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She set her glass down with a thud, her hand hitting my chest, making my sternum pull in and my arms drop to my sides. “Bloody bloke, that guy is mortified,” she hissed.
“Sweets, come on, I didn’t know the kid was hovering over me, trying to get a listen,” I teased.
“You’re ridiculous. Maybe you shouldn’t talk so dirty, Mr. Skyler.” Her voice had dropped lower, a huskiness in her tone contradicting her bullshit disappointed act. This, the way she took me to task, semi-mad, but mostly amused, I loved, when we are just being ourselves, having fun, no pretenses.
I narrowed my eyes, bowing my head toward hers, just about to whisper, “I bet I know a really bad girl who is pretty wet right now.” Then I heard Mr. Perfect Fucking Timing clear his throat again, which I suspected he would be doing every single time he approached our table.
Chapter Nineteen
“That Champagne may be right up there with one of my favorites, Veuve Clicquot. It’s a little less bready. It would be interesting to compare Domaine Carneros Rose with Veuve’s Rose, or maybe make a taste comparison to Taittinger. We should go to France, Champagne tasting, where there are some smaller houses that you may like. I want to take you there, and…” she rambled, climbing into the backseat of the SUV, Larry holding the door while Jake braced her hand with his other hand at her hip. She leaned into his stiff arm, functional but feeling the alcoholic bubbles dispersing through her blood, opening her nervous system up, allowing room for silliness.
“That sounds wonderful, Sweets. Oh, careful,” he directed, a concerned tone to his voice as she plopped into the seat, crossing her feet with white Converse low tops, yanking down the edges of her yellow sundress that had ridden up her thighs. That morning when she’d stepped out of the bathroom in this outfit, her hair down, trace mascara and lip gloss, her feet adorned in tennis shoes because he had told her they’d be doing a lot of walking, Jake, grinning, had said, “Damn if you aren’t scrumptious, so adorable.”
She’d traveled as a paid companion on several wine tasting trips to France, always careful to take a few sips and discard the rest, her guard fortified, playing a role as the sweet, demure, upscale mistress. Most often, the staff working at the wineries and chateaus knew what she was. There was no pretense; she had been bought to coo, to look adoringly into some man’s eyes she loathed, not because they were mean or disrespectful, no, because they mandated that she be somebody she wasn’t. Even though she benefited from the arrangement, she couldn’t fight back the distaste she had for their weakness. In order to feel powerful, they needed to have a human adornment, despite most of these men possessing more money and assets than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population. Those same men hadn’t been sated with that, making sure that their time was spent with their wives and children; no, they needed a pliant woman to stroke their egos, not just in private but publicly. Those were the men she distrusted the most: not the ones who watched her strut around in lingerie as they stroked themselves during lunch breaks or after work before returning home, nor the ones who wanted to meet simply for sex, or the ones who were single and just needed an accessory to decorate their arms at high society events. No, those men might be filling a void, but the men who had families and still hired her so they could let the world know, I have it all: power, money, prestige, and the ability to have this on display any time I want it. This is my weekend toy while my family stays home, maintaining the façade. I am untouchable.
Jake scooted in next to her. “Seatbelt,” he whispered, then leaned forward. “Larry, can we pull around behind the building when we get to Temair Winery? The owner said there’s a back drive closer to the caves, and they have the spot I requested reserved for the picnic.”
Larry, in his mid-forties, was very familiar with the Valley; he’d told them earlier he’d grown up here. “Sure, yes, they let me know as well, Mr. Skyler—sorry, Jake,” Larry replied. He smiled, looking back for a second, catching Jake’s expression.
Rakell knew Jake hated being called Mr. Skyler; seeing that slight grimace on his face, she pushed her shoulder into his arm, and in a low, sultry whisper, said, “Sort of like how Mr. Skyler sounds, mate.”
She chuckled when his eyes slid to her, making sure she could see his scoffing expression.
“Ms. McCarthy, perhaps I’ll let you call me that, if you’re a good girl. We’re going to do a cave tour while Larry picks up food for lunch, and since you ate two small bites of caviar and nothing else, I want to make sure we get food in you.”
“Stop, I just wasn’t interested in cheese. I mean I like it, but I just need to…” She caught herself, watching Jake’s face morph from playful to concern. “Larry, when you pick up lunch, can you please grab an apple and perhaps a salad, no dressing, no croutons.”
Jake cut in, “This is a vacation, I want you to enjoy…”
“Yes, yes, of course, Oakville Grocery has great salads. Jake ordered two of their sandwiches, the chicken-bacon-gruyere cheese and the Reuben, both fantastic, and a few other items but I can definitely add…”
She grabbed Jake’s knee. “So only the most fattening, high-calorie sandwiches possible. No, you can’t do that to me…besides, your breath will stink from the Reuben,” she added, keeping her tone playful. “Larry, are there other sandwiches less…”
Jake tapped the screen of his phone. “I’ll change the order and send it to you, Larry. Sorry, those are my favorites, and you should hear Dwayne talk about their Reuben.”
“Well, does Dwayne kiss you after eating it?” She heard Larry chuckle softly in the front seat.
“Of course not,” Jake said, offering nothing, looking away as if considering something.
She let her head fall on his shoulder. “Jake, I just have to be careful. Literally, my measurements, height, and weight, which I already lie about, get sent every time I’m considered for anything, even an acting position. So, before anyone will even give me a chance to prove my acting ability, they are judging this,” she said, yanking his hand and placing it on her lap. “My hip size matters more in this industry than my abilities. You know that…” She tried to explain, but his fingers started creeping up her thigh, snagging yellow fabric along the way.
She had the urge to throw it out there, all the random thoughts about him, her, her dreams and what she knew it would take. Her hand went to his fist, balled up with the scrunched yellow fabric. “Jake, I, I…”
Her gaze shifted to him, joined by a sharp intake of breath. When their eyes caught on each other’s, there was a longing in his, but she also registered concern, like he was questioning something. “Jake, you know I’m good at acting. God knows I had to do it long enough, for so many different men. I always tried to make sure I was who they wanted me to be, subdued, intelligent, but not more than them, of course. Sophisticated but simultaneously enamored with their level of cultural knowledge, eager but not pushy, sweet but not simple…it’s fucking exhausting. Now I’m doing it again.”
Jerking his torso sideways, eyes flashing at her. “Don’t fucking do that with me,” he hush-shouted, loud enough that she caught Larry’s eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
She threw her leg up and said, “See these?” Pointing at her white Converse tennis shoes, she continued, “Do you think if I were trying to impress you, I’d be wearing these? I don’t think my body is why you kept showing up in my life. I think you genuinely like me in whatever.”
“And whatever size, I like you enjoying life, not twisting yourself all around for a fucking camera.” She watched the fabric spring from his fist as his hand opened. “I just don’t like the whole…”
“I know, because you’ve never dated anyone in this industry.” Sarcasm oozed from her tone. “Yep, Jake Skyler’s always dated the girl next door, no famous models, actresses….” She jabbed his side when he looked away.
“Okay, yeah, you know this, but I don’t want to see it hurt you.” His tone softened, his hand back on her knee, fingers massaging her skin. “So, my girl next door, who is seconds from being famous, I want you to stay you, not the pretend you, just be you.”
“Jake,” she murmured, her head drifting back on the seat, absorbing his touch, trying to think through the Champagne.
“Yeah,” he whispered, still massaging her leg, his hands crawling up her thigh.
