Hollywood Rebel by Misti Murphy

Chapter Eight

 

Summer

“Are you ready to start?” I ask as my heels clip across the polished concrete floor of the open plan living space to where Rebel is lounging on an oversized sofa. The tan leather looks rich and buttery soft.

My laptop is on the coffee table. The cherry red lid is closed. He must have moved it from the kitchen while I was washing the sweat out of my hair in the gym shower.

His blue-eyed gaze tracks my movement with a keenness that is belied by his relaxed, stretched-out posture. “Take a seat, Red.”

I plop down in the armchair opposite him. The square lounger is spacious. I sink into the overstuffed cushioning. I can imagine kicking off my shoes and curling my feet up under me to read a book while enjoying a glass of wine.

I secure the hem of my dress with one hand and cross my aching legs. Turn my phone over in my hands. Open my organizer app. “I want to book you a couple of interviews.”

“No.” He’s donned a pair of vintage jeans, circa the ’90s grunge era. The kind that are washed out and ripped in all the right places to be effortlessly cool. He’s teamed it with a black T-shirt. On the front is a picture of his brother’s band with the L.A. RIOT logo underneath it. Several roped leather cuffs wrap around his wrists. His hair is slightly damp from his own shower, the dark strands twisted and tussled.

My own locks have become an unruly frizzy mess, so the fact that he can do nothing and look like a million dollars is totally unfair.

“I like your hair like that, Red. It looks…” His gaze wanders its way down to my feet and back up again, like he’s taking the time to undress me in his head while he flips open a little plastic container of breath strips. He sticks one in his mouth. “Sexy.”

I tuck one such tress behind my ear self-consciously. My face flushes as I grow warm under the unexpected compliment. Perhaps he was flirting with me earlier after all. I don’t know how I feel about that, only… I did flirt with him too. And I liked it. Even if it was totally unprofessional. Bernadette would probably fire me if she knew how terribly unprofessional I’ve been acting, but he hasn’t given me a choice. “You told me you would do what I asked.”

“What do you think their first question will be?” He drums his fingers on the leather seat. His lip curls to a snarl. He drops the foot he had so casually crossed over his knee to the floor and sits forward. “They’ll want to know why I beat the shit out of that guy.”

It’s a good question. Was he high at the time? Drunk? Does he have an anger management problem? There was so much conjecture when it happened. So many rumors. But Rebel refused to talk about it. The Maddox brothers went silent. His manager wouldn’t take calls.

Knowing the answer will help me work out how to help him. “Why…” I clear the static from my throat. “Why did you assault Alec Hawthorne?”

His jaw is sharp as glass. His gaze is frosty. He clasps his hands in front of him. “Because I fucking felt like it.”

I suck on the inside of my cheek. I suppose it could be true that the man in front of me is a sociopath, but I get the feeling there’s more to the story that he doesn’t want to share. The way he bounces his knee—like he wants to jump to his feet and unleash a torrent of anger or frustration or whatever it is that he’s trying to hide—gives him away.

As much as I don’t like him, I see glimpses of nice through all the thorniness. Like with the strippers last night and when he told me to breathe instead of taking advantage of my freak-out earlier. He’s still dangerous. Oh boy, is he dangerous, but I’m not sure it’s in the way he’s trying to convince me he is.

“We’ll have a list of approved questions that they’ll be allowed to ask,” I state. “You’ll have final approval. I’ll let them know if they veer off-script, you’ll walk. But you need to start rebuilding your presence in the public eye. At some point you will need to face the media again. Let’s do it in a way where we control the narrative.”

He blows out a breath. Humphs. “Can I think about it?”

“We’ll move on for now,” I say. “I want to talk about your interests. Any hobbies?”

“Like what?” He smirks. “Stamp collecting?”

“Sure, if you do it.” I raise my gaze to his. “Do you stamp collect, Rebel Maddox?”

“His interests are women,” Rogue says, striding into the living space. “The kind that aren’t breakable.”

I blink at the twin. They’re identical in looks. Same chiseled jaw and carved cheekbones. Dark hair and long lashes framing icy blue eyes. Same muscular physique. Both men’s arms are covered in tattoos. But where Rebel has brooding and an edge of anger that he wears like armor, Rogue has charm and a gregarious energy that makes him immediately likeable. And a baby blue T-shirt with the slogan Virginity Rocks on it.

I can only assume he’s wearing it ironically.

He takes a seat on the arm of the chair that I’m sitting in. Peering down at me, he smiles with the same full and firm lips as Rebel. Well, almost the same. I noticed earlier that Rebel has a faint white line of a scar in the middle of his bottom lip that is missing on his twin. Rogue offers his hand to shake. “Are you breakable, sweetheart?”

“Summer.” I slip my smaller one into his. Odd. I don’t get that same warm hum under my skin that I do with Rebel. “Summer Heart. Public relations.”

“Public relations?” He arches a brow and purses his lip as he shakes my hand slowly. His gaze rakes my body. “Isn’t that a prudish way to say you’re very good orally?”

“Erm…”

“Get the fuck out,” Rebel growls at his brother. His brows push together like two angry furry caterpillars attacking each other over stormy blue orbs. A nerve pops in his temple.

“Just trying to help, brother.” Rogue winks at me as he releases my hand and stands. “You haven’t had any game since you got out of prison.”

Rebel ignores his brother. “I’m hungry. You hungry, Red?”

“I-I could eat.” Now that the option has been bought to my attention I’m famished. There’s a hollow ache in the empty pit of my stomach. The last thing I managed to eat was a granola bar I found in my bag on my way into the office this morning. Pretty sure it was out of date too.

“Get up then. Let’s go.” He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the chair, putting himself between me and his twin. “We’re going out.” 

Rogue’s smirk widens as Rebel drags me alongside him toward the garage. “Have fun, you two.”

Rebel throws open the door of the car he threatened to run me over with and ushers me forward. “Get in.”

“Is he always like that?” I ask as Rebel drives us to our destination.

“Inappropriate?” Rebel drums his fingers on the steering wheel, glances at me through aviators that send my reflection back at me. “More often than not.”

“What did he mean when he said you like women who aren’t breakable?” I snap my lips shut. Shit. I didn’t mean to ask. I just… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Rogue asked. Am I breakable? What does that even mean? I like to think I’m strong, but the truth is I haven’t always been. I’ve been weak and fragile and easy to hurt.

“Forget about it.” He pulls the car into a space outside a café. “My twin can be a real douche sometimes.”

“Like in bed?” Is that what Rogue meant? A secret thrill bursts through me. My mind wanders back to the fantasy I indulged in last night where he kissed me like he was trying to possess me. It goes back to the mat this morning where he had me pinned down. Is it wrong that my heart beats twice as fast at the idea that once I got control of my panic, being under him was hot?

“I don’t know what he’s fucking like in bed,” he snaps. “And I sure as hell don’t want to consider it.”

“That wasn’t what—”

“Hurry up. I’m starving.” He shuts the door with just the right amount of thud as I scurry to climb out the other side.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I was about to ask him what it would be like to sleep with him, but the truth is I don’t want to know. It’s bad enough that my imagination has free reign of my dreams. I’m usually more in control than this. Except for the night we met, I suppose. I can’t say I was in control of my feet or my head that night.

It’s sunny and mild so we find a table outside. It’s hard to believe it rained so heavily yesterday that my tent collapsed, when the weather is so beautiful today.

My phone pings with an incoming text before I can read the menu.

It’s Bernadette wanting to know how I’m getting on with Rebel. In truth, I think she’s waiting for me to fail. Nobody has much faith in the poster boy of the Hollywood Rebels, and he is my first client. She and everyone at Knightly PR probably think what I already know; I’m out of my depth. The thing is, unlike what they expect, I’m not about to give up.

The server steps up to our table. “Ready to order?”

“Steak for me.” Rebel is curt. “Cheeseburger for her.”

“Hold on. I haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu.”

“Trust me, you want the cheeseburger,” Rebel says.

I scowl at him. “I don’t need you to order for me. I’m perfectly capable of making decisions about what I put in my mouth.”

“I bet you are.” His eyes flicker with amusement and he presses his lips together.

The waiter’s attention volleys between us.

“You are exasperating,” I say as I pick up the menu and hold it between his smug grin and my rosy cheeks. Damn it, the cheeseburger does sound good though. “I’ll have the chicken salad.” 

“I’ll have a beer too. You want one?” He looks on expectantly, like he’s holding out an olive branch. I give the wine list a once over. One drink won’t hurt. “I’ll have a prosecco.”

“I’ll be right back with your drinks.” The server finishes writing our order down and disappears inside.

I dive a hand into my bag and pull out my notepad so I can jot some notes during lunch. Maybe a relaxed setting will help Rebel open up.

“Tell me about your brothers. Rogue and Riot. What is your relationship with them like?” I print their names on the top of the sheet.

“I know their names.”

“Must you be so argumentative over every little thing? Of course you know their names. I wasn’t suggesting you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, it was a stupid question.” He frowns.

The server arrives, creating a lull in the conversation as he puts our drinks in front of us.

“Back to your brothers.”

“We don’t need to talk about them.”

“I beg to differ. You care about them. You seem to be close with them. They live with you, don’t they? Talking about what you like to do together will humanize you. I’m sure they’re willing to help. They must want you to succeed.”

“What about your brothers?” He leans forward and stares me down. “You said you have six. What are their names?”

“We’re not here to talk about me.”

He smiles as he lounges back in his chair and takes a draw from his beer. “New deal.”

“No deal.” I shake my head. “Stick to the one you already made.”

“Yeah, I think I’m changing the rules. Like you did when you cheated.” He winks at me and unlike when Rogue did it earlier, my heart skips a beat.

I can’t tell if I want to be sick or if it’s the fact that my breath gets caught in my throat. “I didn’t. We never said we couldn’t use tickling.”

“Come on, Red,” he cajoles. “It’ll be fun.”

“No. No it won’t.”

“What’s a little tit for tat?” His gaze drops to my chest. “Do you have any tats, Red?”

“One,” I say before I can catch myself. “We’re here to discuss you, not me. I’m irrelevant here.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.”

“Of course you are,” I murmur. “The entire time we’ve known each other you’ve been very disagreeable.”

“I can be very agreeable under the right circumstance, Red.” He chuckles. “What’s the tattoo of? And more importantly where is it hidden?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.” I finger the stem of my wine glass, lift it to my lips and choke down a sip. It’s actually not anywhere near all that perverted. It’s just private to me. Important to me. He wouldn’t understand.

“Somewhere good then.” His lips curl up as his gaze lowers to the table as though he can see through it. He lifts a hand when I open my mouth to tell him it’s none of his business. “No, don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your hip?”

“Can we please get back on track?”

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. Tilts his head to the side. “On your ass then?”

“If I say yes, will you talk about your brothers?”

We both taper into silence when the server arrives with the food. I find myself locked in a stare down with Rebel while the guy places our dishes in front of us.

As soon as the waiter steps away, Rebel folds an arm on the table and leans forward. “It’s not on your ass, is it?”

“Nope.” I pick up my fork and stab a piece of chicken, directing my frustration at the poultry in an attempt to dilute my desire to stab the man across the table instead. He’s infuriating and rude and completely unwilling to help himself, or me for that matter. “And you will never, ever know. Now, you’re going to drop the subject and we’re going to work on your campaign to win back Hollywood.”

“All right.”

“Seriously?” After all that he’s going to give in and be reasonable? Finally. 

“Sure.” He tucks into his sandwich. Chews for a moment. “Rogue is a good guy. He’s a bit of a dick sometimes. You know how brothers can be.”

“I do.” Over my twenty-two years in the Heart family, I’ve watched my brothers fight and cuss and shit talk each other in a way that is only acceptable between close siblings, and I haven’t been exempt from my own share of those love burns. “The three of you are close?”

“You could say that. We do live together.”

“Why is that? You’re all independent.” And they’ve made enough from their acting careers to be able to each buy a home in the Hills. “Yet, you choose to live in each other’s pockets.”

“I don’t really know. Rogue owns a place. He just likes mine better.” Rebel shrugs. “He gets lonely on his own or something. Riot hasn’t seen a reason to move out, and I wouldn’t ask him to. There’s more than enough room for us to keep out of each other’s way. What about your brothers. What are they like?”

I put my fork down to take a sip of my wine and then clasp my hands in my lap. This might be the most normal conversation we’ve had so far, which is why I answer him. “Typical, I guess. Mostly. They can be a little overbearing and protective though.”

“Do they live in the city?”

“No. They do not.”

“Because of the overbearing protectiveness?” he says slowly, before pursing his lips. “Now, why are they so protective of you?”

I swipe my tongue over my teeth. Some things don’t need to be talked about to send ice through your veins. The hair on the back of my nape stands on end and my heart skitters in my chest. What happened that night… the attack… it doesn’t define me. And it’s none of Rebel Maddox’s business. “They’re no more protective of me than any big brother with a little sister. It’s simply that I have more brothers than most. The reason they aren’t here and I am, is I have a job here. And they have a ranch to run.”

“You grew up country?”

“A little place called Devil’s Bend.” I give him that one little tidbit. “What do you and your brothers like to do together?”

He smirks and his lips part.

“Other than drinking and getting laid.” I roll my gaze at him, his ready response unfortunately obvious.

“Actually, I was going to say drinking and fighting. What kind of fucked up family do you think we are? We don’t host familial orgies.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I grab the edge of the table and lean in. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

“You’re the one that keeps bringing us back around to sex.” His lips twitch. “But then you did plant a big old smooch on my ball sack the night we met.”

“I fell,” I admit. “And it was art. It wasn’t your literal—”

“Hmm.” He grins and a twinkle brightens his eyes. “I’m going to have to disagree.”

“It was an accident,” I whisper through clenched teeth. A mistake I have regretted many times since, but no more than I do right now. “I’d had a little too much champagne.”

“Well, if that’s all it takes.” He raises his hand and snaps his fingers. “Waiter. Oh waiter. We need more drinks.”

“Stop it.” I jump out of my seat and grab for his hand. The whole table shakes. My glass falls. White wine drips over the side.

People at the surrounding tables turn their attention to us. My cheeks start to glow with heat. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.” His gaze locks on mine. Eating me up in this weird showdown where I’m holding his hand above his head.

The waiter approaches our table. “What can I get for you?”

“Do you have champagne?” Rebel asks.

“Yes,” the man says.

“I’ll take a bottle,” Rebel tells him as he stands up. His eyes never leave me while the power in our positions changes hands. Towering over me, he helps me back into my seat while he tells the server, “Whatever’s your best.”

“I’ll be right back,” the server says before he leaves us.

“You’re holding my hand,” I snap when he takes his seat again.

“So it appears.” He squeezes my hand and brushes his thumb over my knuckles but doesn’t let go.

“Are you toying with me?” My nerves are aflutter and it’s making me breathless. I’ve never been so deliberately manhandled in public. I should be telling him to let go of me, but I don’t want to. I swallow a mouthful of saliva in an attempt to quell the butterflies.

“Do you not want me to hold your hand?” he challenges me with a hard stare.

“I-I want to work.” I draw my fingers from his grip slowly. “Which is what we’re supposed to be doing.” Not holding hands. Not flirting. Not behaving irresponsibly.

“You like to be good,” he observes. “You don’t like to break the rules.”

“I don’t.” I shake my head. Breaking rules has never done me a damn bit of good. “What else do you and your brothers do?”

He shrugs. Clasps his hands behind his head and leans back. “Riot’s band is good. I haven’t gotten out to see them recently though. We play poker. We run. That’s actually something we’ve done since we were teenagers.”

“Really?”

The waiter approaches with an uncorked bottle and two champagne flutes. The bottle has been stuffed into a silver ice bucket. He fills both glasses with bubbly liquid and then returns the bottle to its icy nesting place, leaving it on the table before retreating.

Rebel presses his lips together. The lines around his eyes deepen. His irises darken. He drains his glass and mine as he stands. “It’s whatever. That’s enough for today.”

We’ve barely scratched the surface, but it’s enough to get started, and honestly I need a break from his hot and cold routine. It’s tiring.

My phone beeps and a text from my best friend Jennie crosses the screen. I need a girl’s night.

Yup, after this, so do I.

Rebel drops several bills on the table and snags the champagne bottle in his fist on his way to the door.

I drop my phone and planner back in my bag and hurry after him. I’ll message Jennie later. “You’re not driving.”

“The fuck I’m not.” He scowls at me.

“You’re under the influence.” I hold out my hand. “Give me the keys.”

“Do you even know how to drive?” He sneers at me.

“Grew up country, remember? I can drive.”

“Fine.” He tosses me the keys to the Impala before he climbs into the passenger seat. “I swear to God, if you hurt Emmy—”

“Emmy? That’s her name? That’s cute.” I slide in behind the steering wheel.

“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?” he snaps. “You were drinking too.”

“I had a couple of sips. Most of my one glass of wine spilled on the floor. Trust me, I’m more than capable.”

“Get her home in one piece,” he grumbles as I start the engine.