My towel slips, but I catch it before I flash a second celebrity this month.
This time, though, I’m not mortified. Maybe it’s that I’m getting used to being semi-naked around famous people. Or it might be the exhaustion, the fire, and the relief I’m not dead.
Basically, I’m out of fucks to give.
So, I stand there, looking from Ryder to Daisy. Each gives me a casual smile as if there isn’t anything odd about this scenario. Ryder sips from a glass of what looks like water but could be vodka, knowing Ryder’s reputation.
“Daisy?”
“Yes, Olivia?” she asks, head cocked.
“Why is Ryder Black sitting in your living room?”
“Really, Olivia, that’s a rude question with him right here. I mean, he can hear you. Why shouldn’t he be sitting here?”
“Is he also your long-lost foster brother?” I’m just teasing her since I know about her crush.
She snorts. “God no.”
I turn to Ryder, who has one eyebrow arched. He and Chase do that amused eyebrow arch so well.
“Ryder, why are you sitting in Daisy’s living room? Not that I have an objection to it. But just…why?”
Daisy’s mild expression breaks, and she cracks up laughing. “Oh, Olivia, you should see your face. I thought you’d drop your towel again.”
“When was the last time she dropped her towel?” Ryder asks, leaning forward with interest.
“She told me she dropped it in front of Chase. I think he liked what he saw, judging from the pictures of them making out,” Daisy says.
I pull the fabric tighter and glare at Daisy. “I told you that in the strictest confidence. You might not want to be sharing any secrets, Daisy. I could let certain things I know slip out.” I look meaningfully at Ryder.
Daisy narrows her eyes at me, but she wisely changes the subject. “Wow, you’re a grumpy cat. I’ll give you a pass because your house almost burned down. Anyway, to answer your question, Ryder is here to take us to Malibu.”
I sink down on the edge of the couch, pulling at my towel. At least Daisy splurged on extra-large towels, unlike the hotel.
“Say again?”
“I called Chase about the fire and the threatening letter. He freaked and called Ryder to whisk us away since Chase is in the Amazon, and it will take him a day or two to get home, even with him leaving right away. So, Ryder’s our official white knight and will fly us back with him, along with a gazillion bodyguards that Chase arranged. Isn’t that kind?”
“White knight at your service.” Ryder’s dimples pop as he smiles.
“We’re going to Malibu? With you? Where will we stay?” I hate being ten steps behind everyone else, but nothing makes sense right now, and all I feel is overwhelmingly tired, as if I could go to sleep for two weeks straight.
“We’re going to Chase and Ryder’s place,” Daisy answers, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well, it’s technically Sebastian’s estate, but Chase and Ryder live there too.”
“Chase doesn’t want you to stay in San Francisco until they know who sent the letter and your place is inspected for structural damage,” Ryder interjects. “After what happened, it’s better to be somewhere with gates and security.”
“But how did he know? How did you get here so fast? This all just happened.”
“I called Chase as soon as I found out about the fire,” Daisy says. “He called Ryder and arranged everything.”
“I’ve never heard Chase so freaked out,” Ryder says to me gently. “He wanted to be here himself, but he’s catching the first flight out.”
Butterflies invade my stomach at the thought of seeing Chase again. And staying at his place, seeing him in a Malibu mansion, in his own glamorous world. I try not to think about what it might mean that Chase is worried about me. I imagine he feels guilty if he thinks the fire could be linked to one of his fans.
Boring reality intrudes. “But what about our jobs? I can’t leave Audrey with no notice. And you’ve got your shop. I also need to be here to sort out my house.” I swallow down a hot lump of what could be tears at the last thought. Rock gods and movie stars aside, how can I leave my house and belongings in this condition?
“I’ve already called Audrey. She can cover your shifts, and she said to take all the time you need. Don’t worry about your house either. Chase is sending his old assistant down to sort everything out. He’ll need a key to your place, and you’ll need to coordinate with the authorities by phone, but you don’t have to be in San Francisco. Chase is worried about you, and so am I. Plus, you deserve a holiday. Ryder—rich, famous, hot Ryder…” She turns to him. “Sorry for objectifying you.” She grins at him.
“Not a problem,” he responds, taking another sip of his questionable water-vodka.
“Anyway, Ryder is offering to whisk us away in his label’s private plane to romp around a Malibu mansion with three famous dudes, including your crush, Chase, who we all know you’re hot for because we’ve got photographic evidence. And you’re arguing about it? Really, Olivia, I didn’t think you were this dumb.”
Daisy has a valid point. Plus, I’m way too tired to argue.
“You’re right.” I shrug. “Thanks, Ryder. I accept your offer to rescue us.”
“About fucking time,” Daisy mutters. Then she hops up and takes my hand. “So, now that we’ve got introductions and explanations out of the way, we’ll pack.”
I head to Daisy’s room to pack my nonexistent wardrobe.
This is turning into the summer of risk, after all. Scandals, fire, and a possible death threat. I’m not sure that’s exactly what Nanna had in mind.
I don’t recognize myself or my life anymore.
I’ve been in Malibu a little over twenty-four hours, and I’m lounging by a turquoise pool in a cute retro swimsuit and glamour-girl cover-up, with my laptop balancing on my lap and editing my fourth novel—for the fortieth time.
I never actually consider a manuscript finished enough to send out to agents or publishers. I just edit them incessantly until I can’t stand to look at them, and then they go into my computer’s folder of death named Old Novels, and then I start work on the next one. It may be why I’m not making headway on my dream career as author. Just a guess.
A team of professionals already came by the house to give Daisy and me a massage, pedicure, and blowout, all courtesy of Sebastian and Chase’s fabulous assistant, Emma, who is a magical fairy godmother in pint-size Southern ballbuster form.
When we arrived yesterday in the early hours of the morning, Emma already knew about the fire and my lack of wardrobe. I inquired about the local Target, but Emma just laughed as if I’d made a hysterical joke, and an array of summer styles in my size arrived at the mansion. When I argued with Emma about accepting what must have cost a fortune, she rolled her eyes at me and said Chase would want to spoil us. In the end, there wasn’t much I could do. All my clothes were back in my charred house. And, apparently, Chase gave strict instructions that we weren’t to leave the estate. He’s that worried about the threatening note and fire.
With time and distance, I begin to feel like we’re overreacting. Surely this is all an awful coincidence. The note, while concerning, is probably an overzealous fan, and the fire could be the result of old wiring and nothing more.
But here I am, feeling like an extra on the set of Mad Men during its LA season. Nanna and I loved Mad Men.
Daisy rolls over. “I’m bored,” she complains.
“Then do something,” I say, reaching to take a sip of iced coffee through a straw, the ice having long since melted in the heat. Condensation pools on the glass, and I have to wipe my hands before I go back to typing on my keyboard.
Sounds of a guitar and male laughter carry to the pool from the open French doors that lead into the house.
Daisy picks up her camera and points it toward me. I hold my hand in front of my face.