She debated canceling the Lyft and just calling her driver, but then he would tell her brother where she’d been and she’d never hear the end of it. No, she needed the time off the clock and away from the freaking cameras.
“Hey, Miss,” a voice called out to her as she stood on the front steps of the bar trying to take some deep breaths. “You left this on the bar.”
She turned to see an older gentleman, maybe twenty years her senior, approaching her. He was holding a tube of lipstick. She didn’t recognize it and it certainly wasn’t hers. She never wore lipstick.
She shook her head. “That’s not mine.”
“Are you sure?” He frowned, then glanced back up at her. “I bet it would look real pretty on your chocolate skin.”
Josie pulled her sweater tighter around her, hoping the Lyft decided to show up sooner rather than later. “It’s not mine,” she repeated.
“Why don’t you try it on?” he insisted. “Let’s just test it out.”
“No.” She moved away from him, but he approached her faster.
“Just try it on, sweet thing.” He grabbed her wrist and twisted it, yanking her backward. “I just want to see how it looks on ya.”
“Let go of me!” she yelled, struggling to free her arm from his grasps.
“Don’t be such an uppity little bitch,” the older man said, squeezing her wrist tighter and tighter until she cried out in pain. “I’ve seen you on TV before.”
“Hey!” A fist came out of nowhere and landed squarely against the older man’s jaw.
He staggered back, releasing Josie’s wrist and clutching his bruising face. “What the hell?”
“The lady said let go,” the owner of the fist—a tall, buff young man who looked like a brick wall stuffed in a suit—instructed her attacker. “I suggest you listen to women when they talk. I’d also suggest you leave and not come back. Now.”
The older man scurried away like a dog with his tail between his legs. She wasn’t sorry to see him go.
The newcomer turned back to her, concern etched on his features as his brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“I…I think so?” She got back up to her feet and examined her wrist, wincing at the pain.
He noticed her expression right away. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No way,” she opposed the idea right away. “I’m not spending all night in a hospital room when I know it’s not broken. It just needs some ice probably.”
Plus, she couldn’t afford the fall out from the media over yet another family scandal. It was bad enough that her entire family was on a reality television show thanks to her brother’s career that chronicled her every move, but knowing that any little thing she did could be used as fodder for an episode was a nightmare waiting to happen.
“See, I can still move it?” She gingerly moved her wrist.
A small smirk played across his lips and she couldn’t help but notice a slight Irish accent to his words. “Useful.”
“Thank you for your help,” she stammered, trying to find something to say to this incredibly gorgeous man who’d just rode in like Prince Charming and saved her life. “I’ll just go find my Lyft now.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, seeming to ignore everything she just said.
“Josie.” It was a nice change of pace to run into someone who didn’t know who she was. Although, that wasn’t very unusual with men because they weren’t really the target demographic for her family’s show.
He nodded. “I’m Callan.”
“Nice to meet you, Callan.” She started to walk away again, but he interrupted her again.
“Need a ride home?” he asked, motioning to his car parked against the curb. Of course, it had to be a freaking Range Rover. She wondered who the hell was this guy. It certainly wasn’t unusual in Las Vegas to run in to celebrities, but she didn’t recognize him…although something about his face…he did look familiar.
She glanced down at her phone and checked her Lyft app. Her driver was still thirteen minutes away. What the hell? She canceled the ride. “Sure? Why not.”
A ride with a life-saving, potential celebrity sounded safer anyway than with a total stranger vetted only by an app. At least, that’s the story she was going to tell herself to convince herself to get into the car with this drop dead handsome man. And when she said drop dead handsome, she meant it. The dude was gawking-worthy. Chiseled muscles on every inch of his body that she could see. Long, brown wavy hair tied back in a pony tail, and blue eyes that made her knees feel like they were made of jello.
“Is this your car?” she asked, motioning to the Range Rover.
He nodded and opened the passenger door for her. “Hop in.”
“Hold on. One second.” She walked around to the front of the car and took a picture of the car and license plate and sent it off in a quick text to her best friend, Emily.
“Did you just take a picture of my license plate?” he asked, one brow raised as he watched her.
“And texted it to my friend,” she confirmed, waltzing past him and climbing into the passenger seat of the car.
He chuckled, leaning against the door frame. “Can I ask why?”
“In case you murder me, obviously.” She turned to face him, giving him a deadpan expression like it was the most obvious thing ever. Honestly, it was. Her mother had taught her that trick years ago, and you learn a thing or two growing up in Las Vegas. Men are a lot less likely to act nefariously when they know they’re being held accountable by an anonymous third party.
A grin spread wide across his face and it only made his beautiful features all the more glorious. “Smart lady.” He closed her car door and she watched as he walked around the car and then climbed into the driver’s seat. “Where to, Ms. Precaution?”
Maybe it was the tequila talking, or maybe it was the fact that he was daring her to throw caution to the wind, or maybe she was just fed up with the monotony of her life and wanted to throw a wrench at things. She wasn’t sure what made the next words come out of her mouth. All she knew was that she said them and she didn’t want to take them back…and thank God, she didn’t.
“Take me to your place.”
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About the Author
Sarah Robinson first started her writing career as a published poet in high school, and then continued in college, winning several poetry awards and being published in multiple local literary journals.
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Never expecting to make a career of it, a freelance writing Craigslist job accidentally introduced her to the world of book publishing. Lengthening her writing from poetry to novels, Robinson published her first book through a small press publisher, before moving into self-publishing, and then finally accepting a contract from Penguin Random House two years later. She continues to publish both traditionally and indie with over 18+ novels to her name with publishers like Penguin, Waterhouse Press, Hachette, and more. She has achieved awards and accolades including 2021 Vivian Award Finalist, Top 10 iBooks Bestseller, Top 25 Amazon Kindle Bestseller, and Top 5 Barnes & Noble Bestseller. She has been published in three languages.