Late Night With Andres Read online

  “I have your toe,” she blurted.

  He reached for her hand. “I’m glad. I have yours. Sorry it took me so long. I had things to put in order before—”

  Andres cleared his throat and picked up the mic, shoving it under Milla’s and Gage’s mouths. “Speak clearly. Are you proposing? How long did you plan on deceiving the world, Mr. Daxson?”

  Milla turned toward Andres, distracted by his questions. Gage reached up gently and turned her face back toward him. “He’s not here. None of them are. I know they tricked you so you would have to come here, but my lawyers are even scarier than his, so you don’t have to stay.”

  Milla nodded. She looked around the huge room and tried to take in all the bustling pieces. Cameras zoomed in, production assistants ran back and forth. She felt like she might faint, everything was blurring.

  “Don’t let go, Milla. Hang on for a minute.” Gage patted her hand. She refocused on his mouth as he spoke. “Would you like to come with me? You don’t have to do this anymore.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I’ve got one more thing to do.” He turned to Rocco. “Do you mind?”

  The policeman smiled. “Be my guest. I was just turning around anyway.”

  Gage nodded and swung quickly. Andres was caught off guard as Daxson punched him two quick times. As the old man recoiled and fell on top of his desk, Gage grabbed Milla’s hand and pulled. She staggered a bit, so he scooped her up and headed backstage. A loud chant from the crowd stopped him: “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”

  A spotlight outlined their shape. Rocco stood between the security guards and the couple, hand floating over his gun.

  Gage looked at her mouth. “Do you mind?”

  Milla bit her lip and shook her head. Instead of waiting, she pulled his lips to hers and indulged the crowd. The clapping, hooting, and wolf-whistling went on long after Gage exited stage left, carrying Milla.

  Milla sipped champagne on a gorgeous private jet. Gage sat across from her, singing one of the songs he’d written in his head. The kiss on Andres’ stage had been the smartest thing to do, though they didn’t know it at the time. Gage had since given a long interview to Oprah (who ran the special on Friday night) explaining how the intense scrutiny was stealing his joy. He detailed how he had completed the fake out and then regretted it. The kiss was the tide turner. A surly public easily romanticized Gage saving his girl from humiliation at Andres’ hand. The old man’s ratings plummeted so severely that even though the studio execs kept him on the air, really, no one was watching. Instead of retiring a king of the media, Andres quietly returned his late night desk to the redheaded comedian who’d had it previously.

  And with that, Gage took Milla on their first date.

  “So this is Johnny Depp’s island?” Milla pointed at the small tropical paradise the plane circled as the sun set.

  “Yes, he’s a big fan of privacy.” Gage moved to sit next to her and buckled his seatbelt. He finished her champagne while she buckled as well.

  They held hands as the plane landed. Both wore sandals and had one little toe that looked wildly out of place: his tiny and feminine, hers huge with a bit of hair. Upon exiting the plane, Milla learned why Gage had taken so long returning from the dead. Along with the Oprah interview, he arranged a first date that would put many weddings to shame.

  Milla laughed at the carpet of red rose petals. “Seriously? How many roses died to make this happen?”

  Gage winked. “No worries, they grow here, and these are recycled from bouquets. Johnny hates waste.”

  The beach was sterling white and dotted with tiki torches. Gage turned to her and dropped to one knee. He held out her toe. “Milla Bad-Ass Kierce? Will you go on a date with me?” His smile was large and goofy.

  “Gage Drag-Queen Daxson, I would love to.” She bent and freed his toe, and they exchanged digits. After they secured their fake phalanges to the proper feet, they stood and Gage pulled her to him. He tasted her mouth while the surf crashed noisily on the beach. The twilight was flavored with salt water and roses.

  The week was luscious. The island’s staff was welcoming and discreet. There was no cell service or television reception, so their days were filled with old-fashioned pleasures: making sand castles, listening to music, and dancing. Well, Gage tried to teach Milla a few simple ballroom moves, but she mostly laughed.

  “How do you know how to do this?” Milla finally sat down on the outdoor dance floor, her long white skirt billowing out around her.

  “I’m not telling you.” Gage put his hands in his pockets.

  “Tell me. Come on. I promise to make fun of you.” She winked at him.

  “Well, as long as you promise.” He sat down next to her.

  “I do.” She batted her eyelashes.

  “There were a few weeks there I almost agreed to do Dancing with the Stars.” He closed one eye and waited for her laughter. He was rewarded.

  When she was able to talk again after her bout of giggles, she reached out to hold his hand. “That’s so cute. You would’ve won.” She meant it too.

  A breeze forced the palm trees to rustle.

  “I don’t want to go back. To all the stuff.” He flipped her hand over and ran a finger across the small lines there.

  She sighed. “Me either. This place sort of stops time. I love it.”

  Gage leaned forward and kissed her. He threaded his fingers in her hair until they both fidgeted. “So our first date has lasted…a while.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. Neither wore their toe. The sand was irritating.

  “It has.” She cuddled into his chest and took in the crystal blue water.

  “Do you think we might spend the night in the same bed? Or is that too forward?” He tilted her face toward his.

  “I like forward.” Milla touched his cheek.

  Gage led her to a small cabin with a huge bed. There was more open space than walls, and the ocean nearly touched the small patio out front. Wispy curtains fluttered in the breeze. He laid her back on the bed and proceeded to light various candles in hurricane lamps.

  “Are we alone?” Milla looked skeptically at the lack of a door or windows to latch.

  “We are. The staff knew I might get lucky tonight.” Gage crawled onto the bed.

  “You cocky thing. You just assumed I would hop on your solid sausage?” Milla propped herself up on her elbows.

  “Yes, I totally did. Am I wrong?” Gage began kissing her, and Milla forgot what, exactly, she was fighting.

  His lips were perfect. And anytime she was able to take her eyes away from him, she had paradise laid out before her. In the nearby forest a host of night animals sang their songs. The surf’s pounding was the perfect percussion, and Gage timed his thrusts with the beat here and there. They made love for hours, and when they were spent, Milla fell asleep with her head on his chest. He hummed a song, one of many he would write for her in the years to come.

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thank you to Todd, the best husband in the world. Sixteen years in and you still haven’t figured out that I get the best end of this deal.

  To J: You are a genius and the most amazing gentleman. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.

  To D: You are the princess and hilarious and so, so talented. I love you, and I’m so proud of you.

  To Mom and Dad S: Here’s another one for the coffee table! Thank you for being amazing examples.

  To Mom and Dad D: Thank you for the inspiration to make every day count, no matter what.

  Pam, our trip to NOLA will be epic. Karen, facing away from the ocean will make me think of our hours that way. Shannon, this story needed you then and loves you now. Nise, Patti, and Alicia, I just love your way! Jillian, and all your tattoos!

  To the Filets: Those email threads have gotten weird. Thank God.

  To the fanfiction readers: Your bravery and compassion during one of my hardest times brings tears to my eyes.

  To the Poughkeepsie Street Team: You m
ake everything more fun.

  My blogger girls: It’s a great damn time.

  To the Omnific team: You are experts in making dreams come true. Elizabeth, someday I will hug you in person! Jessica, I can’t do it without you and sure as hell wouldn’t want to. To CJ, Coreen, Micha (this cover rocks my face off), and gorgeous Carol for emotional support. And to all my Omnific author sisters, thank you!

  Enn, we will take over the world.

  Last, but never least, to my readers: You are the smartest, sexiest people in existence! Thank you so very much! XO

  About the Author

  Debra Anastasia is busy, just like every other mom. There’s dinner, the dogs, the kids, and their homework. The laundry pile turns into a big, heaping monster. When the clothes finally make it into the washer, it gets unbalanced and puts on an elaborate show before it cuts out. This crazy job that never ends is her first love and her crowning achievement.

  Her writing started a decent handful of years ago when along with the dogs, cat, kids, and husband, the voices of characters started whispering stories in Debra’s ear. Insomnia was the gateway for the plots that wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t let go. In the shower, a twist would take hold and—dripping and frenzied—she’d find somewhere, anywhere to write it down.

  Debra grew up in New York and got a bachelor’s degree in political science at SUNY New Paltz. At the start of her marriage, she moved to southern Maryland with her husband. She still doesn’t trust crabs and all their legs, though everyone else in her family thinks they’re delicious. Her favorite hobbies include knitting, painting furniture and wall murals, and slapping clowns.

  Crushed Seraphim, Bittersweet Seraphim, and Poughkeepsie, Debra’s previous works through Omnific Publishing, are Kindle bestsellers. She is currently working on Return to Poughkeepsie. You can visit her website at:

  www.DebraAnastasia.com

  and find her on Twitter @Debra_Anastasia

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 14

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

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  Debra Anastasia, Late Night With Andres

 

 

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