Chapter Six
Six
JJ
G od, I thought I hated him. Like, actually hated my first client. He was brash and arrogant and thought entirely too much of himself.
And hot , the evil little voice in the back of my head whispered.
I had to growl in agreement. Nico Santorini was the most infuriating man I’d probably ever met, but he was also hotter than the Arizona desert in August. And I’d know. I’d been there for a church mission trip, sweating my ass off with twenty other teenagers and our church sponsors, helping to rebuild a playground for another church that had been wiped out by a flood—which had been particularly difficult to believe, given the parched and dry land we were dealing with in that sweltering heat.
My phone pinged with a text as I pulled up to my condo. I parked and glanced down at my phone. Thinking of the sexy devil.
Nico: Miss me yet?
Did I mention he was arrogant? I typed back a quick response, shaking my head.
Me: Have you gotten into trouble again already?
Nico: Trouble is my middle name, Miss Johnson.
Was he flirting with me? With a man like him, it was hard to tell. I figured the best approach was professionalism.
Me: All the more reason you need me to keep an eye on you. Do us both a favor and go home and get some rest. Dr. Evans will be in touch tomorrow with her therapy plan.
Nico: Oh boy, can’t wait.
Before I could respond, a knock sounded at my driver’s side window, making me jump and drop my phone in my lap as I turned to look up into my best friend’s grinning face.
“Hey!” Stassia called. “You’re late!”
I took a breath, grabbed my stuff, and stepped out to greet my bubbly friend. “Sorry. I was tied up with a client.”
“And you couldn’t text?” She followed me upstairs and inside, straight to my bedroom, making herself at home on my bed as I moved into my giant walk-in closet—my favorite thing about my condo—and changed clothes.
I poked my head out. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Nico is just so...” I rolled my eyes as I yanked my t-shirt over my head.
“Nico? Nico who?”
“Santorini. My client.” I walked out in my shirt and panties, yoga pants in hand, ready to list the hundred reasons Nico was so frustrating but froze at the look on her face. “What?”
“Nico Santorini?” she echoed. “As in the guy who’s been all over the news lately?”
I nodded slowly, not sure if she was disgusted or excited. Was my best friend a closet fan of Zero Energy?
“Your dad is trusting that crazy guy around you? With the drinking and the drugs and the who knows what? What if he hurts you?”
My eyes grew wide. That wasn’t disgust or excitement on her face. That was fear. For me. I wasn’t sure if I should be touched or offended. “I can handle Nico Santorini.” I pulled on my pants, then sat beside her. “Plus, I don’t think he’s as bad as the media makes him out to be.” I didn’t understand why those words came from my mouth. I didn’t really believe them. Hell, not thirty minutes ago, I was mentally bashing him. Still, something deep inside of me felt the need to defend him. Maybe it was only my pride because I needed to prove myself with this job. Maybe it was because one too many people had presumed to know who I was just because I was a busty blond. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because I had caught a glimpse of something in Nico’s eyes that hinted at a pain I wanted to understand. Either way, I needed my best friend’s support.
She studied me closely for several long seconds. “Maybe,” she hedged. “But if he hurts you, I don’t care if he’s famous. I will cut his balls off.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite person.”
We smiled at each other, then stood to head to the kitchen for our dinner date.
I opened the fridge and glanced over at her. “Beef or chicken?”
“We did chicken last time.”
I nodded and pulled out the ground beef to start our nachos as she started mixing our margaritas. Within the hour, we were ensconced on my sofa, eating, drinking, and laughing over reality dating shows.
“She is such a gold digger,” Stassia said as she munched on a cheesy nacho, her eyes glued to the TV screen. “I can’t believe he doesn’t see it. What a fucking idiot.”
I snorted out a laugh, nearly choking on my drink. “Maybe he doesn’t care,” I said once I recovered.
“True.” She leaned in and grabbed her own glass. “Maybe he only wants a trophy wife. She does have great tits.”
We were rolling and I was feeling so much better about my life decisions and my ability to handle Nico by my second margarita.
“Did you hear they’re casting for some new dating show where the contestants don’t see each other? I think there’s even a choice of love or cash or something like that,” she said out of the blue. “You should apply.”
My head snapped around. “What? No!”
“Why not? I think you’d be great. You’re smart, you’re gorgeous. Total package. Definitely better than Amber there.” She indicated the big-boobed trophy wife wannabe on the screen.
“Yeah, no thanks. I have enough on my plate right now.”
“Like Nico Santorini?” She gave me a flat look that was edged with concern.
“Yes. Like Nico Santorini.”
“Do I dare ask what you’re doing for him exactly?”
I took a big sip. “You can.”
“But I might not want to?”
I shrugged.
“Point taken. I won’t ask... yet.”
I nodded and grabbed another nacho as the show rolled to the next couple, who were the show’s golden couple. I pointed my chip at the screen. “They’re totally gonna make it.”
“Agreed.”
We polished off our food and drinks and were both full and happy when Stassia left for the night.
She leaned in and hugged me. “Love you.”
“I love you too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.” She winked and sauntered down the stairs toward her car, her dark hair bouncing around her shoulders.
I closed the door with a sigh, then turned and began to clean up our nacho mess, still feeling the pleasant buzz of the tequila from our drinks. Once I was done with that, I took a shower and slid into bed and fell into a deep sleep as my mind drifted between Stassia’s concern over Nico and her suggestion I apply for some crazy dating show.
I jolted awake at the scream of my phone. Not fully awake, I fumbled around in the dark until I found my phone and answered it blindly.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Ms. Johnson?” came the unfamiliar man’s voice.
“Who’s this?” I pulled the phone away from my face far enough to see the time. Three nineteen a.m.
“I’m sorry to call at this time, ma’am,” he continued, his tone so serious, I was suddenly very awake, my heart in my throat. “This is Officer Cuevas with the LAPD. There’s been an altercation and I’ve been asked to call you...”
I sat up, staring straight ahead in the dark as worst-case scenarios began to fill my mind involving my dad or Stassia. “An altercation?” My brain was working overtime to piece this together. The police only woke you up in the middle of the night for terrible emergencies, right?
“Yes...” another man’s voice murmured angrily in the background. A frustratingly familiar voice. “We were called to a dispute between Mr. Nico Santorini and some members of the press at a bar which had turned physical. I’m with Mr. Santorini now and he’s too inebriated to drive himself. No charges are being filed, but we can only release him if he has a ride. He gave us your number and said you were a friend and would come get him.”
I cursed under my breath.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.”
“Will you be able to come or should we take him to jail?”
The vindictive little part of me wanted to see him pay for this. He’d clearly violated his contract intentionally. He was being petulant and difficult, and I’d be doing myself a favor by letting him hang himself. But there was another part of me that didn’t want to give up so soon, that wanted to give this job a chance... even if that was the stupidest decision in the history of stupid decisions.
“I’ll be there,” I finally said, clearly opting for stupidity. “What’s the address?”
The officer told me where they were and I got up and threw on some clothes, then drove down to the bar district, hating myself more and more with every mile.
That hate was full-blown fury by the time I got to the little dive bar. I pulled into the desolate parking lot and parked two spots over from the police cruiser.
The officer stepped out of the driver’s side and as I got out to meet him, I could just make out Nico in the back seat, his head hanging down, his long black hair disheveled and hiding his face.
“Ms. Johnson?” the officer said.
“Yes.”
He tipped his head and opened the back door. “Your ride’s here, Mr. Santorini. You’re free to go.”
Nico slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes bleary as he focused on me. For once, he had no flirty comment, no snarky jab.
My steps faltered when I saw the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his jaw. “Shit, are you okay?” I rushed over and inspected him closer as he inched out of the car like a decrepit old man.
He waved me off and stood of his own volition, though he wobbled a bit. He shot the officer an unreadable look. “Thanks, man.”
The police officer nodded. “Take care, Mr. Santorini.”
I remained close, but not touching him, because clearly, he wasn’t in the mood, as we walked back to my car. He slid into the passenger seat and I rounded to the driver’s side and got in, starting the engine and driving away without a word.
I turned to ask him where he lived, but he had his head back on the rest, eyes closed, mouth slightly open as he breathed deep. Well, hell, he’d crashed fast.
Without another thought, I headed back to my place, my mind spinning a million miles a minute. What would I tell my dad? Would he be fired from the band? But, above all, why? Why did he insist on blowing up his life like this?
Back at my place, I parked and killed the engine. He was still out, so I reached over and nudged his arm. “Nico.” Nothing, so I shook him. “Nico!”
He mumbled and his head snapped up, his face blank. Eventually, he turned to look at me. “Where are we?”
“My condo.”
His brow dipped down in confusion.
“Come on,” I said, palming my keys and stepping outside. “You can crash on my couch for a while.”
In a small miracle, he didn’t argue, and he followed me inside. I offered him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt I had stolen from an ex, then showed him where the bathroom was. While he was in there, I set a pillow and blanket on the couch, along with a bottle of water on the coffee table.
He padded out barefoot in the Texans shirt, which made him look deceptively innocent.
“Do you need anything else?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable that I’d noticed his bare feet.
He shook his head and practically collapsed on the sofa. “Thanks.”
I nodded and turned to go back to my room to try and rest for a bit before I had to get ready for work, but I paused and spun back. “Why?”
Midnight eyes slid up to meet mine. “Why what?”
“Why do you do this to yourself?”
A flash of sadness shot through his gaze, but he quickly banked it away as he erected a wall of indifference. “I’m just living my life, college girl.”
“Yeah?” I said. “And how’s that going for you?”