I tilt my head and listen to the guys head back downstairs. As soon as their feet hit the bottom step, I flop down on my bed and let the breath I’ve been holding hiss out of me like a slow leak from a bicycle tire.

That was close! I’m not sure what I’ve done to make Holden so suspicious of me, but I can tell that if I don’t learn the ropes around here a lot quicker than I did at the restaurant, I’ll be sunk. I never expected him to call me out on my designer luggage. It makes me wonder if I should start cutting the labels off all my clothes.

Or am I just being paranoid? Maybe Holden wasn’t commenting on the fact the suitcases are Burberry. Maybe he just liked the tan plaid detailing. After all, it’s not all that different from the shirt he’s wearing. Except for the price tag. These two bags cost close to four grand. If his shirt came close to that, I would suspect there’s more going on around this ranch than just raising cattle.

Besides, if I chop all the tags off my stuff, it will destroy my “plan B.” And, from how surly Holden’s been to me, I think I might need it after all. When I packed up all my stuff and snuck away from the house my father bought with money I earned, I loaded these suitcases down with every expensive piece of clothing, jewelry, and shoes I could scrounge.

I know not many pawn shops around here would be interested in a Givenchy shawl or Louboutin red bottom heels, but I’m sure I could find a buyer on eBay. I figure that in the worst-case scenario, these clothes could be the thing that save me from living on the streets.

In the meantime, I should concentrate on “plan A.” Stretching my fingers wide, I pluck my cell phone from the table near the bed and lie back on the fluffy pillow. I quickly type “easy delicious meals” into Google and scroll through the results. Hamburgers looks pretty hard to screw up. Besides, I’m guessing these guys will have all the supplies to make them. Studying the instructions, I pretend I’m memorizing lines for a movie and commit them to memory in no time flat.

Hopping back out of bed, I take a quick glimpse in the mirror and give myself a confident nod. I’ve got this. I’ll just consider it the role of a lifetime. Instead of all the bit parts and sidekick roles I’ve been getting in Hollywood, I’ll just pretend I’m finally cast into the lead again. And, just like with Cinderella, I need to convince everyone I can cook and clean.

Too bad this time there’s no handsome prince to swoop in and save me. Although, two smokin’ hot cowboys isn’t a bad substitute. I blink as an entirely different “happy ever after” pops into my mind. Instead of ball gowns and glass slippers, it involves being pressed between their hard, cut, naked bodies. The image of Travis and Holden ripping off my clothes and then contorting me between them to take both of them at the same time makes a powerful shudder of desire quiver through me.

I manage to snap out of the daydream and give my head a shake. That’s the last thing I should be thinking about. Besides, I’ve never been shared by two men before. And, given my track record with guys, why would I want to set myself up for double the disappointment? Sex is all anyone in Hollywood ever talks about or seems to think about. They use it to sell literally everything.

Want some yogurt?

No.

What if it’s sexy yogurt? Huh? Huh?

Well… okay, if it’s sexy.

But the reality is, I’ve been with a couple of men now and both of them made me feel anything but sexy. My first real boyfriend thought blow jobs were his God-given right as a man, but told me that eating pussy was “gross.” So, that made me feel really good about myself. And then the only other guy I’ve been with was constantly giving me backhanded compliments about my weight.

“Wow, I thought your stomach would look a lot bigger with your clothes off.” He looked genuinely surprised when I first got naked in front of him.

Or my personal favorite, “You know how I know I’m giving it to ya good?” he asked after another disappointing jackhammering session.

“No, how?” I bit my tongue and forced myself not to ask, “Wait, you’ve been giving it to me good?”

“When I’m banging you so hard that all your flab is jiggling, I know I’m doing you right,” he answered proudly.

I cringe at the memory and wrap my arms around myself in a hug I desperately need to find shelter in. Well, that certainly put a damp blanket on any fire that was starting to ignite inside me.

Wincing, I try to bury the snapshots of my sex life inside. I need a distraction. Heading out the door and down the hall, I go back to trying to perform the role of my life. I need to bury myself in less painful thoughts and get myself immersed in this new job.

Besides, those hamburgers aren’t going to cook themselves.