Impossible Glamour Page 8

  “She wants late-night drinks.”

  “Dude! You’re killing me. Selena will be primed and ready to pounce.” I fell back onto the king-sized bed. “She already knows what I’m after. Unless I can deliver the book deal to Greg, I’m still a vote short, no matter what I call Mr. Dicky.”

  “I’ll phone you at eleven with an emergency.”

  “Like she won’t see through that ruse. She didn’t become head of her division by being a dummy. Damn.” I bounced up from the bed and walked toward the minibar to grab a bottle of Jack. Might as well make the agency pay for this little visit to paradise. “What else? Did you hear from Marisol about Mom?”

  “It’s all good at Casa de Mom. She went to her physical therapy and her group walk and has returned home with Marisol.”

  “Any news from the doc?”

  “Nope.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair and then lifted the glass. “No news is good news there, I guess. You sent the flowers this week?”

  “Yep. With a note saying you’ll be by her place next Saturday.”

  Not that Mom would remember the flowers by then, or most likely even me, but she did appreciate the smell of a good-looking bouquet. “Okay, stay out of my stash, at least the good booze. If you’re going to hit my bottles, drink the cheap stuff.”

  “Webber, all you’ve got is the cheap stuff.”

  “Says the assistant with a trust fund.”

  “So, Webber”—his voice was somber, more serious—“I’ve got another piece of news.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. “What? Selena wants me to bring her a strap-on when we have drinks?”

  Silence.

  Ruh ro. Roger didn’t laugh at my joke. Whatever piece o’ gossip he needed to spill was mucho baddo for sure-o. I stood in a wide-legged stance in the middle of my hotel room, ready to take the shot. “Hit me, brother.”

  I heard a deep breath over the phone line. “Steve had a sit-down with Thaddeus Taylor at ACA.”

  My heart lurched in my chest. The first flip-flop had nothing on the double-back gainer taking place in my gut now.

  “A sit-down! At ACA? What the fuck! Who told you this?” My biggest client was doing dance steps with the head of our biggest rival agency while I was singing “Kumbaya” at a retreat in Santa Barbara? No bueno. So very no bueno.

  “Jeff’s assistant let me know.”

  “So Jeff knows too?”

  “She promised me she wouldn’t say anything. You know she’s the one I’m seeing.”

  “Promises are bullshit. You really think your cock is that good? That’s primo dirt right there. Primo. No way she doesn’t tell El Jeffe. Fuck. I’m dead man drinking if it gets out Legend is leaving.”

  “He’s not leaving. He took one meeting.”

  “Dude, Roger, come on. I’ve been in this game a while and a client doesn’t have a sit-down with another agent unless he’s considering his options. Get me Steve-o on the line.” I paced the room. This was bad. My partnership was sailing out to sea on the high tide. Steve Legend ditching me would leave me wounded in the water even if I still retained Dillon, and Rhett, and Ryan. If Steve left, how long before all my other heavy hitters followed? I mean, no one wanted to hang out with a loser who couldn’t keep his clients.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I mumbled, bouncing on my toes and then walking and then bouncing on my toes. How long did it take for one assistant to track down one client?

  Roger clicked back on the line. “No luck. Left word at all his numbers.”

  Deep breath. Deep, deep, deep breath. “Okay. No one. NO ONE knows about this. Got it? Call me the minute Steve returns my call. Webber out.” I clicked off my phone and took a long drink of the bourbon straight out of the bottle. Heat slid down my throat. I closed my eyes and turned to the mirror and opened them.

  “No way does Steve Legend leave me. No fucking way!” I pointed at the wild-eyed guy staring back from the mirror. Shit. Shit. Shit. Now I really needed a swim. I could wear out the carpet in my room and hit the bottles hard, but then who the fuck knew what I’d say when Steve finally returned my call? The trust-forming, circle jerk, we-are-a-team meetings were done for the day. I was on my own for dinner and the rest of the night. I needed out of my room. I needed to be the Webz. But first I needed a swim.

  Ellen

  “You slept with Webber Connor!” Sophia’s voice screeched over the phone, and I slid down farther into my lounge chair. I pulled my sun hat over my face and glanced around me. Even though Sophia’s voice could cut glass, no one had heard her.

  “I did not sleep with him.” I flipped a page in my Journal of the American Medical Association. “Well, technically. I mean, we fell asleep in the same bed. More like passed out. But nothing happened.” Just a little lie. There was no way I was copping to kissing Webber or, even worse, begging him to do me and him saying no. There was only so much humiliation one woman could take. A tough couple of weeks. Work dream dead and rejected by the Webzie. I heard a laugh over the phone. “Wait? Are you alone?”

  I could just imagine the haughty look on Sophia’s face, her lips puckered and both eyebrows raised, the look she got when she knew she’d done something she shouldn’t and was preparing to blame her bad behavior on me. “Trick is here.”

  “Oh my God, Sophia! Trick is there and you just said that about”—I lowered my voice and slipped even farther down in my lounger—“Webber and me?”

  “What? He already knew. How do you think I found out?”

  “What do you mean he already knew? How did he already know? Who the hell told him?”

  “Now you’re yelling,” Sophia said in her supercool, self-righteous voice. “Ryan told him.”

  “My brother-in-law?”

  “Not really. I mean, come on, she’s only your half sister.”

  “Wait…Amanda told Ryan and Ryan told—”

  “Trick. Or at least I think that’s what happened. Don’t worry, it’s not like you and the lovers you take are big news. You’d have to be Rhett or me to get any play in the press. Webber is only an agent and you’re a nobody.”

  A nobody? That was me. Summa cum laude and number one in my med school class, but according to my superfamous family, I was a nobody. Yep, my family was all entertainment, all the time.

  “Well, this nobody is getting off the phone.” I reined in my hurt feelings. I didn’t gossip about Sophia or Amanda. I didn’t rehash their mistakes or love lives, and I definitely didn’t like the idea of them talking about me.

  “I’ll see you on Wednesday. Is she coming?”

  “If by she you mean Amanda, yes, she’s invited.” I pressed my arm around my waist and across my one-piece swimsuit. I guess my assessment that my sisters were starting to get along was an error. Seems I made mistakes about a lot of things. “But I’m not sure I want to see either one of you now.”

  “Why? You’re embarrassed? Don’t be, okay? It could have been worse. Believe me, there is worse. Way worse. Where are you?”

  “At the pool.”

  “Please tell me you at least have on a bikini?”

  I glanced down at my black one-piece and pressed my lips together. We might have the same body type, but I definitely wasn’t as comfortable showing off as much skin as my twin.

  “I like my swimsuit.” I refused to be cowed. Sophia spent too much of her time making me feel bad about how I dressed, my hairstyle, and my lifestyle choices. I didn’t make comments about her half-naked shots on the cover of Esquire or Men’s Weekly, so why did she get to make comments about the clothing choices I made? “I’m not you, Sophia. I’m comfortable in this swimsuit, and this vacation is supposed to be all about comfort.”

  Silence. Long pause.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Wait? What? I scrunched my eyebrows together. She’d just told me I was right and apologized? This wasn’t my sister. What had happened to the snark, the condescending tone, the judgment, the castigation, and the suggestions about p
roper poolside attire that were supposed to come out of her supermodel mouth?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I am,” Sophia continued. Her tone softer and sweeter. She sounded so weird, not even like Sophia. “Are you?”

  “Yeah, but aren’t you going to give me crap about everything I always do wrong according to the rules as provided by Sophia?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sophia said. “You are beautiful and smart and amazing just the way you are.”

  “Uh, okay. So when you find my sister, have her give me a call.” I pressed “off” and put my phone beside me on the chaise lounge.

  What the heck? I could depend on Sophia’s snarkiness the same way I depended on the sun. Of course she loved me and I loved her, we were sisters, but come on. Aside from our looks, we were pretty damned different, a fact she seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out, and not in an oh, my sister is so smart and awesome way but in a yeah, she dresses like a bag lady half the time, what can I do? Sort of a way. I’d grown used to how we communicated.

  What was going on? She’d thrown me for a loop with the supportive sister crap. That was nearly as unnerving as discovering my entire circle of family and friends had discovered Webber stayed at my house after Choo and Jackson’s wedding.

  I lifted my thumb to my lips and tugged at a hangnail that had been bothering me most of the afternoon.

  The sun approached the horizon, and soon the wind would whip up and the air would grow chilly. A few laps to get my head straight. I tucked my JAMA magazine into my bag with my phone. Last night I’d eaten in the dining room, but tonight would be room service, Trainwreck on VOD, and then maybe a Nora Roberts romance. Nothing like taking my mind off the demise of my career dreams and a man sleeping in my bed and my whole family talking about it like a little romance reading.

  I slipped into the pool. A perfect eighty degrees. I pulled down my goggles and pushed off the side. Sliding through water calmed me. Weightless and free, I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t loved the feeling of buoyancy and ease. My arms sliced through the water, and I concentrated on the far end of the pool. Of course, no one else was swimming laps. Pools at resorts in Southern California were for viewing purposes only. No one actually swam, they lounged and looked awesome. Maybe they hopped into the water to cool off and perhaps some effortless cavorting took place, but not laps. I pressed my fingertips to the smooth surface of the wall, flipped underwater, and turned. My feet pushed off, and back toward the other side I went. I was nearly to the other end when I saw in my periphery someone else actually swimming laps too.

  *

  This Joe Schmo was actually trying to race me. I could feel it. Could feel the pressure of him keeping up and passing and then me keeping up and passing. We were stroke for stroke on the same side of the pool. My lungs burned and I touched the wall and flipped. I wouldn’t stop. No. Way. We’d been going for nearly fifteen laps and I was close to tapped out, but there was no way some guy in board shorts was going to force me to quit. Just no.

  I sliced my hand through the water and kicked hard. If I could solidly beat him on this next lap, really end with an obvious win, then I was out. I pressed on. Nearly there, my hand touched. I glanced to my left. No one. I’d done it. He had to be eating my wake. I popped up and sucked air deep into my lungs.

  What the hell? The guy who’d been racing me for the past half hour was already sliding up from the pool. Son of a bitch. He beat me. He turned back to me and a giant grin claimed his face. I pulled my goggles up and shot him my nastiest look.

  His smile slid. He shook his head. “This day couldn’t get worse.”

  That voice.

  “Webber?”

  “I didn’t know bag ladies could swim.” He reached out his hand to help me from the pool.

  “And I didn’t know sharks could ever stop.”

  His hand clasped mine. Electrical pulses shot up my arm, and I sucked in a quick breath and hopped up onto the pool deck. Webber was in front of me. Inches from me.

  “Looking good there, Michael Phelps.”

  I wanted to say something smart. Something edgy and funny. Something to diffuse the heat that thrummed through me, but I couldn’t think. I couldn’t really form words. I could, however, stare into those brilliant blue eyes that laughed at me. That cocky grin that tightened my stomach. The water droplets cascaded down his well-muscled, sun-kissed chest. I could consider those hands on my body and those lips on my… Oh my God, I had to stop. I was keenly attracted to Webber.

  “What are you doing here, Webber?”

  “Agency retreat. And you?”

  “The place Mom and Daddy sent me to relax for a week.”

  Webber nodded. “Your dad must not have known CTA’s retreat was here this week. No way Steve Legend sends you, his little brainiac daughter, into shark-infested waters to swim.”

  I started to step back, away from this attraction, but my foot slipped and the pool deck wasn’t there. I flailed with my right arm.

  Webber reached out and snaked his arm around my waist. “Gotcha.” He pulled me in close.

  Got me. A breath shuddered through my chest. My body fit against his bare skin. Those thick lips. Lips that I’d kissed. A memory of heat sliding over heat and his tongue tangling with mine flew through my mind. My sex tingled and my tongue trailed over my bottom lip.

  He dropped his arm and backed away from me. “Don’t let these people know you’re a Legend. They’ll be all over you.” His eyes trailed toward the two stragglers that sat poolside in the setting sun.

  “Your agency represents my entire family—what could they possibly want from me?”

  “Access. Make nicey with you and then make nicey with the famous people in your fam.”

  “Not my first rodeo, Webber. Fully aware of how these games work. Why do you think I have so few friends?” My heart lurched. Not really something I liked to admit. Truth hurt sometimes, even for a girl who cultivated invisibility.

  “Hard for you not to be noticed with that face you got going.”

  “Because I look just like Sophia?”

  “No,” Webber said and his gaze dropped to my mouth. “Because you look like Ellen Legend, and she’s a damn fine-looking woman.”

  Breathless and speechless. Webber had made me completely unable to utter words. Who knew? I certainly hadn’t. He raked his fingers through his wet hair. “Okay. So I have to motor, have this thing…uh…that I need to go to. Maybe I’ll see you before we leave.”

  I nodded. Maybe. Hopefully. Damn, what was I thinking… No, no, absolutely no. I didn’t want to see Webber. While the rational portion of my brain understood the impossibility of a Webber rendezvous, the rest of my body, including my tingling girl parts, didn’t seem to want to follow along with logic. Webber grabbed two towels. He handed me one and pulled the other around his waist.

  Damn. Webber was fine. His body was cut and just exactly what I liked. Lean and mean and well maintained. I wrapped the plush cotton around my body, and for the first time in my life, I actually wished I’d worn a bikini.

  We stood there beside the pool in the setting sun, both of us looking at the other. Why? Because I felt like I was seeing Webber for the first time. The guy I’d known for a couple of years as an obnoxious agent was actually funny and way too sexy for my own good. His smart mouth didn’t utter any smart-ass words. I pressed my fingers to my hair.

  “Well,” I said and broke the spell. “I should go. I mean, you have your thing.”

  “I do.” Webber’s gaze followed my fingers through my hair. Then his eyes caressed my face. A long, lingering look, his usual playfulness replaced by a hot intensity.

  I nearly stepped back again but didn’t want to tumble into the pool. Instead, he took two steps back, turned, and let me walk by.

  “See you, Webber,” I called and walked to my chair to grab my bag.

  Instead of a smart-ass comment about the Webzie always being around, he simply nodded and never once smiled as I
turned to walk away.

  Chapter 9

  Webber

  My heart wasn’t in the bar scene. Two of my CTA compatriots had convinced me to hit the Santa Barbara nightlife. We’d fled the resort for a wine bar downtown. Sure, I walked the walk and talked the talk, slinging bullshit with the fellas like the best of them, but my heart wasn’t in the outing. I slipped my phone from my pants pocket and checked the ringer for the third time, hopeful that a Legend had called me.

  “What’s up, Webber?” Matt asked. A lit agent who specialized in Oscar-winning screenwriters, he was tall and athletic, a little too tan even for SoCal, and looked like he should be a golf cart jockey in the OC. “You got a hot date?”

  “Not tonight, from what I hear,” Joel said. Wider and stocky, Joel had been a Marine for four years before heading to college. Blond and blue-eyed, he looked like your typical all-American. “You’re not getting ridden until tomorrow night, right?”

  “What the fuck man? Ridden?”

  “Isn’t that when your sit-down with Selena is? Tomorrow? Late-night drinks, a little conversation. Testing you out to see if you can fulfill your partnership duties.”

  There were no secrets in Hollywood, and definitely not in an agency. “Dude, it’s drinks, not a schlong-fest. We’re talking business. Rhett Legend business,” I added. “The best kind.” I took a long, slow sip of my pinot noir. The wine wasn’t going down easy tonight.

  “Right,” Joel said and tilted his beer bottle toward me. “You enjoy that talk.” He winked. “Ride ’em, cowboy. Get ready to be that lady’s bitch for the rest of the week.”

  I smiled but wanted to shove the open bottle of wine up his ass. Agents were assholes. Cowboy? Selena’s bitch? Who talked like that? And why? Wow—well, I guess I did most the time, but none of those words seemed funny tonight, nor was the idea of spending tomorrow night with Selena, especially not with Ellen at the same resort.

  Ellen?

  What the hell? Like Ellen being around had any bearing on my actions. Ellen was off-limits. The prudent thing would be to bang Selena, guarantee her yes vote for my partnership, and get this wacka-doo desire for Ellen out of my system. If Steve wasn’t considering leaving me as an agent now, he definitely would be if he caught me making love to his daughter.