Hard & Fast (Rules to Break #1)

Hard & Fast

Ana Gabriel

Copyright © 2015 by Ana Gabriel

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Angie at pro_ebookcovers

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any manner or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information, contact Ana Gabriel at
[email protected]

First Printing, 2015

ISBN-978-1507884782

www.anagabrielbooks.com

Chapter One

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my carefully laid plans crashed and burned. But if I had to guess, I’d say it was somewhere between moving to L.A. to pursue a career in acting and telling Hollywood’s biggest “it” director that he could suck my dick, because there was no way in hell I was sucking his.

  “It’ll be fine, Rose,” my best friend Kate says.

  “It won’t be fine,” I answer. “This is the eighteenth role I’ve tried out for this week. I couldn’t even get a damn Herpes commercial.”

  That’d definitely been a low point in my career.
When I found out that I had genital herpes, I thought my life was over.
I flush just remembering the lines.

  “There’ll be other opportunities,” Kate says. “You just have to wait for the right one to come along.”

  I shake my head, running my hand along the condensation on the glass of lemon iced-tea I can’t really afford. I’ve been pretty good about keeping my financial difficulties a secret from Kate—I didn’t want to worry her, and plus, nothing ruins a girl’s night out like revealing your cable was shut off—but it’s time Kate knows the truth.

“I’m three months behind on my rent.”

  Kate straightens, then opens and closes her mouth. She finally finds words. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped.”

  “That’s the thing—I don’t want help, Kate. I want to get a job. Without having to fuck some gross old man with a turkey gobbler for it.”

  The ladies sitting at the table over from us stop talking. I lower my voice. “I’m sick of walking into an audition and having it turn into a cheap porno. I want to be taken seriously—for my acting, not for how quickly I’m willing to get naked.” I lean back in my chair and sigh. “Maybe I should just do it. Everyone else is.”

I can’t believe I thought I’d be different than all the other hopefuls who move to Hollywood only to have their dreams die in a ditch.  

“Maybe my parents were right,” I mutter.

  “Snap out of it, woman.”

  My breath stalls. I’ve never heard Kate take this tone with me. “Kate—”

  “Don’t Kate me. It’s time for some tough love. Your mother isn’t right. You don’t want to work in a hardware store in Idaho—”

  “Illinois.”

  “Whatever, and you shouldn’t have to. This is your dream, Rose. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

  What she’s saying is true, but I still find myself fighting back. “But I’m totally broke.”

  She shrugs. “So get a job. A
real
job. You had one before. It doesn’t mean giving up. You can keep trying out for roles, but pay your rent at the same time. George Clooney sold insurance before he became a star. Kanye West worked at the friggin’ Gap!”

  “I guess you’re right. Maybe I could hit up some stores and see if they’re hiring.”

  Or I could go back to waitressing. When I first came to L.A. I lived off savings from my high school job supplemented by working in a café. I lost that job a few weeks ago over an audition I attended when I should have been working. But I spent my formative years working at my parents’ hardware store back home. If there’s one job I can excel at, it’s selling gardening gloves and sandpaper to workmen and old ladies.

  “You
could
,” Kate starts. “Or . . . ”

  The hint of mischievousness in her voice has me leaning across the table.

  She takes a sip of her drink. “What about being a personal assistant?”

  I sag with disappointment. “I don’t know the first thing about that.”

  “What’s there to know? You book appointments and run errands. It’s easy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Em did it for six months. She made enough money to put a down payment on a house. She was making six figures, Rose. She only quit because Rami didn’t want her working the weird hours anymore.”

  Six figures. My heart beats faster. “I guess I could apply . . .”

  Kate whips out of her phone and starts typing. After a couple of minutes, she frowns at the screen.

  “What?”

  “There aren’t many openings right now. Just one, actually.” She turns the screen my way.

Personal assistant required. Live-in position. Must be available on-call 24/7. Average of 10-15 hours of work per week. Must have a valid driver’s license. Computer literacy and passport essential. Discretion required.

  “Live-in position?” I say.

  “So? Think of all the money you’d be saving on rent.”

  “But I’d have to live with a stranger. That’d be so weird.”

  “You’d get used to it. It’d be like having a roommate. And anyone who can afford a live-in assistant must have plenty of space. And cash. Kate,” she says, leaning across the table, “this would solve all of your problems. And besides. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

~

I get the call two days later. I have an interview.

A blast of air conditioning hits me as I open the door to the café. Nerves skitter inside my stomach as I look around. I spy a woman in her mid-thirties sitting at a table alone with a stack of papers in front of her and a phone pressed to her ear. She spots me standing by the door and waves me over. I smile and discreetly wipe my sweaty hands on my dress as I cross the café.

  “Yes. No. No that’s not good enough. Alright. Fine.” She nods at me and points at the chair.        

I sit and fold my hands in my lap, my spine tight with tension. She plugs her free ear.

“What’s that? I’m having a hard time hearing you. Yes, I’ll need to hear back as soon as possible. He’ll lose his mind if this doesn’t get done. Alright. Okay. Bye.” She ends the call and pastes on a practiced smile. “Sorry about that. You’re Rose . . .”—she pauses to glance over my resume—“Weatherston?”

  I nod and open my mouth to continue but she’s already moving on.

  “Great. I’m Val. This will have to be quick. As you know, this job is a live-in position and will require you to be on call twenty-four seven. Forget about having a life. Your boss is a demanding man and when he asks for something to be done, he expects it done yesterday with apologies for taking so long. I’ll be honest, the pay isn’t great. There can be bonuses if the boss likes you, but don’t expect them. You have better chances of being fired. Do you still want to be considered for this position?”

What happened to affording a down payment on a house in six months? I mentally curse Kate for making me apply and shift uncomfortably in my chair. But Val’s phone is ringing again before I can reply.

“One second.” She presses the phone to her ear. “Hello! Right. I’m just finishing up. As a matter of fact, I do. I was going. . . yes, I know.”

She huffs and ends the call. “So, your references checked out, which is great, and your background check was clean. You don’t have any relevant work experience, but the job is straight forward enough. Do you get star struck?”

I startle at the switch in gears. “Me? Oh, no. Not at all.” I get the feeling I shouldn’t mention my subscription to Us Weekly.

“Great!” she says. “So when can you start?”

  “W-What?” I stutter.

“When can you start? Right away would be preferable.” She smiles again, her lip twitching with the effort. I don’t know what to say. A minute ago it seemed like she was trying to convince me
not
to want the job.

  “I guess I could, if—”

  “Great! Did you drive here?”

  “Um. No . . . I walked.”

  “Perfect. I’ll give you a ride to the house. From then on you can use the company vehicle.”

  “Wait a minute . . . I got the job?”

  “Oh, right. I’m sorry.” She laughs, a tinkling, false sound. “Yes, that was the boss on the phone. He’s eager for you to begin immediately.”

She hardly even asked me any questions. Why is she so eager to hire me? I almost ask her, but then isn’t a job exactly what I wanted? I shouldn’t question my good luck. 

“Great,” I finally say.

“Perfect!” She drops a twenty on the table and gathers her papers into her bag. I follow her out of the café toward a red BMW parked against the curb. There are two quick beeps as she deactivates the car alarm.

She talks the whole drive, barely giving me a chance to get a word in.

“Your main role will be running errands, booking appointments, arranging travel, etc. First class, always. Window seat. He eats the Everything bagels from the Wholesale Club for breakfast and he’s really picky about if they’re fresh, so it’s best if you get them first thing in the morning before he gets up. No cameras around him. Not even your cell camera. I’m serious. Do not take a picture of him unless you want to get fired. He lunches with his mother every Wednesday and you’re responsible for making the arrangements. They like to try different places and some are more successful than others. Just make sure it’s private. Anywhere with an outdoor terrace is strictly off limits . . .”

She commandeers the car through dense Hollywood traffic until we’re spiralling up the lush green hills of Los Feliz. We stop at a huge wrought-iron gate that stretches into the blue sky. Val exchanges a few words with a guard before the gate swings open to admit us. I try not to gape at the mansions we pass and probably fail. I’m going to live in a house like this, I realize. My heart beats faster. Maybe I don’t hate Kate after all.

The house Val stops in front of is all glass and steel and sharp angles. It stretches up three stories and out for what seems like an entire city block. It’s undoubtedly beautiful, but it’s also . . . sterile.

She parks next to a black sports car that looks like it’s been recently buffed and hops out. I follow her, my nerves stretched tight.

 “Of course, I’ll need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement,” Val says. “Cole is a very, very private person. Speak to the tabloids and he will have no problem suing you.”

“Cole?” I say.

It hits me that I never even asked who our boss was.

“Yes. Cole Dean.”

My blood freezes. I must have heard her wrong. She can’t seriously mean
the
Cole Dean. Cole Dean of the insanely popular Crash Bang series. Cole Dean whose face is on the cover of practically every tabloid known to man. Cole Dean, last year’s People Magazine Sexiest Man Alive. Cole Dean with the chiselled abs, wide jaw and sly grin.

Cole Dean with the famously bad temper, who smashed a paparazzi’s camera and was charged with assault.

My heart’s beating too fast, but Val is already at the door. I hurry after her to catch up. She opens the door to a wide foyer bare of any décor. Our footsteps echo on the high ceilings.

“This is the foyer,” she says, her heels clacking at a brisk pace through the house. I trip over myself to keep up.

“The kitchen.” She waves into a room full of dark wood and stainless steel appliances.

“The dining room.”

“The entertainment room.”

“The living room.”

“Out there is the pool area.” She gestures outside. A huge pool surrounded by swaying palm trees glistens in the sun.

I follow her upstairs.

“Cole’s bedroom,” she says, gesturing to a door at the end of the hall. “Strictly off limits.”

“There’s one of the bathrooms.”

“Here’s a spare bedroom.”

“And where you’ll be staying.”

She opens the door to a room the size of my entire apartment. There’s a huge canopy bed with dark maroon sheets and a bedside table made of expensive wood. Other than that, the room is bare, sterile like the rest of the house.

“Here’s your phone,” she says, pressing it into my hand. “This is your lifeline. Never let it leave your side.
Ever
. If it rings and you miss a call, you’re through.”

It hits me now why she didn’t listen to music in the car.

I nod and slip the phone into my pocket.

She clasps her hands together. “Great! I wish you the best of luck.” She turns on her heel, and a jolt goes through me.

“Wait! You’re leaving?”

She nods eagerly, and before I can get another word in, she’s off.

I’m alone. I’m alone in Cole Dean’s house.

I live with Cole Dean.

I wish you the best of luck.

What do I need luck for? And why was she in such a rush to leave? An uncomfortable feeling settles over my shoulders.

It takes me a full minute before I pad cautiously outside of the room. The house is still and silent. Cole’s bedroom door glares at me from the end of the hall. It’s tempting to peek inside, but Val’s words play over in my head.
Cole is a very, very private person.

I wind my way back downstairs, peering into empty rooms as though there may be a predator inside. The whole thing is so weird that I feel like a criminal. I end up going outside on the patio. It somehow feels less intrusive than being inside his house.