Page 26 of Off Script

Mikayla let out a pleased squeal, dragged Jada into her room, and started rambling through her closet, throwing potential outfit options onto the bed. Jada was shorter and smaller than Mikayla so they’d have to make some adjustments to the dresses. Luckily, Mikayla could pull it off. Along with her plethora of other jobs, she’d previously worked as a seamstress.

Some of Mikayla’s choices were way too loud for Jada, like a cheetah print dress with a dangerously high slit in the skirt’s front. After much haggling, they settled on a sky-blue dress that was short but not in a potentially butt cheeks–escaping manner. The front was low cut but a sequined, sheer overlay on the top of the dress left the finer points up to the imagination. With some matching neon-blue pumps and the perfect blend of smoky eye shadow, Jada was finally ready—even before Tristan’s impending arrival.

It’d be a perfect setup for Tristan to meet her at the front door of her apartment. Him impatiently waiting on the other side, only for her to throw it open and stun him with her ensemble. But Jada had no desire for Tristan to come that close to her home. What if he asked to use the bathroom or something? Then he would invade her personal, sacred space, and possibly find out more about her than she would like. Agreeing to play pretend girlfriend was enough of an intimate intrusion. God forbid Tristan actually discovered Jada’s giant probiotic vitamins in the bathroom or the mini-unicorn collection she’d kept from her childhood.

Determined to avoid that type of invasiveness, Jada bid good-bye to Mikayla—who demanded to hear everything about the date when she returned—and made her way downstairs to the apartment complex’s elegant lobby. Although she was waiting inside, Tristan’s car was unmistakable when it pulled up. She’d seen him ride to work in the electric-blue Mustang several times. With the convertible top down, his midnight-black hair was ruffled but in an undeniably sexy way.

Before he had a chance to get out of the car, Jada stepped outside.

“Hello, Tristan,” she said, keeping her voice silky and confident—like she’d practiced with Mikayla.

When Tristan spotted her, his jaw dropped. Jada owed Mikayla a big thank-you because her cousin had been right all along. Tristan’s dumbstruck expression proved tonight was going to be highly entertaining. Jada hid a smug smile as a thrill of forbidden excitement rushed through her.

Payback was going to be sweet.

10

Damn.

That was the only word that got through to Tristan’s brain before it short-circuited. One look at Jada and all his thought processes stopped. He felt like a total idiot, sitting there drooling over her, but he couldn’t resist tracking the movement of her hips as she headed his way. His heart skipped a beat as she leaned over the passenger-side door, giving Tristan an eyeful of her chest—and yet not nearly enough.

“See?” she said. “I told you I’d be ready.”

“Yeah. Wow, you look nice,” was all Tristan managed to get out.

Before he could think of anything else to say, she opened the passenger door and slipped into the leather seat. As she crossed her legs, Tristan realized how short her dress was. And if it was just a wee bit shorter, he might be able to see something a lot more interesting than her upper thigh. Or if she would let him, he could reach over, slide his hand up said thigh himself, and—but there was no way she would let him.

And since there was no chance of Jada giving him a peek at—or feel of—the forbidden land he was imagining, the growing bulge in his pants was of absolutely no use to him. Of course, mentally Tristan knew this wasn’t a real date, but his libido clearly couldn’t tell the difference. Silently commanding his body to behave, Tristan forced himself to stop staring and started the car.

“Where are we going?” Jada asked innocently. Maybe too innocently. She had to know what kind of effect she was having on him.

“We’ll eat, then hit up this lounge I know,” Tristan said, more gruffly than he intended. Jada, of course, didn’t miss the curtness in his tone.

“Is something wrong, Tristan?” And yes, she was definitely playing games. She had her doe-eyed look out in full force.

“Nothing at all.” Tristan grinned back, feigning a carefree demeanor of his own. Two could play this game. Especially since his brief overview didn’t fully describe what kind of evening they were about to have.

Contrary to Tristan’s implication at the café that he’d come up with the plan for tonight, a lot more input had gone into it. First, Doug had suggested they stick to a classic dinner date to start with, but the choice of where to eat basically got chosen for Tristan. The problem with having such a public scandal was that everyone you knew found out about it,includinghisGarciabrothers.

After Doug had barged in on him the previous morning with the initial news and they concocted their plan, Tristan had eventually faced the music and checked his own cell phone. There had been a slew of texts from Juan and Rafe of the WTF and What were you thinking variety, along with a flurry of exclamation points. His lie about him and Jada mollified his friends temporarily in terms of the holy shit, the whole world thinks you’re an asshole bit. But it hadn’t stopped Juan from insisting that he meet Jada once Tristan mentioned they were going on their first “public” date. Unlike Rafe, whose jet-setting lifestyle often kept him out of L.A. on other films, Juan ran a very successful Mexican fusion restaurant, La Rosa Dorada. Realizing he’d be hounded to death until Jada got theGarciabrothers’ seal of approval, Tristan had agreed. He wasn’t sure if letting Jada in on this would help her gain that family okay or just make her more anxious.

As he mulled over whether or not he should share more information with her, the car ride descended into silence. Tristan stayed focused on the road while Jada stared out the window with a glazed look. Probably counting the passing palm trees and wishing she could be murdered by their barbed branches instead of stuck with him. Then she perked up, snapping her fingers in an a-ha! gesture. Maybe she’d figured out how to makeTristan’sdeath look like a freak palm tree accident.

“I forgot to mention this, but . . .” She let out a heavy sigh—immediately setting Tristan on edge.

“But what? You’re not backing out, are you?”

“No, I’ve resigned myself to our pact, but my agent found out about the video. She’s not pleased.”

“Ahhh. Who’s your agent again?”

“Avery Kane.” Jada’s look of torment said it all. Not that Tristan didn’t already know the agent’s reputation. Everyone did. Doug had regaled him on some of her more outlandish behavior, like when she accused another agent of stealing her dog or when she got tipsy at the Academy Awards and felt up one of the winners as her “congratulations.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Tristan said, hiding a smirk as he imagined Avery getting slapped with a restraining order by an Oscar winner. He was about to share that particular rumor with Jada when she glared at his smug expression.

“It’s not funny. She’s furious and wants me to meet her at her office tomorrow to explain everything. I have no idea what to say.”

“Stick to the plan. Tell her the story we put together with Doug. He sent out the press release this afternoon so she might already know what ‘really’ happened.”

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