5. Dex
Chapter 5
I sit quietly beside Nate as he drives east, with my senses on high alert from being in such close proximity to him, and I breathe deeply through my nose. His cologne tickles my nostrils, the scent intoxicating. Sensual. I’m burning up from the inside out.
All those months I fantasized about what I’d say to Nate O’Reilly if I ever got the chance, but those practiced conversations were moot when he’d never so much as glanced my way. Yet today, he’s touched me not once, but three times—at the office earlier, then twice in the club—and now I have the chance to say everything I’ve ever wanted, the proverbial cat has gotten my damn tongue.
“How did a girl like you end up working for Bernard Sullivan, anyway?” Nate asks, breaking the electrifying silence between us.
I bristle, then my tongue untwists itself. “What do you mean, ‘a girl like me’? One who doesn’t think fame and fortune is everything? One who isn’t pretty enough? Or one that won’t let a disgusting fat bastard like Bernard stick his dick in me in the hope he’ll get me a walk-on part in the latest sitcom to hit Tinseltown?”
Nate briefly takes his hands off the steering wheel and holds them in the air. “Whoa, mama. That’s a fucking big chip you’ve got there. Must be weighing you down. Is that why you’re so small?”
It’s a good thing Nate’s lips twitch, because if I didn’t know he was teasing me, I’d slam my elbow into his groin.
“I’m small in stature, big in personality.”
Nate throws back his head and laughs, two rarely seen dimples softening the brooding features he’s known for. “You’re not kidding.”
I can’t help myself. He might be an arrogant ass who’s far too attractive for his own good, but his humor is infectious. I start laughing along with him.
“I don’t think you understand how tough it is for someone like me. I’m not interested in being an actress, a producer, or anything else to do with the film industry. I only want to do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
“If you’re not interested in the movie business, why live in Los Angeles?”
I graze my bottom lip with my teeth. Nate won’t care that Mom’s nursing home sucks every spare penny from me. He’ll hardly be interested in the fact I work most weekends on the checkout at my local grocery store because, as well-paid as the job with Bernard is— was—it’s nowhere near enough to pay the bills that keep rolling in. He won’t give a shit that I live on packs of ramen noodles because they’re filling and cheap. Tasteless, too, but I can’t afford to be choosy.
Instead I settle for, “My sister lives close by.”
“Is she in the business?”
“No, but her husband is. He’s a cameraman.”
“Ah, I see.”
No, you don’t.
Nate turns into a tree-lined street with grass edges so perfect, they were probably styled by a hairdresser. Not a single blade of grass is out of place. We must be in Beverly Hills. Nowhere else in the greater Los Angeles area smells of money like this place does.
I guess where we’re going, and stiffen in my seat. “Tell me we’re not going to Bernard’s house.”
Nate gives me a sideways glance. “I can if you like, but it’d be a lie.”
Covering my face with my hands, I groan. “Oh, Christ, no.”
“Relax,” Nate says. “I’ll do all the talking. In five minutes, you’ll have your job back.”
I want to scream at him, “What if I don’t want my job back?” It wouldn’t be a complete lie. I don’t want my job back. Especially after Bernard was so foul to me, never mind the image of his ass pumping up and down as he heaved over that girl being seared into my memories.
It’s true I don’t want my job back, but I need it.
I expel a resigned sigh. Reading people is a specialty. I knew Bernard was a sleaze at my interview, but I’d been confident I could handle him, and I did. Even when he propositioned me within my first week on the job, I politely but firmly turned him down while pandering to his ego. I made it all about my professionalism. Of course Bernard was attractive, I lied. Of course I’d be interested if we weren’t working together, but I made a point of never dating people I worked with. He’d lapped it up, and the wet kiss he planted on my cheek had been the last time he ever touched me. I’d scrubbed my entire body that night until my skin was raw.
Nate, though, is an interesting character. He’s a man who does precisely as he pleases. If he decides we’re visiting Bernard at midnight, nothing will persuade him otherwise. The odd thing, though, is that Nate only cares about number one. The fact he’s decided to treat me like some sort of charity case has me confused. What’s his game? He isn’t interested in me sexually, I’m sure of that. But Nate will demand some kind of payment. The form it takes is anyone’s guess.
He pulls up outside a mansion so large my apartment would fit inside the garage. The vast amount of land around it is protected by wrought-iron gates topped with the initials BS—which of course stand for Bernard Sullivan, but I think Bull Shit works much better. A paved driveway with lawn on either side leads up to the columned front door. Window boxes house a spray of colorful flowers, and if I crane my neck, I can make out a balcony which wraps around the sides and, potentially, the rear of the property.
A pretentious house for a pretentious man.
“Ready?” Nate asks as he rolls down the driver’s-side window.
I shake my head. “Not in the slightest.”
Ignoring my comment, he presses the buzzer. Five seconds later, it’s answered. “Sullivan residence. Whom may I say is calling?”
I hold back a nervous giggle at the formal greeting and the absence in mentioning the late hour. Maybe visitors at any time of the day and night isn’t unusual for Bernard.
“It’s Nate O’Reilly. I need to see Mr. Sullivan urgently.”
“One moment, sir.”
Nate flashes a grin at me. I decide chewing on my nails might quell the violent churning in my stomach.
Within thirty seconds, the wrought-iron gates open inward, and Nate steers the car up the driveway. He parks directly outside Bernard’s front door and climbs out. When I remain frozen in place, he dips his tall frame and looks inside the car.
“Coming?”
“Do I have a choice?” I grumble.
A low rumble echoes through his chest. “You’re welcome.” He slams the car door behind him and heads for the front door.
On heavy legs, I get out of the car and trudge after him. By the time I catch up, a uniformed maid is waiting to greet us.
“Mr. O’Reilly. Mr. Sullivan is in his study. Follow me, please.”
I wait for her to ask who I am, but she simply motions for us to enter and closes the door. Maybe this isn’t the first time Nate has visited Bernard late at night with a girl in tow. Jealousy nips at my insides, but I immediately quash it. I have no right. Besides, feeling jealous over a movie star is stupid and pointless. They live in a different realm from us regular people.
The interior of Bernard’s home is as opulent as the exterior. Highly polished marble floors lead to a carpeted staircase, with the fanciest balustrade I’ve ever seen. In the center of the hallway, an oversized vase is filled with enough flowers to stock a florist, and above, a sumptuous chandelier hangs from an ornate ceiling.
The maid’s soft-soled shoes don’t make a sound as she leads us to the other side of the hallway. I keep my head facing forward, even though I’m dying to have a good look around. When she stops in front of a thick, oak door, Nate’s fingers touch mine, sending a shockwave of electricity shooting up my arm.
“Say nothing. Let me lead,” he whispers as we’re ushered inside.
Bernard is sitting behind an enormous desk—also oak—with a green lamp providing additional lighting. His head comes up when we walk inside. He spots Nate first, and his eyes narrow. Then his gaze falls on me.
“What the hell is going on?” He gets up from behind his desk. Unlike in the office where he wears suits, Bernard’s casual attire clings to his large frame, his stomach protruding over the top of a pair of jeans.
“I need a quick word, Bernard,” Nate says, casually strolling over to a couch and folding himself onto it with a gracefulness that takes my breath away. He really is beautiful. I should have taken the opportunity to study him up close on the drive over, but nerves had gotten the better of me, and they still do. Butterflies, not the good kind, swarm my stomach, and I covertly wipe my clammy hands on my jacket.
“What the fuck is this bimbo doing here?”
I lock my spine, cross my arms, and clamp my jaw shut…with immense difficulty. Bimbo? The gall of the man. I’m about as far from a bimbo as you can get. I can’t remember the last time a guy got up close and personal with my kitty.
“She’s with me.” Nate’s tone drips ice.
His fingers curl around my forearm, and he tugs me down beside him. His words, as well as his touch, send a delicious tingle spreading through my chest, and goosebumps spring up everywhere. Even though it means nothing, I’ll file that “she’s with me” away for later and use it in a fantasy about my favorite actor while I lie alone in the dark, my fingers inching inside my panties.
“And you’d do well to mind your language and your fucking tone,” he adds.
Bernard’s face reddens. “If you’re here for another conversation about my cut, you’ve wasted your time.”
Nate laughs. “No, I think a fifty percent reduction in your cut is enough for one day.”
I withhold a gasp. So, that’s what put Bernard in such a foul mood.
“Then, what the hell do you want, because I wasn’t bluffing, Nate. You can only push me so far, and you’ve hit the limit.”
Nate rubs his chin and studies Bernard’s face. I find my eyes drawn to his long, slender fingers. I bet they’re skilled hands. What a shame I’ll never get to find out how much pleasure they can give.
“Dex tells me you fired her today.”
“So what?” Bernard shrugs dramatically, splaying his hands for good measure. “She couldn’t follow a simple fucking order.”
Nate slowly rises from the couch, and in three long strides he reaches Bernard. The men aren’t too different in height, but something about the way Nate holds himself makes him the more threatening figure, despite Bernard’s considerable bulk. I shiver and hope I’ll never be on the other end of Nate O’Reilly looking at me with such menace.
“She followed the order just fine. I ignored it.”
“Her bad.”
“No.” Nate jabs a finger at Bernard. “Your bad. And my bad. She did nothing wrong. So, here’s what’s going to happen. Either you give Dex her job back, or I’m going to have a quick chat with Marjorie about what I saw in your office earlier today.”
Bernard’s eyes widen. “We had a deal,” he says, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth. “A reduction in my fee for your silence.”
Nate nods. “That was before I heard what happened to Dex. I’m revising our deal.”
Bernard’s fisted hands shake, and he gives Nate an intense, fevered stare. Nate doesn’t budge an inch, though. In fact, he looks almost bored. I half-expect him to yawn and check his watch.
“I’ll ruin you.”
Nate barks out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Bernard, don’t you remember anything from our conversation earlier? Let me remind you. I. Don’t. Care. I don’t need millions in the bank, or adoring fans knocking down my door, or my face on the front of GQ magazine to define who I am. I act because I like acting. If it isn’t in TV shows and movies, it’ll be Broadway or London’s West End. Or even a local fucking theater that seats twenty.” He taps his temple. “Get it into your thick skull. You have zero leverage over me. Zero.”
“But you want the Stefan Lowe movie. I know you do. You practically salivated at the idea of auditioning for him.”
“You’re right,” Nate says. “He’s one of the most talented directors of our time. Any actor would jump at the chance to work with him, which is why I called him after I left your office this afternoon.” He examines his fingernails. “I said you and I were having a few communication issues, and therefore it might be best if he deals with me directly. Don’t worry, though. If I land the part, you’ll still get your cut—at the reduced rate.”
Whatever I thought about Nate O’Reilly prior to this moment disappears as quickly as the morning mist under the heat of the rising sun. I completely misjudged the guy. I fell for the oldest trick in the book and allowed myself to be swayed by his public image, mistaking it for reality.
A vein throbs in Bernard’s forehead. He flashes a hate-filled glare at me, then turns back to Nate.
“You’re a piece of work.”
Nate beams. “Thanks. I learned from the best.”
“Fine,” he spits. “She can have her job back. Now get out of my fucking house.”
Nate shakes his head. “Two things. Firstly, you will apologize to Dex for the way you treated her.”
“Over my dead body,” Bernard says.
Nate sneers. “The way you down whiskey on the regular, Bernard, that won’t be too far away. Now apologize.”
I hold my breath, wondering what Nate’s next move will be if Bernard refuses again.
“Okay. I apologize,” Bernard says, the fearsome glance in my direction telling me he’s not in the least bit sorry.
I’m not surprised by his reaction. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve witnessed Bernard in not one, but two mortifying circumstances. A man like him won’t take that kind of humiliation lying down. I hold back a shudder and lift my chin.
“I accept,” I say, the first words I’ve uttered since arriving at Bernard’s home.
“Excellent.” Nate winks at me, the gesture so fast, I’m sure I’ve imagined it. “Secondly, Dex has a very difficult job working for you. She has to deal with arrogant pricks like me on a daily basis, not to mention having to look at your face every day, which must be somewhat of a chore. Therefore, I think a pay rise is in order.”
My gasp is drowned out by Bernard’s, “Fuck off.”
Nate shrugs. “Fine. If that’s the way you want it.” He cocks his head at me and wanders over to the door. Like an adoring puppy with its master, I follow. “It’s been ages since I saw Marjorie. You really should take her out more, Bernard.”
For a big man, Bernard moves quickly. Nate has only opened the door a couple of inches when Bernard slams his large hand against it. “Okay, okay. Five percent.”
“Fifteen,” Nate hits back.
My heart rattles my ribcage. I lean close to Nate, my elbow digging into his ribs. “Don’t push it. I need this job,” I mutter out of the side of my mouth.
Nate ignores me as Bernard counters. “Ten.”
Nate laughs. “When will you learn? This isn’t a negotiation, Bernard. Fifteen percent, backdated to the start of the month.”
After a few seconds, Bernard’s shoulders actually sag in defeat, and he dips his chin. “Deal,” he says through a clenched jaw.
Jesus, Nate O’Reilly is something else. Bernard is feared and revered in this town, yet Nate stood his ground and won, and for the second time today.
My boss turns to me with a glare cold enough to give me frostbite. “You start at eight in the morning. Your first job is to fire the stupid blonde temp and sort out the fucking mess she’s made of my calendar.”
“Yes, Bernard,” I say, purposely keeping my voice measured, as well as adding a hint of obedience. The latter only because it will soothe Bernard’s shattered ego and make my life a touch easier.
Nate opens the door. “Nice doing business with you. Say hi to Marjorie for me.” He steps through and then hesitates. “Behave, Bernard. Dex has my number. If I hear you’re bullying or mistreating her in any way, the deal is off.”
With that, he takes hold of my hand—my hand—and we leave.
Once inside the car, I draw air through my nose before letting it out slowly. My hands won’t stop shaking. As Nate drives through the gates and back onto the road, I tuck them beneath my thighs and turn to him.
“Thank you.”
His lips form a brief smile that doesn’t last. “You’re welcome.”
“You renegotiated his fee?”
Nate nods. “He’s been fleecing me for too long. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to gain some leverage on Bernard, and you, my dear Dex, provided me with not one but two opportunities. It’s me who should be thanking you.”
I laugh. “Poor Bernard.”
Nate snorts. “Don’t feel too sorry for him. He’ll hardly be searching in dumpsters for food…unless Marjorie finds out about his partiality for starlets with big tits.”
He waggles his eyebrows, and I laugh again.
After giving him directions to my apartment, I use the next thirty minutes to take a mental picture of everything about Nate: the cut of his shirt clinging to his muscular chest, the way his biceps bunch every time he raises his arms, the angle of his strong jaw, those sexy hands that grip the steering wheel, how he smells. Especially how he smells. Yep, I lock away every single thing in a file in my mind. When I’m alone, I’ll open it and let my imagination run wild.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say when he pulls up outside my apartment; my hand on the door handle.
“Wait.” Nate takes out his wallet, and for a horrible moment, I think he’s going to offer me money, like an escort or a call girl. Instead, he produces a business card. “If Bernard gives you any trouble, if he even looks at you the wrong way or says one sharp word, you call me.”
With trembling fingers, I accept the card. Oh, this night gets better and better. Nate O’Reilly has voluntarily given me his contact details. I tuck the card in my pocket, vowing to get it laminated the following day in case I tear it by mistake.
“I will, although after what you did back there, I think he’ll curb his attitude for a while yet.”
Nate grins. “Maybe, but remember, animals are at their most dangerous when injured. I fully expect Bernard to come out fighting at some point.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Nah.”
My eyes flicker over his face for signs he’s lying, but his expression is smooth and worry free.
“Well, thanks again.” I hesitate for the briefest of moments, restless with the urge to climb onto Nate’s lap and put my mouth on his. To rub myself on his crotch as his heavy, thick erection rocks against my center.
“Do you need a hand?”
I twist my head. “With what?” I ask, wondering if he can read minds.
Nate juts his chin toward the door.
Oh. Dumbass. Heat floods my face, and I drag my mind back to the present, away from Nate’s erection potential.
“No, I can manage.” I hide my blush, climb out, and shut the door. From the safety of the sidewalk, I wave as Nate drives away. He raises his hand inside the car and waves back.
For a few seconds, I stare at the business card he gave me, then hug myself and go inside.