Taming Hollywood's Ultimate Playboy. Amalie Berlin
“How fast can you pack?”
Grace strapped him into the splint, which at least was of excellent quality and slender enough that it could probably be hidden beneath his dress pants. “Driving home will take—”
“No. I mean whatever medical supplies you need. We’ll pick up whatever personal items you need for tonight and the morning. When we get to New York, we’ll get any restocking of supplies we need too.”
“Your people will get whatever else we need, you mean?” She reached up to grasp the cuff of his pants leg and eased it back down over the splint.
“Yes.” He smiled again, that lopsided, little-boy grin that always made her heart speed up.
She wouldn’t smile. No smiling. Business didn’t need so much smiling. Taking care of him didn’t mean she had to have a sweet bedside manner, just a professional one.
“I’d rather deal with my own clothes, but for now I’m going to get some ice for your ankle, talk to James about whether a diuretic would be acceptable in this situation, and pack a quick bag of supplies. You sit here until I’m ready. The ice might do some good before you get back on your feet.” Grace stood, heading to the freezer to get things started.
This day had certainly taken a turn for the bizarre and uncomfortable. And as stupid as it sounded to her to try and push through this, it wasn’t her job to make celebrities behave rationally. It was her job to try and keep the damage to a minimum, and also the whole rehabilitation thing. She could keep him going for a couple of days if he could ride it out.
That was her job.
And swimming together, in or out of therapy, was right out. At least for the immediate future. The only way she was going to retain some semblance of her sanity around Liam was to keep The Trench Coat Incident as far from her thoughts as possible.
* * *
Grace settled into the forward-facing black leather backseat of the limo, dropping her bag onto the floor at her feet as she settled.
In the quiet interior of the car, the speed of her heart registered. She’d felt it before, hovering in the fringes of her awareness, but here she could hear the speed and analyze the force of the beast tangoing in her chest. It hadn’t really ever come back down since the second she’d seen him standing beside the pool. He probably could hear it now, even sitting three feet away.
She fixed her gaze out the window.
It was still hard to look at Liam too long, even if she knew she was going to have to get used to it. The door shut behind him, and the darkened interior of the limo kept him from reflecting in the glass.
Finally, something going her way. Any brighter in there and the only place to keep from seeing him would’ve been the insides of her eyelids. And that never worked out, she was too good at seeing him there.
“So, about your clothes. You need to let me handle that.”
If she had to look at him, it would be in bright, open places. And if she had to talk to him, it would be about strictly professional subjects, which clothing was not.
“I know I didn’t have time to pack anything but medical supplies, but what I am wearing right now will serve for this afternoon. While you’re at the premiere, I’ll go home, grab some clothes and come back to the hotel.”
“I have a personal shopper.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him fish his phone from his pocket and flip it on. Two clicks later, he had it to his ear. Not listening to her at all.
“I don’t need a personal shopper. I can get my own clothes.” She tried again.
“They will be your own clothes afterward.”
“Liam.” She said his name, forcing herself to become reacquainted with the way it felt on her lips again.
Ten years ago, simply saying his name had made her happy. She would’ve sworn it even had a taste—a slick, plump fullness, luxurious and sensual, like her tongue sliding across her lips to suddenly find cinnamon chocolate fudge...
Now, instead of sweets, his name felt like rocks and sand in her mouth. Sharp. Awkward. Gritty.
“It’s really not a big deal.”
He listened well enough to carry on the conversation, but he clearly wasn’t hearing her.
Ugh.
This kind of thing never happened to her. It probably never happened to anyone outside of Cinderella and Pretty Woman.
And that would make her the prostitute in this situation. Great.
Grace licked her sandpaper lips and took another purposeful breath through her mouth, because although the car might provide her with the ability to stop looking at him, it only amplified the heady cloud of good smells clinging to the man. His scent had been indelibly imprinted on her memories, earthy and rich, like salty air, old forests, and even older heartache. She found herself breathing slowly and deeply.
This was such a bad idea.
She was supposed to be acting professionally. Yelling at a client wasn’t professional. And rolling in his scent was an extremely creepy reaction to being in his presence again.
Everything would be okay, she just needed to get ahold of herself. And maybe explain better, if she could come up with the words.
“I’m sure your personal shopper is lovely.” Diplomatic. Good opening. “But that’s not really the point. I already have clothes. I can take care of my own clothes. We’re not going to be in another state until tomorrow so I have time.”
He stopped participating in the conversation as someone had answered and now he was in full Hollywood mode, greeting and no doubt smiling.
Would he be doing this if she were anyone else?
“My other clients don’t buy me clothing.” She’d had some bring gifts, the kind that had made her feel awkward and—
“What sizes do you wear?”
The close confines of the darkened interior of the back of the limo felt entirely too intimate without him asking personal questions about her clothing.
She shifted to another seat to make room and redirected the conversation. “Turn sideways on the seat so you can stretch your leg out there. Any elevation will help with the swelling.” Ice would have been more helpful, but she hadn’t brought any.
A few seconds ticked by and she heard, “You’re ignoring me?” Incredulity rang in his voice, making her want to turn and look at him.
Then again, everything made her want to look at him. He was singularly the most attractive person she’d ever seen in person—even years later and working at The Hollywood Hills Clinic, which was peopled daily with the beautiful and glamorous.
And her reaction to him was precisely the reason she needed to avoid looking at him excessively or, as it would probably be called, staring in a starstruck and creepy fashion. Though, admittedly, the more he banged this shopping drum, the less she felt like gazing at him like a lovesick cow, and more like smacking him in the back of the head.
Precisely why she needed to keep all talking strictly professional.
“I’m pretending you didn’t just ask a c—” The word creepy nearly sprang out of her mouth, but she managed to stomp the sound down before she used unprofessional language. “It’s really not workplace etiquette to ask those kinds of questions. So, just let me handle any clothing needs I may have on my own.”
“We don’t have time for this, Grace. I’d really rather you blend in, and the clinic logo and your name on your shirt do not help you blend in.” A pause and he repeated into the phone, “I’d like her to blend in with the group.”
His group—she was going to assume that meant his people, in the