Chapter 9
chapter
nine
Stella
T he next time I woke, the twilight of the room was illuminated by the sun peeking around the edges of the blackout curtains warned me it was time to go. I hadn’t meant to go back to sleep, but a couple of orgasms had done wonders for my headache. My throat still hurt, but I would survive.
Lifting my head, I studied Gem where he sprawled. I was on my stomach, but he was on his back and his hand was quite firmly on my ass. Naked, pleasantly sore, and relaxed, I could probably close my eyes and go back to sleep.
Bad idea though.
The lightest of snores told me Gem was still out and I sighed. The night I’d spent with him before had been an escape, a good time without strings or attachment. That I got some good shots from the dashcam by accident? Just icing on the cake.
Tonight? Tonight had been a choice and one I refused to regret. That said, it was also time for this Cinderella to turn back into a pumpkin and roll out. I needed to pick up my car before it got towed.
As much as I wanted to stay right there in the bed, I forced myself to ease out from under his hand. I slipped off the side like a thief seeking to escape detection. Which I kind of was. Course, the only thing I’d “stolen” tonight was a lot of fun and some comfort.
Regret tried to settle in my stomach as I stole another look at the bed. Nope , I told myself almost resolutely, don’t do that. It wasn’t until I gathered my clothes to get dressed that I realized I had no idea where my panties ended up.
They could be tangled in the bed. The bra was right there hanging off the edge. I did find my phone in the clothes. Go me. Gem didn’t so much as stir as I dressed. Leaving commando might be a bit chilly, but I’d cleaned up after I peed so hopefully it wouldn’t be messy.
Boots in one hand, I tiptoed over to the door before I allowed myself one last look at the shadow sprawled in the bed. In a moment of whimsy, I blew the sleeping man a kiss and then opened his door.
The light in the hall was almost too bright. I hurried through and then closed the door as quietly as possible. Squinting, I glanced left and then right. The wide hallway didn’t offer any clues on which way the stairs were. Gem had carried me up here so it was definitely up stairs.
After flipping a mental coin, I went left. It wasn’t a long walk before the hall turned to arrive at a large balcony that twisted into a long staircase that descended into the foyer. From the marble tile below to the paintings on the wall decorating the path to the gorgeous crystal chandelier, the place screamed wealth and celebrity.
Of course they were stinking rich. Seven hadn’t released an unsuccessful movie in years. Olivier also lived here, so if they were pooling resources, they were fucking rolling in it. At the end of the day, they had carved out their own little palace, and I very much needed to Cinderella my ass right out of here.
I descended the steps, hanging on to my shoes. I could put them on at the bottom. I checked my phone; it had about 30 percent. Enough for me to get a rideshare back to my car. Better to wait to call for it when I was down the block.
The windows alongside the wide double doors were frosted, but the light outside was definitely brightening. Let’s go, Stella , I told myself. Time to get the hell out of here . I didn’t want to give the competition any walk-of-shame shots.
“Excuse me.”
Dammit. So close.
With a grimace, I pivoted and tried to school my features into something more neutral. Seven Harrison stood in the archway separating the foyer from a sitting room of sorts. Dressed in a button-down open at the collar with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed arms, he met my gaze like he often welcomed guests at far too damn early in the morning.
“I was just leaving,” I said, rather than try to stammer out some excuse. I was an adult as was Gem. So no explanations required.
“Actually, you’re not,” Seven said, before gesturing to the sitting room. “Join me. We need to have a conversation.”
I raised my eyebrows. “No,” I said. “We don’t. I have places to be.”
I didn’t make it even two steps toward the door when Seven said, “The alarm is on and the door is locked. You won’t be able to open it.”
Cutting a glance back over my shoulder, I narrowed my eyes. “Then enter the code and let me out.”
“Eventually,” he said, almost too agreeable. The placid expression on his face was total bullshit. He might be Gem’s height and have his dark-brown hair and stunning blue eyes, but there was a coldness to Seven.
That chilly, calculated layer threatened to slice at you if you dared to get too close. I had no idea why people couldn’t tell them apart, even without the scar I’d noticed on Gem’s chin—a scar that was definitely absent from Seven’s chiseled jaw.
“Please come in,” he said, motioning to the sitting room again. It wasn’t until he shifted that I noticed the crystal decanter on the side table with a tumbler that held a few drops of amber liquid. The table in front of the chairs, however, had a contract on it. “This won’t take long.”
Debating how serious he was about the door still being locked without the code to also disarm the security system, I studied Seven’s posture. His shoulders were rigid and his manner distant. The polite neutrality in his voice didn’t remotely touch his eyes.
The man glared at me like I was the devil incarnate. Interested on a faintly perverse level, because I’d hardly done anything to earn his ire, I moved toward the sitting room. As soon as I took a step, he lead the way.
“Sit there,” he said, waving an almost imperious hand toward the settee in front of the coffee table. “You can review the NDA, then sign it.”
Apparently, he expected me to just hop to it and do as I was told. Wow, was he about to be disappointed. “No.”
“I have a copy you can take with—” He paused, then snapped his gaze to me. “What did you say?”
“No,” I repeated.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean no, n-o. No. I won’t sign your NDA. I’m leaving now.”
“You have to sign the NDA,” he informed me and it was almost amusing how truly outraged he was, except I had no interest in being held hostage by America’s asshole here.
“I have to die and pay taxes. Everything else is optional. I need to go,” I said, checking my phone. The morning wasn’t getting any younger.
“You don’t understand.” Seven followed after me and caught my arm. The tug had me spinning back to face him. Only his resemblance to his brother kept me from hitting him with my shoes. I’d had enough manhandling, thank you.
“I think the one failing to understand the word no , would be you. You want me to sign a contract. I do not want to sign a contract. You have nothing I need or want, ergo you have no leverage to incline me to sign.”
“Except you want to leave,” he snapped, though his eyes narrowed on my throat.
“Are you saying you’re planning on kidnapping me, Mr. Harrison? I assure you, that won’t end well for you or any deals you’ve got cooking with major studios.” Showing my own hand? Maybe. I tugged my arm out of his grasp. “Now, am I setting off your alarm or are you opening the door?”
I was over the conversation.
“Of course I’m not planning on kidnapping you,” the actor snapped. “You need to sign the NDA because we don’t bring women in this house. We have reputations to protect. You’ve been in here. I want to keep our privacy intact.”
“Well, bully for you, I guess. If you open the door, I’ll leave you to your privacy.”
His negative little growl of a groan almost made me smile. Frustration edged his movements as he raked a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t hurt you to sign the NDA.”
“It doesn’t help me either.” I shrugged. “Maybe you should make your girlfriend sign one and leave me out of it.”
His lips compressed and a vein throbbed in his forehead. I probably shouldn’t enjoy needling him so damn much. At the same time, if he just got out of the way, I’d be out of here.
I wasn’t planning on advertising my night in Gem’s bed or repay Ollie and Gem’s kindness by selling the story. I didn’t have my camera either. But no, I wasn’t signing some stupid document.
“You think I don’t know who you are?” Seven demanded, real anger threading through every single word. “You think I don’t know you’re the one who was in those photos with my brother? Or how you managed to get him into position to take them?”
“I don’t care ,” I told him, holding up one finger.
“What?” Surprise flashed in his eyes.
“Are you hard of hearing?” I asked, studying him. “That can be a problem when there are a lot of explosions on set, but you seem to be struggling in understanding me.”
“My hearing is just fine,” he snarled, gripping my biceps and then pulling me right over to the table despite me dragging my feet.
Yeah, I wasn’t standing still. Seven might be the fancy-pants actor out of the pair, but he was hardly a slouch in the muscles department.
“Sign the damn paper,” he snapped, pointing at the table. “Now.”
This time when I tried to yank my arm out of his grip, it wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m not a dog.”
“I don’t care ,” he parroted back at me. “You’re going to sign the damn document.”
“Or what ?” I glared up at him even as he stared down at me.
That vein in his forehead pulsed and his lips were almost white from how hard he mashed them together. The faint hint of alcohol on his breath didn’t suggest he was drunk, but if I was in for a penny…
“Maybe you should switch to coffee, Mr. Harrison. Between the booze and your hearing issues?—”
“I do not have a hearing problem,” he snarled. “But I know a bottom-feeder when I see one. You’re signing the damn page if I have to hold your hand and make you do it.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I snapped back. Only this time, I managed to swing my boots in my free hand and smacked him square in the shoulder of the arm he was using to keep me still. His hand opened reflexively and I raised my phone like a talisman, video on . “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Harrison… want to say anything to your fans to add to that little rant?”