All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(4)

Her cousin strode away, and a small, irrational part of her wanted to spite him. To call him back and renege on her offer and free both herself and Alex, if only temporarily.

But Ron was offering an eye-popping salary and covering all her expenses—including the rent on her duplex back in North Hollywood—for months. All so she’d watch over one man, who, recent brawl and current fury notwithstanding, had the reputation of being charming enough, if somewhat reckless and overly blunt on occasion.

A delightful asshole, his costar Carah Brown had famously called him.

With the money she’d save watching over him, Lauren could take all the time in the world before she decided whether to return to the ER or join her friend’s group practice. And what could be farther from an emergency room than the windswept coast of Spain or a television star’s Hollywood Hills guesthouse?

So, yeah, she could handle Mr. Woodroe’s anger, and she didn’t care if he considered her ridiculous and ugly or thought she had a beaky, birdlike nose. Of course he was angry after being injured, jailed, and then dressed down in front of a stranger by his condescending asshole of a boss. And of course a man that beautiful—with thick hair a rich shade of golden brown, long enough to brush his collar and fall in front of his eyes if he didn’t push it back; intense eyes the color of a rain cloud, still gorgeous despite all his bruising; handsome features accented by a neat beard; and an immaculately honed body—would disdain a woman like her.

Her nose was beaky. Also crooked from that incident her first month at the ER, when she hadn’t ducked a tray quickly enough.

She was fat and short too, and she’d been mocked by people much more vicious than him. He’d called her ridiculous, and the word was apt. She’d certainly experienced plenty of ridicule in her life. She’d grown accustomed to it.

His contempt meant nothing to her. She’d do her damn job, and she’d do it well, no matter what he said.

She swiveled to face him. “You were asking me something when Ron interrupted.”

“Um …” He was watching a gull pick at props left overnight on the battlefield, his brow creased in seeming concentration. “Oh, yes. Tell me, Lauren, what would you do if I wanted to go to another bar after work tonight?”

He meant to begin their work relationship with a test of her boundaries, then.

Fair enough. They might as well make those boundaries clear from the beginning. “Ron said no more bars, so I’d tell you to go to a sit-down restaurant or your hotel room instead.”

“What if I went anyway?”

“I’d call Ron,” she said without hesitation.

He barked out a laugh sharp as a scalpel. “You’d tattle on me?”

Nope. She wasn’t taking that bait. “I’d do my job.”

“What if I went to a club?”

“I’d go with you.”

“What if I met a woman and we”—he raised his brows suggestively—“got acquainted in a dark corner?”

“As long as you didn’t violate local indecency laws, I’d leave you alone, but keep you in sight.”

By that point, he was looking less belligerent and more entertained. “If I did violate public indecency laws, what would you do then? Tackle me around my knees and slap a chastity belt on me?”

“I’d interrupt, and if you continued regardless, I’d call Ron.”

At the mention of her cousin, Alex’s incipient smile died.

“What if I decided to get rip-roaring drunk in my hotel room?” His chin jutted in her direction, its firmness evident even through his full beard. “What then, Nanny Clegg?”

“As long as you didn’t cause a disturbance and weren’t in medical danger, it wouldn’t be my business. I’d leave you to it.”

He paused. “What if I were in medical danger? You’d call Ron?”

“First, I’d call an ambulance or drive you to the hospital myself. Then, yes, I’d call Ron, because you’d be unlikely to show up for work the next day, and word of your stay in the ER might spread in the media. I’d also contact anyone who could help you defend yourself against Ron’s subsequent retaliation.” She frowned. What type of team did stars like him have, anyway? “You have an agent and a lawyer, right? What about a publicist? Or maybe an assistant?”

The sneer had bled away, replaced by a look she couldn’t quite interpret.

“Whoever can advocate for you, you should probably give me their numbers. Just in case.” She lifted a shoulder. “Things happen, despite our best intentions.”

He moved a step closer to her, his brow furrowed.

Funny. A man who, according to Ron, had been wasted enough to get into a bar fight only a handful of hours ago should still smell like alcohol.

He didn’t. He smelled like generic hotel shampoo. And he didn’t appear hungover either. Just injured and spent.

“I’ll give you their information before we leave the set tonight.” He cocked his head and studied her. “So … what happens now? Are we supposed to socialize in my trailer or hotel room whenever I’m not working or sleeping?”

“From what I understand—”

“I’ll braid your hair if you’ll braid mine, Lauren.” His gray eyes were sharp on hers in the warm morning light. “We can tell ghost stories by flashlight. Maybe toast a few marshmallows over the hotel room radiators.”