One Week with the Best Man: Reclaimed by the Rancher Read online

  “I know, and normally that’s the case. That waitress just wanted to dig up dirt on you to make a buck with the tabloids. There are a million women just like her in Hollywood. But in this scenario I think it’s a smart choice. Women in Nashville are different, and it’s an unexpected move. Your female fans will like it, of course, and so will the studios. I’ve been trying to get you a role as a true romantic lead. This could do it.”

  Julian didn’t really want to be a romantic lead. At least not by Ross’s definition. His manager’s idea of a romantic film was one where the sexy blonde clings to his half-naked body while he shoots the bad guys. He’d already played that role again and again. When he’d pushed Ross on the topic a second time, he got Julian the “romantic” lead in a movie about male strippers. Not exactly hard-hitting, award-winning stuff. Hell, he’d be thrilled to just do a light romantic comedy. Something without explosions. Or machine guns. Or G-strings.

  “I should fire you for this,” Julian complained as he dropped down into his chair. It was a hollow threat, and they both knew it. Ross had made Julian’s career. He might not be creatively fulfilled by big-budget action films, but the money was ridiculous and Julian needed every penny.

  “It will be fine. I promise. It’s not a real relationship, so I can break my own rules this once. In a few days, you can go back to Hollywood and date whomever you want.”

  Somehow, Julian doubted that. Since moving to Hollywood, he hadn’t had the best track record with the ladies. The waitress had sold the story of their romance to the newspapers with some other juicy tidbits she’d gotten out of him. The dancer was just looking for a guy to pay for her boob job. So many others were after either his money or his leverage to get into show business.

  Ross encouraged him to date other actresses to reduce that issue, but either way, there was usually some kind of confidentiality contract involved. Even with that in place, he’d learned quickly to keep private things private. He didn’t talk about his family, his past...anything that he couldn’t bear to see in the papers. An after-the-fact lawsuit wouldn’t undo the damage once it was out there.

  Since his breakup with Bridgette, he hadn’t really shown any interest in dating again. It was too damn much work and frankly, just not that fun. How was he supposed to find love when he couldn’t even find someone he could trust?

  Ross got up from his seat and put his drink on the coffee table. “Well, that should do it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m leaving,” Ross said.

  “Leaving? I thought you said my date was on her way over.”

  “She is. That’s why I’m leaving. Three’s a crowd, after all. You two need to get to know each other.”

  Julian’s jaw dropped as he watched his manager slip out of the hotel suite. He should’ve throttled him. He could get a new manager.

  With nothing to do but wait, he slumped into his chair and killed time checking his smartphone for missed calls or updates from his family. His mother and brother lived in Louisville, and that was the easiest and most secure way to keep up with them, especially with his brother James’s condition. James’s attendant usually kept him up to date on how his brother was doing and shared any funny tidbits to make him feel more connected. Today, there were no messages to worry him.

  About four minutes later, there was a knock at the door to his suite. His new girlfriend was punctual if nothing else.

  Julian got up and went to the door. He looked through the peephole but didn’t see anyone there. Confused, he opened his hotel room door wide and realized it was because his guest was very petite. She was maybe five foot two if she had good posture, and she didn’t. In addition to being petite, she was curvy, hiding most of her body under an oversize cardigan. She had the look of the average woman on the street, nothing like he was used to seeing around Malibu.

  What really caught his attention, however, were her eyes. She had a dark gaze that watched him survey her with a hint of suspicion. It made him wonder what that was about. Shouldn’t he be suspicious of her? Julian had been a part of the Hollywood scene for several years and had seen his fair share of staged relationships. The women were usually attractive and greedy, hoping they might actually charm their fake boyfriend into falling for them so they could take advantage of California’s community property laws.

  He waited for her to say something, but she just stood there, sort of awkwardly hovering outside his door. “Hi,” Julian finally offered to end the silence. “I’m Julian, although you probably already know that. Are you the one the wedding company sent over?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, her dark brown curls bouncing around her round face. He expected her to say something after that, but she continued to just hover. It made him think that at any moment, she might turn and bolt down the hallway. He was used to his fans being nervous around him, but not skittish. He was certain Ross would blame him if he ran off the woman his manager had so carefully arranged for him.

  Julian didn’t want a fake girlfriend. He would gladly send this poor woman back home with an apology, but Ross wouldn’t have set this up without a good reason. He paid the man to make smart, strategic decisions about his career, so he had to be nice and make this work. Or he’d hear about it.

  “And your name is...?” he prompted.

  She seemed to snap out of her nervous daze. “Gretchen,” she said, holding out her hand. “Gretchen McAlister.”

  Julian shook her hand, noticing how ice-cold her skin was and how her fingers trembled in his grip. This woman seemed terrified of him. Women usually had a much...warmer reaction to Julian. He had to pry them from his neck and wipe away their lipstick from his cheeks at movie premieres. He needed to warm her up or they were never going to convince anyone—much less a skeptical press—that they were dating.

  He took a step back to let her into the hotel room. “Come on in, Gretchen.” He shut the door behind them and gestured for her to take a seat in the living room of his suite. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Something alcoholic would make all this easier,” she muttered under her breath.

  Julian’s lips twisted in amusement as he went over to the minibar. That wasn’t a bad idea to help break the ice. At least for her. He didn’t drink, but certainly the hotel would’ve stocked the room with something useful. He wished he could drink, but that was on his personal trainer’s list of no-no’s: no alcohol, no sugar, no carbs, no dairy, no preservatives, no artificial colors, flavors or anything else remotely interesting or tasty.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t know where to start with a drink for Gretchen. “There’s a collection of tiny bottles in here. Feel free to pick whatever you’d like.”

  Gretchen watched him curiously as she walked over to the bar and pulled out what looked like tequila. He expected her to mix it with something, but instead, watched in surprise as she twisted off the lid and threw back the tiny bottle in a few hard draws. She really must be nervous if she was doing tequila shots just to be in the same room with him.

  “You know, you look like you could use one of these yourself. I’m not getting the feeling that you’re very happy about this,” she said as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash and turned back to sit on the couch. “I know I probably don’t meet your standards for a woman you’d date. Mr. Bentley specifically requested an everyday woman, but I assume I’m not what he had in mind. I’m obviously not a Bridgette, so if that’s going to be a problem, just say the word and I’ll go on my way.”

  He was doing a crappy job at making her feel welcome. “No, no. I’m sorry,” Julian said, sitting down in the chair to face her. “My manager informed me about this whole arrangement literally minutes before you showed up. My reaction has nothing to do with you and the standards you seem to think you fall short of.”

  “So you’re not on
board with Mr. Bentley’s plan?”

  “Not really,” he replied. There was no sense in sugarcoating it. “I’ll do what I need to do, but this isn’t my choice, no. It’s pretty common in Hollywood to contract relationships, but that’s not my style. I’d rather go to an event alone than with some woman I don’t even know. That’s probably why Ross sprang this on me—I couldn’t get out of it quickly enough. But now, here we are, and I find I’m just not as well prepared as I would like to be.”

  “Neither am I,” she said. “Does one ever really get used to being pimped out by your friends for something like this?”

  “Pimped out?” Julian chuckled. The alcohol seemed to loosen her tongue. “That’s one way to put it. Welcome to the Hollywood game, Gretchen McAlister. We’ve all sold ourselves for success. How much did it take for you to toss your good sense out the window and end up on my couch?”

  A flicker of irritation crossed her face, blushing her cheeks an attractive pink. It might have just been the tequila kicking in. He’d bet her hands weren’t cold any longer. He fought the urge to find a reason to touch her again.

  “Apparently, ten grand for my time and another two grand to make me more presentable.”

  Julian looked over his date of the next few days and frowned. It shouldn’t take two thousand to make her presentable, and he hoped Ross hadn’t been rude enough to say such a thing. Ross was usually brutally honest, with a set of unrealistic Hollywood ideals. Whereas Gretchen wasn’t the kind of woman Julian was normally seen with in LA, she wasn’t unattractive. Her skin was creamy and flawless, her lips full and pink. Her eyelashes were so long and thick, he thought they might be fake, but she didn’t strike him as that type.

  He supposed anyone could use a haircut and a manicure. She could take the rest of the money and buy clothes. Tonight she was dressed as though she’d come straight from her work at the wedding chapel, wearing a plain green shirt and khakis with a brown cardigan, a pair of loafers and argyle socks. Appropriate for winter in the South, he supposed, but not overly dressy. She looked nice. She actually reminded him a lot of his mother when she was younger and life hadn’t completely sucked away everything she had.

  But instead of complimenting Gretchen the way he knew he should, he went the other direction. He felt himself being drawn in by her shy awkwardness, but Julian had no intention of getting chummy with this woman. She may not be a part of the Hollywood machine, but she’d use him just like everyone else. She was only here because she was being paid a ridiculous amount of money to do it.

  “You should’ve held out for more. Ross would’ve paid twenty.”

  Gretchen just shrugged as though the money didn’t mean much to her. He knew that couldn’t be true. Who would sign up for something like this if it wasn’t because they needed the money? He was a millionaire, and he still wouldn’t turn down a well-paying role. There was always something he could do with it. Even socking it away in the bank put it to good use.

  He doubted that was the case for her, though. She certainly didn’t seem to have agreed to this because she was a fan. She was lacking that distinctly starry-eyed gaze he was used to seeing in women. The gaze that flickered over him was appreciative, but reserved. He sensed there was a lot going on in her mind that she wouldn’t share with him. He knew he shouldn’t care; she was just a fleeting part of his life this week, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on under that curly mop of hair.

  “Well, now that we’ve established that I’ve been had cheaply, do we need to work out any details?”

  Yes, Julian thought. It was better to stick to the logistics of the plan. “I came out a few days early to hang out with Murray before the wedding, so you’ve got some time to buy clothes and do whatever grooming women do. The first event for the wedding is Wednesday night. They’re holding a welcome barbecue out at Murray’s house. That will be our first official outing. Maybe we should get together here on Wednesday afternoon and spend some time on our story for anyone that asks.”

  Gretchen nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the event schedule from Natalie, the wedding planner. Any special requests?”

  Julian’s brows went up at her question. “Like what?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never done this before, but I thought you might have favorite colors for me to wear, or find acrylic nails to be a turnoff, that sort of thing.”

  He’d never had a woman ask him something like that before. Despite how often people told him they were there for him, they rarely inquired or even cared what he might really want. He had to think about an answer for a moment. “I only have one request, really.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Please wear comfortable shoes,” Julian said. “I don’t know how many events I’ve sat through where the woman did nothing but complain about her expensive, fancy, painful shoes the whole night.”

  Gretchen glanced down at her practical and comfortable-looking brown leather loafers. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Well, I’ll get going.” She got up from the couch and held out a card to him.

  He accepted it, turning it over to find it was her business card. The design of it was very intricate but delicate, with a shiny ivory damask pattern over a flat white card. The text was in a blush pink, as was an edging of abstract roses, screaming wedding, but not cliché wedding.

  “You can reach me at the chapel number during the day or my cell phone the rest of the time. If nothing comes up, I’ll see you Wednesday afternoon before the barbecue.”

  Julian took her hand in his. It was warmer now, and this time, he noticed how soft her skin was against him. He swallowed hard as his palm tingled where their skin touched. His gaze met hers, and he watched her dark eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she pulled her hand away.

  “Thanks for doing this, Gretchen,” he said, to cover his surprising physical response to her touch. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  She nodded and bit at her lip as she made her way to the door. After she slipped out, he bolted the lock and turned back to face his room. It suddenly felt more empty and cold than it had when she was here with him.

  Perhaps this setup wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

  Two

  Gretchen felt as if she’d just lived through that makeover montage from the movie Miss Congeniality, although it was more painful than funny. Amelia had scheduled her appointments at the day spa they contracted with for bridal sessions, and they were happy to fit in Gretchen for a full day of beauty.

  She was expecting a hair trim and some nail polish. Maybe a facial. Gretchen wasn’t a movie star, but she didn’t think she needed that much work.

  Instead, she’d had nearly every hair on her body ripped out. The hair that was left was cut, highlighted and blown into a bouncy but straight bob. Her skin was buffed and polished, her clogged pores “extracted,” and then she was wrapped like a mummy to remove toxins, reduce cellulite and squeeze out some water weight. They finished her off with a coat of spray tan to chase away the pastiness. She got a pedicure and solar nails in a classic pink-and-white French manicure that she couldn’t chip. They even bleached her teeth.

  Thankfully Gretchen didn’t have much of an ego, or it would’ve been decimated. It had taken about seven hours so far, but she thought she might—might—be done. She was wrapped in a fluffy robe in the serenity room. Every time someone came through, they took her into another room and exposed her to another treatment, but she couldn’t come up with anything else they could possibly do to her.

  This time, when the door opened, it was Amelia. If Gretchen’s lady parts weren’t still tender, she’d leap up and beat her friend with an aromatherapy pillow for putting her through all this. Instead, she sipped her cucumber-infused mineral water and glared at her.

  “Don’t you look refreshed!” Amelia said.

  “Refreshed?” Gretchen just sh
ook her head. “That’s exactly the look I was going for after seven hours of beauty rituals. Julian Cooper’s new woman looks so well rested!”

  “Quit it, you look great.”

  Gretchen doubted that. There were improvements, but “great” took it a little far. “I should, after all this,” she joked. “If this is what the women in Hollywood go through all the time, I’m glad I live way out here in Nashville.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Amelia said in a chiding tone. “I’ve had every single treatment that you had today. But now is the fun part!”

  “Lunch?” Gretchen perked up.

  Amelia placed a thoughtful hand on her round belly. “No, shopping. They were supposed to feed you lunch as part of the package.”

  “Yeah, they did. Sort of.” The green salad with citrus vinaigrette and berries for dessert hadn’t really made a dent in her appetite.

  “If you promise not to give me grief while we’re shopping, I’ll take you out for a nice dinner.”

  “I want pretzel bites, too,” Gretchen countered. “Take it out of my makeover money.”

  Amelia smiled. “Fair enough. Get dressed and we’ll go buy you some clothes and makeup.”

  “I have makeup,” Gretchen complained as she got up, realizing as she spoke that she’d already broken her agreement not to give Amelia grief. It just seemed wasteful.

  “I’m sure you do, but we’re going to have the lady at the counter come up with a new look for you, then we’ll buy the colors she puts together.”

  In the ladies’ locker room, Gretchen changed back into her street clothes, all the while muttering to herself about Italy. It would be worth it, she insisted. Just think of the Sistine Chapel, she told herself.

  She continued the mantra as the woman at the department store did her makeup. The mantra got louder as Amelia threw clothes at her over the door of the changing room. Gretchen wasn’t really into fashion. She bought clothes that were comfortable, not too expensive and relatively flattering to her shape, such as it was.