Chapter Seven

Once the meeting is over there’s a stampede for the door, with Max leading the charge. “We’ll go through my diary tomorrow,” he hollers out to me before disappearing into the hallway.

Always tomorrow. As far as I can tell, his job mainly consists of him drifting around the studios and attempting to screw anything that’s not nailed down by monogamy. Through the window I watch him vault into a jeep and drive off in an enormous cloud of dust.

“Off to wine and dine some gorgeous woman, I expect,” says Rachel, her blond hair flopping dejectedly into her eyes as she bends down to switch off the conference screen. “Did you see him with the makeup designer in the meeting?”

“I was a little preoccupied.” I say grimly, tucking the tails of my long bangs behind my ears as I kneel down to help her. “Which, FYI, was about as fun as a bikini wax.”

Rachel smiles but refuses to be drawn into a bitch session about Jake. It’s something I’ve noticed more and more with his crew. He’s a hard man to work for but he receives nothing but loyalty and respect in return.

“Okay, so it was a bit strange,” she admits reluctantly, straightening up again.

“Strange how?”

“Well, he’s never asked for opinions before, especially about movie scheduling.” She hands me a pile of leftover scripts. “Can you take these back to my desk? I’ll follow along in a bit with the rest.”

With Rachel’s words still ringing in my ears, I make my way along the labyrinth of hallways toward the production office. I’m so deep in thought that I walk straight into a row of mannequins lined up like naked firing squad victims outside the costume department. Snatching up armfuls of dropped scripts and plastic limbs, I freeze as a loud bang erupts behind me. The noise echoes throughout the vacant space like a horror scene unfolding. It’s nightfall after a long day, and most of the crew are on their way back to the hotel. I choke on my panic as dark memories force their way to the forefront of my mind.

Racing around the corner, I spy the production office up ahead. The door’s open. The place is deserted, but I can hear angry voices coming from inside Jake’s office. He’s not alone. Cassie’s there, too. She’s our lead actress, apparently. Rachel informed me of this over lunch.

Full name: Cassie Lee. Number of Oscar nominations: two. At twenty-five, and with the added bonus of having Jake cast her in three of his last six box office hits, Cassie has recently achieved superstar status and is reveling in every last golden minute of it. Which basically means she’s a royal pain in the ass.

I hate her perfect stomach.

I hate her nauseating sense of entitlement more.

I slide the scripts onto Rachel’s desk and turn to leave, but my feet clearly didn’t get the memo. Acrimony is seeping out from under the door and I can’t stop myself from eavesdropping.

Inside, Jake’s voice is beginning to spiral. “I don’t want to talk about this, Cassie. I said all I needed to say months ago.”

“I don’t believe you! Not after yesterday. I know you still want me.”

“Think what you like, make up these fucking fantasies if you must, but what happened in your trailer was a mistake. You and I are done.”

“Have dinner with me. For old time’s sake.” She’s begging him, trying to penetrate that chilly exterior. Good luck with that.

“You don’t get it, do you? Your contract doesn’t include fucking me anymore.”

“Then maybe I should quit.”

There’s a crash followed by the sound of breaking glass as an object is hurled at the wall.

“You wouldn’t dare. You wanted in on this movie, sweetheart. Your agent was on my back twenty-four seven for months. Don’t make me regret hiring you.”

There’s a pause, and then the sound of hysterical weeping. “You can’t keep breaking people’s hearts like this, Jake. There’s gonna be repercussions.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much.”

He sounds bored. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost…

“It doesn’t have to be like this. Let me love you again. You’re shouldering too much responsibility. Walt Wilson is happy to keep on running Global so you can stay producing movies. Brad’s really stepping up—”

“Christ, you have some nerve mentioning his name in front of me.”

“Brad’s history, and you know it.”

“I don’t give a shit. What’s done is done.”

“Screw you, Jake. And screw your stupid movie!”

There’s a clatter as another object smashes to the ground and then the sound of high heels heading in my direction.

Crap. As quick as I can, I turn to the photocopier behind me, yanking out the paper tray as Jake’s door flies opens. I can feel Cassie’s foxy brown eyes on me, scorching holes in the back of my white vest top. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her, fixing a smile on my face as I do.

“Oh, it’s you.” She sniffs at me like I’m gum on the red sole of her black Laboutins. “Tell me, honey, where do you buy such awful clothes?”

“The same place you buy your hair extensions,” I say mildly.

That shuts her right up, and I watch in glee as she flounces out of the office, catching her heel in a crack in the tiles. I may not be as beautiful, but I have at least two brain cells, which easily makes me twice as smart.

The skin on my face starts prickling. I glance over to find Jake watching me. He’s leaning against the doorway to his office, his face expressionless, hands in pockets. A statue more beautiful than David, with a complexity to rival The Thinker.

Our gazes hold. Straightaway that sizzling intensity is back. There’s a muscle working in his cheek, as if some monumental battle is taking place inside him. He takes a step toward me, then stops. “What the hell are you doing here, Books?”

My nickname has returned but his voice is low and hostile, like I’m trespassing on his territory. I’m overstepping some invisible line by being here alone with him.

“Max left his filming schedule behind,” I say, snatching one up from my desk and holding it aloft like it’s conclusive evidence in a murder trial. “He wants to go through it once more before shooting starts tomorrow.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jake doesn’t believe a word of it. “Max couldn’t give a damn about the schedule. He dances to his own fucking tune.”

“Family trait, is it?”

“What did you overhear?”

“Nothing, I swear.” I take a step back but the weight of the lie unbalances me. My foot twists and I crash sideways into the desk, smashing my left hip against the paper tray and sending Rachel’s scripts flying. The noise in the silent room is deafening.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Jake strides up to me and hauls me to my feet by my arm. His grip is firm and I’m assaulted by his delicious scent again. We stand like statues, breathing each other in.

Machismo. The word swirls around my head like a silver-gray mist. The scope, the bluntness, the power. He makes every man I’ve ever stood next to pale into insignificance. He still hasn’t let go of my arm. I daren’t look at him, so I stare at his chest instead, fighting an overwhelming urge to rest my forehead against it.

“You shouldn’t be here, Books.”

A strong finger curls under my chin and tips my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes are firing cold, dark bullets into mine.

“Story of my life,” I mutter. Somehow, I know that if I glance downward I’ll see the outline of his erection pushing against the fabric of his jeans. The same way my nipples are pushing against the thin cotton of my top.

Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.

He inclines his head and for one breathtaking moment I swear he’s going to kiss me, and then he’s jerking his hand away like my skin is contaminated, as though I’m the Chernobyl of temptation.

Taking a step back, he curses under his breath. “Good night, Charlie Winters,” he says firmly. And then he’s walking away, leaving me empty and confused all over again.