First Taste (The Lust List: Devon Stone #1) (5 page)

Messing with my phone only wasted a minute of this night, and I find myself staring at the fruit-shaped inlay on top of my closed laptop. I open it, and the search results for Devon are still on the screen. Unable to contain my curiosity, I open the one that stood out to me the most:

“Rose May Have the Key to His Heart, But Who’s Got the Key for the Cuffs?”

Our favorite bad boy of the Stone Empire is making headlines again. Devon Stone can’t seem to settle down even now that he has the beautiful Kennedy Rose (Tempest Ultra) faithfully at his side.

This article is from over two years ago. A picture to the right shows Devon with his hair a little longer than it was today and subtle facial hair that makes his jawline even stronger. Next to him, a gorgeous woman smiles. She has spunky, short hair dyed pitch black and porcelain skin covered in bold makeup. It’s obvious she’s a rock star, and I could never follow that act. She’s stunning and exudes personality.
She
could handle Devon.

I scroll down, skimming through the article hoping to learn more about “the key to his heart”.

Even Rose can’t tame this one. On Saturday, June 2, she and Stone were on a flight to Miami when a First Class fight broke out. Stone was taken into custody after allegedly starting a physical altercation with another passenger. He managed to get one punch in before air marshals restrained them. Stone remained under the marshals’ supervision until the plane landed safely at its original destination.

It goes on to explain how Calvin Stone, his father, flew over in his private jet to bail him out, but I’m more distracted by the photo that’s appeared on the left.

A very angry Devon Stone. Handcuffed. A solemn look on his face as he’s being escorted by someone in a uniform.

I don’t know why this appeals to me. But Devon’s messy hair. His clenched jaw. The metal restraints forcing his hands behind his back.

I feel an ache deep inside as I look at him and think back to how close he was to me earlier.

And how I’ll see him again tomorrow.

I’m entirely too turned on by this.

The paperwork may be ready, but I certainly am not. I’m wearing another one of Maddie’s dresses, this one’s light blue with short sleeves, and I’m reminded I have no idea what I’m going to wear to the party itself. Standing in front of the mirror, I fix my hair for the twentieth time and double check that my tinted lip-gloss isn’t on my teeth.

My breath is minty fresh. I remembered antiperspirant. I even put a couple coats of matte gray on my nails.

“You remember you’re just going to work right?” Maddie appears in the bathroom doorway, eyeing me suspiciously.

Yesterday was spent convincing myself, with clear proof to substantiate it, that Devon and I would never work. But this morning, I seem to have woken up with amnesia. The mere thought that I might run into him again is sending waves of exhilaration through my veins. And I’m nervous as hell.

My heart flutters, and an involuntary smile gives me away.

“…Unless you’re planning on following through on some other scheme?” Maddie says.

“What? No. Just work.” I push past her and go to my room to finish getting ready. “Don’t overthink it, Maddie,” I call to her.

“I don’t think I’m the one you need to tell that to.”

I slip on my only pair of heels—it’s a risky move but it completes the ensemble—and I grab my purse, checking the mirror one last time. I look good. Definitely dateable—I mean, professional.

I move toward the front door. I’m eager to leave even with my heart palpitating like crazy. My phone buzzes right as my hand touches the door handle.
Right on time.

“And turn off your—”

I shut the door behind me, interrupting Maddie in mid-sentence. Doesn’t she know I need to get to work?

Getting through the gates yesterday was a mild obstacle. Today, I see it’s going to be a spectacle. A line of cars are parked on the side of the road, and a half-dozen people—loaded with cameras and microphones—are harassing the security guard. Since these people are blocking my way, I tap my horn to get them to step aside. Big mistake.

They move, sure. And I’m able to approach the closed gate. But they swarm to my window, blinding me with camera flashes. I throw my hands over my face like I’m escaping a bad dream. Panic fills me from inside, and I feel lightheaded like I’m experiencing déjà vu. What do they want with me?

I can’t control my own trembling as someone taps persistently on my window. I peek out expecting to be ambushed by flashes. Instead, the guard has pushed his way through to speak to me. He looks annoyed until brief recognition crosses his face. “The girl from yesterday?”

“Olivia Margot.” My voice wavers. “I work here now—for Greg Keenly.”

I’m trying to regain my composure as he nods, seeming much friendlier and less intimidating today. “Alright, let me call up front. Then I’ll need to get all these vultures back so you can get through without them making a break for it.”

If this is what it’s like to be a rich and famous Hollywood celebrity, I’m definitely not interested.

The guard appears again. “As soon as I get them all across the street, I’ll buzz you in. Be quick.”

“Why are they here?”

“This time?” he says, scratching the side of his nose. “Could be the party. People are hearing about it. Could be the boys in the tabloids. They tend to bring attention to themselves.”

The Lust List.
I nod my head in agreement as though I know as much as the next celebrity gossip queen about the Stone brothers. “Well, I’m ready when you are,” I say.

He reaches a thick, dark hand into the car to shake mine. “The name’s Roger, by the way. Welcome to the Stone Circus.”

As promised, Roger gets everyone back far enough that when he opens the gate for me, they won’t have enough time to race through as well. It would be comical in theory, but the fact this is really happening… Don’t these people have better things to do?

I speed through the gate and notice I feel more confident as I near the house. It could be the adrenaline from getting to pass all those camera people, gaining access to the residence with no trouble.
That’s right, you jerks. I’m important too.
Or maybe it’s because I know Devon could be inside. But I’m feeling good, as if, for this moment, I belong here. Today, I will revel in the luxury of this massive estate. I could never handle the lifestyle, but for this short stint as the Stone’s event planner, I’ll at least try to take advantage of the perks that come with extreme wealth.

I’m standing on the front steps, knocking on the door, when I hear another car driving up. A vintage muscle car comes around the corner—midnight blue with white racing stripes. My best guess, it’s a Camaro from the 60s, but its condition is flawless. It rumbles to a stop by the fountain, and where most would say the car itself was pretty sexy, it’s nothing compared to how hot Devon looks getting out of it.

Yesterday, he was professional: suit and tie and all Gucci model-like. Today, he’s wearing a t-shirt that’s thin and tight enough to clarify the photo I saw on
ScandalLust
wasn’t digitally altered. His jeans are torn—and not, like, pre-torn for fashion’s sake. They’re worn out and older, like they’re that favorite pair you can’t just let go of after years of abuse. This laid-back look is even more effective than yesterday. Yesterday, he was an inaccessible daydream. Today, he’s an irresistible boy next door. He disappears around a corner, and I extend my neck trying to see where he went. I have the urge to follow him. This isn’t good. I have work to do.

My jaw’s still hanging as I’m abruptly pulled back into reality.

“Excuse me, Miss Margot.” An impatient, sharp tone comes from Mr. Keenly who’s standing in the doorway with a constipated scowl on his face.

“Sorry. Hi,” I say, handing him my paperwork. “I’ve got this all filled out for you, and I—”

“Here.” He thrusts a torn sheet of paper at me. “This is what you’re doing today. You don’t need to be here.”

“Oh. All right. Thank—” He shuts the door.

Dammit. Right as Devon gets here, I have to leave.

I do an about-face on the steps, and read the paper Keenly gave me.

1. Opulent Couture on San Vicente (pick up)
   
2. Eco Clean Dry Cleaner on Melrose (drop off)
   

Drop off what?

Just as I think it, the front door opens again to reveal Keenly holding a massive pile of silky, cream-colored fabric. I barely have time to reach out before he dumps everything into my arms. They’re heavy as hell, but at least I have my answer.

I trudge back to my car, unlock the back door, and dump the contents of my arms onto the backseat. So the guy gives me two vague locations with even vaguer instructions. I guess he hasn’t gotten over yesterday’s incident.

Thankfully, my phone can save the day, and I pull it out to search for the directions to these places. As I’m typing in my first location, a door opens at the side of the house, and there’s Devon again.

I can’t possibly be this lucky. Keep calm and make casual conversation.
You can do this.

I lean back against my car, almost falling straight into the backseat. Shifting over, I make sure I look as carefree as he does.

“Hey,” I say, but it’s too meek. I speak up. “Hi. Devon.”

He’s walking along the side of the house and stops at a window. “Hey,” he mumbles, but doesn’t turn to see who’s speaking. I’m sure he knows it’s me.

“So Keenly’s got me running errands today. Thanks again for helping me out.”

He turns his head long enough to give me a quick once over, and then turns back. There was no expression on his face, like he didn’t even recognize me.

He’s peering through half open curtains into the office where I had my interview. What’s he looking for? And why is he doing it from out here?

Startled by something, he backs up quickly and stands against the wall out of sight. This is weird, but he’s watching me now. He gives me a half-grin and says, “Did Keenly task you with babysitting the driveway?”

I’m feeling smaller by the second. What did I do wrong? What should I say to him? This is definitely not the type of situation where I can just talk about the weather. I’ve got to sound like I know more about him and his lifestyle.
I totally get you, Devon.
Except I don’t—at all. I could make a joke about the Number Three thing…

I’m laughing before I start talking which makes me look like a fool. “So I saw—” No. I can’t bring that up! I’d sound like an idiot fan girl. I stand up straight, tempted to just get in my car and leave before anything stupid can come out of my mouth.

But I can’t screw this all up now. Taking a breath, I try not to babble. “So it’s got to be weird dealing with those camera people all the time.” No, I shouldn’t have said that. They may have left before he drove up. What if they did? Then I’m making no sense and sound all sorts of crazy.

“Those assholes? They’re bloodsucking parasites chasing after their next headline to twist into lies and smut. And those who read it are only feeding them. Like a bunch of ticks growing fatter by feeding off the souls of those trying to live their lives in peace. You don’t read that shit do you?”

Not before last night, but now that I know you’re all over it… “No. Of course not.” I add in a disgusted look to show him I’m serious. I’m so glad I didn’t bring up the Lust List thing, and I mentally remind myself to never do so. Ever. “I mean, I don’t read any of that. I didn’t even know who you were before this job.”

“Right.” He turns back to check the window, and his shoulders seem to relax.

“I’m sorry. What are you doing?” I ask.

“None of your business. And don’t go talking to the paps about anything either. You’ll only regret it.” He starts back toward the side door in a rush.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I mean. I signed a confidentiality agreement, but even if I hadn’t…” Too late. He’s inside. Once again, he didn’t say goodbye. But worse, I’m not sure he even remembers my name.

Shake it off.
I’ve been rejected by guys before. This is no different. I should be proud that I was able to get words out of my mouth. Typical Olivia would’ve found a way to run off and avoid the entire interaction.