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TATE MONTGOMERY
Wren Keller was... something else entirely. She was, in a word, unique, and I had concerns about living in her house. I only hoped they didn’t come to fruition. The image of her pole dancing was etched in my mind. I hadn’t seen it, but I could picture it. Her curves, her long, strong legs wrapped around a pole, her full breasts bouncing out of her tight top. I had no clue what she looked like when she danced and if she even pole danced but my imagination ran wild as she sashayed away toward her pool house.
Why she was renting out her house and living in the pool house was a mystery. She had money, judging by the house and property she occupied, so I couldn’t fathom why she would want to lease her house out to a stranger, not that I minded. It was perfect timing. I needed a place to live. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere safe from prying eyes, and this place had everything.
My phone rang, and I leant down to fish it out of the pocket of my shorts, groaning when I saw Steve’s name flashing on the screen.
Steve was my manager. He was a total ass, but he knew his shit. He secured my jobs, made sure I had money coming in and looked out for me, even when he didn’t need to. It was because of him I was here, renting and not in Malibu at my house. The one I owned.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Just checking in to see how the search is going?”
The search being me scouring California for a safe place to live.
“Would have been better if you’d given me a list of suitable places.”
“So, not good then?”
“No, it’s fine. We found a place.”
“We?”
I ran a hand over my chin. Steve didn’t like Rachel. If it were up to him, I would have dumped her spotlight-grabbing ass a year ago, but she was good for my career. She was Hollywood royalty. And she would make me famous, so I was using her as much as she was using me. We weren’t together. We weren’t dating. Not in the traditional sense at least. It was all for appearances. We boosted each other's profiles and careers. But as long as we were discreet, we could see other people.
Out of the public eye.
In total privacy.
Our relationship was a complete PR stunt that Steve had no idea about. Even though he was one of the best managers in the industry, he was known to leak information to the press, usually in an attempt to further the career of his client but sometimes it was to the detriment, so my PR, Lexi, was the one that came up with the idea of dating Rachel for appearance’s sake and keeping it quiet.
The media loved it.
The fans went wild for it.
Steve hated it.
“Me and Rachel. We found a place, secluded. In the hills. No prying eyes,” I reassured him. Though I still wasn’t sure I could trust Wren with secrecy, at least the community was gated and full of residents that valued their privacy more than the President of the United States. That gave me a little peace of mind.
Steve growled down the phone, and I tipped my head back, pinching the bridge of my nose, already getting a headache, and he hadn’t started his tirade yet.
“What?” I asked.
“Did she sign the lease?”
“Obviously.”
“Fucking shit, Tate. Why?”
“Because she’s my girlfriend.” Lie.
“She’s a gold-digging bitch who does nothing to improve your appearance.”
“My appearance is fine, thank you very much. It’s my appearance that got me this damn modeling career.”
“You know what I mean.” I could picture him pacing his office, one hand on his hip, the other hand pouring a glass of water as he held his phone between his ear and shoulder, tie loosened, top button undone and hair an absolute mess from running his hand through it.
“She’s a party girl. Late nights. Too much alcohol. She’s not good for your image.”
I scoffed and ran a hand through my hair. My image was more than fine. Besides, that was all par for the course when you were the daughter of the guy who invented the world’s most used and relied upon app.
Though he had a point, since we began ‘dating’ her partying and drinking had increased tenfold, but I couldn’t admit to Steve that I too, was concerned, because that would cause him to bring out the big guns. “And, your point?”
“She paints you in a bad light. My point is you need to lie low. Cool down. You’re in enough hot water as it is, and Rachel doesn’t help. The media are like hounds and they will hunt you down and tear you apart.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.” He wasn’t exaggerating. The latest headlines were enough evidence of that.
There were so many I could no longer keep track of them.
“Really? And she hasn’t affected you at all?”
I glanced over my shoulder.
Where was Rachel? She was only meant to put on her swimsuit—I lifted my wrist and looked at my watch—thirty minutes ago. I wasn’t surprised. It was how she was. No doubt perfecting her makeup and ensuring her hair was up in a flawless messy bun that she spent more time on than I did in the gym.
Drove me crazy.
But like I’d told Steve a thousand times before, I needed her as much as she needed me. By being in a relationship with her, I was cashing in on her fame. She kept me in the spotlight. I was the next big thing since Andy James. I was going to rule the world, but I needed Rachel to help get me there. Subsequently, she needed me to keep her relevant. The media loved us. The fans adored us. Everyone else was jealous as hell.
And therein lay the problem. At my last shoot, the photographer was a total douche-bucket. He was arrogant and so far up his own fucking ass I could see his eyes in the back of his throat every time he spoke. So, I screwed up. Got a little angry with him. Lost my cool and threw the camera at his face. Broke it and his nose. I paid for the damage to both. After the surgery his nose looks near perfect if not better than before. I did him a favor. He could probably get a job in front of the camera now, not behind.
And even though I apologized and paid for damages, I was still paying for that lapse in judgment. Steve wanted me to go to anger management classes, so I told him he could go fuck his mom or himself, either way I didn’t care. So here I was. In the hills, overlooking the beach on one side and the hills on the other, temporarily renting Wren Keller’s mansion because it was the most secluded I’d found in the last three weeks, contemplating how much I really needed Rachel, anyway.
“Have you seen today’s headlines?”
“Please do enlighten me.”
“Tate Montgomery caught in a compromising position with It Girl girlfriend, Rachel. One too many drinks for party girl Rachel Eastman. Tate Montgomery, gone too far? Tate Montgomery charged with assault and destruction of property. Shall I continue?”
Steve was right, she was bad news. And as much as she helped my reputation, she killed it too. Her partying and drinking had a negative effect on those who mattered in the industry, but the fans loved her. Loved was an understatement. They worshipped her.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “No.” I didn’t want him to continue. I knew exactly what he would say.
“I told you to find a secluded place, so you can get your shit together and stop acting like an entitled little prick before you kill your career. Get Rachel out of the lease before she takes you down the tequila bottle with her.”
“I’m really more a beer guy.”
“Fucking god damn shit, Tate. Get rid of her.”
“And if I don’t?”
“It’s her or me.”
“Really? What are you, a jealous girlfriend?”
“Someone looking out for your career and you. Because no one else will.”
And he hung up. I dropped my phone onto my shorts just as Rachel strutted out of the French doors in a gold high-cut swimsuit that looked like it belonged in an eighties aerobics video with leg warmers and a sweat band across her head. I wondered if Steve was right? Maybe I should dump her.
I mean eighties? Really? Who was she, Olivia Newton-John?
And the heels! Why was she teetering on heels when we were in the backyard? This was not the Playboy Mansion.
She dropped into the sun lounge beside me and kicked off her heeled sandals before throwing a bottle of tanning lotion at me. “Do my back?”
Refraining from rolling my eyes, I knew I had to rub the lotion into her back, or she’d make a scene, and with Wren so close, we had to keep up appearances.
“Sure,” I said through gritted teeth and sat up to pour the sickly-sweet smelling coconut scented lotion into my hands.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Babe, really?”
“What? In case anyone is watching.”
“Who the hell would be watching?” Apart from Wren. I rubbed the lotion into her already dark tanned skin.
“That guy,” she said and pointed to a dude in black pants and a red and white striped polo shirt, holding a flat square bag walking through my freaking backyard.
I dropped the bottle of suntan lotion into Rachel’s lap and stood up. “Hey,” I called, stalking across the backyard to the pimply-faced kid with greasy blond hair. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Uh—” He stared at me and then looked over his shoulder.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. What the fuck are you doing in my backyard?”
“Wren. Ummm, Wren called. Is... Is she here?”
“Nico!” Wren’s smooth voice floated from the pool house like a leaf in the breeze.
“Nico? Who the hell is Nico?” I rounded and faced Wren as she glided out of her door in a pair of multicolored, fluro leggings and tight black tank top. “You going to a rave or what?”
“What? No.” She glanced down at her clothes and quickly wrapped her arms around her waist. “Come in Nico. Ignore him. He’s new.” She shot me a glare and stepped aside for the pimply-faced kid to enter her condo.
Not satisfied with that, I followed them. I was paying her an exorbitant amount of rent for the sole purpose of having complete privacy. And here she was letting any dude with a big black bag into her backyard. My backyard. There was no privacy in that at all.
“What the hell is this?” I demanded. Wren was handing the kid a small stack of money.
“Tell Joe this should cover the next eight deliveries, okay?” she said to the kid with a smile.
“Sure thing.” He chuckled and opened the bag he’d brought with him, sliding out a large pizza box and setting it on the counter. “See you on Friday.”
“It’s a date.” She winked at him and he left, darting past me with his eyes down, probably hoping to avoid any further conflict.
“Pizza?” Wren grinned and held up a cheesy slice of pepperoni pizza for me. My mouth watered.
I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. “Pizza?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“You let a stranger into my backyard for pizza?”
Her lips pursed, the vein in her neck pulsed and she took a deep breath.
“One. This is my backyard. I’m letting you live here.”
“For a fee. I’m paying for this yard. For complete privacy.”
“Whatever. Still my backyard. Technically.” She dropped the slice of pizza back into the box and walked to the sliding doors and opened her arms wide. “It’s technically my front yard now.”
“Wh―”
“I wasn’t finished.” She closed the doors and returned to the kitchen counter to grab the discarded slice of pizza. It smelled delicious, but it had been years since I’d even had a bite.
Steve was a pain in the ass of a manager, but he kept me in shape, made sure I worked out twice a day, and kept to a low fat, low calorie, high protein diet that sure as hell didn’t include pizza.
“Two. Nico wouldn’t have a clue who you are. He’s a sweet kid and can keep his mouth shut. Trust me.” The look on her face gave me the impression that she knew from experience, and I briefly wondered what she had to hide. What was her big secret? “And three. I was hungry. I wanted pizza. Get used to it.”
“You just paid him for eight more deliveries.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“And?” Wren looked at me, completely expressionless before parting her lips and lifting a slice to her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed and a small moan sounded in the back of her throat as she chewed slowly, savoring the taste. How could eating pizza be so seductive?
I cleared my throat. “Who prepays for pizza?”
“Me. I like to pay a month in advance. I’m nothing, if not organized.” She snorted and fell into a fit of laughter as I glanced around the pool house. Judging by the chaos that surrounded her in the small house, and the short interaction we’d had, she was not an organized person.
I raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “A month?”
Wren shrugged. “I...” She paused and tapped a finger to her full pink lips as she searched for the right words. “I have a standing order, so to speak.”
“For pizza?”
She nodded.
Who was this chick? Who had a standing order for pizza?
“Every Tuesday and Friday, Joe has Nico deliver my pizza. It’s our arrangement. It works. It’s also none of your business.”
“You have it scheduled?”
“Told you I was organized.”
I threw my head back and laughed. She couldn’t even get the lease agreement right. My laughter died on my lips though and was quickly replaced with stunned silence. “If you’re so organized, why is there a purple bra hanging from the exposed beam?” I pointed up to the ceiling.
Wren rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m only organized when it comes to my pizza delivery. I’m very diligent about my pizza.”
I’d leave the pizza for another time, but the bra intrigued me.
“Doesn’t explain the bra.”
She huffed out a sigh and rubbed her fingers across her forehead to ease the headache I imagined I was giving her. “I was trying to make a slingshot with it but shot my bra across the room instead.”
“And the thong?” Which was hanging on the rafter behind the bra.
“I was trying to shoot the bra down.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but I was rendered utterly speechless.
When I finally found my voice, I could only ask one thing. “Why?”
“Art.” She grabbed her pizza box and walked into the living room, leaving me standing there staring at her lingerie hanging from the ceiling, wondering what the hell kind of art required a slingshot bra.
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