Chapter One
“Oh, my God… Josie? Josie Gray?” A young woman with short black hair and a vibrantly metallic dress sidled up to her at the bar in O’Hannigan’s Bar & Grill. “Can I please get a picture with you?”
Josie shot back the glass of tequila and then sucked on the lime, hissing as it hit her stomach hard. She was already four shots in, and each one was helping her forget the giant rejection letter she was carrying around in her purse.
We regret to inform you that the position of sous chef is no longer available blah blah blah.
She got the point. She was never going to be a chef. Every job application she’d sent in over the last year had been turned down.
Not that she was allowed to do what she wanted.
“Sure,” she replied, finally turning to the woman and putting on her best fake smile.
The woman held up her iPhone, turning the camera around to face them, and put on her best duck face as she posed next to Josie.
Josie just smiled and then turned back to the bar as soon as the photo was taken.
“Another one,” she indicated to the bartender, but when she lifted her hand to motion, she knocked over her glass. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter, but it made a loud-ass noise as it clattered against the bar.
The bartender shook his head, casting her a pitying look. God, she hated that. “Miss Gray, I think you’ve had enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?”
“No,” she sighed loudly. Admittedly, she was getting tired and had probably had enough. Plus, she couldn’t really afford TMZ writing an article about how the reality television star was wasted and falling all over herself at a local bar. Hell, it was the entire reason she’d come to this place off the strip to begin with—anonymity. So much for that. “I’ll order a Lyft. Thank you, though.”
She paid her check and then pulled out her phone to order a ride through a rideshare app. Honestly, she wasn’t normally like this. She didn’t regularly get drunk by herself at a bar off the Las Vegas strip in a seedy part of town.
Hell, this entire town was a seedy part of town, depending on how one looked at it.
She’d spent her entire life living in Las Vegas, though, so it was home to her. She was comfortable with its antics and qualms. Something about it…she could handle. At least, that was what she told herself.
Pulling her sweater up around her shoulders, she grabbed her purse and decided to wait for her Lyft out front. She could really use the still night air to sober her up before getting in a lurching car ride. God forbid she puke in the back of someone else’s car.
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, 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 and then glanced back up at her. “I bet it would look real pretty on your chocolate skin.”
Do I look like a damn candy bar to you?
Josie pulled her sweater tighter around her, hoping the Lyft would show up. “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 grasp.
“Don’t be such an uppity little bitch,” the 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 man’s jaw.
He staggered back and released Josie’s wrist, causing her to fall to the ground. He clutched his 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. Now.”
The older man scurried away like a dog with his tail between his legs.
Josie wasn’t sorry to see him go.
The newcomer turned back to her, concern etched on his features, his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“I…I think so?” She examined her wrist, wincing at the pain.
He noticed her expression. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No way. I’m not spending all night in a hospital room when I know it’s not broken. It probably just needs some ice.”
Plus, she couldn’t afford the fallout 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 lilt in his voice. “Useful.”
“Th-Thank you for your help,” she stammered, trying to find something to say to this incredibly gorgeous man who’d just ridden 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’d 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.
“Need a ride home?” he asked, motioning to a sleek black SUV parked against the curb. Of course, it had to be a freaking Range Rover.
Who the hell was this guy? It certainly wasn’t unusual in Las Vegas to run into 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 was the story she was going with 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 gawk-worthy. Chiseled muscles on every inch of his body that she could see. Long, wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail and blue eyes that made her knees feel like they were made of Jell-O.