Resist Read Free Page A

ambition like studying the psychology of celebrity. Blaine and I were flying to L.A. where we would spend most of the summer along with a couple of trips planned back east.
    The Pascal-Baasch family not only owned a home in the Southampton but also a getaway estate in Martha’s Vineyard. The trips would serve not only the purpose of my project but Blaine’s as well.
    He had two films back-to-back he planned to make that summer. He could work as much—or as little—as he wanted to since his movies weren’t exactly the type one enjoyed in a theater with a large tub of buttery popcorn and a watered down drink. He worked by commission only.
    The people who paid him to make these movies weren’t just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill rich people with too much time and money on their hands. Many ran tech companies in Silicon Valley, Fortune 500 companies and owned studios themselves.
    His target audience ranged from the techno geek billionaire to one of the most wealthy and successful Bollywood directors in the history of the industry. They might have made their money in a certain way that society approved of but the type of movies they enjoyed were far from family friendly.
    Blaine and I sat next to one another in the Business class section while the rest of the proles had to shuffle inside and take their crowded seats in coach. I knew how that felt—I used to be one of them.
    Yes, I’d grown up with a certain amount of wealth and privilege but my parents were also frugal to the point of ridiculousness. Neither believed in spending excessive amounts of money therefore I flew coach when I needed to take flights. When I visited Europe, I stayed with my friends or family, and I was taught to account for every bit of money I’d spent.
    All the sudden going from a world where cleanliness and financial prudence were next to Godliness to a land of luxury, opulence and an overabundance of waste of money felt strange. My head was still spinning from the whole experience and we hadn’t taken off yet.
    He leaned toward me as he handed me a fluted glass of champagne. I couldn’t deny how sexy and overwhelmingly attractive this guy was. Between those gorgeous cerulean eyes, creamy skin, and structured face with a straight Roman nose, luscious pink lips and overall sexual maleness, Blaine was more than just easy on the eyes.
    Although tall and lean, it was obvious he worked out, from his firm pecs to his rock-hard abs, strong thighs and biceps meant to be touched. He also had that delicious V I’d spotted as he stood and grabbed his iPad before he sat down again next to me.
    “One hundred dollars for your thoughts,” he murmured in that whiskey and honey-soaked timbre that held a slight accent I couldn’t quite place.
    Although he and his brothers were born and bred Californians—same as I was—it was obvious he spoke more than one language fluently and often enough that some of his words were pronounced too precisely. There wasn’t that lazy, lackadaisical way of speaking so many native English speakers had that came from years of being bombarded by slang and a genuine lack of not giving a damn. Why use words at all? Wasn’t that the reason why “LMAO,” “FML,” “ROTFL,” “YOLO,” et al had been invented in the first place?
    I smiled though it came off as a bit too flirtatious when I desperately wanted it to seem more laid back—more like my personality and me. “I don’t need a hundred dollars. It’s just . . . odd. I’m not used to traveling like this.”
    “Traveling like this? I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” Blaine stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “How are you used to traveling if I may ask? It’s not like you grew up in a family of limited means.”
    How would he know that?
    Suddenly I felt like I was on display. Had he done research on me? For someone who I barely knew, he seemed to push all the right buttons with me.
    Overly aggressive alpha male.
    Take charge, no bullshit