Hitman's Hookup: A Bad Boy Romance (30 page)

I looked at Lydia, panicking. It was also bad form in Hollywood to not pretend to be busy. You couldn't look desperate. Being desperate was worse than being fat.

She waved me away with a head shake. "Seriously. Full availability. They aren't cheap, but...who else are you getting on such short notice? For the next three weeks? Seriously, she can fly anywhere you need her to be. She can leave tonight, if that's what you need." Lydia frowned. "You can't screw her on this one. I know you can't get anyone else on such short notice.”

She sighed. “Don’t play me. Nobody wants to touch this project.” I looked at her, panicked. She gave me a smile and shook her head as if to indicate that she was exaggerating. “Okay. Okay, she'll be touch with you later tonight. Love to the kids." Lydia hung up her phone with a slick swipe of her finger across glass. "I just got you the job of a lifetime."

I gaped at her. "Lydia - seriously?"

She smiled. "You'll
really
be thanking me in a few days. Plus, I negotiated you a higher rate than you've ever had before. I mean, I don't know what the figures will be. But be sure to emphasize the fact that you
know
they couldn't get anyone else so quickly when you're signing your contract, okay?"

"I don't even know how to repay you," I replied, at a loss for words.

She laughed. "You haven't seen the job yet. I'm not sure of
everyone
involved, but it's three weeks in Italy, so it can't be that bad. I just wish you'd told me sooner you were looking for work." She took more bites of her macaroni as her words slowly sunk into my brain.

"I'm sorry.
Italy?"

She smiled. "Hope your passport's renewed. And the only way to repay me is to make me a platter of this meal once a week for the next three months. After we get back, of course." I was still gaping at her, feeling her words turn over slowly in my brain.

"Oh! Not a huge help if I don't give you my guy's number. Here," she said, pulling out her phone again. "You have your cell?"

I ran into the apartment to get it, my legs shaking. This had to be too good to be true. When I stumbled back outside, I finally asked her. "Wait – when
we
get back? Are you going to be there?"

Lydia smiled. "In a few days, yeah. They need a costume supervisor, but I need to spend time here pulling things to send over."

"And Brian's okay with you leaving for that long?"

Lydia laughed. "He's thrilled. We need a break, actually. Things have been getting a little too close for comfort recently." She sighed and stared out into nowhere. "This will be the make or break point, I think." She shrugged amiably. "It'll work out how it works out. I'm not worried."

"Is this you just running away again?" I asked her, forgetting completely why I was standing up and holding my phone in my hand.

"If it is, so what?" Lydia replied with a smile. "If he were the one, wouldn't I be certain?"

It was my turn to shrug. "That's what they say."

"And
they
who say those things all have a fifty percent divorce rate, so fuck
they
," Lydia replied, holding up her phone. "Okay, you ready?" She called out the number and I typed it into my phone, hitting save.

The screen lit up and the phone vibrated. 'MOM' flashed across the ancient, cracked display. I exhaled loudly.

"Geez," I said. "Sorry, Lydia. If I don't answer this my mom will call me eighteen more times in a row until I do. I haven't talked to her since she called me after the alumni thing last month."

Lydia held up a hand. "Say no more. I know Hurricane Penelope almost as well as you do." She pointed at her plate, indicating the macaroni. "I'll just be here stuffing my face with this."

"Thank you," I replied, hitting the answer button and taking a deep breath. "Hey, mom," I said, bracing myself for an avalanche of words.

"Livvy! Oh it's so good to hear your voice! I haven't heard from you in so long!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well I
did
call multiple times. You must have been busy."

My mom giggled. "Oh, I might have remembered that you called me once or twice, but that doesn't matter." She paused and I heard her take a massively deep breath. That wasn't a good sign. It meant she was gaining momentum to gust at nine hundred words per minute. "Well, I
have
been busy, actually. Do you remember the man I met at the alumni event? The one I told you about?"

I walked back into my aunt's apartment and started pacing the living room, mentally attempting to count the number of cat-shaped vases she had as a means to keep me calm. "Uh, yeah I remember that. Garrett or something?"

My mom shrieked and then giggled. "You remember! Yes! Garrett. Well, honey. I wanted to wait until I saw you in person, but who knows when that will be? You never come back to Ohio."

I nearly tripped over Sprinkles, my aunt's favorite cat who darted out of nowhere. "Fuck!" I yelled without meaning to.

"Honey? Are you alright?"

I resisted the urge to not punt the furry little creature across the living room, but only barely. "Yeah, Mom, I just tripped over one of the cats. Go on."

"I'm getting married!" she exclaimed.

I didn't bother containing the rolling of my eyes. I felt like they might fall out of my head. "That's great," I replied, trying not to sound cynical and failing miserably.

"Oh, honey, it is! Now, I know that you might be skeptical, but this is the real deal."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. "Yeah, Mom, let’s think for a second of why I
might
be skeptical. Is this engagement number nine? Ten?"

My mom sighed. "This is different, Livvy."

"Right," I said, pushing Sprinkles over and sitting down on the floral sofa. I knew that I'd have cat hair all over my clothes but tomorrow was laundry day anyway. "I will believe that it's different when you actually make it to the altar."

"I don't understand why you have to be such a killjoy over this, Olivia. You should be happy for me."

I squinted my eyes and leaned my head on the back of the worn sofa. "I am, Mom. I'm happy if you are."

That seemed to pacify her. I entertained her rambling for ten more minutes before begging off, using work as an excuse. I didn't tell her about Italy. I usually kept my life as close to the vest as possible as my mom had a tendency to steal thunder from everyone around her.

As for her engagement, I knew that the next time I saw her she’s be on her next boyfriend. There’d be no mention of Garth or Gary or whatever his name was. I’d already forgotten it.

My excuse for ending the phone call had been true. I had a work-related phone call to make. I hoped that it would be a phone call to change my life.

CHAPTER NINE

WILDER

I rolled over in bed, sheets tangling between my legs. Sunlight fell through the curtains. I reached my arms out to stretch and felt skin on both sides of me. I looked left and right to see one blonde and one brunette tangled up next to me.

Welcome
to
Italy
, I thought to myself. I slid down to the foot of the four poster bed, taking the sheets with me. The round, curvaceous, tanned asses of the two women I'd fucked last night teased me. I reached out to touch both of them but then stopped.

If I started that I'd need to finish it. And today was my first day being somewhat in charge of the production of a movie. I needed to get my act together.

I tiptoed into the shower and bathed as fast as I possibly could underneath the gold-plated faucet installed in the tile wall of the Four Seasons Milano. When I stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in the plush, thick, complimentary robe, one of the women had woken up. She smiled at me. She had perfect tits. I felt myself rising underneath my robe and had to force myself to think of Fox's shining face. There. That did it. Erection interrupted.

"Morning," I said briefly.

The woman smiled and sat upright, her round breasts bouncing slightly. "Morning," she replied.

Shit.
She had an American accent. I thought back to the night before. Everything was foggy. I tried to remember whether or not we were working together on the film. I threw caution to the wind and asked her.

"We don't...work together, do we?" I tried to be nonchalant about it as I paced over to the walk-in closet and pulled down a button down shirt off of a hanger. Harrison had lined up all of my clothes in perfect order, a fingertip's space between each bit of cloth. I wondered for the first time how long that had taken him.

"No, silly, I work at the hotel next door," the woman replied. She had one of those shrill, baby-talking voices.

I scurried to pull on a pair of slacks, shoving my shirt hem into them and weaving a leather belt through the loops. I hated dressing like this but I wanted people to take me seriously. Suddenly I realized I had no idea what time it was. I never wore a watch and Harrison was usually carrying my phone for me.

I am a child
, I thought. I really, really, really needed to get my shit together and quick.

"I said we don't work together," said the woman from the other room. "So you can relax now."

"Fucking wonderful," I replied gruffly, stepping back out into the bedroom. The other woman still hadn't woken up.

"You want to go another round before you have to go?" the blonde asked me.

I really fucking do
, I thought. I cleared my throat. "No," I said coldly. "And if you order room service, don't get champagne and lobsters, okay? Be gone by the time the maids get here."

The woman pouted at me. "Well, you know where I work if you need to come get me again," she said slyly, winking and sticking her tits out at me.

I felt my stomach turn over. It was going to take everything I had to walk out of this room. I managed to make it into the hallway and knocked on the door of the suite next to mine. Ten seconds later the door opened. Harrison was only half-dressed and looking panicked.

"Mr. Wilder!" he announced formally, looking down at the watch that was always neatly perched on his wrist. "I... didn’t think you'd be ready to go for another hour."

I smiled, internally relieved that somehow I'd managed wake up early for once in my life. Even though it was an accident, I wasn't going to let on. "I just want to make everyone else look bad for the first day of work."

Harrison smiled, still looking shocked but attempting to hide it as graciously as he could. "If you give me a few minutes I can get breakfast sent to your room."

"Actually, I thought we could eat downstairs together," I replied.

Harrison now looked like he was concerned about body snatchers having come for me in the middle of the night. "At...the restaurant? Okay - I. Okay. Just give me a few minutes."

I smiled at him. "See you downstairs, then." I turned around and pushed the button to the private elevator that only went to the suite and the room adjacent. The doors slid open and I stepped inside. It smelled like gardenias and expensive cologne. I tapped my pointed-toe dress shoes on the marble floor impatiently.

When the doors slid open and revealed the lobby beyond, it was quietly abuzz with people and workers. Several of them greeted me and a few hotel guests did a double-take when they saw my face. They had the decency not to immediately dissolve into whispers and giggles. I was used to it, though.

I hated when celebrities complained about people recognizing them. I always wanted to ask them why they bothered becoming famous in the first place. "Become an accountant if you don't want anyone following you through the grocery store," I'd smilingly said to Nancy O’Flannigan on an
Access Entertainment
primetime interview.

I stepped up to the podium of the restaurant and smiled at the young hostess. She grinned back at me. "Table for one, Mister..." she suddenly panicked and I knew she was trying to remember the pseudonym I'd checked in under. A hotel like this always trained its staff to protect the identities of its more exclusive clients.

I held up my hand. "You can call me Wilde. Don't worry."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Right this way," she replied.

I suddenly realized I hadn't responded to her question of how many the table would be for. "Actually, it's for two. My friend is joining me."

"Certainly." She spoke perfect English with only the lightest Italian accent. She led me to a table by the window that overlooked the streets of Milan. She pulled out a chair for me and her face fell again. "Oh, perhaps you don't want a window seat! You will want more privacy, yes?”

I shook my head. "It's fine, really. What's the point of being in Italy if you can't even see it?"

A few minutes later, I was sipping from a glass of the freshest-squeezed orange juice I'd ever tasted in my life. Harrison came hurrying over to our table, apologizing to me for the wait once he sat down.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. I tapped my fingers on the tablecloth. I can't remember the last time I was the one doing the waiting. It was almost always
me
who was late and making everyone else even later for things. I knew people thought that I just liked the control (which I did) but even more than that I hated waiting. I hated the thought of being alone with my thoughts.

"Do you want your phone, Mr. Wilder?" Harrison asked me, slicking back his neat brown hair with the palm of his hand. He clearly did not normally get ready this quickly. His tortoiseshell glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose but they were abnormally askew.

"I'm fine without my phone, thanks," I replied.

"Did you already order?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "No, I didn't."

Harrison picked up his menu and scanned it quickly. "Ready when you are," he said to me with a small smile.

"Do you have plans after work?" I asked him.

Harrison looked even more worried than he had when I'd knocked on his bedroom door asking him to join me for breakfast. "Sorry, sir," he said quietly, leaning forward after looking around to see that we were alone. "Are you firing me?" The fear in his eyes was pure.