I take her hand. “Come on, Addison. It’s just lunch. You have—”
“—to eat, yeah, I know. It’s what you always say.”
“I didn’t know going out with me had become such a burden to you.”
“Stop, that’s not what I mean,” Addison says.
But she’s stung me nonetheless. Having her with me keeps me calm in meetings, helps me stay relaxed, and when I’m relaxed I’m more likely to land a deal or a client or smooth over some clusterfuck of a situation. Addison has no idea how much she’s helped me.
“I need you Addison,” I tell her simply.
She looks torn, and I hope she comes around and says yes. I can’t accept rejection, not in any form. It’s not in my DNA.
“Tell you what,” she says. “I’ll skip the lunch but meet you for dinner. How’s that?”
So now we’re negotiating how we’ll spend time together? Fine. I’ll let her have this one victory. “Dinner tonight then,” I say. “But do me a favor and wear that blue dress.” She looks so sexy and sophisticated in it, the way it cinches at her waist and the cleavage is just enough to make me crazy.
She runs her hands up my arms. “Only if you’re good.”
“You should know by now,” I say, “that I’m never good.”
When I pick her up later that night, she’s wearing the blue dress.
“I knew you would,” I say, leaning across the center console to run my hand across her thigh.
“The things I do for you, Rex Croft,” she says. I kiss her, and it feels like a month since her lips were last on mine. She tastes sweet, like blueberries and an energy drink which is probably all she’s had today. I bet she’s hungry, and I love watching her eat a meal. She is not afraid to go big when she orders, that’s for sure. Not like the little birds I’m used to eating out with.
When we’re seated at the restaurant at my usual table, she does just as I expected and orders the Tuscan chicken with vegetables with a side of pomme frites, which she was delighted to learn is just French fries. Afterward we go for a walk on the Santa Monica Pier, the glowing lights of the games and rides lighting the way. I even buy her a cotton candy.
“I love the way it melts on my tongue,” she says. “Here.” She takes a pinch and feeds it to me. I’d let her feed me glue if it meant having her fingers in my mouth. “I think I’m a little overdressed for the Pacific Plunge. I always wanted to ride it.”
“I’ll rent the whole pier one night. You can ride it as many times as you want,” I tell her.
She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “I have a feeling you’re not joking.”
The night has been perfect, just the two of us taking it easy and enjoying being with each other. Then, from the depths of the crowd, I hear someone call my name. I turn to find the source and my stomach plummets when I see it’s Damien, the producer slime who originally sent Addison to my house.
“Well, look at the two of you,” he says, taking us in. The black T-shirt he wears is too tight for his pudgy belly. This guy doesn’t have a clue. “Hello, Addison.” His eyes rake over her. “It’s lovely to see you again. Don’t you look gorgeous! What a clean up!”
I instinctively step in front of Addison a little, shielding her from whatever bullshit Damien has to say. Just seeing the way he’s leering at her with his beady little eyes churns my stomach.
“What are you up to, Damien?” I say, hoping he’ll move along quickly.
“Clearly not as much as you,” he says. “Don’t the two of you make quite the couple. I thought you said the wife thing was off?”
“Do we look married to you?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he says, looking around me to Addison. “She certainly looks well kept.”
“Watch your mouth, Damien,” I say, heat flaring up my body.
“Calm down, buddy. I’m just saying that it looks like you owe me some money, that’s all. Right is right. You only paid me for one night with her and clearly you’re getting the full treatment after all. Better settle up, don’t you think? I’m not giving the girls away for free.”
With no more thought I grab Damien by his upper arm and drag him to the edge of the pier, away from Addison and anyone else listening to his lewd insinuations.
“Addison Gilmour doesn’t get paid. Got it?” I tell him through clenched teeth. “We’re dating—there’s no money involved. And I don’t like your fucking tone, Damien. You’re lucky I don’t kick the shit out of you for it.”
“Look, man. We made a deal,” he says, holding up his hands as if he hates to break it to me. Makes me want to break his wrists. “All I know is you’re with her now and I never got paid my fair share. Don’t try to jerk me off on this, Rex. I’m the one who sent her to you. You don’t scare me and besides, I know you’ve got the money. What’s a few thousand to a guy like you?” He looks around my shoulder back toward Addison. “More than enough to pay for a sweet girl like her, that’s for sure.”
I grab him and start to throw him off the pier, and he shrieks like a teenaged girl who’s just seen Justin Bieber in person.
“Wait!” he screams. “Jesus Christ, don’t!”
“Can’t swim, you fat fuck?” I say, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and the seat of his pants and starting to edge him over the railing.
“Don’t fucking throw me over, man. Please!” Damien cries.
Finally, I start to calm down.
“And you’re lucky I don’t throw your ass off this pier,” I say as I finally let go of him.
Damien clutches the railing and slides back to the dock, crouching anxiously as he looks up at me.
“Okay, okay,” he says. “I get it.”
“Consider that a warning, you low-life fucking prick. The next time it won’t be so easy to get me off you. You got that? Don’t you ever talk about Addison again. And stay the hell away from me. Stay the hell away from both of us.”
I walk quickly away from him and grab Addison’s hand. We walk until we can’t see Damien anymore, and then I turn back to face her.
She has a stern look on her face and tears in her eyes. She still has the stick of cotton candy in her hand, hanging limp at her side. I get to her quickly. I toss the cotton candy aside and take her hands in mine.
“Are you okay? Addison, that guy is a prick,” I assure her. “If he ever speaks to you again I swear to God…” I shake my head at all the images flashing through my mind of the ways I’d like to destroy him.
“Maybe he’s right,” she says. “Maybe what we’re doing here is—”
“Stop it,” I tell her, stepping closer to her. I stroke her face with my hand, wiping away the tear that hurries down her cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We haven’t done anything wrong. Come on, I’ve seen guys like him a thousand times before, looking for anyway to get some money. Forget him. He’s scum, that’s all. You met him—you know.”
She nods. “The second I met him I knew he was gross.”
“See? So why would you pay attention to anything he says?”