International Guy_New York Page 12

  Today, though, was something else entirely. She made it so that I don’t want to leave, but I know in my heart I have to. We both have work and lives we’ve been avoiding for the past three weeks. It’s time to get back.

  I’m proud of the work we’ve done. Skyler seems to be back to her old self, at least according to Tracey. She’s going to start the movie soon, meet with a counselor to deal with the stress of her career and the issue with her parents. We haven’t really talked about it, but I know their death weighs on her more than she likes to admit. The fact that she doesn’t have any living relatives doesn’t help matters much. She’s also going to be interviewing bodyguards. One male, one female. She needs coverage regardless of where she goes in public, and they’ll help facilitate that.

  Tracey agreed to slow things way down at work, letting Sky inform her when she wants to add another project to her plate. For now, Skyler wants to go easy. Work the two movies she’s committed to and live a little. The woman has plenty of dreams still unaccomplished. Last night, she mentioned she’d like to start a charity for orphan kids. I encouraged her to move on that project after her movie, but in the meantime, it was definitely something she could be looking into. She’s also going to continue seeing the city. Really seeing it. Sneaking around in disguises and random rentals really gave her some ideas. She’s going to work these things out with her bodyguards once she’s found them.

  In the five years I’ve been in business working for International Guy, I can’t say that I’m prouder of any job than this one. Not only did I help the client, I got the girl. Brought her back to herself so that she can feel free to live her life as she sees fit.

  Which reminds me . . .

  I tiptoe into her bathroom, open her makeup drawer, and pull out a bright-red lipstick. In the right-hand corner of her mirror, where she can see it every day, I write her a message. Something I hope will be a daily reminder to be true to who she is and be that person every day.

  Peaches

  Live your truth.

  Love,

  Me

  Tossing the ruined lipstick in the trash, I head out to the bed. Without waking her, I kiss her forehead and inhale her peachy scent. What she doesn’t know is that I stole the scarf we used as a blindfold last night because it smells of her. Anytime I want to have her close, I can hold it up to my nose and smell her. Still, she’s only a phone call away.

  As I make my way out of her penthouse, down to the garage where the limo is waiting, I wonder who will call the other first.

  The second I enter the bar, my heart fills with joy. The scent of french fries and beer hits my nose the moment I walk into Lucky’s. At our back booth, the guys are there, Royce in his usual suit, Bo with his leather jacket on the hook, black T-shirt stretched across his chest.

  I lift a hand, and both of their gazes leave whoever is sitting in the booth in the facing seat to meet mine. Royce raises a hand, and Bo lifts his chin in greeting as I make my way to the table.

  When I get there, I’m greeted by the most cherished face in all the world. “Ma!”

  I slide into the booth and wrap her in my arms in a big hug.

  “Hey, honey!” she says, using the endearment that’s been Skyler’s for the past three weeks. My heart pangs with a sense of guilt for leaving her in bed without waking her and saying goodbye. If I had, I wouldn’t have left, and I imagine she understands. I sure as hell hope so.

  “Hiya, Ma. How goes it?”

  “Good, good.” She presses a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes, the exact shade of mine, take in my face as though she’s committing it to memory. “Something’s different about you.”

  I frown. “Besides being starving and in need of a beer, nothing’s changed.”

  She purses her lips and taps at them with her index finger. “Not sure what it is, but you look . . . I don’t know . . . happier. Perhaps lighter.”

  I smile and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “That’s because I’m back after a long job, I get to see your beautiful face, and I’m hanging with my bros at my dad’s pub. Nothing in life better than that.”

  She shakes her head. “Whatever you say. How was New York City? Did you see anything interesting? Lady Liberty? The Met?”

  “Yeah, Park, did you see anything interesting?” Bo adds with a bit of inflection on the word see just to get me riled.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I went to MoMA and the 9/11 memorial.”

  Her eyes shine. “Oh, how were they? Did you go alone?” Her manner is a bit inquisitive. Ma doesn’t usually dig for information about my work trips.

  I clear my throat and glance over to where my father is pouring. I whistle loud enough for him to look up. He smiles and waves. I hold my hand out in the international male sign for needing a beer. He nods and offers a chin lift while he finishes up helping his customers.

  “Uh, yeah. They were great.”

  “And did you go on any dates while you were away?” She straight up goes for the gusto. Again, not usually my ma’s style. Typically the woman is more secretive. Something’s got a bee buzzing in her bonnet.

  Turning to the side, I focus on my mom. The guys both snicker. When I snap my gaze their way, both of them look away and pretend to be doing something else. Which is bullshit since they are sitting there doing nothing but listening in and drinking free liquor.

  “Maybe. Why?”

  Her eyes widen, and she places her hand on my chest. The excitement spills out of her mouth like an avalanche. “Because you were all over the papers, darling! Caught having dinner with the famous actress Skyler Paige. And you looked close. Super close!” She leans in conspiratorially like it’s a juicy secret. “Some pictures were of you holding her hand. Others leaning into her. There’s even some of you nuzzling her neck!” She brings her hands to the center of her chest. “My goodness. My boy is dating a famous actress!” The last is practically squealed with delight.

  Now I get the shit-eating grins from Bo and Roy. They’ve probably heard it since the second they sat down. Bunch of bastards they are for not warning me. Then again, I wouldn’t either if I wanted to enjoy the show. Which they are doing right now.

  I lift my hand. “Ma, relax. Skyler was my client, and yes, we went out on some dates. We’re talking. It’s totally casual. Nothing more.”

  “Casual. What does that even mean in this day and age? Casual. You make it sound like you’re dating a pair of jeans. I did not raise a boy to treat a woman like she was casual anything. A precious treasure, yes. Not something you wear a few times in a row and toss into the garbage bin.”

  My shoulders slump on their own accord. I run my hand through my hair and over my now smoothly shaved chin. The beard was too much of a reminder of Skyler. Needed to get back to the former me, so I left the facial hair behind in New York City.

  Pops sets a beer down in front of me. “Welcome home, son. Your mother going on and on about you dating the actress?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  “Cathy, woman! Let the boy be.”

  “Randall, this is big news. Our son is dating a celebrity. Not any celebrity. Skyler Paige, the chick flick and action queen, right now!”

  I let loose a longer, more drawn-out groan.

  “See, he doesn’t want to talk about it with his mother. Leave ’im be and come keep me company at the bar. I want to see your pretty face while I work.” He smiles and winks.

  My mother preens. “Oh, all right.”

  I ease out of the booth, allowing her to escape.

  “You’ll tell me more about your relationship if it gets serious, though?”

  “Gets serious.” Royce smacks the table and howls with laughter, Bo right along with him. “Shoot, you are funny, Mrs. Ellis.”

  “Parker?” She firms her lips and places a hand on her hip, serving up all kinds of attitude.

  “Yeah, Ma. You’ll be the first to know if things get serious.”

  She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight. “
Glad you’re home, honey.” She taps my face with a loving smack and hustles to the stool Dad just wiped off in the corner of the bar where she usually sits and talks to him in the evenings.

  Honey.

  The endearment slides down my chest and grips my heart. I close my eyes, ease back into the booth, and suck back three huge swallows of ice-cold beer, letting out a large “Ahhh” after I’m done.

  I hold up a hand before either of my brothers can speak. “Not talking about Skyler Paige. Off limits for now.”

  Both men look at one another, turn back to me, and burst out laughing.

  Oh hell, I’m in for a long night.

  SKYLER

  The sheets are cold when I wake. Too cold. I reach out to find nothing but empty space, and my heart sinks. He’s gone. I know it instinctually but still open my ears to listen to the quiet of my penthouse. I’m hoping for a shuffle of feet and the coffeepot going, as he sometimes made decaf in the evenings. I strain to hear anything, but once more come up with nothing. It was too much to hope he’d stay. It’s silly and stupid and makes no sense at all, but I still wanted him to break all the rules and just . . . stay. I’m not even sure I know what staying would mean other than him being here, laughing and sauntering around with his cocky confidence and mesmerizing eyes.

  I sigh and roll over, grab his pillow, and bury my head in it. The crisp citrus notes and distinct masculine scent of his bodywash hit my nose. I inhale deep, wishing I was doing so with my ear planted to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Parker was always so warm in bed. My very own hot box. He didn’t need much to stay warm either. A sheet for the most part. Which was good, because I’m a cover hog. Nevertheless, I could have survived naked in bed every night if I had his warm body to sleep next to.

  How the hell am I going to go back to sleeping alone?

  The mere thought rips across my chest, sending rivers of dread to soak through to my bones. Three weeks of sharing a bed, and I’ve never slept better. No nightmares about my parents’ boating accident or stage-fright dreams where I show up at the studio and can’t speak because I’ve forgotten my lines, or worse, my mouth moves but no words come out. Those are the worst.

  From the minute I shared a bed with Parker, all of that went away.

  The doubt.

  The terror.

  The loneliness.

  I sit up and toss the covers to the side, leaning over the side of the bed, my head in my hands. Sadness fills the air around me. When he was here, I wasn’t alone. I had a person who wanted to share space with me. Or was that just because he was getting paid?

  No. I shake my head. Don’t even go there, Sky. What you had . . . have with Parker is real. It’s a seedling, but it’s growing, and I have faith it will grow with time. That line of thinking is far healthier right now, especially when I don’t have him here to assuage my fears. Standing up, I take a long, deep breath and pad into the bathroom to do my business. When I come back out, I see a note written in red lipstick on the vanity mirror above the sinks.

  Peaches

  Live your truth.

  Love,

  Me

  Peaches.

  I love that he calls me Peaches, as well as baby. It makes me feel special, especially since I hadn’t heard him utter either endearment for anyone else the entire time we were together. Johan never called me anything other than Skyler. Maybe that was the first warning I missed in the hell that came out of our time together. And to think . . . I almost married that man.

  A trail of chills racks my frame, and I glance back up at Parker’s note to me. The reminder to live honestly, share the real me as often as possible, is one I’ll need to see every day. I’ve spent the last decade being someone else. Being what everyone wanted. No more.

  I grin and shake my head. Even in his absence, he’s left me something to remember him by, although I’m sure he also meant for it to be a reminder to me about my current mission. And he’s right. I am living my truth. I’m aspiring to be open and honest with the people around me in a way I can live with. Being an actress doesn’t mean I’m not me. I should be able to eat what I want, exercise in a healthy manner, and do the parts I want to do because they speak to me. Not because they’re going to bring in a bazillion dollars. Money, I’ve got. Enough that I’m set comfortably for the rest of my life. What I don’t have is purpose.

  Parker introduced me to a different way of life. For the last three weeks, I didn’t just simply exist. I lived. Museums, movies, food, New York City. There’s so much more out there than I was seeing while hiding out in my penthouse. And he’s right. Damn man. He’d love hearing me say it too. It would stroke his already inflated ego to humorous proportions.

  Though one thing I need to be smart about when continuing on this path is hiring bodyguards who can be available to me at a moment’s notice instead of calling the security firm at random and taking whoever’s available. The idea of having one male and one female is brilliant. I’ve already got Tracey on it, and she’s found a few to interview. Most individual, but one is a husband-and-wife team. They own a small security firm in NYC, but since I’m a big enough client and willing to pay room and board for their own apartment in my building, huge wages, and they can work the job together, they jumped at the chance.

  I’m actually looking forward to meeting them. Rachel and Nate Van Dyken of Van Dyken Security. I’ve got my fingers crossed their vibe suits me. From what I saw on their website, the guy is huge, packed to the gills with muscles and an easy smile. They had several pictures of him doing CrossFit, tipping over giant tires, even silly ones of him planking, holding his weight up in the air over a balcony’s metal railing. Dangerous stuff. And he looked good doing it too. His wife is also a powerhouse. Built, petite, stunning blonde with warrior braids and a tan any woman would be jealous of. These two together reminded me of He-Man and She-Ra, ridding the world of evildoers while lifting cars and doing endless squats. I watched a video of the duo, and they are so nice to one another. A good family I think I’d enjoy being around. It’s been a long time since I’ve been a part of a family.

  Glancing once more at Parker’s message, I realize I want to send a message of my own. A tingle of excitement shimmers along my skin as I dash to my phone and pull up Messenger.

  To: Dream Maker

  From: Skyler Paige

  Got your message. Thought you might be missing me too.

  Before I click “Send,” I take what I think is a supersexy picture of my upper body, my hair a wild mess of waves just like he likes, an arm over my bare chest, pushing the girls up, but not exposing the nipples. I complete the look with my most sultry pout.

  Perfect.

  I attach the image and click “Send.”

  The text bubbles pop up, signaling he’s already seen the message and is typing one in return. I can barely contain my excitement as he types something. Crazy. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited just to get a return message from a man I liked. Butterflies are taking flight in my belly, and my thumbnail is getting a good gnawing as I wait.

  A man I like.

  Pfft. Maybe a little more than like, but I promised myself I wouldn’t think about it. This thing between us is casual, and we both agreed to no labels. We’re free to do and see who we want. At least I think so. Maybe we should have clarified that? Before I can turn the thought upside down and inside out, his message comes through.

  To: Skyler Paige

  From: Dream Maker

  I should have never left.

  My mouth drops open, and I cover it with my hand as I read his message. Being utterly stupid, I reply with the first thing that pops into my stupid brain, which happens to mimic the feeling squeezing my heart.

  To: Dream Maker

  From: Skyler Paige

  Come back.

  Chills ripple down my spine as I wait for his response. I shouldn’t have been so forthcoming about my desire to see him again. He’s only been gone a few hours. I pace around the room, still nak
ed, chastising myself for my own idiocy.

  To: Skyler Paige

  From: Dream Maker

  Can’t. Work. Looks like I’m headed to Copenhagen. Got a princess to wrangle.

  What the hell does that mean? A princess. Shit. His next client is a royal? My belly flips over on itself as a wicked rush of anxiety hits my temples. I take a deep breath and let it out, completely deflated from my earlier exuberance at our message exchange. A princess trumps an actress any day of the week. Instead of asking what his message means, I flop back into bed and wonder what possible relationship I could have with a man like Parker Ellis.

  The end . . . for now.

  If you want to read more about the guys—Parker, Bo, and Royce—from International Guy, get your copy of Copenhagen: International Guy Book 3. In the third installment, Parker Ellis tries to tame an out-of-control princess chosen to marry the next in line for the Danish throne. Christina Kaarsberg needs to tone down her wicked ways if she wants to marry the man she’s spent her life loving. Unfortunately her life plan didn’t include becoming Queen of Denmark. Is she ready for the responsibility of an entire country?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © Melissa McKinley Photography

  Audrey Carlan is a #1 New York Times bestselling author, and her titles have appeared on the bestseller lists of USA Today and the Wall Street Journal. Audrey writes wicked-hot love stories that have been translated into more than thirty different languages across the globe. She is best known for the worldwide-bestselling series Calendar Girl and Trinity.

  She lives in the California Valley, where she enjoys her two children and the love of her life. When she’s not writing, you can find her teaching yoga, sipping wine with her “soul sisters,” or with her nose stuck in a steamy romance novel.