Whisper (New Adult Romance) (3 page)

“Do you need to go to rehab?” She didn't wait for me to answer, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “That could work...help you get your head on right and then you can rise from the ashes of your ruined career. Everyone loves a good comeback story.”

I ripped the top off my yogurt. “I don't need rehab. I need—” A real mother. One that sees me. Cares about me, and not my career. Isn't so blinded by dollar signs that she lets her seventeen-year-old daughter pose in Maxim magazine.

I didn't finish the thought. What was the point? The last time I approached the subject of my mother's lack of actual mothering, she had laughed in my face.

Mom gave me a stern once over. “You're a Kent. Kents don't need mothers. My mother wasn't even around when I was a kid, and look how I turned out.”

I looked at her pointedly. She was proving my point.

“If I held your hand the whole way, then what pride could you feel in your accomplishments?” She gestured around at our hotel room. It was the nicest we'd ever stayed at. A place with a doorman and a fountain in the lobby. The maids even left little chocolates on the pillows.

My mother ate it up. I missed my bed with its mixed matched flannel sheets. I missed home.

I blinked at my mother, the woman who would never give me what I really needed. I was just delaying the inevitable. Whatever Mom wanted, Mom got.

“I don't need rehab.” I dug deep and found my smile. Years of pretending to be happy even made it believable. “Who are we meeting with today?”

The usually stoic woman nearly doubled over with a sigh of relief. I knew it was less because I said I was fine and more because a fresh scandal had been narrowly avoided. Always thinking about my career. All business.

Mom dusted her hands off like she was wiping away the stink of talking about feelings. “He's a producer. Used to do music, but now he’s branched out into film.”

I figured as much. The TV and movie producers had beat down my door when
Carolina, California
ended, but I passed on nearly every script. All the projects had me playing hot love interest with a pea sized brain. At least on my teen show I was the lead – still hot and ditzy – but I got to explore my character's development.

I had hoped that ending my contract on the show that made me a household name meant I was opening myself up to projects I could really be proud of. Roles where I could go to dark places and show the world I was more than just a pretty face.

Mom was droning on about all of the producer's accolades, her gray eyes animated and electric. I frowned, even though I was only half listening, I was following close enough that I knew she hadn't name dropped this Producer God that would take my career to the promised land.

“—and he's worked with Katy Perry and—”

“Who is he?”

Mom froze, caught red handed. “Solomon Cole. And he already has big plans—”

I held up a hand, my body shaking as his name repeated in my head like a nightmare that wouldn't go away even after you opened your eyes and realized it was just a dream. That's what my mother was trying to sell me – a dream. A magical place where it rained money. I knew enough about Sol Cole to know he wasn't the one to elevate my career. The reason he
worked
(past tense) with the stars Mom had name dropped was because he had a reputation. He thought he had a right to everything: the song writing process, managing the studio mix with an iron fist, even choosing the outfits. But the worst part was he liked to start with casual touching – dusting a hair out of one's eye, hand on the small of the back – to brushing invisible lint from breasts and grabbing asses. He was a top shelf sleaze, and Mom knew it.

She moved to me like she was going to show affection, but her hand remained suspended a few inches from cupping my cheek. She dropped it to my shoulder instead, awkwardly patting me. “I'll be there the whole time.” Her lips stretched into a wide, disingenuous smile. “What's the worst that could happen?”

W
hat’s the worst that could happen?

Mom’s words taunted fate, daring it to bring its A game. The minute I stepped through the doors of Cole Productions, I knew fate would deliver in spades.

The lobby looked like Andy Warhol had vomited all over the place. The walls were highlighter yellow, pink, and green. Oversized throne inspired chairs were splattered around the neon room, the cushions wrapped in loud animal print. Black and white photos hung at odd angles and on closer inspection, my stomach tumbled. They were shots of dicks and breasts with censor bars censoring absolutely nothing. The only thing that didn’t make my eyes hurt or my stomach churn was a white desk in the center of the lobby. A scantily clad woman was perched behind it, flipping through a magazine and twirling a platinum blonde lock around her pinky finger.

There was something familiar about her that I couldn’t put my finger on. When the girl looked up and her blue eyes rounded with glee, it clicked into place. The hair – complete with one side shaved, the safety pin earrings, and Nirvana shirt – was a copy of one of my signature looks before I went back to brunette and stopped trying to be edgy.

When my twin left her desk, I saw that she rounded off the ensemble with a pink miniskirt that barely covered her vagina and knee high combat boots. I winced. I had probably looked just as ridiculous.

“Hi,” I began, clearing my throat uncomfortably. “I’m—”

The blonde skipped the formalities, throwing both arms around me and squeezing so hard she nearly cracked a rib. “Are you kidding? I know who you are! You’re
Miiia
!” She turned a two-syllable name into four. Her teeth were blindingly white. “I’m such a huge fan. The
biggest
.” She pulled back, stars in her eyes. “I’m Tempest.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Tempest was dialed up to 100, and I always enjoyed meeting fans. “Badass name. It’s nice to meet you.”

Tempest hitched a breath, her intensely blue eyes welling with tears. “Nice to meet me?” She nibbled on her bottom lip as she fanned herself. “I can’t believe Mia Kent thinks it’s nice to meet
me
!”

“We have an 11:00am appointment with Mr. Cole.” Mom ended our moment with her rude, clipped tone. For a woman who seemed hell bent on micro-managing my career, she’d always had little to no patience for my fans. She forgot something key – there was no Mia Kent without them. The day I took them for granted or failed to appreciate how amazing it was that people stood in all kinds of weather to get my autograph, bought merchandise from my show, or even emulated my style - that was the day I stopped deserving them.

I flashed Tempest an apologetic smile. “Is Mr. Cole available?”

She returned it with a toothy grin. “I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.” She skipped back to her desk, a dial tone sounding above the trance music thumping from the speakers.

A gruff voice answered after four rings. “What is it?”

Tempest was either used to it or was so happy go lucky that she was unfazed by her boss’s growl. “Mia Kent is here for her appointment.”

“How long have you worked here, T?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Nearly a year. You know I don’t want my VIPs waiting.”

The light in Tempest’s face dimmed. “I’m sorry, Sol.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he berated her. “I want you do your job. I swear if you didn’t look hot as hell in a skirt, I’d fire your ass.”

The light went out completely. Tempest slumped in her chair like she wanted to disappear. The rumors were true – Solomon Cole was a dick. And it was obvious that they had done this song and dance before. From the way Tempest’s voice trembled, it still hurt every time.

“It won’t happen again,” she said softly.

He hung up on her.

I exchanged a look with my mother, but there was no sympathy on Mom’s tight, wrinkle free face. There was only impatience. “Let’s go, Mia. Mr. Cole is a busy man.”

Tempest scrawled our names on two visitor’s badges and handed them over with a broken smile. “Sol’s office is on the 15th floor. It’s kind of a maze up there, so Liam, his assistant, will meet you at the elevator.”

I thanked her then followed my mother into the elevator. More trance music was pumped through the speakers. Instead of inspiring the need to dance, it filled me with dread. I had resigned myself to the meeting by telling myself the rumors about Sol’s douchebaggery were exaggerated by disgruntled ex-employees and diva former clients. He’d just dashed that argument in one fell swoop by degrading his secretary and flat out saying he only kept her around so he could ogle her.

I drew a heavy breath as the doors slid open. When I left the family channel, I knew I might have to deal with the ugly side of Hollywood, but I wasn’t expecting this. I was debating leaving my mother with Sol and making a run for it when I saw him.

He had to be 6’3 because I had to look up to meet his electric green eyes. They were the warmest eyes I’d ever seen. Like an embrace, a kiss that sent heat sprawling over my body. His hair hung long in the front, the dark brown waves dusting his green eyes and buzzed short on the sides. I bit my lip to keep images of running my fingers through his hair at bay.

His lips were luscious as they spread into a smile. Two dimples winked in his cheeks and I knew that he belonged in my bed. His cobalt blue button down shirt was rolled up to the elbow, and I saw the tease of color beneath the cuff. Tattoos? I dropped my gaze to what was going on beneath the equator – and it was just as muscled and tempting as the rest of him.

Desire clouded my view. The handsome stranger jutted out his arm to keep the elevator door from closing.

“Hi.” His voice was deep and hypnotic. “I’m Liam.”

Liam
. I caressed the name in my mind, but the pulsing lust quickly stalled. Liam – the personal assistant that would be delivering me to Sol Cole.

I hesitated, time standing still. Should I go with the devastatingly hot guy who would take me to the devastatingly jerky guy? I swallowed, debating it until my mother gave me a small push in his direction. It was the smallest of motions – and it sent me crashing into a wall of muscle and scent. Liam smelled like Irish Spring soap, cloves, and heaven. I held on a little longer than was necessary, wondering if he was thinking what I was thinking as his smile broadened.

“Thanks for catching me,” I purred. Screw playing coy. I pushed my chest against his. My body approved, nipples aching. Lust, rooted deep in my core, came rushing to the surface. I bit my lip as my wet juices kissed my panties.

“Anytime.” His voice stroked me as his eyes darkened in a way that made me melt. Was there anything about this guy that wasn’t deliciously sexy?

Only one way to find out...

I wasn’t sure what was waiting for me at the end of the ride, what terrible plans Solomon Cole had to resuscitate my career, but of one thing I was certain.

I wanted to find out if Liam looked as awesome out of his clothing as he did in them.

“Ahem.”

Mom was far from entertained by the moment, eyebrows raised pointedly. The two of us separated, then Liam led us down the hall. There was no square inch of unused space. If the bottom floor was a modern kaleidoscope, this floor was a slice of
Mad Men
. Wall to wall cubicles were manned by women all dressed in little black dresses and heavy makeup. Those that strutted past us were in sky high stilettos. Even at Liam’s brisk pace, I saw there was no color, no family pictures, no smiles. Just Glambots that batted their eyelashes and purred into the phones and cameras attached to their computers.

Liam made a hard right, and then a left. The chatter of the bullpen was behind us. The walls were painted a muted charcoal gray and the floor was a soft pale wood. The music was even minimalist instead of throbbing and demanding.

Liam glanced back at us over his shoulder. “Like a whole other world, huh?”

I nodded, but the apprehension still festering built when I saw an office at the end of the corridor. A syrupy foreign accent cut through the calm.

“It’s not sexy enough, Peter. People should want to fuck when the beat kicks in. The only thing that song makes me want to do is get a coffee. It’s putting me to sleep before I can even get my dick out.”

I cringed, pausing when I saw Liam’s back muscles tighten. He couldn’t stand Sol either!

That brought other questions. Clearly Sol Cole was the kind of man who surrounded himself with beautiful women to boost his ego. A quick Google search revealed a balding, rotund man that leered instead of smiled. Why would he hire someone like Liam, someone who commanded female attention when he walked into a room?

Liam stopped a few feet from the door, Sol still spouting off about sex and orgasms and how terrible he thought some song was.

“He’ll be right out,” Liam said with a reassuring smile.

My eyes shifted to Liam’s rear, the toned muscles begging to be gripped. I could feel my fingers clutching it, pulling him deeper inside me.

Mom dragged me out of my lusty daydream. “Don’t even think about it, Mia.”

My cheeks betrayed me, but I played innocent. “Not sure what you mean.”

“Men are distractions.”

That we could agree on, but what I didn’t say was that I
wanted
to be distracted. Ever since I declared my independence from my wholesome image, I’d given into my sexual nature. And if I was going to stay away from the pills and the alcohol, I needed some way to escape. And from the look in Liam’s eyes earlier, he offered the best kind of escape. Something hot and sweaty, up against the wall, pressed against the door...I bit my lip mischievously.
Or bent over the fax machine
.

Liam turned back to me, and my smile spread across my face like wildfire. When I saw Sol behind him, it was extinguished immediately.

Sol bypassed my mother’s outstretched hand and pulled my limp arm from my side. He brought my hand to his lips, and I swore he added tongue to the usually respectful gesture. “Miss Kent...in the delicious flesh.”

O
ne would think recoiling in horror would have set the pace, and Sol Cole would realize that his casting couch seduction plans were dead in the water. You’d be wrong.