Hot Mess Page 2

  “Would I get to meet the person who’ll be living in the pool house? I want to ensure they are...”

  “Not a crazy fan or something?”

  “Something like that. Look, I need discretion.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “So, can I meet them before signing anything?”

  “You’re looking at her.” I lifted my arms elegantly to the side and curtsied.

  Yep. I curtsied in front of Tate Montgomery. Way to play it cool, Wren.

  “You?” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me in disbelief.

  “It is my house.” I crossed my arms, not liking his attitude. Lucky his face made up for it.

  “Then why the hell are you leasing it out?”

  “I don’t believe that’s any of your business. But I can assure, should you want the house, your privacy will not be an issue. Discretion is my middle name.”

  “You’re not going to run off and tell all your girlfriends I’m living in your house?”

  “No.”

  “The newspapers?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? If I tell people you live here, then people will come. I don’t want weirdos hiding out in my bushes trying to get photos of you and inadvertently snapping pictures of me when I’m pole dancing.”

  Tate laughed and tried unconvincingly to cover it up with a cough. His gaze traveled down my body and made me shiver. He was appraising me, and I couldn’t tell whether or not I liked it, or if he liked what he saw.

  “You pole dance?” He smirked.

  “For fitness.”

  “Right,” he said, sounding unconvinced as he pinched his bottom lip and looked me up and down once again.

  Fitness. I knew what he was thinking, and I knew it was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but he was holding back because if he said my pole dancing clearly wasn’t having the desired effect, then he wouldn’t get my house.

  I looked down at myself. I wasn’t thin by a long shot. But I wasn’t big either. And at least I wasn’t perpetually hungry like Rachel. My breasts were real. My lips were real. My eyebrows moved. And my thighs rubbed together. But I was fit. And I liked pizza and beer too much to care my hip bones didn’t poke holes in my pants.

  “Babe!” Rachel called from outside by the pool where she was lying on my sun lounge, soaking up the rays.

  Tate turned and walked out the French doors before calling out, “We’ll take it.” and leaving me scowling behind him.

  Jerk.

  If I didn’t need the money so badly, I’d tell him he could shove his lease where the sun doesn’t shine, but I was the poorest rich girl in town. I needed his money.

  I rushed out after him. “Do you want to sign the lease now? Or should I send it to...”

  Who would I even send it to? His agent? Management? Him?

  “We’ll sign it now.”

  “Great.” I forced a smile. “It’s in the office, I’ll just be a minute.”

  I retrieved the lease agreement from the office and returned to the pool where Rachel was still sunbathing.

  “Uh, where’s Tate? I have the lease?”

  She flicked her hand in the direction of the pool house and my blood chilled.

  I stormed over to the pool house and caught Tate looking around my living room. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking around since I’m moving in.”

  “In there.” I pointed back at the main house. “Not here. This is my private space. You leave me alone. And I’ll stay out of your way.”

  He smirked and with a lift of his shoulders he brushed past me and strutted back over to his girlfriend who would look like a lobster if she didn’t get out of the sun soon.

  I tilted my head back and followed him once again like a little lapdog. Was it so hard to stay in one spot for two minutes, or did he get a kick out of making everyone chase after him?

  I handed him the lease agreement and a pen. “Rent is to be paid a month in advance, and a security payment is to be paid upfront also, and you’ll get that back at the end of your lease if you leave the property in the same condition.”

  “I’m aware of how a lease works, Wren.” The way he said my name, rolling the R, like Wrrrrren, caused goosebumps to break out over my skin and my stomach to flutter. Why had my name never sounded that good before?

  Tate signed the agreement and initialed where required before passing it to Rachel. She barely even glanced at it before signing and initialing everywhere he did. Come to think of it, I wasn’t even sure if she looked at the house, or just the pool.

  Tate took the lease from Rachel’s outstretched hand and gave it back to me, before pulling her to her feet.

  “I’m going to get my suit,” she said and waltzed inside.

  Suit? What suit?

  “Thank you, Wren,” Tate said as he kicked off his sandals and pulled his shirt over his head.

  My eyes bugged out of my head as I admired the work of art that were his abs, all firm and golden brown. “Umm... what are you doing?” I squeaked as he tugged on the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to reveal a pair of board shorts.

  “Going for a swim. It’s hot.”

  “What? Where?” My eyes darted to my pool.

  “In my pool.”

  He walked over to the diving board at the end and bounced on his feet a few times before back flipping into the water.

  A perfect ten.

  I stood there, unsure of what to do or say. His pool? It was my house. Tate’s head broke the surface of the water. “You can leave the keys on the kitchen counter.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The lease doesn’t start until...” I flipped through the agreement searching for the date and choked on air.

  “Today.”

  “No, that can’t be right,” I whispered more to myself than him.

  “It is.”

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the date. Sure enough, he was right. I had confused the dates and made today the beginning of the lease. I huffed out a breath. I was not prepared for this. Not today. I thought I still had a week. How could I mess up the dates that badly? I guessed that’s what I got for organizing the whole thing after drinking a bottle of wine. I needed the liquid courage to actually go ahead with the crazy plan to rent my parents’ house out and had my lawyer draw up a rental agreement template I could customize.

  “Well... Umm, it’s not yours until you pay the security and first month’s rent.”

  He couldn’t just move in, could he? And where were his clothes? Rachel said she would put on her suit, which since Tate was swimming in my pool, I assumed meant her swimsuit. Did they just drive around with their clothes in their car or what?

  “Already paid.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and scoffed. “Really? You magically put the money in my bank account without having my details?”

  “No, I put the cash in your bizarre cookie jar. The one with the baby doll’s head for a lid. Creepy by the way.”

  “I... You... Uh... How...” I was flailing, at a loss for words and so confused. I cleared my throat and stomped over to my cozy little pool house.

  My cookie jar was not creepy. That doll had been my mother’s and then mine, and yes, it may have been missing an eye, but I liked it. It gave the jar character.

  Grabbing Polly’s head and taking the lid off my cookie jar, I peered inside and sure enough there was a wad of cash. So much more cash than I had seen in months.

  I giggled, excitedly, fanned myself with the money, and made a very important phone call.

  I tapped my fingers on the counter impatiently while listening to the irritating dial tone until Joe’s soothing voice greeted my ears.

  “Joe’s Pizza, what can I get you?”

  Chapter Three

  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 loun
ge 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.”