Page 5 of Last First Kiss
A bodyguard was overkill.
The utilitarian-looking warehouse that housed ICS wasn’t in a neighborhood he’d normally frequent. But he had to admit, once he walked inside, that everything seemed top-of-the-line and expensive, not at all what he had expected from the area or the building. “I’m here for a meeting. My name is Rocco Monroe,” he said to the young man at the reception desk, knowing full well that he’d known who he was the moment he walked through the door. Everyone did. It wasn’t arrogance, it was fact.
“One moment, Mr. Monroe.” The guy pressed a button and spoke into the phone. A minute later the guy led him down a long hall, pipes and ducts purposely exposed overhead, with maps from all over the world, as well as clocks with different time zones, hung in strategically placed locations.
“Welcome to ICS, Mr. Monroe,” a large man, taller than him, said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. Rocco, at six-three, was often the tallest person in the room, but the man in front of him had him beat, and not just in height, he was also a lot wider. His handshake was firm and confident. “I’m Jackson Irons. You can call me Jax.” Then Rocco turned to the other two people in the room for the usual introductions, his eyes moving directly to the tall, strawberry blond, hazel-eyed beauty who stood across the wide conference room table. He took his glasses off his face as his breath caught in his throat. He barely heard Jax speak. “This is the other owner of ICS—Josef, or Joey, Clad.” Rocco shook the man’s hand, barely registering his presence. “And this is Annabelle Clad.”
“Annie,” she corrected, sharply. He took her small hand in his large one, and almost dreamily shook it. If there was a thing as lust at first sight, he’d just experienced it. He didn’t want to let go—she was soft and feminine, and sexy as hell.
But then he came back to reality and his heart plummeted when he processed the last name. Was this Joey’s wife?
Lucky fucking bastard.
“Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Monroe?” Jax asked.
“Please, call me Rocco. And water would be great, thank you.”
“Annie, would you mind—” Joey began, but she gave him a look that would make lesser men quiver and instead Joey smartly pressed the intercom in the center of the table and asked whoever was on the other end to bring in a few bottles of water.
Rocco couldn’t help himself and the words just flew out. “I’m sorry, but are you two married?”
She laughed, humorlessly. “No. I would never be married to a misogynistic pig like Joey.”
“Would you stop saying that? I’m not misogynistic.”
“They’re siblings,” Jax explained, and then turned to the two. “I told you both to shut up.”
What kind of mom and pop shop had NHN sent him to? NHN was arguably the most powerful movie studio in the world, they would undoubtedly hire the best, but these three did not seem professional. In fact, they didn’t look like they could secure their own building much less Rocco and all the hoopla that came with being a famous actor. But the woman was gorgeous, so gorgeous he couldn’t help but stare and imagine her flinging around orders in the office.
Too fiery for a secretary.
Definitely the office manager.
In fact, for the first time since learning about needing a bodyguard, he was excited. Maybe he’d get to come to ICS often for meetings and hopefully Annie would be there with all that thick hair, and red lips, and . . .
A cough from next to him jolted him out of his lustful thoughts. “Mr. Monroe, how is it that ICS can help you, exactly?” Shit, her brother had caught him staring. He wasn’t a fool. He’d learned from a long list of affairs that brothers could be overprotective. He didn’t have siblings himself, but if he did, he wouldn’t want his sister eye-fucked by a stranger.
Before Rocco could answer, the guy who’d escorted him into the room moments earlier came in and placed three bottles of water and three glasses on the table and then stepped out. Annie stood and leaned forward to hand him one, and he couldn’t help notice her outfit. Technically, her black top and black pants were practical and professional for her line of work, but the entire outfit was so tight, she might as well have been wearing a black catsuit. Never in his entire life—not with the countless starlets he’d worked with and dated—had he ever seen a sexier outfit.
Joey’s eyes narrowed in on him, and he realized he’d been inappropriately starting at Annie again.
“Mr. Monroe,” Joey practically snarled. Notably not calling him Rocco.
Annie was too distracting. He cleared his throat and turned to Joey. Why was he here, again? Oh yeah . . . riots, Colombia, decapitation photo . . . “As you’ve read in the NDA and probably have seen all over the news, I’m going to be playing Gabriel Mendoza, the Colombian drug lord, in a new NHN film. Unfortunately, this has become quite controversial and people seem to be unhappy I’m the one playing him. So, I’ve been getting some . . .” He shook his head side to side weighing the words. “Not-so-nice fan mail.”
“Adam from NHN called it hate mail. He said you’ve been getting death threats,” Joey responded. Rocco chanced a glance at Annabelle, who was sitting quietly taking some notes. She was all business, professionalism oozing off her, not at all wowed by his fame and charm.
Huh . . . That’s a first.
“Adam exaggerates. The entire studio is up in arms. It’s not that big of a deal, people will get over it. Once I did a print ad for Ralph Lauren and my car was vandalized with the words, ‘Bring Jase back!’” He laughed at the memory, and when none of them seemed to understand, he added: “Jase was the previous Ralph Lauren model.”
“Oh. Well, okay.” Jax shrugged. “So what exactly is it that you need from ICS?”
“Personally, I don’t need a thing from ICS, with all due respect. I’m capable of fending off a few overzealous fans or haters. The studio, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to agree with me. There is a stipulation in my contract that I must have security on me at all times until the film is produced.”
Joey and Jax looked at each other. “Okay, so you need a bodyguard.”
“Bodyguard.” He scrunched his nose. “Such an extreme term, no?”
