“Don’t be so nervous—it’s gonna be fun!”
Easy for her to say. Mateo crawled out of Heather’s car and gazed up at the towering manse, feeling woefully out of his league, which was how he often felt these days. Between the numerous photo shoots required to build a portfolio, the meetings with agents, editors, and advertisers, not to mention the crash course in media training taught by Heather, who insisted he’d thank her later, his days were long and full and ran at a much quicker pace than he was used to. The sort of full-throttle lifestyle most Angelenos claimed to thrive on was something Mateo had always worked to avoid. And now, only a week in, he felt like a passenger in a runaway car with no brakes. There’d been no time for surfing, and ironically, he’d barely seen much of his family. The simple pleasures he’d once taken for granted suddenly seemed like a luxury.
He ran a thumb over the woven friendship bracelet he wore on his left wrist—a gift from Valentina, who’d made it for his birthday a couple of years before, and he hadn’t taken it off since. In the life he now found himself living, it was one of the few remaining tokens that anchored him to his former self, and he cherished it more than ever.
“Try not to look so impressed,” Heather hissed, grabbing him by the elbow and maneuvering him toward the security tent set up just outside the gate. “Or, more accurately, try not to look so horrified.” She laughed and squeezed his arm, as they waited for the bouncer to check them off the guest list and usher them inside.
“People actually live like this?” Mateo gaped at the ultramodern, multistory, over-the-top residence. It was like something out of a movie. A glass-and-steel fortress rumored to have over fifty bathrooms and thirty bedrooms, not that he planned on counting them. He’d also heard something about an on-site bowling alley, a subterranean twenty-car garage, and a working diner and hair salon. The whole thing reeked of the worst sort of excess.
“No one actually lives in this place,” Heather said. “It’s more of a party house.”
Mateo frowned. Here he was, worried about paying his little sister’s medical bills, while others were building multimillion-dollar homes so they’d have a place to host elaborate parties. Before the rush of bitterness could completely take over, he looked at Heather and said, “Sounds like you’ve been here before.”
Heather shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to commit either way. Then, pushing through the crowded entry, she grabbed two shots of Unrivaled tequila from a passing waiter who was too overwhelmed to actually card anyone and handed one to Mateo. “We don’t have to stay long, but it’s good PR to appear at these things. As long as you don’t get carried away and drink too many of these, that is.” She hoisted her glass, tossed an arm around Mateo’s neck, and grinned for a nearby photographer. The whole scene was over and done with before Mateo could even process what’d happened.
Heather had a knack for spotting photogs and making every moment seem as though it were tailor made for Instagram. She clinked her glass against his and drained it with a toss of her head. Her eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed a light pink, she encouraged him to follow her lead. “Drink up so you can tell Ira how much you like it, even if you don’t.”
Mateo drained his shot, surprised by how smooth the tequila went down. Returning the empties to another passing waiter, Heather grasped Mateo’s hand in hers and led him through the house and outside to the backyard, toward the large, rectangular infinity pool that seemed to spill off the face of the earth.
Thanks to Heather’s insisting they arrive late, the party was in full swing. “Not only does it spare you the horror of appearing overeager,” she’d claimed, “but more importantly, it gives you the sober advantage. Nothing like showing up fresh and clearheaded while everyone else has spent the entire night drinking. You’d be amazed at what those notoriously private A-listers get up to once they start hittin’ the sauce. ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ as they say. But I say, ‘Better to watch their yacht go up in flames than your own.’”
Not only was Heather full of sayings like that, but she also had an entire rundown on the inner workings of the A-, B-, and C-lists (the D-list weren’t worth knowing, and so she didn’t). Most of the time, her incessant chatter made Mateo’s head spin. He could barely keep up with all the names, much less the gossip surrounding them. Even when he’d been with Layla, and he offered to proofread her blogs, he mostly looked for structure and typos; the actual content had never held any interest for him.
While Heather considered herself a solid member of the B-list, she was convinced her new show would propel her straight to the top of TV royalty and was constantly reminding Mateo of how she could help introduce him to all the right people whenever he got tired of modeling, which she insisted he would.
Truth was, Mateo was already tired of modeling, but he was resigned to being in it for as long as it took. The money was good, more than he’d ever seen on a single paycheck with his name on it, so there was no reason to stop, no matter how foolish he felt posing for the camera.
Still, Heather had gone out of her way to help him. And while he had no interest in adding actor to his résumé, he was grateful for all that she’d done. She’d even promised to set him up with her financial adviser—an absolute necessity, according to her.
“How good are you with money?”‘ she’d asked, just after he’d received his first check.
Mateo had shrugged. “I’ve never had enough to know.”
The look Heather had given him was long and considering. “I know the money sounds like a lot at first, but trust me, between agents and taxes, it gets chipped away pretty quickly. Which is why so many once-promising entertainers end up broke and in rehab.”
“That won’t happen to me,” Mateo had said, though the skeptical look on Heather’s face left him unsettled.
Actually, Heather left him unsettled. Ever since the photo shoot on the beach, Mateo had been distracted by the thought of kissing her again. Probably because their kiss marked the only moment since Valentina fell ill and he broke up with Layla that he’d been able to lose himself in the moment and forget just how desperate his life had become.
For the first time ever, Mateo understood why people like his brother Carlos gravitated toward the numbing effect of alcohol, drugs, and other addictions when life got too rough. Carlos never forgave himself for surviving the car accident that claimed their father’s life. Even though they ruled out driver error early on, Carlos refused to ever get behind the wheel again and dedicated what little remained of his own life in pursuit of numbing and forgetting, instead of accepting the fact that sometimes life just didn’t make sense.
Kissing Heather could easily become an addiction, a way to temporarily mask his painful reality. But he refused to use Heather in that way. And Mateo had never been one for random hookups. He was a solid relationship guy.
“Where have you gone?”
Mateo blinked at Heather’s curving pink lips, just inches from his.
“You’re a million miles away.” She tucked a renegade curl behind her ear and grinned in such a warm, appealing way, he could feel himself relenting on the deal he’d just struck with himself. “The stars are aligned.” She motioned toward a surprisingly clear and starry sky, courtesy of the late summer Santa Ana winds that had swept away the usual blanket of smog before mellowing to a much-welcomed breeze. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I truly believe we’re both on our way to greatness, and what better way to celebrate than in this ridiculously tacky, oversize party pad?”
Greatness translated to multiple zeros in his bank account and the best care for Valentina—a total win. And yet, so much had happened in the span of a week, his feelings were all over the place, though they didn’t necessarily veer toward celebratory.
His gaze met Heather’s. With her long golden hair cascading over her bare shoulders and her blue eyes flashing on his, there was no denying the attraction pulsing between them, like an invisible string pulling them together.
Next thing he knew Heather was leaning into him, pressing her body flush against his as his arms instinctively circled her waist. In his pocket, he felt his phone vibrate with an incoming text, but with Heather’s lips so warm against his, it was easy to ignore, easy to forget they were in a public place. Easy to forget he shouldn’t be doing this.
“Uh-oh, blogger alert.”
Heather pulled away and straightened her dress, as Mateo followed the length of her gaze all the way across the yard to the place where Layla stood watching.