Page 120 of Just One Night

Traffic is lined up bumper to bumper, and I question why anyone in their right mind would ever want to live in thisshit.

“Almost five years,” he replies. “I got hired right after your brother did, but I don’t travel with her. I only drive when she’s in LA.” He peers over at me. “Dallas was damn good at his job. I hope he passed that skill and professionalism onto you. And I hate to bring up the subject, but I want to express my condolences to your family.” He shakes his head with anguish crossing over his face–like a dark rush of pain has hit him. “I lost my wife to cancer last year. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to possibly have the chance of losing her so early. Losing all of thoseyears.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, and thank you. My sister-in-law is as tough as nails. She’ll make it through this, stronger than ever.” At least that’s what I want to make myself believe. We’re all doing our best to staypositive.

We make small talk the rest of the ride, and Jim punches in the passcode when we stop in front of a security gate. He drives up to a lavish Spanish-style home that looks like it could house three families. Homes in Blue Beech are nothing this extravagant. Cameron and I were renting a two-bedroom farmhouse that looked like a shack compared to thisplace.

“Hot damn,” I mutter. “Some crib for a twenty-five-year-old.”

Jim parks and cuts the ignition. “Working on a long-standing, Emmy-award-winning TV show gives you a pretty decentpaycheck.”

“I’d sayso.”

It’s too excessive for one person, in my opinion. A place like this would make someone feel lonelier thanhell.

“Does she live here by herself?” Iask.

“She does. Her sister used to stay with her sometimes, but she moved to New York six monthsago.”

I step out of the car and get a whiff of vanilla when I walk through the front door. I look around, admiring the hardwood floors and cathedral ceilings before making it to the living room where there’s a massive stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that give me one of the most remarkable views I’ve everseen.

I get why she bought this placenow.

That fuckingview.

I could sit out there and think for hours with a sight likethat.

Two women walk into the room, their mouths dropping when they notice me. I rudely return the stare while watching them move our way. I recognize Stellaimmediately.

How could Inot?

She’s all over the magazines in the checkout aisle and on TV. Cameron used to make me watch award shows with her where this chick won all the time for people’s choiceshit.

What I wasn’t expecting is how breathtakingly beautiful sheis.

My eyes stay pinned to her full-figured body. She’s enthralling, flawless, fucking perfection. No wonder every camera wants a shot ofher.

Stella Mendes is a woman who can bring a man to his knees with even the slightest hint of a smile. Hell, she doesn’t even have to smile. Just her presence makes you hungry formore.

Fuckme.

Good thing I’m only here until they find someone else to take over thejob.

I always assumed they made people look better on TV with make-up … Photoshop … some kind of fake shit, but that notion is slipping further into the dust with every step she moves incloser.

Straight hair the color of coal flows down her shoulders and over her chest, framing a heart-shaped face with only minimal make-up. White, skin-tight jeans that show off her endless curves stop only a few inches away from her ankles, and the black silk tank hanging loose on her shoulders gives me a glimpse of skin the color of honey that I’m sure feels even smoother. Her wide set, cocoa brown eyes are warm. Her smile isinviting.

But her attractiveness doesn’t change my opinion of her. She might be gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person. Cameron has read me stories from her gossip magazines about Stella being a spoiled diva who expects people to jump when she hollers. There have been times it’s been difficult for Dallas to come home for the holidays because of her hecticschedule.

That shit won’t fly withme.

I’ll work for her, but I won’t be ordered around like adog.

She pushes out her sun-kissed hand complete with a pink manicure when she reaches me. “Hudson, thank you for coming.” Her voice is flat, telling me I’m not the only one unexcited for thisarrangement.

I shake her hand–her soft palm causing friction against my calloused one. “No problem.” My answer is as flat ashers.

She jerks her head towards the petite redhead at her side that looks about the same age as her. She’s dressed more comfortably than Ms. Hollywood–wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a black t-shirt that saysGo Fuck Your Selfie.“This is my assistant,Willow.”

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