Page 12 of Naughty Nelle

“I maintain your daily schedule, your Facebook fan page, and respond to your tweets, which, by the way, exceeded five million from fans around the world while you were in the hospital.”

“Wow.” He actually seems quite surprised. “What else do you handle?”

I spit out the rest of the list. “I get your Starbucks coffee every morning, make your travel and restaurant reservations, prepare your lunch, send out your two hundred pairs of jeans for laundering and take care of your dry-cleaning, stock your refrigerator, order your supplies, coordinate things with your entourage, and even help you with your lines. Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. I give you massages. I’m a certified massage therapist. That’s one of the reasons you hired me.”

His eyes dart to my hands, lingering on them. His eyes flutter as if he’s trying to remember them. And then he twists his luscious lips.

“How did you end up working for me?”

“I got the job through an agency that specializes in placing personal assistants with celebrities and VIPs.”

“What’s it like to work for me?”

The words tumble out of my mouth. “You’re a conceited, egotistical, arrogant asshole.”

His brows jump to his forehead. “Hmm. If I’m a total jerk, why do you work for me?”

The truth. Well, almost. “I need a job, and you pay me decently, plus you give me room and board along with a car allowance. It sure as hell beats being holed up in a dark, claustrophobic massage room.” I add in one other reason. “And despite what you may be thinking, I actually really like my job.” And could look at you all day long.

He studies me. I can feel his eyes raking over my body.

“How old are you?”

I think that question is banned by some equal opportunity employment act, but I tell him anyway. “Twenty-four.”

“Have I ever fucked you?”

What?That out-of-the-blue question takes me aback. Every muscle in my plus-size body tenses while my ovaries do a somersault. I somehow manage not to fall off my stool and find my voice.

“Your cock is the one thing I don’t handle.” I rebound nicely. “Unless you count all the times I’ve booked a hotel room for you and your hook-ups.” And dreamed about it.

My eyes flick to the bulge between his legs and then quickly return to his pensive face. I feel myself flush and my awareness only heightens the sensation.

“Do I share my social life with you?”

“Uh…no. I just know what I read online and in gossip magazines.”

A short silence and then he breaks it after a chug of his drink. “Do you know my fiancée, Katrina Moore?”

At her name, my blood curdles and my chest clenches. I gulp my bottled water and swallow it over the rising lump in my throat.

“I’ve met her a couple times,” I stammer. Two times too many. The second encounter flashes into my mind—at the hospital after Brandon came out of surgery. The bitch was with Scott and she told me three was a crowd. Especially with a heifer like me. Her insult stung me, and if the tears from Brandon’s life-or-death condition weren’t enough, I shed another round and fled. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t. It was just too much.

Brandon’s voice hurls me out of the painful memory. “What do you think of her?”

Mama always told me if you have nothing nice to say don’t say it all. But growing up with my uncle and his family, I learned to speak my mind. So, this is hard. I take a deep breath. “She’s okay.” Fucking stuck up bitch. I hate her guts! “I guess I owe you a congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Brandon’s voice is distant. He polishes off his Scotch, and I take a last sip of the water. A blue feeling washes over me.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to settle back into my quarters. I’ll have your Starbucks for you first thing in the morning—right after your swim.”

“I like to swim in the morning?”

“You never miss a day.”

“That’s good to know. Can I help you with your bags?”

Well, that’s a first. It’s just a simple roller bag that’s in the trunk of my car, so I politely decline.

Brandon’s eyes stay on me as I hop off the stool. “Good night, Zoey. I hope you can help me piece together the last ten years of my life.”

Silently, I pray and hope they include me.

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