Hudson

I depart from the terminal after landing in LAX and stroll through the mob of people rushing around and talking on their cell phones. I’m not a fan of crowds. Solitude is more my thing, but I have a feeling I better get used to the contrary. Dallas has told me the stories. Fans and paparazzi follow Stella around like a shadow.

I never went back into the pub last night. Instead, I ditched my party and walked back to Dallas’ place to spend the rest of the night watching Disney movies with Maven.

I’d gone from plans of coming home to fuck my fiancé senseless to sitting on the couch watching a cartoon about a nitwit teen who trades her voice for legs to get laid by Prince Charming. I didn’t get shit for sleep, and the cherry on top was Dallas waking me up at the ass crack of dawn to drive me to the airport.

I snag my luggage and sweep my gaze over the large area. Dallas texted me before my plane departed saying that Stella’s driver would be here to give me a ride. I scan the signs held up by people waiting until I see one with my name on it. I make my way over to a grey-haired older man wearing a suit.

“You Jim?” I ask.

He nods. “You Hudson?”

“Sure am.”

We shake hands, and I stop him from taking my luggage before he leads me out of the airport to a black SUV with windows tinted so dark I’m sure it’s illegal. My bag gets tossed into the backseat, and I settle myself in the front.

“You worked for Stella long?” I ask when he starts the car and reverses out of the parking spot.

Traffic is lined up bumper to bumper, and I question why anyone in their right mind would ever want to live in this shit.

“Almost five years,” he replies. “I got hired right after your brother did, but I don’t travel with her. I only drive when she’s in LA.” He peers over at me. “Dallas was damn good at his job. I hope he passed that skill and professionalism onto you. And I hate to bring up the subject, but I want to express my condolences to your family.” He shakes his head with anguish crossing over his face–like a dark rush of pain has hit him. “I lost my wife to cancer last year. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to possibly have the chance of losing her so early. Losing all of those years.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, and thank you. My sister-in-law is as tough as nails. She’ll make it through this, stronger than ever.” At least that’s what I want to make myself believe. We’re all doing our best to stay positive.

We make small talk the rest of the ride, and Jim punches in the passcode when we stop in front of a security gate. He drives up to a lavish Spanish-style home that looks like it could house three families. Homes in Blue Beech are nothing this extravagant. Cameron and I were renting a two-bedroom farmhouse that looked like a shack compared to this place.

“Hot damn,” I mutter. “Some crib for a twenty-five-year-old.”

Jim parks and cuts the ignition. “Working on a long-standing, Emmy-award-winning TV show gives you a pretty decent paycheck.”

“I’d say so.”

It’s too excessive for one person, in my opinion. A place like this would make someone feel lonelier than hell.

“Does she live here by herself?” I ask.

“She does. Her sister used to stay with her sometimes, but she moved to New York six months ago.”

I step out of the car and get a whiff of vanilla when I walk through the front door. I look around, admiring the hardwood floors and cathedral ceilings before making it to the living room where there’s a massive stone fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that give me one of the most remarkable views I’ve ever seen.

I get why she bought this place now.

That fucking view.

I could sit out there and think for hours with a sight like that.

Two women walk into the room, their mouths dropping when they notice me. I rudely return the stare while watching them move our way. I recognize Stella immediately.

How could I not?

She’s all over the magazines in the checkout aisle and on TV. Cameron used to make me watch award shows with her where this chick won all the time for people’s choice shit.

What I wasn’t expecting is how breathtakingly beautiful she is.

My eyes stay pinned to her full-figured body. She’s enthralling, flawless, fucking perfection. No wonder every camera wants a shot of her.

Stella Mendes is a woman who can bring a man to his knees with even the slightest hint of a smile. Hell, she doesn’t even have to smile. Just her presence makes you hungry for more.

Fuck me.

Good thing I’m only here until they find someone else to take over the job.

I always assumed they made people look better on TV with make-up … Photoshop … some kind of fake shit, but that notion is slipping further into the dust with every step she moves in closer.

Straight hair the color of coal flows down her shoulders and over her chest, framing a heart-shaped face with only minimal make-up. White, skin-tight jeans that show off her endless curves stop only a few inches away from her ankles, and the black silk tank hanging loose on her shoulders gives me a glimpse of skin the color of honey that I’m sure feels even smoother. Her wide set, cocoa brown eyes are warm. Her smile is inviting.

But her attractiveness doesn’t change my opinion of her. She might be gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean she’s a good person. Cameron has read me stories from her gossip magazines about Stella being a spoiled diva who expects people to jump when she hollers. There have been times it’s been difficult for Dallas to come home for the holidays because of her hectic schedule.

That shit won’t fly with me.

I’ll work for her, but I won’t be ordered around like a dog.

She pushes out her sun-kissed hand complete with a pink manicure when she reaches me. “Hudson, thank you for coming.” Her voice is flat, telling me I’m not the only one unexcited for this arrangement.

I shake her hand–her soft palm causing friction against my calloused one. “No problem.” My answer is as flat as hers.

She jerks her head towards the petite redhead at her side that looks about the same age as her. She’s dressed more comfortably than Ms. Hollywood–wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a black t-shirt that says Go Fuck Your Selfie. “This is my assistant, Willow.”

Willow smiles, giving me a friendly wave before clapping her hands. She gestures between Stella and me, either not noticing the awkward tension or choosing to ignore it. “Now that the introductions are out of the way, we’ve got shit to do. You two are going to be spending a lot of time together, and I want to make sure you take care of my girl.”

Stella flinches.

Sounds like a damn nightmare to the both of us.