Authors: Ally Adams
A Saints series book
By Ally Adams
PUBLISHED BY: Atlas Productions
Copyright © Ally Adams 2015
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Ben, who taught me tricks
Lucas Ainswright, the sexiest man alive, captain of a national soccer league team, World Cup player and my pain-in-the-ass boss, was bellowing at me again through the thin walls of the guest wing attached to his beachside mansion.
“We’re leaving in five.” He thumped on the wall.
“I know, I know, I’ve got it,” I muttered. It’s not hard to be ready to go to his training session three days a week at four o’clock. In my twenty-one years I’ve managed to get to a lot of places on time, regularly.
Lucas wasn’t really my boss; his father paid me to be his ‘minder’ and Lucas had to put me up in the guest wing. Trust me, I earned every cent but the bonuses were great. For every week I lasted I got my weekly fee doubled—it made Lucas almost bearable.
I locked up my wing of the house, the beach ‘pad’ as I like to think of it, and waited by his white Lamborghini. I bet the well-endowed, leggy, blond supermodel that I spotted leaving earlier this morning would look good next to this car; I bet she looked good inside it; I bet he looked good inside... whatever, where was I?
Lucas appeared—tall and toned, his light brown hair falling in his pale blue eyes. In his team’s navy and white training gear he looked as if he was heading to a photo shoot for
magazine. Okay, there’s no
magazine but if there was, Lucas would be on the cover. The tragedy of lusting for Lucas was that I knew a lot of less attractive guys than Lucas who were so lovely that they were more attractive than Lucas, if you get what I mean? Lucas could stick his good looks and his attitude in his posh mansion. I was happy with him as eye candy only.
?” he said, giving me one of his patronizing smiles.
“Didn’t want to keep you waiting, mucus, uh sorry. Lucas.” I smiled back. “Can I drive?”
“No,” he said, flatly.
I pouted. “Odds are that I will never, ever, in my whole life ever get to drive a Lamborghini. Ever.”
“That’s probably true,” he said, “and definitely not in the four weeks you’re working for me.” He unlocked the speed machine and offered me one of his special smirks. He stopped before getting in. “Okay.”
I looked up at him to see if he was having me on.
“Really? You’re going to let me drive?”
He looked like he was going to have second thoughts.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked him.
“We could die,” he said.
He hesitated and then stood away from the driver’s door. “All right, you can drive, but take it easy.”
“Yes!” I internally screamed with delight so he wouldn’t change his mind, and ran around the front of the car to his side.
“Don’t drive it like me,” he warned. He opened the car door wider for me and I got in, accidently displaying a lot of leg in my workout gear. He knelt down beside me and moved the driver’s seat forward, leaning over me to adjust the steering wheel. His goddamn gorgeous face with the one day stubble was a lip pout away from me. I inhaled.
“Are you smelling me?” he asked and pulled out.
“No, I’m smelling the leather of the car. Your bad head just happens to be in the way,” I retorted.
I was inhaling his divine Armani scent, but in my imagination I had done more than smell Lucas in the nights I lay in the guest wing in my big, white, lonely bed. In most of those daydreams, though he wasn’t allowed to talk or scowl, he just had to perform as well as he did on the field but in the bedroom and on me. I would score him for tongue work, hand work and yellow card him when he wasn’t paying enough attention.
Don’t think about it,
I told myself. I took a deep breath and faked smelling the leather again while I got my heartbeat under control.
Lucas closed my door and walked around to the passenger side. I started the car up while he put the passenger seat back and slid in next to me, his long legs filling the space.
“Wait, wait,” I said, grabbing my phone out of my bag in the backseat. “I have to get a selfie of me in a Lamborghini.”
“I’ll take the pic.” He wrestled my phone from me. I posed and he snapped the shot. “You’re a strange chick,” he said, returning the phone to me. I dropped it in my bag.
“Why?” I asked, as I adjusted the rear view mirror and snapped my new ride into reverse.
“You’ve been with me nearly two weeks now and not once have you snapped a pic of me, or you with me, like every other normal red-blooded girl would do. Instead you snap a pic of a car. You’ve got too much of the X-chromosome,” he said.
I shrugged. Better than having too much ego, I thought. I pulled out of the driveway and took off. I made a purring sound and Lucas looked over and grinned at me. He shook his head. I rarely saw him smile, not at me anyway.
“Ooh, your car mistress is wonderful,” I said.
“She is that,” he agreed, sitting back casually and looking gorgeous, damn him.
I wished I could line up every single person I’ve ever known along each side of the road and drive by right now with Lucas Ainswright next to me and me driving his Lamborghini.
“So, let’s see how she handles.” I put my foot down and Lucas freaked out.
“For fuck’s safe, slow down,” he yelled.
“Why? You don’t,” I called over the sound of the stereo.
He turned the stereo off.
“Watch the corner,” he pointed out.
“It’s way over there,” I said, speeding by it.
“The turn is next right,” he directed, his foot flat to the floor trying to brake from the wrong side of the car.
“I know, I’ve got it,” I said, and spun the Lamborghini around the corner. Ten minutes later I pulled up in the parking lot of his club’s training facility. Several members of the team were outside.
Lucas leapt from the car, fell to the footpath and kissed the grass. I heard an uproar of laughter from the club.
I got out and grabbed my bag. He staggered to his feet, took his sports bag from the back luggage space and made a big show of taking the keys from me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Being Lucas’s minder was a fluke because two weeks ago I was just in the right place at the right time—or the wrong place depending on how you looked at it...
“Move away from the chocolate,” I ordered myself. “Let go of the remote, get off the couch and go for a run now.” There, that should do the trick... nope, still no action.
It’s not like I’m a major sloth. I run every day but since I got suspended for two weeks from my part-time job for telling a client to stick something up their ass, and I’m on semester break from college, I’ve been super unmotivated. I’ve worked my way through
The Walking Dead
and I’m about to start the box set of
The Vampire Diaries
I’m as torn as Elena—I thought I was one hundred percent for Damon, but now Stefan is stealing my heart. It’s complicated.
Yeah, sure I could have got another part-time job for the college holiday break—my best friend Alice, who is studying event management, could have got me waitressing work in the coffee shop where she worked, but I’m over people big time. Big time! I was in my last year of studying sports physiotherapy and I worked part-time as a drug tester... no I can’t get free samples, let’s just put that out there and move on.
‘Integrity sampling’ it is called. Sounds noble but I rock up to the client’s house, get them to pee for me, shove my sampling stick in the mix and hope it reads ‘clear’. Sometimes I just do a mouth swab if that’s what the paperwork calls for, which is much easier. Occasionally I have to take blood.
Last week when I visited my goth-like client after one of his all-night rock sessions—may the god of eardrums spare us all—supposedly I didn’t have my ‘can do’ attitude with me. He was so high I had to pull him off the ceiling to get his pee sample. Then he tried to tell me he had just emptied the tank so sorry but he couldn’t do it again. We might have exchanged words. He locked me in the bathroom for a while... yep, I get all sorts and there was nothing to read but
Back in Black
goth magazine. Then when he finally answered his phone and found me on the other end of the line reminding him I was in the bathroom, he let me out. I might have suggested that the container he was supposed to do his sample in went elsewhere; plus I made a few other self-improvement suggestions too.
I’ve had some real princes, but the best was yet to come—Lucas Ainswright.
The phone rang.
I turned on the television and flicked channels. There he was on the news; Lucas Ainswright—the new David Beckham they were calling him except Lucas had light brown hair that was constantly in his eyes and those eyes were seductively crystal blue. He was tall with solid shoulders and arms that you could swing on; a sleeve of tattoos featured on one arm and his slender hips led to muscly carves. Lucas was signed to the Santa Ana Saints—a national league soccer team—and had just been appointed captain. He’d also just secured a multi-million dollar menswear modeling contract with Bastion, one of the hottest labels out.
I was so absorbed watching Lucas on TV that I forgot I was on the phone until I heard my boss—who dishes out my integrity sampling part-time jobs—reminding me.
“Are you there?” he asked.
“What? Oh yeah, sorry, I was just studying the... um... potential patient.”
“Four weeks work at this stage. I know you’re suspended but I’ve convinced them you’ve earned this.” He laughed hollowly.
I watched the screen as Lucas stopped to sign some autographs as he walked from the field; yep he looked great in those shorts. I bet he’d look great out of those shorts too.
“Spill it,” I said. “What’s the deal?”
“Strictly confidential,” my boss said.
“Sure,” I answered.
“No seriously, this is strictly confidential,” he reiterated.
“Okay.” He sounded so serious that he had my attention now.
“Lucas Ainswright is the hottest ticket in town. He’s got a three-year contract with the Santa Ana Saints, he’s twenty-six years old, current net worth is $85 million and he’s got talent. He’s got endorsements that will bring in half of that again almost. But if he’s not snorting his career away, he’s smoking it.”
“I can’t even imagine what $85 million looks like,” I said, staring at the screen. “Oh Lucas, you idiot.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him or his team as they posed in their navy, white and gold uniforms in front of a huge media scrum.
“So his father, who is British and rather old school, along with Lucas’s management and his coach, have agreed that he needs regular testing—a minder for the season you might say, starting with a four-week trial. It would be part-time.”
I sat upright. “And you put me forward?”
“It’s a bit more complex than that.” I heard him take a deep breath. “He’s just been named captain of the team, so the other players and reserves will be looking to him to lead by example and he’ll have that pressure on his shoulders—more than he had last season—you know pressure is a major trigger for relapse. He’s also a renowned party boy and womanizer.” My boss cleared his throat and kept the worst for last: “and he’s burned through five other minders already—male and female.”
“And you’re thinking of me because of... why exactly?” I frowned and rose from the couch to pace as we spoke.
“Well, because I’m short staffed at the moment and I’ve got someone who is more senior available but not able to start until next week.”
“Oh, great, thanks for the vote of encouragement.”
My boss laughed. “I mentioned you to them, Mia, because you can handle yourself; the reason you’re suspended worked in your favor. His father loved that you told the other client off and he gives you full permission to do so to his son.”
“Didn’t the other minders tell Lucas to pull his head in?” I asked.
“No. I think you’ll find Lucas can be rather intimidating.”
“I bet he’s a bighead,” I muttered, turning off the TV and moving to look out my apartment window at the apartment block opposite. There was a glimpse of green I could see from the park down the street.