”

  “That’s the deal. Two hundred grand for the next six weeks.”

  “Yeah, if I come on tour.” Ugh. Hearing him say it out loud, it felt all kinds of wrong. I still balked at what seemed an exorbitant price for my “services,” but if he was willing to pay it, as Devi put it, I’d be crazy to turn it down. Still… “Let’s just call tonight a freebie. Consider it a try-before-you-buy.” The thought of him paying me for tonight’s date made me feel like an escort, and I couldn’t stomach it.

  “Thought I already had one of those.” He tossed me a heated look that brought back every steamy moment of our pseudo make out session at the video shoot.

  “Yes, but this time I’ll be vertical.”

  He laughed, an amazing, sexy laugh that set off tingles in some pretty intimate places. He definitely hadn’t laughed like that at the video shoot. Tonight he seemed in a better mood. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “I do,” I said primly.

  “But I’m paying for drinks, the hotel, and anything else that comes up.”

  “Hotel?”

  “We’ve got rooms near the venue. We’ll be out late.”

  I studied him sidelong as he drove.

  Right. Out late.

  Did he really think I’d be that easy? Were other girls that easy? Really? He just snapped his fingers and panties dropped?

  Hell, no.

  We took the sharp turn onto Main Street and I clung to my seat. The Ferrari had balls; I’d never been in such a powerful car. It sent my heart racing the way it went from zero to whiplash at the merest caress of Jesse’s booted toe. But he looked hella sexy driving it, totally at ease, his hands loose on the wheel.

  He wore a lot more jewelry than any man I’d ever known; rings, bracelets, layered necklaces. It was sexy and kind of badass, like everything else about him. His blazer was a matte velvet, so dark brown it was almost black, very close to his eye color. And the denim molded to his thighs was distressed; in fact, I could see slices of skin through the rips. I glanced up… and met his gaze.

  Great. He’d caught me ogling his thigh-meat. I felt the blush creep over my body as his jaw flexed; he was chewing gum again.

  “So, um… you like cinnamon.” Way to make conversation. “I mean, I just noticed…” I could smell the gum. It went rather well with the smells of new Ferrari and male rock god, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “My oral fixation?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “I do like to have something in my mouth at all times.” A grin spread across his gorgeous face and he chewed his gum exaggeratedly. “I quit smoking last year. Chewing gum helps, but I don’t like mint.”

  And now I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

  “So, who’s going to be at this thing?” I changed the subject, trying to sound breezy even as I white-knuckled the leather seat. Luckily traffic was pretty backed up so we couldn’t go very fast.

  “Just the band,” he said as we slid up to a red light. “Some media. And a bunch of people Brody invited that you don’t need to worry about. We’ll be in the VIP room.”

  “The new band?” I kind of hoped and prayed that’s what he meant. The thought of spending the night with the members of his new solo project band, whoever they were, seemed far less daunting than hanging out with the members of Dirty. According to Devi’s intel, only Jesse still lived in Vancouver, where Dirty got their start; the other band members lived in L.A., but I had no idea what to expect tonight.

  “Both of them, actually,” he said.

  Well, shit.

  Would Elle be there?

  “Do they know about this?” I asked. “Us?”

  “Only what we tell them.”

  “You haven’t told them?”

  “That I’m paying you to pretend to be my girlfriend? Not so much.”

  “So… they think we’re really together?”

  “They will when I show up with you.”

  Holy shit. This was getting real.

  Jesse’s gaze had fixed on something up ahead, and I followed his line of sight. It was a bus shelter. One wall held a glass-encased ad featuring a gorgeous brunette model wearing jeans, sunglasses, lipstick and not much else.

  “So,” I asked as traffic got moving again, “why me? I mean, you could have anyone. You could have her.” I indicated the model as we drove past.

  “That’s my sister,” he said, his tone a little gruff.

  “Your sister?” I rubbernecked to get a better look. Of course Jesse Mayes would have a model for a sister. But too late; the Ferrari had already left the shelter in its rear view. “Will she be there tonight?”

  “She’s in L.A..”

  “What’s her name?”

  His lips quirked a little. “Jessa.”

  “Excuse me?” I couldn’t help a laugh. “Jesse and Jessa?”

  Again, the hint of a smile. “Uh-huh. I guess my mom felt bad that our dad left while she was pregnant. So she let me name the baby. I wanted to name her Jesse, but Mom said I had to pick something else, since that was already my name. I picked Jessa. I was four.” He glanced at me. “Guess you should know all that, since we’re a couple.”

  I tried to pretend I didn’t like the sound of that, but I couldn’t deny the little warm spot that story ignited in my chest and the several miles warmer I felt toward him after hearing it.

  God, I was such a sap. I just had to remind myself, and keep reminding myself, that this was all fake. All of it.

  No matter what happened between us… or seemed to happen.

  Anything he said to me, he was saying out of obligation. Protecting the lie he’d invented himself, for his public image, for the sole purpose of selling albums and concert tickets.

  And I didn’t like the idea of pretending to be something I wasn’t, but for the tune of two hundred grand and a chance to get my life on track, I’d promised Devi—and myself—I’d try.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, since we’re a couple. My sister’s name is Becca, short for Rebecca. She’s ten years older than me.”

  “That’s a gap.”

  “Yeah, I was sort of the ’oops’ baby my parents had in their late thirties.”

  “Any other family?”

  “Becca is married to Jack. Happily. They’ve been together since they were teens. You met their kids, Sadie and Owen. Becca and Jack own Nudge Coffee, you know, where I work.”

  “Right. And why do they call it Nudge?”

  “Apparently, Jack came up to Becca in the crowd at a concert and gave her a nudge. And I guess the rest is history.”

  “And what else do you do besides work at Nudge and bake tiny pies?”

  Sadly, that was pretty much it lately. “I hang out with Devi a lot. We’ve been best friends since sixth grade. You should probably know that too. She’s my in-case-of-emergency phone call, my one-call-from-jail call. You know, all that stuff.”

  Jesse cocked an eyebrow in my direction. “You planning on going to jail tonight, cherry pie?”

  “One never knows when hanging out with a rock star.”

  There it was again, that sexy, throaty laugh.

  “Do y
ou have a best friend?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Jude.”

  The big, biker-looking dude with the tree tat? I’d just assumed the man was an employee. “Oh. I would’ve guessed it was someone from the band.”

  “Brody and Zane are close too, but Jude is the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. All four of us grew up together. Those are my boys.”

  “I didn’t know that.” As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. It begged the question of what I did know, and the only way I could know anything about Jesse Mayes was by creeping on him online.

  He didn’t miss it. “How about you tell me what you do know, and I’ll tell you if it’s true or not.”

  I sighed. “Okay, full disclosure? I didn’t know anything about you until I was cast in the video. When we met in Devi’s office, I really didn’t know who you were.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. But when I got hired, I looked you up. I was kind of hoping you’d turn out to be a loser with a sordid track record of yo-yo rehab stints, baby-daddy paternity lawsuits and scary mug shots.”

  He looked perplexed, but amused. “Why?”

  “So I’d have an excuse to steer clear.”

  He absorbed that a moment. “And how did that turn out for you?”

  “Not so well. For a rock star your reputation is oddly lacking in scandal and controversy. I think the most alarming thing I came across was the stalker incident. A bunch of girls broke into your house?”

  “Two girls, actually.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Called security, gave them each a kiss and sent them on their way.”

  “Really?” For once, I was kind of glad traffic heading onto the viaduct into downtown was at a crawl. Getting to know my fake date was becoming pretty interesting.

  “I got a restraining order against them, on recommendation of Brody and our lawyers,” he said. “They seemed harmless enough, maybe a little cuckoo. I get a lot of overzealous fans.”

  “So what’s the difference between overzealous fan and stalker, if breaking into your home doesn’t qualify?”

  “It qualifies. But I had a serious stalker once, back in our early days. A guy who dressed like me and managed to wrangle his way backstage at a few shows, stole one of my guitars and snuck onto the tour bus. The girls who broke into my house swam in my pool. This guy slept in my bunk, wore my dirty clothes and jerked off in my guitar case. I’d call that a different shade of crazy.”