Scandal Exposed (The Lust List: Kaidan Stone #4) (10 page)

His face darkens, and I run a hand along the stubble on his cheek. “It might have been the best thing that could have happened. I feel… free now.”

“Remember what I said… about taking a trip?”

“Yes…”

“Would you like to come with me?”

“Of
course
I would.”

He grins. “Then we’ll leave tomorrow. Where do you want to go? Anywhere in the world.”

“How about France?” I ask shyly. “I’d love to experience those restaurants and cafes with you.”

“France, then. We can start there, see if we can escape under the radar, leave our paparazzi friends behind.” He pulls me close for a long kiss.

I sink into the warmth of it. I feel so safe, whole, loved. There are no secrets now, only trust. I want this to last forever. And maybe it can. Something tells me I may have found the man I’m going to be with for the rest of my life. The thought scares me, but it excites me more than anything.

When we end the kiss, Kaidan smirks at me in that way I love. “I hope you’re ready.”

“For what?”

“For the best adventure you’ve ever had.”

***

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Want more
ScandalLust
romance NOW? You're in luck!

Continue reading to relive the luxury and scandal through Olivia Margot as her life becomes more chaotic when Devon Stone enters it.

The Lust List: Devon Stone is a parallel series to The Lust List: Kaidan Stone and is written by Mira Bailee.

Both stories take place on the same timeline while giving you different perspectives on the Stone family and the Hollywood life.

Get the first book in the Devon Stone series on Amazon now
or read on for an excerpt.

Live. Love. Lust.

Nova

First Taste

By Mira Bailee

I start the morning on a promising note—a full-blown panic attack with a side of desperation.

“Maddie!”

I rush across the living room to the other bedroom in our little apartment. This old place was the best we could afford on our measly incomes in this part of Los Angeles, but we’ve done our best to spruce it up: scrubbed mildew from the floorboards, strategically placed rugs over the worst of the carpet stains, and I even dedicated my unemployed free time to DIY projects I found online to decorate the bland, beige walls. I’m certain this place is the nicest unit in the building. I mean, Mr. Harrison downstairs has been bitching for months about a two-foot hol
e in his bathroom wall. Never mind the fact he doesn’t want to admit he caused the damage after the Kings lost in overtime. Yeah, this place isn’t
that
bad.

But who cares about the state of our apartment when my heart is threatening to escape through my ribs…and my breakfast is threatening to escape through my throat?

Deep breaths.

The jittery feeling persists while I knock on my roommate, Maddie’s, door. It swings open with the lightest touch. Her room is dark, and I can hear soft snores coming from the bed.

“Maddie. Wake up. I need you,” I say, shaking her foot that hangs out from under the cover.

She groans and rolls over, croaking out an unintelligible slur of words. “It’s too early, Olivia. Get the hell out.”

My hand goes to my belly, trying to soothe the nauseous feeling. “It’s almost noon,” I say, tripping over a bag as I walk to the window and pull aside the thick blackout curtains. Harsh sunlight bursts through the thin glass; one of the panes is cracked. Maddie’s room illuminates to show off the details that reflect her personality. Dirty laundry strewn about the floor and fast food containers on every surface compete with the intricate silk scarves she has draped over lamps and the string of white Christmas lights woven around the curly iron of her headboard. Maddie is Bohemian-chic meets messy-frat-boy.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I need you to help me get dressed.”

“Seriously?” She flops back down in bed.

Okay, yes. That sounds pathetic. I’ll admit it. But my grandmother has better style than I do, and my closet’s filled with clothes that are either worn out from over-washing or two sizes too small. Since my broke ass can’t do anything to change what’s in there, I have to rely on Maddie—and her talent for making me into a better version of myself—to get me looking like the ideal candidate for Platinum Planning’s newest assistant to the head event planner himself, Mr. Greg Keenly. If I land this job, I’ll finally make enough money to take care of myself
and
pay Maddie back for everything she’s done for me.

“Please. I’m going to end up late if I don’t figure this out now, and all I have are ill-fitting, ugly-ass adult clothes.”

“You
are
an adult.”

“Sure. But I’m twenty-two, and nothing I own looks like it came from the twenty-first century. I need to look good—better than good.”

Maddie stumbles out of bed and follows me back to my room. She takes one glance at the outfits laying on my bed—a faded, blue pantsuit and a dress that would better fit a twelve-year-old. Her burst of laughter confirms I need help, and I’m not even offended.

“I told you.”

“What’s it for? Is it a date? Oh, please tell me it’s a date. You so desperately need to get laid. You—”

“It’s a job interview.”

Maddie’s shoulders drop, losing some of her temporary excitement. Of course she would be more worried about me dating than working. My last boyfriend, Bryce, and I broke up over a year ago, and I haven’t bothered looking for anyone new. It’s too stressful. Dating, the expectations, the whole act of coming across like perfect girlfriend material. More often than not, it just makes me sick. Literally. Being single has its perks. Sure, I’m missing out on potentially decent sex—a momentary relief from my own neurotic nuances, quiet time for my constantly worrying mind. But along with the sex comes the overanalyzing and suspicions and the arguments caused by both. In the end, the guy gets sick of it fast, and I can’t blame him. It’s much easier to remain single.

Maddie leaves the room only to return a minute later carrying a black dress. She holds it out for me, but I’m skeptical.

“Does that really convey professional—”

“You’ll be hot. But not slutty. Put it on.” She thrusts it out again, and I take it.

I go to our shared bathroom to change, doing a double take when I see my reflection in the mirror.

“Damn.” I can admit this dress gives the right impression. My dark hair frames my face before cascading over my shoulders, detracting from the obvious cleavage this dress gives me. It’s formfitting and low-cut but in a way that says ‘professional businesswoman’ and not ‘amateur stripper’. I may even be able to play off confidence if I can get control over the nervous ache in my stomach.

In my room, Maddie is half asleep on my bed. My little square of home is much cleaner than hers but holds little personality. She lifts a hand to point at the side table that holds a simple, white lamp and my charging cell phone. “It was buzzing. I turned it off.”

“That means it’s time to go.” I slip into black flats—no way do I want to deal with heels when I’m feeling all shaky. I’m reaching for my phone when I see Maddie glaring at me. “What?”

“You set an alarm to tell you when to leave?”

“And when to wake up. When to get ready. And a half dozen others to keep me on time today.” I grab my purse, unplug my phone, and pull up the map with the directions already routed out. “You shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I just thought you were working on being less…obsessed with order. Didn’t Dr. Shannon—”

“I’ve gotten better.” My therapist has been working on helping me let go of minor control issues in an effort to help me deal with some of the bigger ones. Lately, we’ve been working on time and my tendency to have everything planned out by the minute. My handy alarms keep me on track, but she says they make me too dependent on outside forces. Days when I’m not busy, I do okay leaving my comfort zone—turning off the alarms and ignoring the clocks—but anticipating today triggered the panic, so I had to give in. Just today. “I see her later. I’ll let her know I’ve been bad.”

Maddie sighs, “You’re going to be great. Whatever the job is.”

“Thank you.” I rush over to give her a hug, knowing I need to be in my car in the next thirty seconds. “And thank you for this.” I gesture at my dress. “Love you, best friend.”

I leave the room as she rolls over in my bed, and I suspect she’s not going to bother going back to her own.

Twenty minutes later, when I should be pulling up to the Platinum Planning office, I’m, instead, parked at the security gate of some ritzy housing complex. The guard approaches my window, and I’m not sure what to do next.

“Olivia Margot,” I say. “I’m here for an interview at 214 N. Holloway Court.”

This guy is inspecting me up and down, a smug grin forming on his face. He’s huge—I’m talking Incredible Hulk’s nephew huge. He’d tower about two feet over my five-two frame, and I imagine he has to be cautious when hugging his loved ones so as not to accidentally strangle them. His tan skin glistens from a layer of sweat, yet the heat doesn’t seem to faze him as he leans down by my window. I shrink into my seat.

“You must be here to see the old man then. He’s clearly got a type with you women…”

He’s not so subtle as he glances at my chest, and I suddenly remember the low cut dress. Wait. What? Does he think I’m here as a hooker or something? It’s midday…on a Monday. Who—?

I fumble to defend myself. “No. I—uh—that’s not. I’m here for something else. A real interview. For a
job
.”

His smile proves he doesn’t believe me, and he steps back from my car. “Have a good day, ma’am. Good luck with that job.”

He presses a button inside the little, brick guard station, and the massive gate, adorned with a big letter ‘S’, swings open. I try to slow my pulse as I follow the only road that leads the way in.
Relax and pretend you’re going to the beach. Just focus on the scenery.
The narrow road is lined with tall, meticulously pruned hedges, and beyond them, I can see the tops of palm trees and evergreens. There aren’t any houses or side roads or… This isn’t a neighborhood. It’s one person’s property.

The road—driveway—curves up ahead, and as I get closer I see the scene open up before me. A vast, green lawn seems to appear out of nowhere, and the driveway transitions from gray concrete to a mosaic of bricks and stones. It forms a loop at the end, winding its way around a marble fountain, putting on a water show for no audience. In the distance, the ocean meets the horizon. There’s nothing but blue out there, but even that secluded chunk of the world—from the depths of the water straight up into the sky above—doesn’t seem to compare to the massive mansion standing before me.

“Holy shit.”

I’d like to say I don’t end up driving three times around the fancy fountain, trying to figure out the appropriate place to park, but yeah, that’s me. I finally notice where the driveway extends to one side of the house, and I pull up behind the only other car I see. It’s a freshly waxed, black Lexus—a shiny onyx compared to the faded denim-color of my twenty-year-old Saturn. I get out of the car but can’t bring myself to take a step closer to the monstrous structure in front of me. Where am I? Whose house is this? Glancing at the screen of my phone, I have eight minutes to go. My nerves are still too unreliable to go inside early. I need to feel relaxed enough to know I won’t go in and vomit right in front of my interviewer.

It’s quiet out here with the peaceful sounds of the Pacific Ocean coming from the fucking backyard. The soothing rhythm of the crashing waves draws me to it, and I walk around the back corner of the house to see what, I assume, is a spectacular sight.

Like something out of a dream, the view is unimaginable. A stone patio leads to an infinity pool that appears to drop straight into the ocean. An iron, spiral staircase leads the way to a second level upstairs, and beyond that one, other similar balconies extend out the back of the house. I’m jealous of whoever gets to leave their room and immediately enter a paradise. I try to stay out of direct view of the enormous windows spanning the walls along the back of the mansion as I make my way closer to the far end of the pool. A short, hidden stairway brings you down to the beach level where these people seem to have this part of Mother Nature all to themselves.

I’d do anything to live in a place like this. I don’t need to even go inside. I’d be happy pitching a tent right there on the sand. Fall asleep to the whooshing sound of the water. Wake up to the salty, clean air of a new day…

There. Now I feel at ease, like I can handle today.

“Are you lost?”

I almost jump out of my skin as I whirl around to see who’s interrupted my moment of serenity.

One look at him, and I’m right back to square one. My throat catches, and I feel my palms clamming up.

This guy is unbelievably gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and he’s dressed like…like he belongs here. I sure as hell don’t, and I’m feeling that certainty increase by the second. If this is his house, then he figured out life long before me. I look around at this magnificent mansion and the beautiful man standing before me.

He’s holding a suit jacket, and the navy blue tie around his neck is loose and framing a white dress shirt, its top button undone. Please tell me this is my potential new boss. I’ll do my best not to screw up if I can just get a chance to work for this guy.

As inviting as he looks, he seems tense. Maybe even angry. His fist clenches a phone, and he pushes his loose hair away from his face. However it had been styled this morning, it’s disheveled now, like he just got done fighting with someone or having sex… A vulgar image flashes across my mind.

Him.

Me.

My back up against a wall.

Read the rest of First Taste now.