Well this is awkward. The very last thing I expected to have on my Bingo card this year is an attraction to a stranger with a superiority complex. The shiver of excitement I get over such a small, insignificant gesture is really pathetic. For all I know, he could’ve been testing whether the joints in his neck were working properly.
Big picture, though, an amicable working relationship would make the next three months run a whole lot smoother. I can get down with it if he’s willing.
A small woman, no taller than five feet, with a severe red bob and a black designer suit and sunglasses approaches Aidan Hughes, and trailing right behind her is Jess. Naturally, it leads me to surmise that this must be the infamous Cruella.
The redhead’s mouth starts moving rapidly. What seems like an eternity later, Hughes finally deigns her with his attention, his glare flash frozen.
“Stop humping my leg, Jules. I’m not your bitch.”
Not even the smallest attempt to lower his voice. So maybe not so misunderstood.
Shaking off the insult as if it’s just another day at the office, Cruella marches toward me and Mona and stops at the foot of the porch stairs.
“Are either of you Mona Harris?”
“That’s me,” Mona pipes up. With a contagious smile plastered across her face, she rushes down to shake the woman’s hand.
“Jules Izkov. I’m Aidan’s agent.” She motions to a man with silver hair speaking to Aidan in hushed tones. “That’s Neil, his manager. Aidan decided to forgo his personal chef and has arranged for meals to be delivered from the spa resort. I take it you can receive them for him?”
“I’d love to receive for him.”
Have mercy. I can only hope Jules doesn’t pick up on the dirty subtext.
She lifts her glasses just enough to get a good look at me. “You must be Jessica’s friend.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” I answer, because my daddy raised me right.
“Since Aidan will be spending most of the day with you, we should probably go over some details.”
“Um, okay,” I mumble, already uncomfortable with this enormous responsibility weighing on my shoulders.
“First, I need to remind you that you all signed an NDA. If I ever hear or see anything disparaging his good name in the media, I will sue you into extinction. Don’t tell your friends and family he’s here. This isn’t an opportunity for you to launch your next career.”
Lovely. “No need to––”
“Let me finish,” she snaps, cutting me off. “Now that we have that out of the way… Aidan will be helping you care for the animals, as discussed in our emails.”
By the looks of him, something tells me Aidan Hughes isn’t going to handle mucking out stalls very well. I wonder if he’s ever been around large animals. Some people can find them intimidating.
“But more importantly,” she steps forward, “I need you to take pictures and video of Aidan. With the animals, working on the farm, whatever it may be—anything we can use for his public relations campaign. Make sure nothing gives away his location or it’ll turn into a clusterfuck of paparazzi around here.” Gaze narrowed, she watches him approach. “But try to document anything we can use to rehab his image.”
Marvelous. I have a hard enough time posting something every day on the Mother Goose Rescue accounts for our patrons and donors who love to see the animal’s progress. With everything else I need to do, I can now add this to my list. “With all due respect, I take care of close to twenty animals. I don’t have the time––”
“You’re responsible for him while he’s here,” she says, cutting me off. “So yes, essentially you’re his assistant and personal photographer. Take the video and photos and post them. That’s what we paid you to do.”
I was under the impression the money was a donation and not a payoff. Though, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. There’s a reason Jess calls her Cruella.
“I thought he was bringing an assistant with him?” Fingers crossed I missed something and this person is on his or her way.
“Aidan’s pared his life down. He’s back to basics, so he left the trappings of his fame in L.A.”
He’s living in a quarter-million-dollar trailer for the next three months, so forgive me if I call donkey dung on this one.
“Jules, heel. Stop harassing the ladies.” Aidan Hughes flashes his signature million-dollar grin at Mona. His beard parts, highlighting his perfect, optic-white teeth and the ability to disarm all the straight women of the free world without any effort whatsoever. “Pleasure. Aidan Hughes at your service, ma’am.”
“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine,” Mona returns, and I have to forcibly stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“I will post the damn vids,” he dismissively tells Jules with only a fleeting glance in her direction. “Now leave us. You’ve done enough.”
We’re fifteen minutes into a three-month sentence and I’m already exhausted.
“Please answer when I call,” she tells him. “Ojai PD will be here in less than ten if you decide this dust pit is not to your liking, so don’t even attempt it.”
“Isn’t that what Shane is here for?” he says and sighs.
The plot thickens. So his brother is here as a prison warden, not to provide security and moral support. Interesting…
“That, too,” she says, putting her large sunglasses back on. Then, without a gesture or a word of goodbye, she walks to the Range Rover with Jess following closely behind.
Aidan watches them all get in their respective cars and drive away. The mask slides off and the forlorn look on his face tells a completely different story than the unaffected one he tried to sell a few minutes ago.
“Well, it’s… uh… time for me to feed lunch,” I announce after clearing my throat. This entire situation is awkward. I don’t even know how to address him. He’s only two years older than me. Do I call him sir? Mr. Hughes? Aidan? One could argue I’m his boss, but why would one want to argue that? It would mean I make all the decisions, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
With all the emails I received, you would think I would remember to ask the simple question of what the heck to call him.
“What are we having?” Aidan asks, his voice weak, his gaze still trained on the cloud of dust the cars left in their wake.
“Not us. The animals need to eat. Some are on a medical diet since they were almost starved to death, so I feed them small meals throughout the day––”
“Tomorrow,” he says speaking over me. “You can tell me tomorrow. I’m tired. Gonna take a nap.”
Without a backward glance, he shuffles to the Airstream trailer and disappears inside.
Alrighty then. Good start.
“Hello, Blue Baldwin, this is your mother speaking,” comes out of the speakerphone. “Call me. I left two messages and haven’t heard back from you yet. I really need to speak to you.”
I hit pause.
“You can’t keep ignoring her,” Mona says and slides a roast beef sandwich with lettuce and tomato across the kitchen island to me.
“Watch me,” I say, taking a big bite. I make a big theatrical show of hitting erase on the voicemail and glance at the time on the microwave. The digital numbers flash twelve.