Lip Action (Kiss Talent Agency Book 1) Page 5

  A make-believe girlfriend I’d hoped Marissa Woodcrest would play.

  With a sigh, I run a shower in the cramped bath, then find my phone in my bedroom. It has a dozen messages from Declan Kiss, my agent at Kiss Talent Agency and one of my best friends.

  I jab a text in to him: I’m perfectly fine, mum. Thanks for your concern.

  Although I’m not sure I am. It’s been feast-time for the past few years, but if the ratings are any indication, Alien Love is on its last legs. It had been my big break, and I’m grateful for that, but after three seasons of Ava and Borg running away from the government, never getting in touch with the mother spaceship, it’s jumped the shark into pure lunacy. If you ask me, Ava’s a damned fool for sinking all that cash into a mansion when the gravy train could run out at any moment. Such is the life of an actor. The last few auditions I’ve been on, I didn’t even garner a callback. When the script for Perfect Union landed on my lap, I thought it was fate. Here was my next move, my step up into the A-list of Hollywood. I was really hoping that I could ease any concerns Noble and Spires have about me at the upcoming dinner and seal the deal. But what are the chances of that? Less than hour before I’d met Marissa, Noble had accused me of being a spoiled playboy used to being handed everything he wants on a silver platter.

  At that moment, I wished he could’ve seen me as a lad, living in that hovel in East London. I wished he could see where I live now. There sure as hell aren’t any silver platters here. Thankfully, not even the paparazzi knows those things. And in the end, even if it might garner a little sympathy from the Noble and Spires of the world, I’m still not keen on letting the fact I came from the gutters of London be common knowledge.

  I take another shower, more for the opportunity to jack off thinking of Marissa Woodcrest again—this time, I imagine us fucking in the center of the dining room at La Rouge Country Club. When I’m done, I’m breathing hard and it takes me several minutes to recover. Finally, I wrap a towel around my waist and check my phone again.

  Another text from Declan: Where the hell are you? Tell me you didn’t fuck things up any further.

  I write back: Who me? I’ve been an angel.

  I can just see him scoffing at that. The next text that comes through puts a sour feeling in my stomach: Got a hold of Noble’s secretary. She says they’re golfing and having dinner at La Rouge if you want to happen by.

  If you want to.

  That’s Declan. He is the king of disguising demands as suggestions. If I don’t “happen by,” then when I don’t get the part it will be all my fault.

  I look at the (straight) jacket for the rental Armani, which I’d tossed on my bed last night when I’d changed into jeans before going over to Elfie’s. The idea of getting back into that suit right now makes my skin crawl.

  But for Perfect Union? I’d wear that bloody suit for the rest of my life if it meant I’d land that role.

  Cursing under my breath, I reach for the trousers, then look around. I seem to be missing some pieces. The cufflinks and tie are…somewhere. Probably still in the car, since I’d lost them the second I got free of that place. Or…perhaps I left them at Marissa’s.

  Now that would be funny, and a first. Me, leaving my mark in a woman’s home?

  The thing is, I want her to think of me.

  She’s the perfect girl to help clean up my tarnished image. I just need to get her to realize that.

  * * *

  A few hours later I show up at La Rouge Country Club, wearing my own slacks and jacket this time, nothing as expensive as the Armani suit but still clothes I consider a heavy business investment. I’m led to a table and surreptitiously glance around, looking for Noble and Spires. After I’m seated, Dana sets a glass of wine in front of me. My sister—younger than me by two years and who doesn’t look a thing like me, except for maybe our noses—is one of my closest friends, with the exception of Declan. Dana’s my biggest fan. Though I might not be an A-lister yet, she can’t be prouder of me than if I’d won an Oscar, a Tony, and an Emmy all in the same year.

  “I told you I would text you if Noble and Spires came in,” she says.

  “Declan said they’d be here today.”

  She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen them.”

  I let out a breath of relief. Truthfully, I’m glad I won’t be seeing them tonight. Now I can concentrate on something else entirely.

  “So what happened last night with that girl? Did you get her to commit to playing house with you?”

  I take a sip of the wine after swirling it in the glass. “Would you be shocked if I said she rejected my offer?”

  Dana raises an eyebrow. “Truthfully, yes. But it’s good for your ego to be turned down once in a while.”

  I snort. “Have you seen her? She’s supposed to be back with her family tonight.”

  She winces. “Poor girl. What a nasty piece her mum is.” She shudders.

  “You have no idea.”

  A few minutes later, my sister returns and nudges me. “Don’t look now, but your girl just walked in.”

  Of course I look. I take a sip of my wine and swirl it in my glass before turning to face Marissa head on. Sure enough, she’s with her mum, brother, and sister, and an older man that must be her father.

  Marissa and I briefly meet eyes before she quickly averts her gaze. She can’t keep the worried expression off her face, however, and I can tell she’s afraid I’m going to approach them. June and company don’t seem to have spotted me yet. When Marissa glances at me again, I shake my head subtly to communicate that I won’t intrude. She frowns but then takes a seat so her back is to me.

  I study her sister, who is thin, tall, wispy, her hair bleached blond, while Marissa is shorter and curvier. I have to say that Marissa is much prettier, even wearing a modest gray number that’s meant to hide her from the world. Only she can’t hide that long, dark hair, the dark brown eyes, the sweet smile, and those breasts…

  Those breasts….

  I clear my throat, shifting my legs some. Despite her modest outfit, her breasts still managed to be put on display. Last night, I’d seen her creamy cleavage in her beige bra myself. God almighty, what I wouldn’t do to bury my face between those glorious mounds.

  Dana brings my dinner but I can barely pay attention to the food as I wrack my brain for a way to get Marissa to agree to pose as my girlfriend. I don’t want to think too hard about why I want Marissa specifically, but dammit, it would solve both our problems. Yes, I need a woman to help get this part, but she also needs someone to stop her awful family from browbeating her. Sympathy fills me, thinking about how exhausted she looks.

  I’m finishing up my dinner when a man steps inside the restaurant and instantly goes to Marissa’s table. He’s wearing a sweater vest and expensive Italian loafers, his hair gelled within an inch of its life. He looks like a total prat. He stops near Marissa, who stiffens when she sees him. Her mum, however, starts cooing like a dove.

  I narrow my eyes. Is this the shitty, cheating ex-fiancé?

  I watch as Marissa says something, the man frowns, and then the two of them go talk in private. I stare at my food, debating. I have the urge to punch the man in the face and leave him sobbing, even though it’s not any of my business and Marissa’s already shot me down. But the paparazzi would have a field day with something like that, and my chances at Perfect Union would be reduced to nil. I should leave well enough alone. I know this.

  Yet when do I ever leave things well enough alone?

  I get up and walk toward them. As I do, June catches sight of me. Her eyes widen before she smiles, flutters her fingers at me, then leans toward her husband to whisper something in his ear.

  I pick up my pace and reach Marissa just in time to hear the man with her ask, “Are you really going to keep doing this? I told you I was sorry. I even fired Rebecca.”

  I stand around the corner to listen for a moment, my side pressed against the wall.

  “Charles, I don’t care if yo
u fired your secretary. You still cheated on me—for months. I’m not marrying you. Please stop begging me to change my mind.”

  “Rissa,” he says, his voice somehow whinier than before. “Why are you being like this? You’re being petty and childish. I gave up my best secretary in years for you. Isn’t that enough?”

  I clench my fists. This guy is a real piece of work. How did she date him in the first place? Had they really been mere steps from walking down the aisle? I’m reminded of how upset she’d gotten last night when her mum texted. How she said her mum was constantly reminding her of her past mistakes. Was that what her engagement to this prat had been about? Penance?

  Oh, my sweet girl. You deserve so much better than that.

  “I can’t talk about this here. Please respect my decision.”

  The ex—Charles—is probably going to keep telling her what an awful person she is, and I’ve had enough listening to this bullshit. I step out of the shadows and place my hands on her shoulders. “There you are, darling. My meeting ran late, but I’m glad I could still make it to dinner.” My eyes shift to the douchebag. “Will you introduce us?”

  Marissa is frozen underneath my hands. She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t say anything, either. Charles is looking at us suspiciously.

  “Who is this guy, Rissa?” he asks.

  “This is, um…” Red washes over her cheeks, and I love it. I want to touch her again. I want to take Charles out back, kick him in the balls, and then whisk Marissa away from all of this.

  Whisking her away inevitably makes me think of taking her home. Her dark hair would look lovely spread across my pillow as I’m moving inside her…

  I shake my head. She’s looking at me, as if she’s trying to unlock my secrets. Then to my surprise, she takes my hand and says to Charles, “I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m seeing someone else. This is Simon Richards.”

  A vein bulges in Charles’s forehead, and I rather hope he bursts into tears. Although I initially proposed the scheme to Marissa for my own benefit, helping her in this way gives me a lot of satisfaction.

  “You can’t be serious,” Charles says, looking back and forth at us. “You’ve already found someone new?” He scoffs. “I never took you for a slut, Rissa.”

  I’m about to punch the man in the mouth, but Marissa squeezes my arm to stop me. I restrain myself, placing an arm around her shoulder, holding her close and claiming her as mine.

  “Goodbye, Charles,” is all she says.

  I glare at him before turning with her. She’s shaking. “Are you all right?”

  “No, but…”

  “Marissa, Mom and Dad are getting impatient to meet Simon.”

  We both turn to see Marissa’s sister poking her head around the corner. She rolls her eyes, then ducks out of sight again.

  Beside me, Marissa sighs. “There’s no escaping now.”

  “I have no desire to escape, darling.”

  “But what if my father recognizes you? Granted, I don’t think he’s ever watched Alien Love or read the type of …” She bites her lip, probably afraid she’s insulted me by stating her father would never watch my show or read the type of magazines that feature me.

  “What are the chances he’ll recognize me without my make-up? And if he does…” I shrug.

  “What do you mean…?” She mimics my shrug, and her attitude makes me want to smile. I love it when she forgets to be the good little girl. “If he does, my mother will be horrified. There will be no reason for us to fake date. And even if I decided to still help you with your situation, my father knows Noble and Spires, remember? If he bad talks you or suggests we’re only dating to get my mom off my back…”

  “I’ll take my chances, Marissa,” I say firmly. “If you’re willing to.” I’d already accepted that, even though my primary motivation for approaching her had been purely selfish, I cared about Marissa. It seems I care so much I’m willing to risk her ability to help me in the event her father does recognize me.

  Unlike Charles The Prat, I want to be a man she can count on.

  She studies me for a moment, then shoots me a weak but grateful smile. “We’ll talk. Afterward.”

  I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “Sounds good. But I hope that’s not all we’ll do.”

  When she blushes again, I laugh. Together, we join her family. Her mother jumps to her feet as I approach, hanging all over me like a cheap suit. “Oh, Simon! Lovely to see you!”

  “Hello, ma’am.” I smile politely and take her outstretched hand.

  Marissa’s voice is uneven. She’s nervous. “Simon, you know my mom June. That’s my sister Larissa and my brother Kenny. And my father, Raul Woodcrest. Dad, this is Simon Richards.”

  Marissa’s father stares at me for a few seconds, and I stiffen. I swear I see recognition in his expression, as well as calculation, but rather than show how uncomfortable I am, I hold out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  Beside me, Marissa seems to hold her breath. Then her father looks at her. Looks back at me. And then finally takes my hand.

  “Likewise, Mr. Richards. So tell me, how long have you and Marissa been dating?”

  Chapter Six

  Marissa

  As Simon’s sister goes to get our check, I’m still in shock. His arm rests on the back of my chair, and I have to restrain myself from leaning into his warmth. I can’t help thinking about what we did yesterday, in my cottage, his hands up my skirt, playing with me over my panties, and I’m already wet again. I glance up at him and he returns a simple smile. He must know exactly what he’s doing to me. I bet he does it to women everywhere he goes.

  Including my mother, obviously.

  “I’m so happy you were able to join us,” Mom gushes. She’s been gushing ever since Simon came over. I’m embarrassed that she’s basically fawning all over him. I keep wondering what she would think if she saw him in his green makeup. “What a lucky woman Marissa is to have caught someone like you. I used to worry about her taste in men, when she was younger, but it’s clear she’s learned her lesson and upped her standards.”

  I can’t help but wince. Larissa snickers a little. Dad just sips his wine, sits back, and studies Simon, the cool-calm-slightly emotionally detached foil to my mother’s dramatics. I’m grateful he hadn’t recognized Simon as an actor. Given he’s more interested in the business aspects of Hollywood than the celebrity gossip, I figured he wouldn’t, but the last thing I’d wanted was the scene that would ensue if Mother found out Simon is an actor and not English nobility or whatever it is she thinks he is.

  Simon rubs the back of my neck with the lightest of touches. “Quite the contrary, ma’am: I’m the lucky one. Marissa is a beautiful, intelligent woman, and any man would be lucky to have her.”

  He catches my gaze, his fingers on my skin, and my heart pounds. I don’t know if he’s lying or not, but I can’t help it: I’m a puddle in his hands.

  Mom coos just as Simon’s sister hands my father the check. “Oh, so charming! Marissa, thank him for saying such nice things about you.”

  I blush so red my face is surely on fire. “Mom,” I murmur. “Will you leave it?”

  Simon continues stroking my neck, but I can feel the tension in his arm.

  “Yeah, Mar, tell the nice man how nice he is to date you,” Larissa can’t help but jibe.

  I kick her underneath the table, and she yelps, glaring at me. Sisterly love, sigh. It’s a good thing we aren’t closer because maybe then she’d have shared my love for cheesy soap operas and would know exactly who my new boyfriend is. Though I’m reminded I still need to thank her for warning me about Mom’s impromptu visit last night.

  The same impromptu visit that resulted in Simon stripping down to his boxers, sitting on my sofa, and petting me to orgasm. Oh God. I shiver at the memory, and Simon squeezes my neck as if to say, I know exactly what you’re thinking.

  “Like I said,” Simon says, his voice more serious now, “I’m the one who s
hould be thanking Marissa.” He catches my gaze, and suddenly the room narrows to just us.

  His fingers are stroking my hair and ear now, and it’s such a sensual touch that I’m rooted to my chair. Simon trails a finger down my neck, tracing between my shoulders. I’m pretty sure Borg did the same thing to Ava a couple weeks ago, and I remember how I’d wished someone would touch me that way. And now…

  “Thanks so much for coming in tonight,” Simon’s sister says, effectively breaking the spell between us. “We hope to see everyone again soon.”

  His sister gives Simon a look, but I can’t interpret what it means. Is she against what we’re doing? Then again, she was the one who told her brother about my predicament. I have half a mind to go after her when he says, “It looks like I have to be going. I’ll drive Marissa home.” He turns to my father. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

  My father nods and shakes Simon’s hand. He’s difficult to read, but I think I see a glimmer of approval in my father’s eyes. “I must say, it’s nice to meet a man who appreciates my daughter the way you do, Mr. Richards. I always thought she was too good for Charles.”

  My father’s words surprise me. Shock me even. When he looks at me, I can tell he notices, and I think I see regret in his expression. “Dad…” I say.

  “Well, I agree,” my mom interrupts. “I always told you she could do better than Charles, didn’t I?”

  I almost choke in disbelief and I’m struggling to figure out what to say when my father stands and urges Mom to do the same. “Please continue to treat Marissa, right. Mr. Richards.”