Read Online First Kiss by Kylie Adams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kylie Adams
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Reference, Interpersonal relations, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Weddings, Bridesmaids, Actresses, Hotelkeepers, Manhattan (New York; N.Y.), Beauty Contestants, Beauty Contests
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hot, either," Suzi-Suzi snapped. "I'm thirty minutes late for a catalog shoot because I've been running all over the city for you ." Big sigh. "But I'm here in the lobby with all of your stuff. Where do you keep your luggage? I couldn't find a single piece, so I packed everything in garbage bags. I look like a girl who just ran away from a homeless shelter."
Kiki smacked her own forehead. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I keep my Vuitton pieces in Mrs. Manheim's apartment. There's no room in my closet, and she has loads of space."
"Listen, I have to run. Are you coming down or not?"
"Just tell the front desk to bring everything to Jennifer Aniston's room. That's my alias."
"Love that. In fact, I can't wait to say it. Oh, before I forget. Sarah Ann said that she appreciates the payment but can no longer represent you."
"Shut up!"
"I'm serious. Something about signing on Kirsten Brock as a client. I know it sucks, but you'll figure it out. Hey, I'm dashing. I'll call you later."
Kiki held the dead mobile to her ear as the import of Suzi-Suzi's news began to resonate. "I can't believe it," she murmured, as much to herself as to the dreamboat standing next to her in the five-hundred-dollar-a-night closet.
"What?" Fab asked.
She tossed the phone onto the bed and looked at him. "My publicist just dropped me from her client roster." Kiki delivered this news with a gravity presidential advisors might employ on the topic of national security.
"Sounds like a good thing," Fab reasoned. "I don't think she's up for the job. Have you seen today's paper? You're getting some really bad publicity."
Kiki was in no mood to laugh. The frisson of irrita-tion that came next effectively snapped whatever was left of the sexual tightwire that had tensed up the room just minutes before.
Fab seemed to read the mood change. "I'll leave you to get settled."
"Do I seem that unsettled?" Kiki asked archly.
"Relax. It's an expression, not a judgment. Maybe you want to take a nap or soak your feet from all the running around in those heels."
"A foot massage would be nice."
Fab nodded dutifully. "I'll check with the spa. They stay booked, but I have some pull." He scribbled a number onto the back of a business card and handed it over. "My mobile." For emphasis, he patted the Motorola device attached to his belt. "It's always with me. Call if you need anything ." Then he winked and started for the exit. "I'll have your luggage sent up as soon as it arrives." His last words were punctuated by the sight of Tate, the ubiquitous bellboy, standing on the other side of the door beside a rolling cart piled high with garbage bags and one Gucci boot box.
"Miss Aniston's things, sir," Tate said.
Fab cleared a path for the bellboy's entry.
"I'll say one thing," Fab remarked, smirking. "You're full of surprises. I figured you for designer luggage." And then he was gone.
Kiki stared at the cart in disbelief. It appeared as if Suzi-Suzi had packed up the entire apartment. "I'm sorry about this. Just put the bags anywhere. It doesn't matter."
"No problem, Miss Aniston."
"Don't be silly," Kiki told the young man. "You can call me Jennifer." She tipped him and sent the boy on his way, feeling pangs of loneliness the moment she heard the deafening sounds of complete solitude. What was she going to do with herself in this little box for three days?
She spent about ten minutes organizing her belongings, then grew bored with the project. Hmm. There was always her new book endeavor, First Runner-Up But Still a Winner . Oh, God, she loved that title. Maybe she should fire up the laptop and crank out a chapter on, say, picking up the pieces and soldiering on after getting dumped by your publicist. Yes! Exactly the kind of material that would speak to women everywhere.
But Kiki didn't feel very much like writing. Oh, she wanted to get out of here! How could this be? In the room only fifteen minutes and already stir-crazy. This promised to be a very long three days. A
Kiki smacked her own forehead. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I keep my Vuitton pieces in Mrs. Manheim's apartment. There's no room in my closet, and she has loads of space."
"Listen, I have to run. Are you coming down or not?"
"Just tell the front desk to bring everything to Jennifer Aniston's room. That's my alias."
"Love that. In fact, I can't wait to say it. Oh, before I forget. Sarah Ann said that she appreciates the payment but can no longer represent you."
"Shut up!"
"I'm serious. Something about signing on Kirsten Brock as a client. I know it sucks, but you'll figure it out. Hey, I'm dashing. I'll call you later."
Kiki held the dead mobile to her ear as the import of Suzi-Suzi's news began to resonate. "I can't believe it," she murmured, as much to herself as to the dreamboat standing next to her in the five-hundred-dollar-a-night closet.
"What?" Fab asked.
She tossed the phone onto the bed and looked at him. "My publicist just dropped me from her client roster." Kiki delivered this news with a gravity presidential advisors might employ on the topic of national security.
"Sounds like a good thing," Fab reasoned. "I don't think she's up for the job. Have you seen today's paper? You're getting some really bad publicity."
Kiki was in no mood to laugh. The frisson of irrita-tion that came next effectively snapped whatever was left of the sexual tightwire that had tensed up the room just minutes before.
Fab seemed to read the mood change. "I'll leave you to get settled."
"Do I seem that unsettled?" Kiki asked archly.
"Relax. It's an expression, not a judgment. Maybe you want to take a nap or soak your feet from all the running around in those heels."
"A foot massage would be nice."
Fab nodded dutifully. "I'll check with the spa. They stay booked, but I have some pull." He scribbled a number onto the back of a business card and handed it over. "My mobile." For emphasis, he patted the Motorola device attached to his belt. "It's always with me. Call if you need anything ." Then he winked and started for the exit. "I'll have your luggage sent up as soon as it arrives." His last words were punctuated by the sight of Tate, the ubiquitous bellboy, standing on the other side of the door beside a rolling cart piled high with garbage bags and one Gucci boot box.
"Miss Aniston's things, sir," Tate said.
Fab cleared a path for the bellboy's entry.
"I'll say one thing," Fab remarked, smirking. "You're full of surprises. I figured you for designer luggage." And then he was gone.
Kiki stared at the cart in disbelief. It appeared as if Suzi-Suzi had packed up the entire apartment. "I'm sorry about this. Just put the bags anywhere. It doesn't matter."
"No problem, Miss Aniston."
"Don't be silly," Kiki told the young man. "You can call me Jennifer." She tipped him and sent the boy on his way, feeling pangs of loneliness the moment she heard the deafening sounds of complete solitude. What was she going to do with herself in this little box for three days?
She spent about ten minutes organizing her belongings, then grew bored with the project. Hmm. There was always her new book endeavor, First Runner-Up But Still a Winner . Oh, God, she loved that title. Maybe she should fire up the laptop and crank out a chapter on, say, picking up the pieces and soldiering on after getting dumped by your publicist. Yes! Exactly the kind of material that would speak to women everywhere.
But Kiki didn't feel very much like writing. Oh, she wanted to get out of here! How could this be? In the room only fifteen minutes and already stir-crazy. This promised to be a very long three days. A
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