6. The Stepdad’s Girl

Soberedup and eating a strict vegetarian diet, I was slimmer and looking rested, healthier, ready to take on the world as I exited the plane in L.A.

A new blue suit, freshly shaven, and with trimmed hair slicked back, I portrayed exactly the role I wanted to—a guy who had his crap together.

A week ago, I was aimless in a hammock at the beach. Today, I was a new man with new priorities. The future looked so bright. Where were my shades? The thought put a confident swagger in my step.

I’d always wanted to be a writer, loved movies, and after the whirlwind of the past week, I thanked my formerly drunk self for writing and mailing off the movie script. Because now the universe was mine to devour.

Well, who did we have here? A gorgeous blonde with legs a mile long in nude high heels and a tight blue skirt held a card with my name in the baggage claim area.

She glanced around, face-hopping, until finally lighting on me. I gave her a nod and my best let me turn you the fuck right on right now smile.

Our eyes met. Her blues shone, framed by long black lashes. Mine were blue too, and hopefully white and clear after trying sobriety the past week.

With her head cocked and puckered, red-stained lips, her crystal eyes ran a trail down my suit and back up. She judged me while looking poised to give me a kiss. I wouldn’t mind if she did. Something told me I’d better not screw with her, though, before this deal concluded.

“I’m Buddy Rodgers.”

“How do I know for sure?” My ears perked up at her silky, cool voice.

“Want to see my ID?”

“Yes, please.” She crossed her arms over an ample pair of breasts in a lace bodysuit under a see-through white blouse. And those lips still puckered. Plenty of ideas flashed through my brain about what she could do with those red beauties.

When I held out my ID, she barely glanced at it, fluttering her eyelashes between my card and my eyes. “I’m Honey.”

“Like the sweet stuff?”

“Exactly.” She finally broke out her smile and tossed her golden mane back with a flip of her hand.

“Is the car I requested ready?” I asked.

“Yes. The driver is waiting right out front.” She motioned to the airport exit.

I gave her a protracted once over while I trailed behind her and those swaying hips. Externally, she was my type. Tanned and tall and slender, blonde and well-manicured, she would be every bit fuckable against my hotel wall. But I warned myself to wait until I did the deal before entertaining any thoughts about tasting Honey’s nectar.

“You certainly travel in style. A Rolls Royce? That was unexpected,” she said as I caught up to her side.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, when your manuscript arrived with food and beverage stains all over it, I figured the writer was down and out. I had a good laugh at your request for a Rolls Royce.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about the script.” I couldn’t be more grateful for somehow landing this opportunity since I didn’t know a thing about movie making.

“First impressions are everything, and Mr. Tomms wouldn’t have read it. You’d be surprised at the number of scripts that come in a complete mess—and he won’t read them because they reek of desperation, he says. Lucky for you, I still give them a glance before I toss them. Yours has potential. So, I guess you have me to thank for typing and printing up a clean copy of your manuscript and placing it front and center on Dad’s desk.”

“Thanks. But wait. You’re the daughter of the man I’m about to meet?”

“Stepdaughter. And you’re welcome.” Honey winked at me with a tone in her words like a veiled invitation to some party for two we might enjoy later.

The woman was screwing with me, right? She did all that for me and now here I was? I would definitely find ways to thank her later, especially if this deal worked out.

As we exited the airport doors, suddenly a barrage of people with cameras accosted us, flashes going off in every direction.

Honey hooked her arm in mine and if I weren’t busy shielding my eyes, I’d have relished the electricity pinging between us.

“Put your arm down, relax, and smile. Try to have fun with this,” she muttered under her breath, never breaking her toothy grin. Her arm went behind my back and I threaded mine behind hers, squeezing her into my side, with all kinds of fireworks snapping up and down my side where we touched.

“Who’s your new man, Honey?” One photographer shouted. I realized this must be the paparazzi Hollywood was known for and smiled the best I could.

“This is Baird Rodgers,” she called out, using my formal name. Which I didn’t exactly recall ever giving her. Someone’s done their homework. “Hollywood’s next amazing writer. Wait until you hear about the project we’re working on together.”

Honey certainly knew how to play it up for the cameras. After growing up with a father who avoided the limelight, this was unfamiliar territory to me. Then again, I suppose that’s something that one gets used to if you’re in the film industry long enough.

It didn’t escape my notice that we had yet to talk about my project—rather presumptuous of her to think we’d agreed to working on anything together yet.

“What a beautiful couple? Are you dating?” Another shouted. That one took me by surprise.

Honey gave me a sly side eye glance with a grin loaded with possibilities, but remained silent, leaving me dumbfounded. And extremely turned on. My cock needed to behave in front of all these cameras.

Her parade of me continued to the car, and we lingered there another minute more until the photographers were done. While she fielded a few more questions about “our” project with a tease to her answers, the sparks that flew from the link of our arms finally registered.

“One more photo. Can you get a little closer?” A female with a long camera lens shouted at us.

Out of my element, I went along with it, leaning in and bringing my other hand to rest on hers at her waist. My thumb spread across her knuckles where her skin was smooth like, well, honey, both in color and texture. My eyes traveled up to her face, her hair also the color of honey. And the California sun shone behind her like a halo, attracting me to the light.

Everything about her screamed a sweet treat. I’d been a love ’em and leave ’em guy for so long, but this felt refreshing. A possible new startup for the guy I was trying to be? But she was the stepdaughter of the head of the studio. I needed to bide my time and not mess up the potential project ahead by fucking the boss man’s girl.

The driver opened the door. Honey finally entered the car. Her sexy long legs on display crossed at the knees in front of her, and I could stare at those for hours.

“I’ve never been in a Rolls Royce before this,” she cooed as I slid across the white leather seat beside her, and the driver shut the door. A Rolls wasn’t exactly my style, more my dad’s, and I’d been in plenty of them. Now, in sunny L.A., I wished I’d requested a sporty convertible.

“Then we’re even. I’ve never been hounded by paparazzi before,” I replied.

“You call that hounded? That was nothing, a simple publicity stunt to get the Hollywood engine revving about our project,” she explained.

“I see. So all the smiling and touching was simply for the cameras?” I admitted a slight disgruntlement, if that was the case.

“Not necessarily,” she purred again, glancing at me sideways. Flirty and mysterious, Honey definitely piqued my interest. A+ for first impressions.

“You talk as if this is a done deal between us.” Break out the pen and show me to the nearest bed and I’ll give her quite the deal.

“I have every confidence it will be.” She delivered her opinion with more fluttering of her lashes.

Deep into the famed L.A. traffic, I cleared my throat and fought back my growing erection, thinking of anything to keep the conversation going. “So, any advice as I’m about to meet your father?”

“Stepfather. And other than he can be a complete asshole at times, no. You look like you can hold your own, though. You’ll be fine.”

She shifted her legs and crossed them. I imagined my hands running up their smooth, tanned surface. Easy to think about, but harder to look away from. And what was that scent? Something elegant, refined, maybe a classic like Chanel. The woman had taste, a stark contrast to the beach babes in bikinis drenched in suntan oil I’d hung with the past few years.

“You called me Baird back there. I don’t recall telling you my name,” I said.

“You got me. I did some research on you. Let’s say I was curious about the man behind the contradiction of the disheveled script and the Rolls Royce request. Baird William “Buddy” Rodgers. Son of a wealthy oil tycoon of Scottish heritage. Which screams old money. Harvard Law graduate. So you’ll be a stickler on the contracts. And a self-made millionaire several times over thanks to selling off a tech biz for a small fortune. You got lucky there.” Her elbow leaned on the door, and her manicured fingers twirled her honey hair.

I settled further into the plush seat and slipped her a smug grin. “I prefer hard work over luck. And definitely Buddy over Baird. You seem to know so much about me. Tell me what I need to know about Honey Adams.”

She chuckled. “I’m a stepdad’s girl. High-maintenance and worth every penny, sweetie. But don’t let my exterior fool you. I have a brain for business. And I know money—and a good deal—when I see it.” Our eyes locked, her intoxicating crystal sky-blues reminiscent of the ocean I loved. “And you, Buddy, are about to make me a very happy woman.”

“I can think of a dozen ways to make you happy.” In bed. Soon. Real soon.

“But it only takes one,” she purred. There’s her coy smile again, like she’s not ready to let me in on a big secret. My brows stitched together. There was something curious about her, though.

She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already assume about her. I’d performed my own due diligence over the past week, which was basic business 101. But there was more to Honey Adams beyond her UCLA film school degree and her status as a social media and entertainment news darling.

Once labeled the Most Eligible Bachelorette of Hollywood by the Times a few years ago, every photo of her on the arm of some actor or director appeared staged to me. Like she’d been playing the game for so long, she forgot who she was.

Maybe a little luck and a good script got me here. But now that I landed, I intended to dig deep…really deep, and get the heart of Ms. Adams, who she was and what made her tick.