2. James
JAMES
I’d had many careers over the years—dairy farmer, plumber’s assistant, paparazzo, private investigator, stripper—but none as stable or as lucrative as my job at LuxeLife Domestic Staffing.
Basically, I did odd jobs for celebrities: dog-sitting, yard work, catering, security, that kind of thing.
That was how I landed the gig at Andy Chapman’s star-studded bachelor party.
But I wasn’t there to ogle the Hollow Point boys, or even the curly-haired heartthrob, Ryan Ashbury. I was there for William Chapman, the entitled little peckerhead who thought he could use my brother’s movie to mount a comeback.
I studied the disgraced actor sitting alone at the outside bar. He had tousled black hair and wore a tight pink shirt and navy blue chinos that accentuated quite possibly the finest ass I’d ever set eyes on. I hadn’t expected William’s ass to be so perky and round.
Still, he looked pathetic drinking alone, like he was trying to win “biggest loser at the party.” Why wasn’t he doing body shots off the strippers like everyone else? Wasn’t he supposed to be the best man?
Whatever. I wasn’t getting involved. I was there to do my job and nothing more. The rest was out of my control. Or was it? Shit, is William Chapman making a break for it?
He left his lonely perch and started weaving across the balcony.
He stopped at the living room entrance, looked left and right, then cracked the doors just wide enough to slip his wiry frame through.
He didn’t head for the kitchen, where the strippers were laid out like a sushi train, but hurried toward the elevator.
I looked over at Esther, who was posing as a dancer in fishnet stockings and lime-green nipple pasties. She was supposed to be getting compromising photos of William to sell to the tabloids. But how would her plan work if William bailed early?
I never should’ve let Esther talk me into this.
Yes, I needed the money—Esther was cutting me in for half—and yes, William Chapman deserved every bit of bad press he got, but if I got caught sneaking a reporter into a celeb event, I’d lose my job.
On the other hand, I owed it to my brother’s memory to make sure William Chapman didn’t ruin the movie.
My late brother’s memoir was about to be made into a major Hollywood film, and rumor had it that William Chapman would portray me, the banished gay brother.
I turned my back to Esther, not wanting anyone to make the connection between us, and tracked William’s cautious crawl along the perimeter of the party.
I had to act fast, or Esther’s plan to get William booted from the film would crash and burn before it even got off the ground.
I set my tray of champagne down and hurried across the room, sliding between William and the elevator doors just as they opened.
“Hey, where are you going?” I asked, flashing my most charming smile, the one that never failed to get me out of tricky situations. Instead of blushing, though, William flinched.
“Uh, nowhere,” he said, staring at the floor. “Just home. I’m so sorry I bumped into you earlier. I’ll cover your dry cleaning costs, or I can just buy you a new pair of pants if you want. Do you have Venmo?”
“It’s okay, man. They’re already practically dry, and it was just champagne.” I smiled, watching his posture relax as if he’d expected me to deck him. “You’re William Chapman, right?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Seriously, I don’t care about the pants. Let it . . . Wait, did you just apologize for being yourself?”
“Uh, no, I just . . .” He stopped stammering and met my gaze.
He had the whitest skin and darkest eyes I’d ever seen, like pips on a domino.
He wasn’t classically handsome like his brother, but he had some attractive features: dark brows, high cheekbones, a little ski-jump nose, a strong, angular jawline.
“Sorry, ignore me,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you always apologize this much?”
“Uh, no, I don’t know.” He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at me, skittish as a deer in hunting season.
I sighed, guilt washing over me. William Chapman clearly wasn’t the villain everyone claimed. Looking at him now—shoulders hunched, eyes darting nervously—he seemed more like an awkward middle-schooler attending his first dance than the notorious bad boy of Hollywood.
Of course, that didn’t change anything. I needed the movie to succeed so I could continue supporting my brother’s kid, and that wasn’t going to happen if William Chapman was involved. Let him mount his comeback in someone else’s film.
A whoop of laughter erupted from the kitchen, and William flinched again. “I’m sorry. I really have to go.”
“You’re not leaving, are you? You just got here.”
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “I have to go home and pee.”
“Who goes home to pee? There’s a bathroom right down the hall. Are you pee shy or something? If so, I can stand outside the door and make a bunch of noise.”
“Pee shy?”
I nodded. “Yeah. My brother was pee shy. He couldn’t go if anyone was within earshot.
Said he always felt like people were judging the power and continuity of his stream.
Once, when we were canoeing, he made me sing the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ at the top of my lungs just so he could piss over the side. ”
William crossed his hands over his crotch, which I definitely wasn’t staring at. “No, I’m not pee shy.”
“Hey, there you are.” Ryan Ashbury set a hand on William’s shoulder, and William jumped about a foot in the air. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Is now a good time to talk?”
William’s gaze flicked to the elevator doors, then back to Ryan. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
Ryan finished his drink and handed me his empty glass, reminding me I was on the clock. “Let’s go into the studio,” he said. “I don’t think anyone’s in there.”
William gave me a bashful nod. Then he and his perky little ass disappeared down the hall.
I fell back against the wall and exhaled in relief. It was out of my hands now. The rest was up to chance. Well, chance and a plucky Korean-American lesbian with cameras hidden in her nipple pasties.