Page 13 of The Billionaire's Caress

He stroked the top of his head, flashing a peek of one of his gnarly tattoos. “Music—that was my outlet. There was this bar on the outskirts of town.” He squeezed his eyes shut like this was a part of his history that he didn’t want to replay. That embarrassing moment when your parents bring out your old school pictures, making the person you brought rethink their life choices.

“This place was a real shithole. The kinda place where you have to be wasted just to quiet that voice that whispers ‘if some shit is gonna go down tonight, it’s gonna be right here’.

They thought it was a good idea to have me play music on Thursday nights. The first couple of weeks were rough, but once I earned my stripes, I got a following. One night this redhead-“ he paused, mentally backtracking and amending his word choice. “This woman who worked in casting came to my show and told me that I’d be perfect for a little role in a little tv show. A little tv show called Beaches.” He puffed out his chest with pride and I almost smiled. Most actors who made it big tended to shy away from their start if it happened to be on a soap opera or anything deemed low brow, but not Rich. He still attended fan conventions for Beaches from time to time and between tweets about which new starlet he’d like to spend a night with, he retweeted fan love to his followers.

“Beaches opened the door to where I am now. I started off with two lines, but the audience fell in love and the rest, as they say, is history.” He cocked his head to the side, a sly grin on his lips. “So, tell me, Leila—am I ready?”

To be honest, he’d been surprising me since he opened his mouth. Being himself, but dialed several notches back. Still an unrepentant flirt, but not obnoxious. His confidence radiated in a way that can’t be taught. Villain or no, he made it hard to dislike him.

Until you caught him off guard.

I dropped my eyes to the paper and found a question that wasn’t quite so cozy. “Why do you think it’s appropriate to call women ‘bitches’?”

He scooted back a few feet, something racing across his face before it disappeared. When he came back, collected, grin in place, he held a single finger up, tick tocking the digit as he shook his head. “That was a low blow. No warning, huh? No foreplay with you-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” I leaned in this time, serious as a heart attack. “At no point is it okay for you to talk about anything sexual or proposition the host or any possible guests in any way.” I felt like I needed to expand the scope a bit to include anyone with a pulse, but I didn’t have the time to explain to him the gravity of respecting others. “When you feel attacked, threatened, or embarrassed, you turn into a jerk. It’s not sexy, cute, or funny. It’s the reason that you almost lost the role in your current film.”

That got a reaction, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. I prepared myself for some derogatory quip, but he didn’t say a word.

I was surprised he wasn’t coughing up blood from biting his tongue.

This was his first role as the leading man. A shoot ‘em up thriller where he was actually the hero, instead of the villain everyone was hoping would eventually get their comeuppance. He was at a tipping point. Either he plateaued, and would have to be content as ‘that guy who always plays the bad guy’, typecast until he faded into the sunset, or he could breakout and try his hand at showing the world he had range. That he was a versatile talent. His innuendo and flat out disrespect would only turn him into a hashtag, a symbol to rally against instead of an actor worthy of moviegoers hard earned money.

“If you think the host is gonna be all cuddly and starstruck, asking you softball questions about where you’re from, your favorite color, and what you like to binge on Netflix after a long day, you’re not paying attention.” I arched an eyebrow. “Even if you hadn’t called her ‘chubby Reese Witherspoon’, you should know that your first words to any question about your recent behavior should be ‘I’m sorry’. Period. In fact, you should make it a goal to apologize at least three times during the interview.”

He looked physically ill, but he gave me a slight nod, his gray eyes downcast. “Got it.”

I wasn’t a hundred percent certain that I’d gotten through to him, but I had a spark of hope that maybe he’d keep it together long enough that his charm would outweigh his douchebag urges. “So I’ll be a ping away-”

“You didn’t let me answer your question.”

There was a gleam in his eye that made me wonder if he would just pick up where he left off, but I didn’t stop him. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t clear his throat or waste time on pomp and circumstance. “First off, it’s not appropriate for me to call women bitches. I’m sorry for that. Sorry that my reaction when I’m faced with someone that has a negative or conflicting opinion with mine is to jump to insult. I should be listening. Pausing to really take a look at my actions and my words.” He let out a weary sigh. “Words can powerful, man.” His grin turned playful. “And despite popular opinion, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Oh geez,” I said, not even bothering to stop my eyes from rolling around in their sockets.

“Now I know the interview will go well!” He pumped his fist in the air. “I got the Leila Whitmore Eye Roll of Approval.”

I wheeled away from the computer before he saw me smile. “Just remember to treat people like you want to be treated and you’ll be just fine.” Considering he wanted to be treated like a king, I figured it would be a good start. “I’m gonna grab a bite before you guys get rolling. Back in five.”

He’d already forgotten me altogether, strumming something on his guitar. Reminding me of another man who thought he was God’s gift to humanity.

No, I thought firmly, closing that door before I could take a step inside. I was too hungry and too happy to go back to Corbinland.

I swiped my phone, thumbing over to the app so I could check on Hope. She and my mother were busy making up for lost time. I had no idea who was winning Peekaboo, but Hope sounded like she could go for another hour or two.

I felt the eyes on me when I walked the halls. The question in their eyes was the same one that Rich asked. First Jacob, now some rockstar? What was it about this chick? I had tunnel vision, answering the sprinkling of hello’s for those who bothered to speak.

One such co-worker, a woman named Molly who worked closely with Claudia Joy, paused long enough to have a full blown conversation.

“Leila!” Her smile was as bright as her pale blonde curls. “How’s it going?”

“Hi!” I answered with a nervous one of my own. “It’s going great, hope you’re well.”

“Can’t complain.” She leaned in, tapping her shoulder against mine. “I heard someone had a good time at Lust at the Lake.”

I dropped my smile like a hot potato. “Oh, ha, it was alright.” I picked up my pace a bit. ‘Alright’ was not even close, but I knew she wasn’t asking out of genuine concern. She was interested because she was hoping I’d share something juicy for her to report back to the hive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

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