Page 21 of Wingwoman
“Ma’am?” the driver asked. “Are you okay with him joining us in the car?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, it’s fine.”
The driver nodded and in a thick southern accent added, “You change your mind at any point, just say the word and I’ll pull over and kick him to the curb.”
I smiled, unable to help myself. I liked this driver. A lot. “Understood.” The car slid smoothly out of its parked position and turned onto the road back toward my apartment.
“Well, that guy is terrifying,” Josh whispered to me, leaning across the arm rest.
I raised my brow. “Uber driver and bodyguard. Who’d have thought?”
Josh became suddenly serious once more. “I meant what I said. Twenty thousand dollars,” he said. “Exclusive to me. I’ll deposit it into your account tomorrow. Then you’ll have two weeks.”
“Two weeks or… what? I give you the money back? Then I’m out of two weeks of work with other clients and with nothing to show for it.”
He swallowed, his blue eyes heating like the center of flame. “Two weeks to find me a muse… or you yourself have to become the muse. You keep the twenty thousand either way for that two weeks of work. And if you become the muse, I’ll add on an additional thirty thousand dollars.”
The breath punched from my lungs. I swallowed, thoughts buzzing in my head. I could really,reallyuse that kind of money. Twenty thousand for two weeks of work. Another thirty if I agreed to six weeks as his muse.
Wait.Exclusive. He said it was exclusive. “I already signed a client for my time here, so I can’t give you exclusivity.”
He nodded thoughtfully, pulling that corner bottom lip between his teeth. “Is there only the one client?”
I nodded. “She’s the only client I’ve signed so far, yes.”
He looked to the ceiling, thinking for a second before he shook his head. “I can live with that. Exclusivity except for her. Sign no other clients until after the fifteenth. If you find me a muse by then, great. If not, you have to sign on for six weeks as my muse.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”
“Not just yet,” I said. “This can’t be some elaborate scheme to get me to consent to being your muse.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head innocently. But I saw right through the naive act of his. He chewed the inside of his cheek and said, “It’s not a scheme. I truly need a new muse. Whether or not you’ll agree to be that muse yourself. And I need said muse by the fifteenth.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.Why the fifteenth specifically, I wondered. Then again, I suppose it didn’t matter. The date provided was just semantics. “You can’t just say no to good prospects because you’d rather have me. If I present you with perfectly good muse options and you come up with stupid reasons to say no or turn them down for no good reason, I reserve the right to refuse to be your muse. In that case, I will refund you half of the twenty thousand dollar retainer.”
He sighed, obviously not happy with my added terms. “Fine. But you, in turn, can’t just take half the money and run. Iampicky. And specific. So this is subjective. And me turning down potential women isn’t just to get my way, as you might think. I promise, I am out to find a good muse. Right now, you’re her. But I want to find someone whowantsto be my muse as well. So even though I’m reluctant to do so, I’ll agree to your terms.” He held out a palm to me. “Deal?”
I’d be an idiot not to take this gig. Even with the way his eyes held mine and lowered to my mouth, lingering a moment too long as I nervously licked my lips.
I could do this. For twenty thousand dollars? I could find this man a muse and then never think about him again.
I took a deep breath and clasped his palm with mine.. His hand was warm and soft and as he shook my hand, his fingers grazed across my knuckles, shooting tingles of pleasure up my arm to the tips of my breasts.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Josh.”
Six
HOPE
The next day,I couldn’t sleep. I was up at five and went for a three-mile run to burn off my nervous energy. I avoided three calls from my father and instead got on my laptop with a steaming fresh cup of coffee in hand and began Googling Josh Gabriel to learn as much about him as I could.
I studied the women he took to events, but there wasn’t a lot to go on. Most of the red carpet photos were of him and his mother with only a few exceptions, most of which were bleach blondes.
In the images, the blondes clung to him, their arms clutched around his waist or touching the breast pocket of his coat. He, on the other hand, seemed to maintain an emotional separation from the women in the images. His gaze would be in the other direction, smiling at cameras while they looked adoringly up at him. Or his hands would be in his pockets while they hung on his arm like a sloth on a branch.
Whereas in the images with his mother, he engaged with her. His hand draped over hers, resting on his elbow. He laughed, his eyes on her, while she threw her head back, smiling. Proud. She had light brown hair and eyes the same beautiful shade of blue as Josh’s.
But six years ago, the red carpet images with his mother ended. And with another quick search, I discovered she passed away from cancer. Hence, the following series of blondes I saw in the images.
Okay, so he liked blondes. Despite what he claimed in the bar last night, photos don’t lie. And his history suggested blondes. Bottle blondes.
