“Amy Simmons created the site and handles any updates. I’m not on Twitter or Instagram. I don’t see the point. I pay Becky Bloss to keep me out of the news. Why?”
“I’m trying to familiarize myself with everyone. Who does what.”
“You’ll find Amy and Becky easy to work with. Don’t worry, Cassie. You’ll have access to whatever you need but right now, I’m starved. Want to grab some lunch? Then I’ll held over to Carreen’s and you can stock up on food.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Rhett relaxed. “I can’t thank you enough for grabbing groceries at the market. I get mobbed whenever I try to go somewhere ordinary like that. I can’t even walk into 7-11 for a Slurpee.”
“As long as you give me that credit card, I promise you’ll be a happy camper.” Cassie hesitated. “Would you like me to go ask Randi to shower so she can go to lunch, too?”
“No.” Rhett’s answer was emphatic. “We really aren’t out in public yet.”
“Then I guess we can bring her something back.”
“She wouldn’t eat it anyway. Like I said, she pretty much pretends to eat.”
Cassie heard disapproval in Rhett’s voice. She found her employer hard to read at that moment. Did he really care for Randal James? Or was he simply using the model for sex?
It didn’t matter. It was none of her business.
CHAPTER 6
They stepped out into warm California sunshine and a cool breeze. Rhett took one look at her wreck of a loaner and began laughing.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her.
Cassie knew the rental seemed pathetic, but it wasn’t as if Rhett would ride with her to the restaurant. They’d take separate cars so she could run his errands while he visited Carreen. He didn’t have to be uncomfortable with her uncool ride. Rhett could pretend not to know her.
Maybe lunch together was a bad idea, after all. Cassie decided to suggest they part ways when he returned.
She heard a car’s engine approach and turned as Rhett pulled up in a black Range Rover. He got out and tossed her a set of keys.
“It’s yours to drive. Don’t give me a withering look, Cassie. It’s not a mercy loan. It actually comes with the job. Carreen used it all the time. Sometimes, you’ll have things to pick up for me, like the mega-amount of groceries today, so you’ll need a lot of room.”
“And sometimes I’ll need to park in fancy-schmancy places, and you wouldn’t want me to embarrass you?” she needled.
Rhett mock sighed. “You’re absolutely right. You’re on to me. I am a shallow, selfish, stereotypical Hollywood star and wouldn’t want others to judge me by the broken-down mess my assistant drives.” He eyed her. “Come on, Cassie. You’ll have fun driving a Rover.”
“Hah! You have no idea where I live, Corrigan. It’ll probably be stolen from my parking lot before I make it to my apartment door.”
He shrugged. “So, I’ll buy a new one. You know us pampered Hollywood men and our toys. Get in it and follow me.” Rhett climbed into the sleek, blue Porsche and buckled up. “Let’s go,” he called out the window.
Cassie climbed behind the wheel of the Range Rover and fell in behind Rhett. Her heart pounded in her ears. How could he trust her with something so expensive, especially when she’d totaled one of his cars yesterday?
Everywhere she looked were buttons and knobs that she had no idea how to work. It even had a screen for the GPS. Her ancient car came off the factory line way before GPS became standard in cars. Her hands tightened on the wheel as her eyes cut back from the road to all the bells and whistles along the dashboard. She would never, ever learn how to drive something so complicated. Much less enjoy it.
As she kept pace with Rhett, though, she decided to roll with the punches. “Relax and enjoy it,” she told herself, trying hard to take her own advice. “It won’t last forever. Nothing good ever does.”
That was one lesson Hollywood had taught her. She’d come from Texas with big dreams and an open heart. Nowadays, she was content if she could pay her rent and bills on time and fly under the radar. Forget seeing her name in lights on the big screen. She’d always be lingering in the shadows—if that.
Cassie wondered where Rhett might take her to eat. Wolfgang Puck’s place? The Ivy? No, he didn’t seem the type. The paparazzi rarely