Let's Misbehave (4 page)

Her favorite things.

When she was in prep school, she’d read erotic stories the other girls passed around. One stuck in her head, about a headmaster at a girls’ school who used to take wicked girls into his office to spank. If the headmaster had looked like Peter Sands, Holly would have been naughty just to be disciplined by him.

Blushing, she took the seat, hoping she didn’t look like a randy teenager. This was about Jamie, and he was her world, so she refocused and asked, “How bad is it this time?”

“Bad.” Peter sat behind the desk, a smile flirting with his lips. “Only Jamie would get in trouble by building a medieval siege machine.”

“How much is the damage?” She bit her lip, afraid of the answer.

He named the sum.

She blanched. How was she going to afford to pay that? “Can I sell Jamie to the school as an indentured servant?”

Peter laughed, and the knot in her stomach eased—just a little. “I’m not sure I could convince anyone to take him on as a servant. Don’t misunderstand me. Jamie is beloved here. No one has an unkind word to say about him personally. He’s a lovely boy, and he means well.”

“Yes, he’s just a terror when it comes to breaking things.”

“His problem is he’s very smart and he needs to be mentally challenged. He needs to be in a special program.” Peter sat forward. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I may have a solution for him.”

Her heart beat faster. She told herself it was mostly because she was excited for something that’d benefit her son. Except part of it was because of the way Peter looked at her—like he could see down past her clothing—and that he liked what he saw.

“I found a program for gifted children. At the Athenaeum.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a brochure, and held it out to her. “The curriculum is designed around each student’s unique interests and talents, though it’s heavily bent toward engineering, which I’m sure you’d agreed is what Jamie loves.”

“The only thing Jamie loves more than building something is taking it apart.” She looked through the brochure, doing a double take when she got to the page that listed the tuition. She shook her head. Her job at the studio paid just enough to cover essentials. She was just an office assistant. She didn’t make enough for extras—certainly not education this expensive.

She sank in the seat. She was supposed to provide what Jamie needed, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he needed this. But how could she?

And she’d thought she was so clever with her creative financing this month. She’d been thrilled to be able buy Jamie the robotics set he’d wanted.

As if reading her mind, Peter leaned forward. “Don’t let the price tag stop you. There are ways to get scholarships, and Jamie’s certainly bright enough to qualify.”

“Even with his record?”

“He’s not a criminal.”

“That’s a matter of perspective.” She looked Peter in the eye. “What about the time he caused an explosion in the cafeteria?”

“Because he wanted to build a volcano.” He sat back, grinning. “That was particularly brilliant. He’d even constructed a jungle out of broccoli to be destroyed by the lava.”

“Remember when he took apart the old engine on Mrs. Neuwirth’s car, because he wanted to prove to his classmates that hamsters didn’t run it?”

“I’ve never seen Mrs. Neuwirth at a loss for words.”

Holly shook her head, rueful despite the smile hovering at her lips. “I love my son, but even I can’t deny that he’s a menace.”

“You’re a good mother, you know. So many of the parents here don’t pay attention to their children. It’s a testament to your parenting that Jamie isn’t destructive. He just needs his energy directed to a good cause.”

She laughed. “Not destructive? When he just broke two windows?”

“Well, you got me there.” His grin made her heart beat fast. For a moment, he looked like the bad boys she used to fall for before she got pregnant. Like the boy who’d gotten her pregnant.

Peter sobered, nodding at the brochure. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Fill out the paperwork and I’ll pass it along with my recommendation. We’ll worry about the tuition later.”

It sounded so nice—the “we.”

But there was no
we
here. Since Jamie there’d only been her. Her parents, pious, moral people, had asked her to leave when she’d refused to give up her baby. Jamie’s biological father had only been a one-night stand at a party—one moment of uncharacteristic indiscretion that had changed her world when she’d been eighteen.

She wouldn’t have had it any other way. It was hard, but Jamie was hers—even when he built trebuchets and destroyed school property.

She glanced at the brochure. She’d made it on her own so far—she’d figure out a way to get Jamie what he needed. “I’ll have Jamie drop the registration forms off tomorrow,” she said, determined.

“Excellent.” Peter stood, waiting for her to join him. When she stood, he put his hand lightly on her back. “I have a good feeling about this, Holly.”

The way he said her name coupled with the touch on her back made her feel like they were close—co-conspirators even. She looked up at him and got caught in his gaze.

What if he kissed her?

She lowered her gaze to his lips. It’d be scrumptious.

And she wondered where Jamie got his imagination. To cover up her awkward musings, she smiled and said brightly, “You’ll let me know how much the windows cost?”

“I will. Maybe the school’s insurance can cover some of the cost.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Really. But I do have to punish Jamie, too. I was thinking he could help out after school for a couple weeks.”

Her relief was so overpowering she grabbed his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Then, horrified by how her words sounded, she withdrew, her eyes wide. “I didn’t mean it like I wanted to trade sexual favors in return for this.”

His head fell back as he laughed. “Unfortunate for me then.”

Her face burned with embarrassment. She told herself not to think about how he sounded like he really thought he was unfortunate. She mumbled another “Thank you” and hurried out of there before she offered to drop to her knees and service him right there.

That was a fantasy for nighttime, alone in her room.

Jamie looked at her, beseeching.

“Let’s go home.”

Jamie slipped his little hand in hers. “Am I very much in trouble?”

She looked down at him. “What do you think?”

He sighed. “This means I can’t play with my robotics, can I?”

“Not for a bit.” She put her arm around his shoulders, smiling. “And I may have to flog you with a wet noodle.”

He laughed, suddenly bright again. “That’s just silly, Mum.”

Her mobile rang as they reached the tube. She paused, her heart accelerating when she saw it was the office. “Oh, fuc—”

“
Mum.
” Jamie’s eyes widened in gleeful shock, and he held his hand out. “You swore.”

“I didn’t,” she lied.

“You did.” He jumped up and down. “You have to give me a pound for the curse jar.”

“Damn it,” she murmured, as her phone insisted to be answered.

“Two pounds!” He did a happy dance.

Sighing, she answered the call despite the dread pooling in her stomach. If she got fired, a new school for Jamie would be definitely out. “Hello?”

“Holly, it’s Marjorie.”

“I know I missed the meeting this afternoon,” she said quickly. “I had an emer—”

“You always have an emergency, Holly,” Marjorie interrupted. “I told you that the execs have noted your absences. They don’t like it. They think you aren’t dedicated to the job.”

“I’m an office grunt. How dedicated do I have to be?” Holly winced. “I didn’t mean it quite like that—”

“You did mean it, and I can’t blame you.”

“You can’t?” she asked, suspicious.

“You’re smart, and doing office chores is boring.”

It was, except when she had to do the expense accounts. She loved making the numbers work.

“But,” Marjorie continued, “it’s still your job, and you aren’t doing it. Combine it with the fact that there have been other issues—”

“Those incidents really weren’t my fault,” she said, holding Jamie’s hand fast as he got distracted by a discarded piece of plastic on the ground. He was forever collecting things for later.

“The copy machine always jamming?”

“That machine has it out for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were possessed.”

“Mixing up the mail?”

“Smythe and Smith are so similar. Anyone would make the same mistake.” Even Smith, apparently, since he opened the envelope of porn from Smythe’s mistress. Holly made a face. She couldn’t be held responsible for someone else’s bad taste.

“The time you shorted out the electricity on the whole third floor for an entire day?”

Damn it—that
had
been her fault. She’d only wanted a little popcorn. She had no idea the microwave would overload the system. “Listen, Marjorie, I can’t afford to lose my job.”

“I know, which is why I’m transferring you to a new position. One of the handlers quit suddenly. She was supposed to start a job with a new actor on Friday. So we’re sending you in.”

“Me?” Holly stopped at a light, holding on to her son back so he wouldn’t step into traffic. “This sounds like a promotion.”

“Think of it more like probation. We don’t have anyone else available, so we’re trying you. The hours are flexible, and the actress is supposedly quite easy-going. Do you know Imogen Summerhill?”

Holly blinked. “Of course I know Imogen Summerhill. She’s been all over the tabloids lately.”

“And we want her to stay in the tabloids. The studio is quite happy with sales of her latest movie, and they want to keep revenues up. So your job is to make sure she takes every opportunity to produce scandal. And to make sure she preps for her next role, of course. You’ll call every evening with a report.”

“Of course,” she repeated, tugging Jamie to cross the street when their light had changed.

“Holly, this is a fabulous opportunity for you. Do this properly, and you’ll be promoted. Handlers make more money, and that’s never a shabby thing.”

“I like more money,” she said quickly.

“Of course you do. You’re not daft. But you won’t make more until you’ve proven yourself.” Marjorie lowered her voice. “Movie stars don’t need to be catered to, they need a firm hand. Boundaries.”

“You’re saying they’re like children.”

“I knew you’d be perfect for this. I’ll text you the info.”

“Thank you so much, Marjorie.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Do a good job and you’ll get the position permanently. Fail, and you’re out.”

“I won’t fail,” she promised. She wrangled Jamie every day. How hard could it be managing one actress?

Jamie tugged on her hand as she hung up. “Your smile is goofy, Mum.”

“Well, you have my smile, so I guess yours is, too.” Laughing, she hurried him toward the tube, amazed by how everything could change from the worst day to the best in a matter of minutes.

Chapter Four

Where was Luca?

Gigi smiled pleasantly at a passing couple who stared at her, cringing on the inside. She felt so conspicuous. She should have had Luca pick her up at home. But she’d been impatient, and at the last minute she’d texted him to meet her at the venue, the Tate Modern, instead.

She couldn’t check the time, either. Her mobile was strapped to her thigh with a garter belt, on vibrate, of course, lest someone think her womanly bits were ringing. She debated hiking up her long skirt to pull it out, but the reporters milled all over. They’d have given a kidney for a shot of her raising her skirt.

Lifting one’s skirt? Not the way to convey being well-behaved.

Luca would be here. He knew she had a lot riding on the charity event tonight. She wasn’t anxious, per se—she felt determined. She wanted to work with Sherman. Ophelia was the ultimate good-girl-wronged.

She was so ready to get back to work. She’d already started rereading
Hamlet
in the original early modern English, to understand the nuances of the play.

Some actors would have considered that jinxing themselves—actors were notoriously superstitious. But that was utter shite. The more prepared you were, the more likely it’d be that you’d get the part.

Where was Luca?
She’d made it clear to him how important tonight was. Luca loved them—he wouldn’t do anything to let them down.

Actually, it’d be more accurate to say Luca loved Bea. The way he watched her oldest sister when she wasn’t looking was something out of the greatest romances. Gigi felt bad for him—Bea didn’t give him the time of day. She was too busy conquering the world to care about true love.

Though what did Gigi know of true love? Love had landed her here, waiting for an Italian racecar driver to escort her into a party where she was going to grovel at the feet of a man she didn’t know.

She wasn’t going to ponder what that said, or how her father may have been right about her.

“Imogen.”

Gigi turned at the sound of her mother’s voice.

Jacqueline Summerhill approach her, resplendent in a simple blush-colored, floor-length gown. Her hair was pulled back in a simple twist, and her jewelry was minimal. Even without the Summerhill jewels dripping from her body, her mother looked every inch the Countess of Amberlin—timelessly beautiful.

Gigi hoped that would be her in thirty years.

Her mother kissed her cheek. “I didn’t know you were interested in Cancer Research UK.”

“Why wouldn’t I be for cancer research?” she asked with a frown. Did even her own mother think she was too frivolous for something like this? “It’s a worthy cause.”

Jacqueline put a calming hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean anything by it, but I’d have figured you’d choose to put your attention on something more in line with your own interests. Literacy, for example.”

“I’m here in Beatrice’s stead.”

“I see,” her mother said, though she didn’t sound like she did. “Shall we go in, then?”

“I’m waiting for Luca.”

“But doesn’t Luca”—Jacqueline shook her head—”I thought he and Beatrice were involved.”