Not that you have anything to worry about, Miss Teacher of the Year.” She gave Meg a nudge.
Meg managed a smile despite the tightness in her chest. It was supposed to be a compliment—the honor, the title—but honestly, some days she felt like an Osmond.
Her friend patted her arm. “Hey, if I don’t talk to you before you leave, have a great time in Chicago. And if you see anyone famous, get their autograph for me?”
Kathie covered every angle. “Okay, but the only celebrity I’ve ever met was a distant Kennedy relation at one of Trey’s father’s fundraisers.”
“Keep your eyes open. And try to cut loose a little, okay? Enjoy what may be your last week as an unfettered woman.”
Meg wet her lips, but the bell rang again, so she simply manufactured a little smile that matched her expression in those Teacher of the Year posters plastered everywhere. “I’m just looking forward to not hearing a bell ring for an entire week.”
And to a few days where nobody knew how perfect she was.
2
“SHE WON’T OPEN THE DOOR,” the hairdresser said, his hands jammed on his slim hips. “Do something.”
Jarett Miller closed his eyes and counted to ten. If only he could open them and be somewhere other than Los Angeles, in the ostentatious home of the most spoiled woman in the world. He opened his eyes, but the irate hairdresser still stood there, his toe tapping.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Jarett tossed aside the tabloid that featured the latest exploits of his charge, then dragged himself up from the overstuffed, overpriced sofa. His chest filled with dread with each step he took across the great room, through the hall, and up the sweeping stairs—red-carpeted, of course. Nothing less for Taylor Gee, the toast of Tinseltown, sex kitten of the hour.
As his hand slid over the garish gold-tone banister, he marveled at the differences between the lavish home she’d bought for herself and the modest home Taylor Jean Gumm had grown up in in rural West Virginia. “Bought” was a generous term, since she’d mortgaged herself into old age for the monstrosity, against his advice. But then, Taylor didn’t take advice well when it meant she couldn’t have everything she wanted.
Rosie, Taylor’s personal assistant, stood in front of the door to Taylor’s suite, hopping from foot to foot. “Please, Miss Gee, unlock the door!”
Rosie was a little round-faced woman who had plenty of nervous energy to do Taylor’s bidding. She reminded Jarett of a small dog that had gotten its tail stepped on so many times, it remained in perpetual motion. She moved aside as Jarett approached, visibly shaking. “Oh, good. She’s been asking for you.”
“Is she high?” he asked.
Rosie sighed. “I don’t think so, just depressed.”
Jarett bit down on the inside of his cheek. Taylor was beautiful, famous, and rich—from where he was standing, she had little to be depressed about. But what did he know? He was just a country boy, trapped in a town he hated as a result of a promise he’d made.
He rapped on the door sharply. “Taylor, it’s Jarett. Open the door.”
A few sniffles sounded on the other side. “No.”
He swallowed a string of curses. “You’re expected at the cast party in an hour.”
More sniffles. “I don’t want to go.”
It was a game she played that Jarett called Beg Me. He opened his mouth to play out the situation, then changed his mind. “Okay, I’ll call Peterson and ask him to make your excuses.”
He counted to three.
“No, wait,” she said, her voice plaintive, but amazingly stronger.
“I’m waiting,” he said.
“Are you alone?”
He nodded to Rosie. “Take a break. I’ll find you if she needs you.”
The woman scampered away, and Jarett pulled his hand down his face, making a mental note to have the door keyed, and to keep a key on his ring. “I’m alone, Taylor.” And nearly at the end of his patience.
After a few seconds, he heard the deadbolt turn. When the door didn’t open, he turned the knob and entered her suite.
Taylor stood in the pink-and-gold living room near a window, facing him and smoking a long cigarette. Her mane of blond hair was mussed and her mascara smudged. She was wearing high-heeled mules and a short transparent robe. And nothing else. Her limbs were long and lean, her breasts voluptuous and taut. The hair at the juncture of her thighs had been reduced to a tiny triangle to accommodate the scanty swimwear she wore on the set. A cultivated tan covered every square inch of her body. Taylor smiled lazily.
Jarett set his jaw and turned his back. “Put something on.”
“Why?” she purred. “Does seeing me like this do things to you, Jarett?”
He’d seen her naked a hundred times—Taylor was an exhibitionist who delighted in shocking people. “It only makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”
He heard her muted footsteps on the thick carpet, then she was in front of him, lifting her arms around his neck, pushing her body into his. “You know what’s in my head, Jarett. I want you.”
Taylor used to be an incredible beauty, but a year of hard partying had taken its toll, and the daylight wasn’t kind to her unmade face. Her eyes were slightly glazed, and her lips pouty. She reeked of stale smoke and perspiration. He itched to yank the cigarette out of her hand but considering her other vices, this one was relatively harmless. Sadness welled in his chest at the cliché she had become.
Jarett clasped her wrists gently, and turned her around. “Taylor, stop this childish routine.” He shrugged out of his standard black jacket and put it around her slender shoulders. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you, but not in that way.”
“You’re just afraid David will be mad at you if you sleep with me,” she said as she walked away. “But David knows his little sister is all grown up.”
Jarett pursed his mouth. “Let’s hope that David doesn’t get the tabloids at his missionary camp in Haiti. And it’s a good thing that your folks don’t own a television.”
She flounced down on one of the twin pink sofas. “Isn’t that a gas? I’m one of the biggest stars on TV, and my own parents have never seen my show.” She took a drag from the cigarette. “Really, sometimes I can’t believe I came from such a hick family.”
Anger sparked low in his stomach. “Don’t talk about your family that way. They’re good people.”
Her laugh was dry as she looked up at him from the couch. “I know—salt of the earth, God-fearing people. And I’m glad they took you in, Jarett, really I am. I just wish you’d stop thinking of me as your little sister. There are thousands, maybe millions of men who’d love to sleep with me, you know.”
He refrained from mentioning that a
