Susan Phillips - What I Did for Love

Her father grew more outwardly calm, never a good sign. “Now we get to the real reason for this marriage. Georgie’s money.”

Bram’s lips curled with insolence. “First you say I married her to advance my career…Now you think I married her for her money…Dude, I married her for sex.”

Georgie rushed forward. “Okay, I’ve had enough laughs for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, Dad. I promise.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“If you give me a couple of minutes, I can probably come up with a good punch line, but for now, I’m afraid that’s the best I’ve got.”

“Let me show you out,” Bram said.

“No need.” Her father strode toward the door. “I’ll leave the same way I came in.”

“No, Dad, really…Let me…”

But he was already crossing the gravel patio. She sank into a saggy brown couch right underneath Humphrey Bogart.

“That was fun,” Bram said.

She clenched her fists in her lap. “I can’t believe you questioned his integrity like that. You-the go-to guy for financial mismanagement. How my father handles my money is my business, not yours.”

“If there’s nothing to hide, he won’t mind opening the books.”

She shot up. “I mind! My finances are confidential, and I’m calling my lawyer first thing tomorrow to make sure they stay that way.” She’d also have a private talk with her accountant about disguising the fifty thousand a month she was paying Bram from her father. “Household expenses” and “increased security” sounded a lot better than “blood money.”

“Relax,” he said. “Do you really think I’d know how to read a financial statement?”

“You were deliberately baiting him.”

“Didn’t you enjoy it just a little bit? Now your father knows he can’t order me around the way he does you.”

“I run my own life.” At least she was trying to.

She expected him to debate the point, but he flicked off the desk lamp instead and nudged her toward the door. “Bedtime. I’ll bet you’d like a back rub.”

“I’ll bet I wouldn’t.” She stepped outside as he pulled the doors closed behind them. “Why do you keep pushing this?” she said. “You don’t even like me.”

“Because I’m a guy, and you’re available.”

She let her silence speak for itself.

The next morning Georgie carefully made the bed she’d slept in by herself and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she found a young woman standing at the counter, her back to the door, a colander of strawberries in front of her. She had dyed black hair clipped short on one side, but jaw-length and jagged on the other. Three small Japanese symbols tattooed on the back of her neck disappeared into a sleeveless gray T-shirt, and big safety pins secured a long hole in the side of her jeans. She looked like a 1990s punk rocker, and Georgie couldn’t imagine what she was doing in Bram’s kitchen.

“Uh…Good morning.” Her greeting went unacknowledged. She wasn’t used to people who didn’t suck up to her, and she tried again. “I’m Georgie.”

“Like I wouldn’t know that.” The girl still didn’t turn. “This is Bram’s special protein breakfast drink. You’ll have to fix whatever you want for yourself.” The blender roared to life.

Georgie waited until the motor went quiet. “And you are-?”

“Bram’s housekeeper. Chaz.”

“Short for?”

“Chaz.”

Georgie got the message. Chaz hated her and didn’t want to talk. Trust Bram to have a housekeeper who looked like she’d stepped out of a Tim Burton film. Georgie started opening cupboard doors, looking for a mug. When she found one, she carried it over to the coffeepot.

Chaz turned on her. “That’s Bram’s special blend. It’s only for him.” She had heavy dark eyebrows, one of which was pierced, and small, sharp, very hostile features. “The regular stuff is in that cupboard.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if I have a cup of his.” Georgie pulled the carafe from a high-end coffeemaker.

“I only made enough for one.”

“Probably best to make a little more from now on.” Ignoring the poison darts being shot at her, Georgie took an apple from a Mexican Talavera bowl and carried it, along with the coffee, out to the veranda.

She drank half a cup of his coffee-it was delicious-and then checked her messages. Lance had called again, this time from Thailand. “Georgie, this is crazy. Call me right away.”

She deleted the message, then phoned her publicist and lawyer. Her evasiveness about what had happened over the weekend was driving them nuts, but she wasn’t telling anyone the truth, not even the people she was supposed to trust. She used the same script on them that she’d tried out on her personal assistant yesterday when she’d made arrangements for him to start packing up her things. “I can’t believe that you of all people didn’t figure out Bram and I were dating. We did our best to keep it quiet, but you can usually see right through me.”

She finally worked up the nerve to phone Sasha. She asked about the fire, but Sasha brushed her off. “I’m taking care of it. Now explain what’s really going on, not that cockamamie bull April told me about you and Mr. Sexy getting nostalgic over Skip and Scooter reruns.”

“That’s my story, and we’re all sticking to it, okay?”

“But-”

“Please.”

Sasha finally gave in. “I’ll let it go for now, but on my next trip to L.A., we’re going to have a long talk. Unfortunately, I need to stay in Chicago for a while.”

Georgie always anticipated Sasha’s L.A. visits, but she was more than happy to postpone what she knew would be a dogged interrogation.

She didn’t bother calling her agent. Her father would handle Laura. Trying to earn his love was like being on a perpetual hamster wheel. No matter how fast she ran, she never got any closer to the goal. One of these days, she had to stop trying. As for telling him the truth…Not now. Not ever.

Bram came out onto the veranda, finishing the dregs of something pink, thick, and frothy. As she took in the way his T-shirt clung to those unfamiliar muscles, she decided she liked his old heroin-chic look better. At least she’d understood that. She watched a final strawberry morsel disappear into his mouth. She wanted a foamy pink breakfast shake, too. But then, she wanted a lot of things she couldn’t have. A great marriage, kids, a healthy relationship with her father, and a career that would improve with age. Right now, she’d settle for a well-orchestrated plan to make the public believe she’d fallen in love.

“Vacation time’s come to an end, Skipper.” She rose from her chair. “The weekend’s over, and the press is demanding answers. At the least, we have to plan for the next few days. The first thing we need to do is-”

“Don’t upset Chaz.” He wiped a pink foam bubble from the corner of his mouth.

“Me? That girl is a walking, talking rude machine.”

“She’s also the best housekeeper I’ve ever had.”

“She looks like she’s eighteen. Who has a housekeeper that young?”

“She’s twenty, and I do. Leave her alone.”

“That’s going to be a little hard to do if I’m living here.”

“Let me spell it out. If I have to make a choice between you and Chaz, Chaz wins hands down.” He and his empty glass disappeared back inside.

They were sleeping together. That would explain Chaz’s hostility. She hardly seemed like his usual sex bunny, but what did Georgie know about his current preferences? Not a thing, and she intended to keep it that way.

Aaron Wiggins, her personal assistant, arrived half an hour later. She held the front door open so he could wedge through with her biggest suitcase and some outfits on hangers. “It’s a war zone out there,” he said, with the relish of a twenty-six-year-old still obsessed with video games. “Paparazzi, a news crew. I think I saw that chick from E!”

“Excellent,” she said glumly. Aaron had been her personal assistant since her previous P.A. had defected to Lance and Jade’s camp. He was nearly as wide as he was tall-probably three hundred pounds and barely five feet nine. His wiry brown hair surrounded a roly-poly face decked out with nerd glasses, a long nose, and a small, sweet mouth.

“I’ll have the rest of your clothes packed up by tomorrow,” he said. “Where do you want these?”

“Upstairs. Bram’s closet is full, so I’m turning the room next door into a dressing room.”

Aaron was out of breath by the time they reached the top of the stairs, and his black man-purse had slipped down to the crook of his elbow. She wished he’d take better care of himself, but he ignored her hints. As they passed Bram’s bedroom, he peeked in, then came to a stop. “Sweet.”

The sound system had caught his attention, not the decor. “Mind if I set these down and take a look?” he said.

Knowing how much he loved gadgetry, she couldn’t refuse. He deposited her clothes and suitcase in the next room, then returned to study the electronics. “Awesome.”

“A party, babe?” a silky voice said from the doorway.

This produced a geek snort from Aaron. “I’m Aaron. Georgie’s P.A.”

Bram arched one of his perfect eyebrows at Georgie. Personal assistants tended to be cute young women or well-turned-out gay men. Aaron didn’t fit either category. She almost hadn’t hired him, even though her father had recommended him for the job. But during their interview, the smoke alarms in her house had shorted out, and he’d fixed the problem so effortlessly that she’d decided to give him a chance. He’d proved to be cheerful, smart, scarily well organized, and not particular about the tasks she assigned. He was also as low on self-esteem as he was on drama, and he never thought to ask her for favors, like getting him into a trendy club or hot restaurant, something her past P.A.s had taken for granted.