Одри Карлан - January (Calendar Girl #1)

“Mother, Father,” Wes approached the couple. The older woman had pale blond hair, almost white, and startling blue eyes. Her lips were full like her son’s and coated with a mauve lipstick that paired well with her skin tone and coloring. Her hair was pulled into a severe French twist and pearls hung from her neck and ears. Her look was classic elegance.

The elder Channing clapped his son on the back. “Son,” he said with a note of pride. His mother promptly air kissed both cheeks, which normally would seem really pretentious, but then she held his cheeks in both hands and smiled warmly at her son.

“I see you went with my pick,” I heard her whisper and turn towards me. The nerves I had prior to meeting up with Wes were back—with a vengeance. The mother picked me out? I mean, I knew that she and Aunt Millie were acquaintances, but that’s kind of strange for a mother to pick out an escort for her son. It kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Wes turned to me and brought a hand to my back. The skin-on-skin contact sent a jolt through me. I’d forgotten the entire back of the dress was open aside from the crisscrossing two-inch beaded straps at my shoulder blades. The rest was completely open to the waist. His hand burned white-hot where his fingertips traced small circles. I shivered and stood closer to him without even being asked.

“Mother, Father, this is Mia Saunders, my date,” he grinned and I held out my hand. “Mia, this is Weston Channing, the Second, and my mother, Claire.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Channing.”

Wes’s mother crossed her arms over her chest and put her hand up to her cheek. She was blushing prettily and smiling so wide I felt as though she was internally laughing at a private joke. His mom leaned into his father’s side. “Isn’t she breathtaking?” She winked at me and shook her head.

“Um, thank you?” I offered and his father laughed.

“It’s good to meet you, Ms. Saunders.”

“Oh, Mia’s fine.” He tipped his head and chin.

Apparently, the conversation was over because he turned away and grabbed Wes’s arm. “Now Son, tell me about this latest project you’ve got going. I hear they want to offer you three percent of the budget. That would net you only three million when they’re bringing in several hundred million on your last Honor series. You’ve got to up the ante,” his voice boomed with a heavy timber.

The Honor Series . Weston Channing, the Third wrote the flipping Honor Series ! Holy fuckballs! His movies have been the biggest hits— huge — since the first one, Jeramiah’s Honor, released three years ago. There’s been one each year. His inventive way of mixing a soldier pursuing the love of their life with copious amounts of blood, violence, explosions, patriotism, and some wicked hot love scenes have made for epic movies with record-breaking box office numbers.

“...they’re going to give me ten percent of the overall budget and directing opportunities,” Wes’s deep rumbling voice broke through my haze. Right when I cleared the cobwebs after realizing I’d been contracted for the month with movie royalty, a couple of women came up behind Wes.

The two vultures were waiting patiently for him to notice them. One was twirling a lock of her bottle-blonde hair and wearing a god-awful gold, strapless dress with her plastic boobs pushed up to maximum capacity. I scanned her outfit and cringed. She was so skinny, every one of her ribs was visible. The brunette standing next to her wasn’t much better. Fake boobs—one actually looked bigger than the other—because I could see almost every inch of them through the whisper thin fabric of her glued on dress. Her nipples had hardened, and I wanted to let her know that she needed to rub her tips and warm em’ up before she embarrassed herself, but something told me that she wanted them that way.

Show time . Gotta earn that hundred thousand dollar payout. Even the thought of that much money going to Blaine every month made me want to hurl. Once my father was better, I was totally going to kick his ass for getting into a situation once again!

“Hey honey, I think there are some people over there,” I pointed randomly to the other side of the room, but gestured with my eyes to look behind him. Wes caught my less-than-covert eye movement and looked over his shoulder. Bimbette one and bimbette two promptly pushed out their fake ta-tas in greeting then puckered their fat, collagen-infused lips.

Wes simply hooked an arm around my waist. “Always keeping me in line, thanks.” He nuzzled my cheek, and I grinned.

“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it!” I practically bounced with glee, my tone so fake and put-on.

Wes leaned forward and placed a warm kiss on my neck, then inhaled. “Mmm, thank you,” he whispered just under my ear. He was so close I could feel the warmth from his lips graze my neck before he pulled away.

“Mia and I will see you at the charity ball next week,” he said.

His mother surprisingly got right into our space, as in, barely a foot away. “No, no, no, that just won’t do. I want to spend more time getting to know Mia, dear.” She smiled one of those mom-smiles that actually make you feel like there’s nothing more precious in the world than you standing in front of them. Of course, I never really had that, but if I did, I’m sure it would look just like Claire Channing.

Wes stiffened next to me. “Mother...” he warned.

She smoothed her hand down his lapels and buttoned one of the buttons on his shirt. I giggled under my breath as she fretted over him. “Oh honey, relax. I know Mia’s just a friend. So no harm in bringing her over for Sunday brunch, now is there?” she asked using a tone that I knew carried a whopping dose of guilt trip. Momentarily, I wondered if she was Catholic. My grandmother used to have that same tone and it was usually followed up by a phrase taken directly from the Bible.

Wes sighed and shook his head. “We’ll be there. Same time?” he queried.

“That’s my good boy.” She air kissed both of his cheeks then turned to me and did the same.

We walked toward the bar once more. “I need a drink,” he said leading the way.

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You do always do what your mom says!” I laughed. Once we got to the bar, I moved over close. “Mama’s boy!” I shot into his ear.

“Oh shut up. I’m seriously questioning the sanity of agreeing to this. I could have gone with a brainless Barbie doll, you know.” One eyebrow rose sharply, his lips in a mock scowl, but his eyes gave him away. They were filled with humor and were sparkling green.

I moved to take another pot shot at him, but I wobbled on my spikey heels. He caught me against his body. I rested my hand on his shoulders as he placed his arm around my waist.

His eyes went from a normal Crayola green to a bright forest green in an instant. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but lick mine in return. The warmth of his hands at my bare back seeped into my skin. It’s as if the entire room melted away when I was in his arms. I could feel his heart beating against my chest.

**Thump thump**, **thump thump**, **thump thump**

“You’re trouble,” he pinched his lips together and leaned closer. We were less than six inches apart, right in the middle of a business cocktail party standing directly in front of the bar where everyone could see us.

“And you’re a mama’s boy!” I went with deflecting the situation and backed up and out of his embrace as quickly as my new shoes would take me and shuffled onto a stool.

“So that’s how you’re going to play it, huh?” he grinned and brought a long-fingered hand up to his chin where he stroked his thumb and forefinger along his jaw. “Game on, Ms. Mia.”