July (Calendar Girl #7) by Audrey Carlan
Dedication
Rosa McAnulty
July is dedicated to you,
my Puerto Rican Princess.
Thank you for making sure that the language and mannerisms of the Puerto Rican culture were authentic and true to the character.
Thank you for being an amazing member of my team, support system, but most of all, for being a friend.
BESOS Angel.
Chapter 1
Blonde. Blue-eyed. Tall. Goddess. Jesus H. Christ. The universe is laughing at me as I stand stock-still and look the modelesque woman up and down. She looked like she could be Rachel’s ungodly perfect sister, and I thought Rachel was stunning. Nope. Totally wrong.
The woman stood next to a shiny, black Porsche Boxster jittering around as if incredibly anxious. Her fingers tapped a solid beat against the sign she held up with my name on it. A not-so-subtle shift from one sky-high stiletto to the other only added to the fierceness rolling off her in waves. Then again, that could’ve been the Miami heat. Good Lord, it was sweltering, yet this woman was perfectly put together, as if she’d walked right out of a rock video. Skinny jeans so tight I could see the nice curve of her booty. Her tank top had me drooling, complete with a monogram across a set of well-endowed tits that said Hug Me and Die. There were at least ten necklaces of varying beads, lengths, and sizes wrapped around the smooth column of her neck. She had kick-ass, rock-star hair, pulled back into a complex system of twists and loose pieces that looked rocker-chic.
After what felt like minutes of my inspection, she fixed her steel-blue gaze on me. A puff of air left her lungs as she tossed the cardboard in the car window and sauntered over. She scanned me from my flowing black locks, over my sundress and to the simple flats I wore on two big feet. “This will never do.” She shook her head with exasperation. “Come on, time is money,” came the flippant retort over her shoulder. The trunk popped open, and I tossed my suitcase in.
“I’m Mia by the way,” I held out my hand as she slid on a pair of ultra-cool aviators, turned her head and looked at me over the top of them.
“I know who you are. I’m the one that chose you.” Her tone held a twinge of distaste as she started the car and hit the gas, not even waiting for me to get the seatbelt fastened. My body jolted forward, and I braced on the smooth leather dash.
“Did I do something to piss you off?” I readjusted the belt and watched her profile.
Her breath came out in a long, slow exhale before she shook her head. “No,” she groaned. “I’m sorry. Anton pissed me off. I was in the middle of something big when he told me to come get you because he needed our driver so he could fuck a couple groupies in the back of the Escalade.”
I cringed. Great, sounds like my new boss for the month was a slimy douche. Not another one. “That sucks.”
She took a quick right turn onto the freeway. “Can we start over?” Her voice now held sincerity and apology. “I’m Heather Renée, by the way, personal assistant to Anton Santiago. Hottest hip-hop artist in the nation.”
“Is that right?” Wow. I hadn’t realized he was that big-time. I don’t usually listen to much hip-hop. More of an alternative and rock chick.
Heather nodded. “Yep, every album he’s done has gone platinum. He’s the “It” boy in Hip Hop and good grief does he know it.” She grinned. “Anton wants to meet you right away, but you can’t wear that.” Her gaze moved down to the plain green sundress I’d worn. It highlighted my eyes and made my hair look phenomenal. Plus, it was comfortable to travel in.
“Why not?” I tugged at the hem of the dress suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Anton is expecting a bombshell model with curves that don’t quit.” Once more her eyes ran over my outfit. “You’ve got the curves going for you, but that dress is too Sandra Bullock girl next door. You’ll need to wear one of the outfits I bought for you. At the house, you’ve got a closet full of clothes waiting. Wear them. He’ll expect you to look like eye candy at all times.”
Scowling, I focused my attention outside as the Porsche cruised Ocean Drive. The art deco buildings overlooking the Atlantic slid by over an enormous stretch of land.
“So, there’s water on both sides?” I noticed when we had passed over one of the main bridges.