Escorting the Actress by Leigh James

Lowell

I lockedthe door to my room that night. I wasn't sure if I was locking Kyle out… or locking myself in.

I was being silly. He would never come in unless I invited him. And I knew that I would never invite him.

But he was here, in my house, just a few rooms away. Sleeping. Probably in his underwear. I clapped my hand over my eyes as if that could block out the picture in my head.

The picture in my head looked good. Too good. I could just imagine his abs, rippled and defined from all of his years surfing and lifting weights. So yummy…

I suddenly realized that I was ravenous. For all sorts of things.

And I was going to have to starve myself for the foreseeable future.

At least I'd make my director happy.

---

I checkedmy phone first thing in the morning, like always.

Nice work,read a text from Shirley. Keep it up.

Almost as good as Channing Tatum!Tori's text read. Call me when you can—I want details!

I could just picture her, heading out on her run first thing this morning, a bundle of nervous excitement and optimism. I needed to call her and let her know the truth about Kyle and who he was to me. Besides just being my escort.

I groaned inwardly and kept reading.

The producers have decided that you can come to the set today for a meeting,Lucas texted. But I'm not promising anything.

I sighed and put my phone back down. The good news was, I got to go back to work. The bad news was, it was because of a lie.

Coffee. I pushed everything else aside. Must. Get.Coffee.

I dragged myself out of bed and rummaged around in the kitchen. Kyle padded out a few minutes later in nothing but his boxer briefs, looking just the way I'd imagined. His pectoral muscles were large and carved over his six-pack… or was it a twelve-pack? I looked at it quizzically, pondering this important question, while I examined the chiseled lines of his abdomen and simultaneously tried to count the packs. My mouth pooled with saliva. I was literally a Pavlovian dog, salivating over the hot man in my kitchen.

"Hey, Lo," he said, the shit-eating grin back on his face.

"Hey." My voice was dazed.

Starving. I'm starving, and I can't have anything I want. Not a croissant, not a bagel with cream cheese, not a… Kyle.

"Kyle!" I yelped, coming to my senses. I spun toward my coffee machine so I couldn't look at him anymore. "Good morning. Please go put some clothes on."

I heard him yawn, and it sounded as though he was stretching all of those packs. Good lord.

"Can I have some coffee first?" he asked, sounding chipper.

Great. Not only was he hot and half-naked, he was also a morning person. I punched the start button on my Keurig, but I wanted to punch myself instead.

"Aw, come on, Lo," he said. "It's not like you've never seen me like this before."

I handed him the coffee without turning around. I'm pretty sure you didn't look like that the last time I saw you.

"Clothes," I insisted, starting a cup for myself.

"Fine," he said. I heard him shuffle out.

I hurried into my room, gulping my coffee. I had bigger problems than Kyle's abs to deal with. I had to go face the firing squad today—my director, my producers, and all the other men connected with the film I was working on. Who were the very mansplainers I'd complained about… in that little video that had been viewed all over the Internet.

Closely followed by the video of me oversharing my personal problems and bodily fluids, there were the new pictures of me. Making out with my mysterious, sexy boyfriend who came out of nowhere. Who was secretly my escort. Who was also my stepbrother.

Shit. I was going to need another cup of coffee. Stat.

Usually I dressed for work in sweats and an oversized grey T-shirt; I rarely, if ever, wore makeup because the makeup artists plastered so much on when I got there. Today I pulled on a pair of capri leggings and a pretty pink tank top, and I put on just a little makeup. Just a dab, along with some mascara. For the producers, of course.

A few minutes later, I poured two more cups of coffee in to-go mugs and found Kyle waiting for me by the door. He was dressed in a tight-fitting T-shirt (which I refused to think about), sexy cargo shorts (and I refused to think about why they were sexy, because I was pretty sure I had no idea), and leather thong flip-flops (the words leather thong throbbed in my brain, and I wished that I could punch myself so hard that I would shut up for a long, long time).

"You ready?" I asked, trying to pretend I was normal.

"Is that coffee for me?" he asked. I handed it to him, nodding, and he smiled. "Then I'm absolutely ready." I went to open the door, and he stopped me. "There are at least ten different photographers out there." He smoothed down my hair and turned my face into the light, inspecting it. "You look good."

"Thanks," I said, pulling back from his scrutiny. I pushed by him to get to the window.

Kyle was right. I saw four plainly visible photographers on the sidewalk, looking bored. My neighbors couldn't be happy with me. There were other actors living on the street, and they guarded their privacy jealously. Our little neighborhood was for up-and-comers—we didn't have a gated community or security to keep out the paparazzi. We only had our best behavior for that.

My best behavior had gone rogue. "Ugh."

"Look at it as an opportunity," Kyle said. "We can show them that we're a legitimate, well-behaved couple that leaves for work early in the morning. Not an angry, tequila-swilling starlet and her disinherited escort-stepbrother." He grinned at me.

"When you put it that way," I said, staring out the window, "I just want to throw up."

"You're a good actress, Lo," he said. "You can do this."

"I know."

He just raised his eyebrows at me.

"I mean, thank you." I grabbed his hand, annoyed that part of me felt excited by his touch. "Let's do this. And it's okay for me to be confident about my job, you know."

"Oh, I know—that's why I couldn't believe you let that mansplainer director upset you. You should be beyond that."

"I'm not beyond needing a paycheck," I said.

"I hear that," Kyle said, leading me out the door.

We pulled our sunglasses down at the same time, simultaneously balancing our coffees. Then we clasped hands again. If I'd been in a different frame of mind, I might have thought we looked cute.

"Good morning," Kyle called to the photographers. "Nice to see us all up and at it so early. Must mean good things for the economy."

"Good morning, Kyle. You were a big hit last night!" one of the photographers called. "Quick question—what do you do for work?"

Kyle nodded at him. "I'm in SEO consulting. In New York."

"Where'd you two meet?" called another one.

Before I could even try to answer, Kyle was flashing his blinding-white teeth at them. "I gave her a surfing lesson. I surf in my spare time."

"Cool!" one of the other guys called.

"It was totally cool. She was wearing a bikini," Kyle said, his teeth glinting mesmerizingly in the early-morning sun.

"Smile, Lowell!" one of the photographers called. "No reason to scowl when you have a man who loves you like that! No matter who you threw up on earlier this week!"

I smiled at the photographer even though I would have been thrilled to just dump my coffee over his head. We posed for more pictures then got into the safety of my car before I let the scowl settle onto my face.

"Asshole," I said.

"Well, he complimented me," Kyle said. "Which by extension—as I'm your better half—is a compliment to you too."

I gave him a grim look. "No more talking. Coffee. Just coffee."

"But we have so much to catch up on," Kyle said, showing no intention of being silent. "How's Caroline, by the way? What's she up to these days?"

I sighed, turned onto the freeway, and settled into the traffic. "You don't want to know how she is, Kyle. Remember? You hate my mother."

"I don't hate her now. When she waltzed into my lifewhen I was a teenager, throwing my dead mother's furniture out of the house and trying to ground me all the time, then I hated her. Now that she's nowhere near me, I can confidently say I only mildly despise her."

My mother actively loathed Kyle. When she'd replaced the draperies in Kyle's dad's house, he sneered at her.

"My mother had those custom-made in Paris," he'd said. "But I guess being from Texas, you couldn't appreciate that."

My mother had burned the curtains in a bonfire out back that night. Then she made Pierce buy her a newer, bigger house. With custom-made drapes. From Italy.

He said, "So. What's the evil old gold-digger been up to?"

I sighed in disgust, although he sort of had a point. "She got married again. And divorced again." Talking about my mother made me feel exhausted. Because she was exhausting. "Now she's traveling across Asia. She called me from someplace in Japan yesterday. She's on a spiritual journey. Or something. They aren't supposed to have any screens. They're just drinking kombucha and chanting their way across the continent."

"Hopefully she's busy finding inner peace over there. I don't think she'd like to see you online, puking one night and lip-locked with me the next."

"I told her I'd gotten into some trouble. She threatened to send over her personal trainer." I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. I hoped my mother would honor the no-screens rule. She would have a flipping heart attack if she knew about Kyle or saw the video. "But thanks—way to point out the upside."

"She must be thrilled that you're so successful."

"She's so thrilled, she's downright scary. It was her idea, you know. After she and your dad got divorced, she thought she might try acting—but she tried out for a couple of roles and didn't get anything. So she enrolled me in acting classes." And got my hair colored and straightened, got me a posture coach, took me to the dermatologist, and consulted with a plastic surgeon to see if I should have my nose done.And had my teeth bleached. "She was pretty happy when my teacher said I was gifted."

"Why am I not surprised?"

I shrugged. "It turns out that I love it. I've finally found my 'thing.' Then I started auditioning and getting parts pretty quickly. I do have to thank my mother for that." Even though she's been living through me vicariously and draining my bank account like a rabid vampire ever since. "But my ultimate goal is to start my own production company someday. I'd like to produce movies that are more female-oriented. With roles you don't have to take your shirt off or starve yourself for."

"You should totally still take your shirt off in your movies," Kyle said, grinning. I glowered at him, and his face turned serious. "When it's artistically appropriate, I mean."

"How's your dad?" I asked, desperate to change the subject from both my mother and from me being topless.

"He's fine. He's working on some super-secret app up in Cambridge. He says he's never getting married again."

"My mom said the same thing."

"Is she still supporting herself with her divorce settlement from my dad?" Kyle asked, and I heard the bitterness in his voice. "Or has she moved on to the next one?"

"She… spent your dad's money. Then, like I said, she got married again and divorced again. That's all gone too."

As soon she'd cashed the check from husband number four, she'd gotten a full facelift and breast lift. She said she needed to feel "refreshed." So she bought a luxury condominium with closet after closet stuffed with designer clothes, then she had the plastic surgery, then she took the spiritual journey to the East, where she intended to "cleanse" herself. She had unplugged from electronics, was only eating fresh, whole foods, and was spending a large chunk of money to do yoga in ancient temples she knew nothing about.

I was the one financing her adventures now. She'd shown me all of the clothes she'd bought for the trip. Thousands upon thousands of dollars' worth of yoga pants and organic cotton tank tops. I'd felt sick when I looked at them all, the tags still on, spread all over her room.

"She's not a bad person, you know," I said defensively. "After my father left her—with a newborn baby, no job, no education, and no family to lean on—she did what she felt she had to do. She got married to someone who'd take care of us. That was her job. She's not perfect, but she did her best."

"Are you saying that for my benefit or yours?" Kyle asked.

In response, I had another sip of my coffee.

"Sorry. Your mother's always managed to push my buttons," Kyle said, looking out the window. "But let's switch gears. Are you nervous about going in this morning?"

I didn't take my eyes off the road. "It's more like I'm overwhelmed with dread."

"It's gonna be okay. You didn't say anything too horrible. You didn't name names."

I kept my death-grip on the steering wheel. "I didn't have to name names—I'm sure everyone involved in this film knows who I was talking about. And so does half of Hollywood." I blew out a deep breath. "I'm just going to have to apologize. And tell them that the movie's really important to me."

"Is it? Do you love the movie?" he asked.

"No," I said too quickly. Then I felt bad, as if I was being mean to my movie, which it didn't deserve. "It's not like it's a bad movie. It's just not a good movie. You know what I mean?"

"Of course," Kyle said. "Most movies are like that."

"But I need this movie. If I get fired, I'll never get another job in this town. That's how it works. Hence the overwhelming feeling of dread."

Kyle put his hand on my knee and squeezed. Before I had the chance to bite his head off, he released me.

"You can make this okay," he said. "No matter what you feel. Just give 'em a show. You can do it. I've seen all your movies. You're a star for a reason."

I looked at him for a second then quickly brought my eyes back to the road. "You've seen all my movies?"

I didn't understand why, but my face flamed at the thought. I knew people saw my movies. I just didn't know Kyle had seen my movies. All of them. That fact unnerved me more than I cared to admit.

I'd taken off my top in one of those movies. You couldn't see anything, but I'd still taken it off. So he'd seen my shoulders. Naked.

"Of course I saw them all," he said, his voice casual. "When you have a famous relative, it's totally okay to stalk their movies. Plus, I liked them. Most of them, anyway."

"Oh, I didn't know."

"The Family Pride was my favorite," he said and grinned at me.

I cringed. The Family Pride was the movie where I'd played the misunderstood nerd who later became a famous actress. It was also the movie featuring my naked shoulders.

"It seemed so… natural, that role. Like it was written for you. I especially liked the part when you took your shirt off. It was very cinematic."

"Ha ha, Kyle." I tried to focus on driving. "That movie was hard for me. Obviously it hit close to home."

I'd played the main character, who was seriously dorky in high school and decided that the only way she could escape her controlling mother was to become successful in her own right. Meredith Striper, a famous actress, had played my mother in the movie; my own mother hadn't been impressed.

"What did Caroline have to say about that one?" Kyle asked.

"She didn't care for it," I admitted.

Kyle snorted. "Oh, I bet she didn't."

"Not for the reasons you might think," I said, inwardly cringing. "She didn't actually understand the movie. She thought it was too slow. And she thought Meredith Striper was too old to play my mother."

Kyle practically spit out his coffee. "That's all she had to say about it?"

Now it was my turn to grin. "She also said my hair looked bad."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Kyle said. "Except I know you're not."

"No, I'm not," I said. Suddenly we were both laughing.

"Between your mom and my dad, really, it's no wonder that we ended up in this car together." Kyle was laughing so hard he was snorting. "They put the 'fun' in dysfunction."

"Right? It's so messed up, but it makes perfect sense. I mean, it would make perfect sense to our therapists. I almost think they deserve each other—Caroline and Pierce."

Kyle raised his eyebrow and looked at me. "They just might."

"I wouldn't wish Caroline on anybody though. Maybe not even your dad. You thought she was bad before? Now she's bad and gluten-free, wearing sanctimonious organic cotton yoga pants." It was my turn to snort. "You don't know what bad is."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Kyle said, sounding as if he meant it.