If Love Had A Price

“Kris, I need to speak with you.” Bobbi’s voice cut through the office bustle and interrupted Kris’s distracted Internet browsing for new updates about Sabrina Winters, an up-and-coming actress and the newest client on Bobbi’s roster.

Kris stifled a sigh. She hated her job more and more every day. She would rather spend her time planning MentHer’s summer gala, but here she was, reading about what Sabrina wore to a nightclub yesterday. The actress’s style wasn’t even that great—her shoes were from last season, and her dress clashed with her skin tone. She needed to fire her stylist ASAP.

Kris pushed back her chair and walked into Bobbi’s office.

“Yes?” Her tone came off imperious instead of accommodating.

Oh, well.

Bobbi examined Kris with sharp eyes. She was an attractive woman, with shiny blond hair and cheekbones that would make a Slavic supermodel jealous, but the tension in her brow and hard set of her mouth made her appear decades older than her thirty-four years. Managing the public images and tempers of Hollywood’s biggest, brightest, and brattiest—especially in the era of social media—wasn’t easy, and it showed.

Still, Bobbi was the best in the business, and Kris admired her. She just didn’t want to be her. She may be a public relations major, but there was no way in hell she’d go the Hollywood publicity route after she graduated.

“Sabrina Winters has a photoshoot with Mode de Vie this weekend,” Bobbi said without preamble. “For a story on rising stars in Hollywood. It’s a huge deal.”

“That’s great.” Why was Bobbi telling her this? Kris pulled press clips after shoots.

“I want you to go with her.”

“Go where?”

Bobbi shot her an impatient look. “To the photoshoot.”

Kris was sure she’d heard wrong. Bobbi accompanied her clients to press junkets and photoshoots and red-carpet events. No one else. Ever.

“You want me to go with Sabrina to Mode de Vie?” she spluttered. “Not you?”

“Believe me, I’d be there if I could.” Bobbi leaned back in her chair and played with her gold Montblanc pen. “But there’s been a last-minute change in my schedule. I’m picking Riley K. up from rehab—I don’t trust anyone else to do it, and those bastards refuse to hold her for an extra day. Last time her agent tried to get her, she gave him the slip and ended up in Tijuana, dancing topless in a bar. The strings I had to pull to keep that out of the press… Anyway, Mode de Vie can’t move the shoot date, either. They need all twelve of the rising stars there, and it’s the only day that works for everyone. Hence, I need someone to go with Sabrina while I deal with Riley.”

“Why me?” The last thing Kris wanted was to babysit an actress barely older than herself.

“You’re strong enough to deal with any outrageous demands, and you’ve been around celebrities before. You’re even friends with some of them.” Bobbi’s glossy red mouth turned up into a smirk. “I’m more concerned for Sabrina than I am for you.”

“Thanks,” Kris said, tone dry. She could imagine how this was going to go down with the rest of the assistants. They already hated her for landing the job through family connections. She didn’t give a shit what they thought of her, but Kris had better things to do with her time than fend off passive-aggressive remarks from Bobbi wannabes.

“I’ll email you the details,” Bobbi said crisply. “This is an important shoot, Kris. I don’t expect a crisis—the magazine knows what it’s doing, and Sabrina is well-behaved. But it’s critical you’re there, on time and on point, in case anything does happen.”

“Don’t worry.” Kris tried to muster up a smidge of enthusiasm. “I’ll be there.”

“KRIS, I need to speak with you.”

Deja vu.

Kris’s father summoned her with the same words Bobbi used earlier when she passed by his study that night. She’d just gotten home from MentHer, where they’d held a college application workshop for the older girls, and was looking forward to a nice long bubble bath and a glass of champagne.

That would have to wait.

“What is it, Daddy?” Kris stepped into her father’s office. Roger liked to have a designated workspace in all his properties, even his ski chalet in Switzerland and holiday villa on the Amalfi Coast, because there was no such thing as a vacation for him. She’d seen him close a business deal while toasting a European prince’s engagement on a yacht in St. Barth’s. “Is everything okay at work?”

Her father rarely summoned her. The last time he’d done so had been when he cut her off over Christmas.

Kris’s skin prickled at the memory.

“It’s fine. Some issues with suppliers in Manila, but that’ll be sorted soon enough.” Roger gestured at the chair across the desk from him. “Sit.”

She obeyed, her stomach cramping with unease.

Moonlight spilled through the large window behind her father and mingled with the soft glow from his sleek brass desk lamp. The silver streaks in his hair glinted in the dimness, and world-weariness settled deep in the lines and crags of his face.

He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and surveyed his only daughter with an unreadable expression.

“How is everything going with Gloria?”

“Fine.”

His brows rushed down at her unenthusiastic response. “I hope you’re putting in the effort to get along with her. It’s important.”

“Why do I have to try to get along with her?” Kris retorted in a rare slip of control. “Why can’t she try to get along with me? She’s the intruder.”

“Gloria is trying, and we’ve been engaged for almost a year now. She says you spurn her attempts to get to know you better at every turn.”

“Right. And there’s no chance she’s lying.”

She was going to cheat on you! If you hadn’t arrived when you did, she would’ve been rolling around in bed with my boyfriend! Kris wanted to yell.

Fine, Nate hadn’t been her real boyfriend at the time, and Kris had concocted the setup, but Gloria had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. If she truly loved Roger, she wouldn’t have been tempted by another man, no matter how good-looking he was.

But Kris couldn’t say that. She had no evidence, and her father would dismiss it as another sign that she was unjustly biased toward his bride-to-be.

Kris sucked in a deep breath and tried to think happy thoughts. Sample sale. Limited edition. Chanel.

“You forget I’m your father,” Roger said dryly. “I know how defensive and guarded you can be. I’m not blaming you, after what your…mother did.” A shadow crossed his face the way it always did when he spoke of the woman who’d abandoned him and her then-two-year-old daughter. “But you need a maternal figure in your life. Gloria can be that for you.”

Fury and disbelief seized Kris’s throat. Her father couldn’t be serious. He thought Gloria, who was only six years older than Kris and was as cuddly as a den of vipers, could be a maternal figure? “She’s twenty-seven,” Kris said, striving for a calm, even tone. It didn’t work. “She’s only a few years older than me, and I’m well past the age where I need a ‘maternal figure.’” She placed the last two words in air quotes.

She’d needed a mother when she’d gotten her period for the first time. She’d needed a mother when her father went away on weeks-long business trips, leaving Kris in a mansion with servants who treated her like a china doll instead of a human being. She’d needed a mother to talk to about boys and makeup and the devastation she’d felt when she found out her middle school “best friend” had only been friends with her for the free holiday trips and extravagant gifts. Roger, while inattentive, had never shied away from showering his daughter and her friends with monetary affection.

But Kris hadn’t had a mother to hold her hand through childhood or guide her through her teen years. She’d figured shit out on her own when it became clear no one would be there to do it for her, and she’d turned out fine. She sure as hell didn’t need a mother now, at the ripe old age of twenty-one.

Her father shot her a warning look. “Gloria may be on the younger side, but she’s been through a lot. She can help guide you.”

“Through what? Pilfering your bank account? I thought you were a savvy businessman.” Kris’s eyes flashed. “How can you be so blind to what’s right in front of you? Gloria is a gold digger!”

Roger’s expression darkened. “Watch your tone,” he growled. “Don’t forget whose roof you’re living under, and whose money paid for your car, your clothes, and your vacations. I’ve been lenient with you all these years, but I will not let you speak to me that way in my own house. Gloria is going to be your stepmother, and that’s final. I suggest you come to terms with it. It will make life easier for you and everyone else in the household.”

Kris’s throat and nose burned with unshed tears. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You just want to make things easier for yourself. You never stopped to consider that maybe I need a father more than I need some woman masquerading as my ‘mother.’ But why should you? You’re never around, anyway.” She stood, so angry her body trembled. “Marry Gloria if you want, but you can’t make me like her. It’s never going to happen.”

She fled from the library before the tears could spill over. When she arrived at her room, she locked the door behind her and took huge, gasping breaths.

It wasn’t until her breathing evened and her mind cleared that she realized what a big mistake she’d made.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Losing her cool like that in front of her father was a dumb move, but the words had spilled out like water through a broken dam. Trying to hold them back would’ve been futile.

She pressed her knuckles to her eyes. Sample sale. Limited edition. Chanel.

For once, the mantra didn’t soothe her.

Kris walked to her closet and yanked open the doors. It wasn’t as well-stocked as her five-hundred-square-foot walk-in in Seattle, but it resembled an exclusive boutique with its rows of colorful dresses, designer heels, and sparkling jewelry displayed in glass boxes on the center island.

She soaked in the sight, seeking comfort in the most luxurious items money could buy.

That didn’t work either.

The ache in her heart remained, as did the hole in her stomach.

Frustrated, Kris returned to her bedroom and picked up her phone. After a slight hesitation, she dialed Nate’s number.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hey,” he said, his whiskey drawl easing the tension in her shoulders. “How was the workshop?”

She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling until the smooth white paint blurred before her eyes. “It was good. Skylar liked it.”

He picked up on her unease. “What’s wrong?”

Before Kris knew it, she’d divulged what had happened with her father. She wasn’t used to sharing her feelings and personal life with other people, but she needed to talk to someone or she’d explode. Plus, she trusted Nate and just having him on the other end of the line made her feel better.

“I’m sorry.” Sympathy softened his voice. “Do you need me to come over and knock some sense into his head?”

She choked out a small laugh. “That might not make the best first impression on your girlfriend’s dad.”

“Maybe not,” Nate acknowledged. “Let’s try another tack. How about an orgasm? Would that help?”

“Are you offering one to me or my dad?”

“I’m not that desperate to get him to like me.” She could practically hear his grin over the phone. “But ask me again after the dinner party.”

“Gross.” Kris laughed again, louder this time. “Okay, switching subjects before I hurl. What did you do today? Take my mind off this Gloria bullshit.”

“Nothing that exciting. I had a shift at the cafe, then came home to practice lines for Six Doors Down and a few upcoming auditions.”

“Run the lines by me. I’ve never heard you in action.”

“You sure? I don’t want to bore you.”

“Oh, yeah. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

Nate’s rich laughter suffused the line. He obliged, changing his voices as needed—a cold, menacing tone for his Six Doors Down character as a corrupt FBI agent; surfer dude slang for a slapstick beach comedy; a British accent for a romantic drama set in World War II-era London.

After Nate finished, he and Kris segued into conversations about everything and anything they could think of—Hulu versus Netflix, their number one most hated pizza toppings (pineapple for Nate, anchovies for Kris), whether aliens existed, what superpower they’d like to possess the most.

They talked on the phone for hours. The topics were silly and random, but they did the trick—by the time Kris hung up, her cheeks ached from smiling and she’d almost forgotten about her argument with her father. The call with Nate had been better than a bubble bath with champagne by far.

She showered, changed into silk pajamas, and climbed into bed, her eyes heavy with sleep after a long day.

Kris quickly drifted into slumber, but although her body buzzed with warmth from memories of her conversation with Nate, a small part of her brain whispered that her father hadn’t bothered to stop by her room once since she’d walked out on him.

MENTHER HQ WAS in chaos when Kris arrived the next evening. She didn’t volunteer on weeknights unless there was a mentee event, but she’d received a frantic text from Susan that morning asking if she could come in as soon as possible.

She didn’t mind. Nate was having guy time with Blue Hair and a few of his other friends, and she wasn’t exactly looking forward to a showdown with her father or Gloria at the mansion, part deux.

Kris raised her eyebrows when she saw the mess in the office. Other staff members usually clocked out at the end of the workday, but tonight, they were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

“What’s going on?” Kris asked Melinda, the program director, who wore a wide-eyed, frazzled expression and a blue T-shirt that did her coloring no favors.

“Summer Gala venue.” Melina tugged on a loose curl, her face etched with panic and frustration. “Pipes leaked overnight and the whole place is flooded. It won’t be fixed in time for the event and they’re booked for the rest of the summer, so they can’t move our date. They refunded everyone who’s affected and promised a discount for the next event, which doesn’t help us now.”

Shit.

The gala was two weeks away, and the chances of securing a new venue in that timeframe with MentHer’s budget was slim to none.

Kris tracked down Susan while Melinda rushed off to do whatever she needed to do.

“This is quite a mess,” Susan said wryly when she saw Kris. Lines of tension bracketed the older woman’s mouth, but she managed a wan smile. “Not what I needed in the middle of the grant writing process.”

“I can brainstorm new venues,” Kris said. “Two weeks isn’t that bad.”

“We were thinking the YMCA. I know the director and she said she can squeeze us in this weekend. It’s sooner than expected, and we’d have to scramble—let the girls’ families know immediately—but it’s better than nothing.”

Kris blanched. “The YMCA? Like the song?”

Susan’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Technically.”

“But…” Kris trailed off. The gala was supposed to be a grand event for the mentees, complete with live music and fancy food and swag bags. For one night, the girls would be pampered beyond their dreams.

She couldn’t see anyone being pampered in a YMCA.

“I’m going to come up with an alternative,” Kris said, determined.

Two hours later, it was clear no alternative existed. It would’ve, had Susan allowed her to pay for a venue as a “charitable donation,” but the director kept bringing up “ethics.” Kris, who’d never had much use for ethics, vacillated between intensely annoyed and grudgingly admiring of the other woman’s dedication to her values until she settled on deeply frustrated.

Susan made the call to confirm the YMCA at ten minutes past eight.

It was already hella late, but Kris stayed behind to help contact the mentors and mentees’ parents. Luckily, they were all understanding of the sudden change in date and venue, and most of them could still make it. A call to Blue Hair confirmed The Prophecy Kings had no issues with the date change. The caterers would have to be dealt with tomorrow since it was after work hours, but if worse came to worst, Kris would tap into her checking account and drop the Carrera name—no matter what Susan said. The girls deserved a blowout event, and it was amazing what a couple extra thousand bucks could do for someone’s motivation and work speed.

Susan kicked Kris out at half-past nine.

“Go home,” she ordered, her tone warm but brooking no opposition. “You’ve done more than enough, and you need rest. You look exhausted.”

“It’s my makeup,” Kris said. “I’m never using this foundation again.”

Susan laughed and shook her head. “I mean it, Kris. I appreciate all that you’re doing, but as a volunteer, you’re putting in more hours than some of my full-time employees. It’s not right.”

“I enjoy doing it.” Kris hitched a shoulder. “No big deal. I leave in a few weeks, so it evens out.”

Sadness blanketed her at the thought of her imminent departure. She had big plans for her senior year at the University of Washington, and she looked forward to seeing Courtney and her other friends again, but leaving Nate, Skylar, and MentHer…

She rubbed her chest, feeling a twinge of heartburn.

“Yes, I know. We’ll miss you. You’ve done a lot.” Susan sat in the chair opposite Kris. “I realize you’re a volunteer, but if you want to participate in any of MentHer’s programming as a mentee, you’re welcome to do so. You’re within the age range.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already applied to college.”

“Yes, of course. I was thinking more about the relationship aspect. If, for example, you want to speak to someone about topics you’re not comfortable discussing with your father or anyone else in your life, we’re here.” Susan’s eyes were unbearably kind. “I’d be happy to serve as…well, perhaps not your mentor, given how much we’ve worked together, but as your friend. Sounding board. Whatever you need.”

A lump rose in Kris’s throat. Susan knew about her whole mom abandonment thing—Kris had told her when she first applied to be a volunteer—but this was the first time she’d alluded to it.

Kris wished she had a mom like Susan. Someone warm, down-to-earth, and, you know, there. But she didn’t and treating MentHer’s director like she was a maternal figure or sounding board or whatever wouldn’t change that.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay,” Kris said. “I don’t need any help.”