The Consequence of Seduction Page 5

  “It’s like a Justin Bieber concert gone wrong.” I nervously glanced around us as people started holding up their camera phones. The situation was going downhill fast. The girls were screaming, demanding that Reid return to their side of the trailer. Thankfully security was already standing in front of the women, keeping them from full on charging us. They would rip him to pieces if I tossed him out there, and even though that idea had merit, something told me he’d just make the situation worse by picking every last one of them and making my life even more of a living hell.

  “Back off, bitch!” a girl wailed.

  Reid gave me a panicked look. “Isn’t this what you do? Fix things?” His look went from panicked to doubtful.

  Irritated that he was challenging me when I should have home court advantage, I thrust out my chin and marched around the trailer. If he wanted me to fix it, I was going to fix it, all right. “He’s made his choice!”

  The girl first in line caught my eye. She was jumping up and down. At least her boobs moved. She’d do. And if she was nice instead of shrewlike, we’d simply tell everyone that she hardly needed any work and set her free. Problem solved.

  Immediate silence.

  I cleared my throat and pulled at my chocolate-stained collar. “He chooses—”

  “The lovely . . .” Reid wrapped his arm tightly around me. What was he doing? Mind reading? Picking his own girl? “Jordan . . .” His eyes narrowed as his lips brushed my ear. “What’s your last name?”

  “L-Litwright.” I stumbled over the word like I’d just learned how to spell out cat.

  “Sorry, girls.” Reid hugged me closer. “But she’s the shrew for me.”

  My lips trembled behind a suppressed moan. Dead. He was dead to me.

  “But”—Reid released me—“how about some autographs and pictures for the road?”

  The squealing continued.

  And I was left standing by the trailer, wondering how the heck I was going to explain to Ren not only that I was fake dating my new client but that my new title was no longer just publicist.

  But shrew.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JORDAN

  “How the hell did this happen?” Ren fumed from behind his large mahogany desk. Normally his office with its private stash of Twizzlers and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city was somewhat of a sanctuary for me.

  My hand twitched for some sugar.

  His deep-brown eyes narrowed in on me as he brushed back some of his silver hair. “Jordan, this isn’t like you.”

  Reid was silent next to me.

  “Is this . . .” Ren held out his hands, bracing himself against the desk. “Is this some sort of midlife crisis?”

  “Hardly!” I snorted.

  While Reid said, “Maybe.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself, but by defending myself I’d end up making Reid look bad, and the situation would appear even worse. I needed to either suck it up and make it look like it was all part of the plan or confess and take the chance that Ren didn’t think I could handle Reid.

  Ren sighed. “Jordan? What happened?”

  Swallowing my pride, I tried a different tactic. “Look, Ren, it wasn’t our fault.” He didn’t let me finish.

  “Oh, good.” Ren nodded. “We’ll just tell that to the press. It wasn’t our fault. I’m sure they’ll be very understanding.”

  “Great!” Reid rubbed his hands together.

  I groaned. “He’s being sarcastic.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples and rubbed. “Look, Ren, give me some time. I’ll come up with something, I—”

  Ren held up his hand, cutting me off, and turned his back on us to face the cityscape. For a few minutes I wondered if that meant we were excused. For some reason this reprimand in his office felt a heck of a lot like getting called into the principal’s office. Not that I would actually know, since the one time I did get called in after the senior prank the principal accused me of going to another school entirely.

  I’d showed him my ID badge.

  He said it was a fake.

  I’d asked why the H-E-double-hockey-sticks (yes, I actually said it just like that, I wanted to be semipolite) would I make a fake student ID?

  His answer? To steal the mascot.

  Facepalm.

  “You’ll do it.” Ren turned suddenly, his face glowing. “We can spin this in our favor.”

  I sputtered, “You can’t be serious! I thought you’d have a better idea than this one!” I jabbed my finger in Reid’s direction, and he lifted his hands in surrender. Smart move, considering his idea was to smile and kiss for the camera. I’m pretty sure the final nail in my shrewlike coffin occurred a half hour later when I slapped him across the face in the middle of Times Square.

  It had taken five minutes before we were trending news.

  Me and my chocolate-stained shirt and Reid with his gorgeous, breathtaking smile. There was something so incredibly depressing about seeing yourself at your absolute worst, next to perfection.

  Ten minutes later, Ren summoned me to his office, so I threatened Reid within an inch of his life—either he came with me to the meeting or I would push him in front of an aggressive taxi—or ten. He was done filming for the day anyway and wanted to stop by Max’s office to give him hell.

  “Ren, I can come up with something else.” Anything. Else.

  Ren shook his head no. “This . . . this can be good for us. We’ll say the information was leaked before we were ready.”

  The headache moved from my temples down my jaw. “And how do we explain that I’m the—”

  “—shrew,” Reid finished.

  “Helpful!” I clenched my teeth. My feet ached because I’d only left the cheap heels at the office, my stomach was growling loud enough for my grandma back in Washington State to hear, and I was having a very lifelike daydream of Ren tossing me a Twizzler only to have it disappear in front of my face. I needed food. And coffee. And a do-over, but I was pretty sure that last wish wasn’t going to get granted.

  Ren’s grin grew. I didn’t like that grin. It was an evil grin, one that nine times out of ten was followed by equally evil laughter. “You hate your new publicist, so you’ve decided to take it upon yourself to tame her rather than a random girl in the city. It makes sense. After all, you’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” Ren continued, smiling. “People are quite fascinated with this movie to begin with. Think of the publicity we can drum up by allowing the audience the fantasy that Reid’s goal—no, his life purpose—is to find a woman he can tame and bed.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Oxygen. I needed oxygen. “Nobody said anything about bed!”

  “But that’s the thing!” Ren smirked. “You don’t have to. Imaginations will run wild. Think about it: they see you two get ice cream, a fight breaks out, Reid kisses you, and people assume you’re going to go back to your apartment—”

  “It’s safe to say I know what they’re assuming.” I held up my hand. I shouldn’t have come in to work that morning. Clearly the universe was trying to tell me something when I got shampoo in my eye and my Starbucks got trampled.

  “I’m in.” This from Reid.

  I shot him an irritated glare while my internal anxiety tripled. How did I go from being behind the scenes to the main attraction? I might complain about being invisible, but it worked for me. I didn’t know the first thing about being on camera and . . . I wasn’t blind or stupid. Girls like me did not belong with men like Reid. I’d be a laughingstock. Insecurity washed over me, choking the air from my lungs.

  “What?” He shrugged and walked closer to the desk just as Ren pulled out a Twizzler and handed it to him. “Candy?”

  Somehow Reid managed to eat the entire thing in one big chomp.

  Mouth watering, I had to look away. Damn Twizzler-stealing slut!

  Reid stole another Twizzler, then turned his aqua-blue eyes in my direction. “Want a bite?”

  “Not hungry.” I crossed my arms an
d looked away as my stomach growled in protest. I’d probably eat Reid’s arm if he got too close.

  “Jordan,” Ren barked. “I imagine this won’t be difficult for you. Simply do what you do best.”

  I was screwed, so screwed. I couldn’t say no to Ren, and I had a sinking feeling going along with his plan wasn’t going to end well, but what choice did I have?

  “What does she do best?” Reid asked in an innocent voice I knew was all for show.

  “She sells the idea and makes people believe it’s the truth.”

  “I’d say that went pretty well, all things considered.” Reid chuckled as we made our way into the Emory Enterprises building.

  “What?” I snapped, I full-on snapped, to the point that a sweet old lady hurried past me, snatching her purse close to her chest like I was going to shank her.

  Reid grabbed my arm.

  I stopped walking and looked down at his hand.

  The hand touching my arm.

  The hand making love to my arm.

  Oh, this wasn’t good.

  My body was a conniving whore! Quivering with the fact that a handsome guy was actually touching me and it wasn’t to move me to the side or push me into oncoming traffic because a hotter, more stupid girl had managed to get her heel caught in the sidewalk vent and I was standing in the way of him saving her.

  I closed my eyes. Really, it was my only option at that point. I could still feel his stare, though—so maybe my only option was to move away.

  I stepped back.

  And collided with a man making his way up the stairs.

  “Sorry,” I grumbled.

  “I didn’t see you.” He frowned.

  “Happens all the time,” I grumbled as he maneuvered around us and made his way into the building.

  When I looked back at Reid, his beautiful face was marred with an irritated frown. “What was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “He ran into you.”

  “Right.”

  “How could he not see you?”

  “Because he wasn’t paying attention?” I countered. “Look, I don’t know, it does happen a lot, though. I mean, don’t you ever get sat on in the subway?”

  Reid burst out laughing. “Hell, no. I mean I don’t actually ride the subway, but I’m pretty sure if someone sat on me it would be on purpose, know what I mean?”

  “Ew.” My left eye twitched.

  “Why are you winking at me?”

  Twitch, twitch, twitch. “I’m not winking!”

  He pointed. “Yes, you are. Stop it! It’s weird! I don’t know if I should wink back or just stand here.”

  “It’s a twitch! A nervous tic, you moron!”

  “Aw, I make you nervous?”

  “Can we just . . .” Breathe, Jordan, breathe. That’s it, nice and slow. Hot dogs and butterflies, what does the man bathe in? He smelled . . .

  “And now you’re sniffing my shirt.” He choked on a laugh. “Something you wanna say?”

  “Just, um . . .” I jerked back. “Making sure I know your scent so I can track you down.” I gulped. “Like a dog.” My face heated with embarrassment. “Because, uh, that’s what dogs do.”

  “They also pee to mark their territory. You gonna do that too?”

  “So.” I barely managed to keep in my embarrassed laughter and shoved his muscled chest like we were homies or something. “This is where the infamous Max is, huh?”

  Reid ignored my inability to have a conversation that didn’t revolve around my peeing on him and fell into step beside me.

  “Yup.” He exhaled as he steered us away from the main elevators toward a back hallway.

  He swiped a card across a large metal door, which opened into a private elevator. The walls were bright pink. The music—Britney Spears.

  “What is this hell?” I whispered once the doors closed.

  “This, my sad, misinformed friend, is Max’s idea of funny.”

  The doors in front of me were papered with old pictures of boy bands and a very revealing picture of Reid and some other good-looking guy singing with 98 Degrees.

  “You were in a boy band?” I blurted out.

  “I’ll take it to my grave,” Reid muttered under his breath. “Only Max and I use this elevator. Last year, he taped pictures of retirement homes inside and found a Bengay-scented air freshener.”

  “Um, why?”

  The elevator finally dinged at the top floor.

  “I may have fallen victim to a horny grandmother.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “No. And you’ll never know, unless you volunteer to pay for another round of therapy.”

  I burst out laughing, then covered my mouth once he sent me a glare that was anything but amused.

  The elevator doors opened up to a large lobby with modern decor. White leather couches were framed around a black coffee table with a few magazines scattered about. A tall black desk was directly facing the elevators as we stepped off and into the serene environment. It felt very Zen. Green plants lined the hall as we made our way around the couches and approached the desk. It was pretty, pristine, and totally unexpected after the elevator ride.

  “Molly,” Reid crooned in a low, seductive voice that had my ears perking up like someone had just shouted that Channing Tatum was naked and giving away free doughnuts.

  Clearly, this Molly had a similar reaction. It didn’t matter that she looked twice my age, with black hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head and bright red lipstick that flashed behind a blinding white smile. On closer inspection, it was almost impossible to tell her age. Her pencil-thin brows were pinched together behind black glasses that I’d bet money weren’t prescription.

  “What can I do for you?” Her lips curved into another toothy grin as she lifted one of her pens and started sucking on the end. Oh, please. “Sir?”

  “She calls you sir?” I mumbled under my breath.

  Molly’s gaze snapped toward me. “Is she homeless?”

  Eyes wild, I flinched, ready to jump over her desk and shove the pen into her Botoxed face.

  “No.” Reid gripped my wrist tightly and held me in place. “She’s . . . my publicist.”

  Molly burst out laughing.

  I forced a smile. “It was a rough morning.”

  “I’ll say.” She kept laughing in a totally degrading way that also happened to sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  “Is my father in?” Reid asked, interrupting her cackling.

  She held up her finger then scanned the computer. “Yes, he’s in the building for the next two hours. Did you need him?”

  Reid’s grip loosened on my wrist. “Would you mind terribly asking him to meet me in Max’s office?”

  “Of course not!” Her ability to both scream those words and also make me take a step back was impressive. Ears ringing, I was tempted to pound the side of my head.

  Reid winked.

  Molly did a little jig in her chair.

  And I tried not to gag. Her reaction made it even more imperative that I have absolutely no reaction to him. I got it. I really did. Reid was one of those guys that couldn’t help but ooze sexuality everywhere he went.

  The really grating part was that I knew even if he wasn’t half as good-looking as he was, women would still be falling all over themselves. It was the way he carried himself, the confidence that was real, not fake arrogance. You wanted to be his friend. And you wanted to make him smile. And you wanted those damn eyes trained on you.

  My eye started to twitch again.

  “Do you have eye drops for that condition?”

  I smacked the side of my head.

  “Or that.” Reid coughed. “You could just do that.” He led me down a long hallway, where we stopped in front of two black double doors.

  I reached for the handle, my eye really going on a crazy streak.

  “You should probably get that under control before we go in.” Reid pointed to my eye.

  �
�I can’t control it!”

  Reid winced, his handsome face making even that look dead sexy, what with his five o’clock shadow and aqua eyes like laser beams. Maybe that was the problem—my eyes felt so insecure they started to twitch in his hot presence.

  “He’ll think you’re winking.”

  I rubbed my face, not caring that makeup was probably going to come off on my fingers. “Why does it matter?”

  “Trust me, it matters. You don’t want those pretty things misfiring in his presence.”

  I ignored the way my heart did a little leap at the way he said pretty and things. I was the pretty thing. Or my twitchy eyes were. “You make him sound—”

  “Not normal. It’s Max.”

  “You keep saying that.” I rubbed under my eyes just in case there was any leftover black eyeliner. “That means nothing to me!”

  “Oh.” Reid tilted my chin up like he was inspecting me. “It will soon, trust me.” He frowned, then licked his thumb and rubbed it beneath my right eye. “There.” He pressed his lips together, then patted down my hair, tucking it behind my ear.

  I huffed, blowing air out of my cheeks. “Did you really just mom-lick me? Then pat down my hair?”

  Reid patted my shoulder. “Hey, we’re in this together. I just want you looking . . . presentable before I throw you into the fire. Then again, if you look like you just got run over, he might ignore what I’m about to do to him.”

  “Do?”

  “Just follow my lead. Don’t show weakness.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

  Reid opened the door and cracked his neck. What? Were we going to brawl or something? “After you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REID

  As expected, Max was sitting behind his excessively large mahogany desk, most likely plotting world domination. His red leather chair was turned away from his pristine desk, his feet up on the windowsill. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he actually wrote in his schedule: Gaze over the city, mock the little people, work on evil genius laugh.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said before I even opened my mouth.

  Jordan’s eyes widened as she looked from me back to Max’s chair. Slowly, he turned, his arms behind his head like he was a normal, relaxed individual rather than—well, rather than what he was.