CHAPTER 8
REID
“Supermodel checking you out, two o’clock.” I glance one direction and then the other. “John, dude, that’s ten o’clock.”
Aside from his inability to remember how to tel time on the face of an actual clock, my wingman is correct. Actual supermodel. Actual y checking me out. And now that I’ve noticed, she’s walking over. Stick-figure thin, she swings non-existent hips, her body and face al planes and angles, a long way from any Dorcas Cantrel doppelganger.
“Hey there,” John says.
“Hel o,” she offers me her hand. “I’m Dorika.” Of course she is. And the only reason I’l remember her name tomorrow is because it’s ridiculously close to that of a girl she doesn’t resemble at al , who I can’t stop thinking about for some insane reason.
“I’m Reid.” In her heels, we stand eye-to-eye. Makeup flawless, dark eyes half-mast and ringed with amethyst, she smiles when I graze her knuckles with my lips.
“Yes, I know. Reid Alexander.” She knows who I am.
Better and better.
“And I’m John.”
Her gaze never wavers from my face; John doesn’t even register with her, though he’s not a bad-looking guy. He might be a little short for her, unless she’s barefoot—but she’s got to be used to that. She’s tal er than the majority of the guys here.
I motion to the waitress to bring her another drink.
“Where are you from, Dorika?” Her accent is eastern European.
“I am from Budapest.”
“So what brings you to LA?” I couldn’t care less about her answer; it’s just part of the game.
“The handsome men, of course,” she laughs, tossing waves of dark hair over her shoulder. Her look is calculated, and I chuckle along with her to confirm that I’ve grasped her insinuation. “Also I am doing, how do you say it, a spread for Elle magazine.” I sense a vulgar comment coming from John and flash him my shut-the-hel -up face. To my amazement, he complies.
The waitress removes the near-empty glass from Dorika’s fingers and deftly hands off a fresh drink. “It is rather loud here,” she says, sipping.
“Wel , this is a nightclub.”
“I know a quiet bar nearby,” John interjects, but he might as wel be mute, for al the attention she’s paying to him.
“My hotel is a few blocks away. It is more comfortable.
Less noisy. You wil come with?”
I regard her for a moment longer. There’s no reason to say no. No reason at al .
*** *** ***
Dori
I pul the stirring stick out of the paint to test the consistency, dribbling a spiral onto the smooth white surface, where the liquid squiggles disappear almost instantly. Perfect. I take a satisfied breath, the chemical aroma something I’ve never disliked, even while it singes my nostrils.
Identical to the past three days, work slows to a standstil when Reid arrives. Now that he’s acquainted with the layout of the house, I’m determined not to go looking for him.
When the scent of espresso mingles with the odor of the paint, I know he’s found me. I close my eyes for a count to three and a breath of composure before I turn, straightening.
He’s holding two Starbucks cups, one of which he extends towards me. “Truce?”
I take the cup, confused.
He’s smirking, having anticipated my reaction. “It’s a double-shot soy latte. If you hate it, my driver can go back and get something else…”
Blinking, I wonder what kind of stalking he did to know my favorite coffee drink.
Right. Because a celebrity is going to stalk me. “No, this is… fine. Thank you.”
He glances around the smal bathroom, takes a sip from his cup. “Second coat on the cabinets and trim today, right?”
“Um. Yes, that’s right.”
“You finished the tiling? How late did you stay?” He looks impressed, his fingers reaching towards the wal and curling back. “Is it okay to touch it?”
I nod. “Sure. It’s dry.”
Stroking one finger across the glossy white squares, he says, “They’re so even.” His laughter is unlike the derisive chuckle I’ve become accustomed to over the past few days.
“If I’d done this, it would look like a shitty optical il usion.” His half-grin dares me to disagree.
My mouth pul s up on one side, involuntarily. “Um, thanks.”
***
When I finish caulking the master bath shower, I check to see if Reid is on task with the cabinets in the second bathroom. I hear Gabriel e’s voice before I round the corner, so I hover just outside the door, listening.
“I just want to live my life, you know? I don’t care about col ege. I’ve been in school long enough.” From what I remember of a conversation with her mother, Gabriel e spent the past six weeks in summer school after having floundered her way through tenth grade, more interested in boys and partying than keeping up with her assignments.
“Mmm-hmm.” He’s noncommittal, when I would be trying to discourage such a foolish decision.
“I want to be a model. And then an actress, you know, later. After I’m too old to do, like, swimsuit shoots and stuff.”
“Gabriel e?” They both start at the sound of my voice, which echoes in the smal room. I pretend not to notice their matching reactions. “I thought you were working outside with Frank today?”
She glares at me, petulant. “I was just taking a break.”
“Ah,” I say pleasantly, leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb and pointedly waiting for her to leave.
She huffs a sigh and rol s her eyes, turning back to Reid.
“See you at lunch?”
“Sure.” His eyes flick to her and straight back to the cabinet, stroking the brush downward with the wood grain, remarkably straight. As he dips the brush into the paint, he looks up at me. “Need something, boss?”
“She’s only sixteen, you know.”
The brush stil s and he crooks an eyebrow, eyeing me.
“I’m aware of that.”
“Are you?”
“What’s it to you?” His voice is pure chal enge, his eyes narrowed.
I straighten, running my finger along the groove in the door trim. He should have primed this when he primed the cabinets. Doing al of the priming first is more efficient.
“She’s the daughter of the people for whom we’re building this house. I feel a responsibility to them where she’s concerned.”
“A responsibility to what?”
I glance at him and know he’s uber-aware of what he’s doing. Making me spel it out. Fine. I can do that. “A responsibility to make sure the court-ordered ‘volunteer’
understands that he needs to keep his distance from the underage girl while on this property.”
He stares at me for a moment. “So if I run into her off property, for instance—”
“No. That’s not what I mean. I mean… just stay away from her, period. Why would you even—I don’t get why—
don’t you ever want to be a better person?” My breath catches. I can’t believe I just said that.
“Okay, what?” he says, taken aback.
That was so out of line, but before I can backtrack, he slams the brush down, surrounding it with a halo splatter of paint on the plastic sheeting. He stands up and glares down at me. “What I choose to do or not do is none of your business. Who I choose to do or not do is also none of your business. Shit.”
Shouldering past me, he goes straight out into the back yard. I should fol ow him and apologize, but I doubt he wants to hear anything I have to say. Besides, I’m right about Gabriel e. She’s young and she’s starstruck. In no way are they on an equal playing field. I may think she’s a little twerp, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to keep her from ending up emotional y damaged by a guy like Reid Alexander.
So much for that truce.