If Love Had A Price

Kris’s irritation and inexplicable arousal from her encounter with Nate lingered throughout her retail therapy session on Rodeo Drive. By the time she arrived home, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, but she still trembled with uncharacteristic agitation.

Forty-eight hours. She’d never waited that long for anything in her life, and the fact she’d offered Nate that much leeway when she could get any empty-headed pretty boy to take his place baffled her.

It was a job. She was an employer hiring an employee—a temporary one, at that. Why did Kris care who it was as long as they got the job done?

Her foul mood ratcheted up another notch when she saw the Stepmonster’s red Ferrari Spider parked in the ten-car garage. The Ferrari, along with Kris’s silver Mercedes convertible, was one of three cars Roger kept in L.A. for when he was in town.

The Carreras’ mansion in Beverly Hills was, like all their other properties, huge, and Kris had avoided the Stepmonster nine times out of ten so far. Even so, knowing the redhead roamed the estate at the same time as her put Kris’s teeth on edge.

She slammed her car door shut and entered the main building, bypassing the dome-ceilinged foyer, massive sunken living room, and gourmet kitchen on her way to her suite. Shopping bags from dozens of designer boutiques hung from her arms, but Kris was too consumed with thoughts of emerald eyes and whiskey drawls to take comfort in the weight of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing and accessories.

She tried to shake the image of Nate out of her mind, but it clung to her consciousness like Saran Wrap.

Dammit.

Kris made it to the bottom of the staircase right as Gloria’s sickeningly sweet voice seeped into the air.

“How was work, darlin’?”

The exaggerated Southern accent caused the hairs on the back of Kris’s neck to prickle.

She straightened her shoulders, turned, and leveled the Stepmonster with a disinterested gaze.

Gloria wasn’t her stepmother yet, thank God, but Stepmonster-to-be didn’t roll off the tongue quite as smoothly.

Her father’s twenty-seven-year-old fiancée wore a green floral bikini top that showcased the best double-Ds money could buy and a sheer sarong that stopped mid-thigh. With her flame-colored hair, hourglass figure, and fluttering lashes, she resembled Jessica Rabbit, only she was even faker than the cartoon.

“I feel so bad for you, havin’ to work all day.” Gloria’s glossy lips pushed out into a pout. “Must be so…tedious. But you know what your father said. You need to learn the value of money and hard work, darlin’. Can’t go fritterin’ away the family fortune on designer handbags and shoes.” She raised an eyebrow at Kris’s proliferation of shopping bags.

Fury simmered in Kris’s veins. Gloria was one to talk, given her addiction to Hermès and Louis Vuitton. She’d been a cocktail waitress scraping by on tips from lecherous men at a high-end bar before she’d landed her big fish: Roger Carrera, AKA Kris’s dad. In the eighteen months since she and Roger met, she’d transformed from an unsophisticated nobody who considered Target high-end to a designer snob who racked up monthly bills equivalent to the average American’s annual salary.

Still, Kris maintained her composure. She and Gloria were locked in a cold war, not a hot one. They fought their battles in the shadows, through subtle poisonous barbs and behind-the-scenes machinations. Whoever lost their cool first put themselves at a serious disadvantage.

“Thank you for your concern. I’m sure you’ve had enough experience with…hard work for both of us. But there’s no need to worry about me ‘fritterin’ away the family fortune. I plan to protect the Carerras’ money from anyone and anything that may threaten it.”

The real meaning behind her words hung in the air, clear as day.

Gloria was the threat, and Kris would annihilate her before the Stepmonster ever stepped foot on the wedding aisle.

Part of it was pure vindictiveness on Kris’s part. Her father had insisted she get a “real” job this summer and learn the value of money because Gloria had planted the idea in his head. Roger had been happy to provide Kris with as much money and freedom as she wanted—until the Stepmonster entered the picture.

Instead of arguing, Kris had agreed and convinced her father to land her a job as a summer assistant for Bobbi Rayden. She knew when to pick her battles, and if she was going to work like a plebeian, she might as well work at a glamorous job in L.A., where she could take advantage of the beaches and boutiques in her spare time, instead of pushing papers at her father’s company’s Seattle headquarters.

To her surprise and dismay, Gloria had offered to join her in California, framing it as an opportunity to bond with her future stepdaughter before the November nuptials. Roger, who was blind to Gloria and Kris’s mutual loathing and eager for them to get along, had jumped at the idea. Never mind the fact that Kris and Gloria wanted to bond as much as Kris wanted to drown in a sea of itchy polyester sweaters.

No, the Stepmonster had merely seized the opportunity to spend a summer in sunny SoCal instead of gloomy Seattle while Roger closed a major business deal in Manila. The deal had sucked up all of his attention the past few months, and he’d decided to stay in the Philippines until it was done instead of flying back and forth between Washington and Asia every few weeks.

“Oh, sweet darlin’. How naïve you are,” Gloria said softly. “To think you could protect anything from anyone. You grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have no idea what it’s like, havin’ to fight for survival.”

Kris bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Care to wager on that?”

“Oh, I don’t do wagers. Silly little things.” Gloria waved a dismissive hand in the air. Her massive ten-carat Cartier engagement ring flashed in the light, and a cold gleam of satisfaction entered her eyes when she saw Kris’s eye twitch with anger at the sight. “Besides,” she drawled. “You won’t have enough to wager with.”

The Stepmonster spun on her heels and strutted toward the pool, her hips swaying like a pendulum.

You won’t have enough to wager with.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Gloria had convinced her father to cut her off after Kris spent an extravagant sum of money on her friend Courtney Taylor’s birthday weekend during study abroad, but a guilt-ridden Roger had reinstated Kris’s credit card privileges soon after. She doubted Gloria would try that trick again.

Besides, Kris’s checking and savings accounts were flush with cash, and once she turned twenty-three, she’d come into a trust fund large enough to ensure she’d never have to work a day in her life.

She decided Gloria was merely fucking with her and ascended the rest of the stairs to her room. Once Nate accepted Kris’s offer—and he would accept—Gloria would be out of her life forever. Kris had faith in his ability to seduce the Stepmonster.

Despite her giggly facade and damsel-in-distress routine, Gloria was no dummy. But she also hadn’t seen her fiancé in over a month, and Nate was beautiful enough to bring even a nun to her knees. A lusty, bored housewife-in-training would be a piece of cake.

Kris kicked off her Jimmy Choos and flexed her feet against the plush carpet. Her stomach tangled again when she pictured Nate’s broad, strong shoulders and exquisitely sculpted face. She wondered what poor bastards were wandering around with warts and sagging jowls so Nate could enjoy his surplus of beauty. God had to have poured at least three males’ worth of handsomeness into him; his gorgeousness made little sense otherwise.

Kris attempted to push him out of her mind by unpacking her purchases, but she was so distracted she couldn’t even appreciate her new Rag & Bone booties.

Her eyes strayed to the clock on her nightstand.

“Tick-tock, Nate,” she whispered. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

KRIS SPENT the next morning at Alchemy, knee-deep in research. She was sure Nate would accept her offer, but just in case he didn’t, she needed a backup.

By the time noon rolled around, she’d scrolled through so many actor headshots her eyes swam. Six-pack abs, strong jawlines, perfect tans. Blah, blah, boring.

Nate had all those things too, but he imbued them with a confidence and swagger that captivated at first sight. The guys Kris found online were the opposite of captivating.

To be fair, they were pictures. Maybe they were more charming in person. But Kris needed a break before she banged her head against the table out of frustration.

“Vanilla oat latte, double shot of espresso.” The blue-haired barista/waiter with a wicked-looking nose ring slid the drink in front of her.

“Thanks.” Kris flicked her eyes at the rest of the staff. No Nate. He usually worked the morning shift on Sundays—not that she was keeping track or anything.

He’d caught her eye the second she saw him, but she’d never thought about engaging with him until she came up with her brilliant plan to get rid of Gloria a week ago.

A strange wisp of disappointment curled through Kris at his absence.

“Looks like a full house today,” she said casually. “I’m surprised there are only three people on staff.”

The cafe was a tranquil coffee shop during the week, but on the weekends, it buzzed with trendy brunch-goers. Kris had arrived early enough to claim a corner table, and she’d justified hogging her spot for hours with a steady diet of coffee, pastries, and an order of delicious French toast.

“It’s okay. No more or less busy than other weekends.” Blue Hair looked startled by Kris’s sudden chattiness. She’d never initiated a conversation before beyond the usual hi, thanks, bye. “Another waiter was supposed to come in this morning, but he had a last-minute emergency and switched to the afternoon shift.”

Kris sipped her latte. “Everything is all right, I hope.”

“Yeah, he’s fine.” A group of drunk blondes demanding more mimosas snagged Blue Hair’s attention. He flashed Kris a rueful grin. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

After a few minutes of scrolling through more headshots without actually seeing them, Kris slammed her laptop shut and caught the eye of an older woman sitting at the next table over. The woman was beautiful, with high cheekbones and tan skin. She was also a regular at Alchemy.

Kris couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d seen this woman before they both stumbled into the same coffee shop in L.A. Maybe she was a small-time actress?

The woman smiled; Kris didn’t return the overture. Just because they were familiar with each other’s faces didn’t mean they were friends or acquaintances. For all Kris knew, the woman was a stalker.

Kris slid her laptop into her bag, tossed a twenty on the table, and glided out of the cafe. She was done with work today. Her next appointment wasn’t until six, which left her plenty of time to…do what?

Shop? She did that yesterday.

Go to the spa? Also did that yesterday.

Go to the beach? Too hot and crowded. Kris preferred private stretches of sand owned by five-star hotels in the Mediterranean.

Ugh.

“I’m a goddamn cliché,” she muttered, climbing into her Mercedes.

Poor little rich girl with nothing to do.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

Kris wished her friend Farrah, whom she met in Shanghai during study abroad, were here so they could hang out. Farrah lived in L.A., but she was interning in New York this summer along with their other study abroad friends, Olivia Tang and Sammy Yu.

Kris knew a handful of other people in the city, mostly celebrity offspring who frequented the same jet-set resorts as the Carreras, but she didn’t feel like hitting any of them up. Teague was the only one she could stand, and he always spent his summers surfing it up in Hawaii or the South Pacific.

After a moment of deliberation, she drove east toward La Brea. Less than half an hour later, she arrived at a two-story office building that housed a dentist’s office, Chase bank, and Allstate insurance branch, among other businesses. It was so bland and suburban it depressed the hell out of her.

Kris killed the engine and got out of the car. It was only when she tried to open the locked building door that she realized it was Sunday, which meant no one was working.

She groaned. “I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself.”

Kris spun around, ready to pepper spray the shit out of whoever was behind her, but relaxed when she saw Susan’s twinkling eyes and warm smile.

“What are you doing here?” Kris demanded. “It’s Sunday.”

Susan arched an eyebrow. She wore a pair of old jeans and a yellow T-shirt that had seen better days, and she carried a large cardboard box of what looked like craft supplies. “I could ask you the same thing.”

If Kris were the blushing type, she’d be beet-red. “I mixed the days up. I thought it was Monday.”

“I see.” Susan was too nice to call her out, but her knowing glance showed she saw through Kris’s blatant lie. For one, Kris usually showed up in the early evenings since she had to work during the day, and it was barely past lunchtime. “While you’re here, would you be a dear and open the door for me?” She pointed her chin toward the key card dangling from her fingertips.

Kris took the card, waved it in front of the building’s electronic pad, and held the door once it buzzed open. She followed Susan to MentHer’s office in the back, feeling somewhat like a daughter tagging along with her mother to work.

Not that Kris would know what that felt like. Her mother had abandoned her and her dad when Kris was two.

Perhaps that was why Kris had been drawn to the MentHer flyer she saw at Alchemy two weeks ago. MentHer was a nonprofit for girls who’d lost their moms, and it offered events, mentorship, and virtual programming for girls up to the age of twenty-two.

At twenty-one, Kris was too young to be a mentor—not that she would’ve signed up for the role even if she met the age requirements. She preferred her charitable contributions in the form of checks, thank you very much. She also had zero desire to be mentored herself. Kris had done just fine growing up without a mom. She’d figured out the whole period thing, never had her heart broken, and possessed kick-ass makeup and styling skills.

However, some weird part of her had compelled her to take one of the flyers and show up at MentHer the day after, offering her volunteer services. Help with events, office work, that sort of thing. It made no fucking sense. Kris hated office work. She had to deal with enough of that bull in her day job. Contrary to what she’d thought, working for Bobbi Rayden was less red-carpet parties and more tracking media mentions of Bobbi’s high-profile clients. It was a total snooze fest.

Susan flipped on the lights, illuminating the empty front desk and threadbare navy carpet. They bypassed the reception area and beelined to the back, where motivational posters and pictures of mentors and mentees at various outings papered the orange walls.

“So.” Susan set the cardboard box on a table and surveyed Kris with intelligent eyes. “Do you want to help me sort the supplies for next week’s group activity, or do you want to share why you’re really here on a Sunday afternoon?”

Kris scowled. She liked Susan, who’d quit her job in movie production and taken up her new calling as the founder of MentHer four years ago, but she didn’t like her that much. Plus, Kris wasn’t sure why, exactly, she was here on a Sunday when she could be flirting with cute guys at Chateau Marmont.

“Sort supplies.” Kris pushed a thick lock of hair out of her eyes. She’d dyed her naturally black locks an overall dark brown and layered them with multidimensional chocolate and caramel balayage highlights. Thank God she’d found a stylist in L.A. who could do her Seattle hairdresser’s work justice.

Susan’s lips curved into a wry smile. “All right then.”

They worked in silence for the next few hours. It didn’t take long to sort the supplies, but Susan also needed help planning MentHer’s annual summer gala in August. Kris gladly pitched in—she enjoyed event planning and had helped her father organize dozens of charity events in the past. MentHer’s budget wasn’t exactly on the same level as the charity balls that charged $5,000 per plate, but a little creativity went a long way.

“Why are you doing this on a weekend?” Kris scribbled a list of theme ideas for the gala on a yellow legal pad. Disney. Secret garden. Nautical. Nothing exciting, but they accommodated the mentees’ wide age range. “I thought event planning was Melinda’s job.”

“I don’t mind. When you love something, it doesn’t feel like work.” Susan’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “I appreciate you staying, though, when you could be off breaking some poor boy’s heart instead.”

Kris brushed off the other woman’s teasing. “Please. Boys are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Nate’s image flashed through her mind again, like an annoying gnat that wouldn’t go away, and she brushed it aside with no small amount of irritation.

“Most aren’t,” Susan agreed. “But wait till you find the one you’re willing to go through hell and back for.”

“I don’t like waiting.” Kris was over this topic. “Are the movies still happening tonight?”

“Yes. Thanks for the reminder.” Susan checked her watch. “We should leave now if we want to make it in time. You know L.A. traffic.”

If there was one thing in life Kris hated more than designer knockoffs, it was Los Angeles traffic. She should’ve hired a private helicopter for the summer instead of taking the Mercedes. She would’ve gotten hours of her life back.

They made it to the movie theater ten minutes past the agreed-upon meeting time. Luckily, Melinda, MentHer’s program director, had been there to receive the girls and their mentors.

Her face broke out into a relieved smile when she saw Susan and Kris. It probably wasn’t easy, wrangling two dozen people on your own.

While Susan and Melinda conferred over business, Kris took in the mentor/mentee pairings with cool detachment. Most of the girls didn’t annoy her, which was saying a lot, but a few could use a makeover. Hadn’t these people ever heard of deep conditioner?

“Kris!” A bubbly blonde in jean shorts and a white T-shirt with a pastel rainbow splashed across the front bounded over. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

Kris’s face softened a smidge. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Skylar, who’d joined MentHer around the same time Kris started volunteering, was the one mentee she’d taken a liking to. Kris’s predisposition toward the girl baffled her, considering her tolerance for perkiness hovered near “zero” on a one to ten scale. Until now, Courtney was the only person whose bubbliness didn’t make Kris want to gouge her eyes out.

“Your brother still doesn’t know you’re coming to these meetings?” Kris followed the rest of the group inside. Susan had bought their tickets online, so they bypassed the long lines and headed straight for the bored-looking attendants to the left.

“No. He thinks I’m here with a friend from soccer camp.” Pink bloomed across Skylar’s cheeks. “It’s stupid. He probably wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want to hurt him, you know? He’s done so much for me since our mom died, and I never want him to feel like he’s not good enough. But there are some things…”

“That you need to talk to a female about,” Kris finished.

Skylar flashed a grateful smile. “Yeah.”

For a seventeen-year-old who’d grown up in L.A., the land of backstabbing vipers and fake smiles, she was startlingly innocent and well-adjusted. Not naïve, per se, but she possessed a fresh, optimistic outlook on life that Kris couldn’t fathom. Maybe that was why she liked the girl so much. Skylar was an oddity, a rare gem amongst a sea of hard-hewn pebbles.

Plus, Kris sometimes glimpsed deep, abiding loneliness behind Skylar’s sunny smile. And that, she could relate to. The feeling of being all alone in the world, even when you were surrounded by people, could be a real bitch.

“I’d feel less bad if he had a girlfriend,” Skylar said as they settled into their seats. “Someone to take his mind off family and work. He’s wound so tight I’m afraid he’ll have a cardiac arrest before he hits thirty.” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at Kris. “You guys are around the same age…”

“Don’t even think about it.” Kris’s tone brooked no opposition. “I don’t do romance, and I’m only here for the summer.”

Skylar’s brother sounded like a stand-up guy. He also sounded boring as shit.

Family and work.

Kris was halfway to Snoozeville already.

“But summer romances are fun!” Skylar insisted.

Kris arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Have you ever had one?”

“No. But—”

“Shh. The movie’s starting.”

Sure enough, the lights dimmed, and the rest of the theater settled into quiet anticipation.

Since some mentees were as young as eleven, Susan had chosen a sweet, PG-rated movie. By the time they reached the forty-five-minute mark, Kris wanted to shoot the screenwriter, the voice actors, the director, and whoever invented the concept of animation.

There were only so many rainbows and unicorns she could take.

It didn’t help that Skylar snuck glances at her throughout the entire thing with a mischievous gleam in her eyes that Kris didn’t like. At all.

After ninety minutes, the movie blessedly ended. Susan and Melinda stayed with the girls who were waiting for their family members to pick them up, but Kris had had enough group fun for the night. She said her goodbyes to the MentHer staff and Skylar—ignoring the girl’s last-ditch attempts to talk her brother up to Kris—and drove home.

She was halfway to Beverly Hills when her phone rang. It was connected to the car, so she could see the caller’s name flashing on the radio screen.

Nate.

Kris’s heart did a silly little skip, and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

“You’re cutting it close,” she said, dispensing with the usual greetings.

“Last I checked, I still have twenty-one hours left.” Nate’s smoky drawl filled the car, so deep and velvety Kris could almost feel it.

Her nipples puckered beneath her $300 silk bra, and heat oozed between her thighs until she bit back a surprised gasp.

Kris didn’t succumb to irrational lust. Ever.

Yes, she’d been aroused after her encounter with Nate in the parking lot yesterday, but this was on another level.

She was soaking wet after one sentence from a guy she wasn’t even sure she liked.

What the hell was wrong with her?

You and I need to talk later about appropriate responses, she told her traitor body, which only heated further in response.

“Did you call to debate the timing, or have you made a decision?”

Kris congratulated herself on her aloof tone. No one could tell from her voice that she was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Nate chuckled, and dammit, the rough rumble of amusement turned her on even more.

He could make a killing as a phone sex operator.

“Yes. I’ll do it.” A brief pause. “With conditions.”

Conditions? Conditions?

Anger tempered Kris’s arousal. She’d already caved on his $5,000 upsell. $15,000 was a helluva lot of money for what he had to do, which was basically nothing except look pretty and toss a few compliments Gloria’s way.

“You must be smoking crack if you think—”

“I’ll do it for $15,000—”

They spoke at the same time, but Nate wasn’t finished, and his next words stunned Kris so much she couldn’t find her voice for a long time after he spoke.

“—and a kiss. From you. At any time I choose.”