Outside the window the Hollywood Hills stretched across the horizon. Not the glittering lights of Los Angeles, but the wild, arid Santa Monica Mountains with their dusty patchwork beauty. Sofia approved of the view. Growing up in these hills, she had an appreciation for any vantage point that offered respite from the hectic, cutthroat city below, and it was exactly what Georgia Andrews needed to ensure a successful turnaround.
Checking scenic view off the list on her iPad, she dropped the tablet into the Birkin bag she’d left on Georgia’s bed. The actual room needed some work. Tabloids littered the bedside table along with dirty wineglasses. Between the view outside and the clothes scattered across the floor, it looked like a high-end dorm room. Sofia would definitely have to call in her interior decorator to do a quick flip.
A couple of solemnly clad men exited the attached en suite and nodded to her as they carried bags of god-knew-what for disposal. Sofia made it a point to handle turnarounds personally, but she always brought in a team of experts to handle the spring-clean after encountering one too many dildos in drawers. It was hard to look someone in the eye when she’d been wrist-deep in their sex toys, especially her male clients.
But everything was right on schedule with Georgia. The assessment had been a breeze. Like Sofia, Georgia had grown up in LA among the paparazzi and fame hungry. Unlike Sofia, Georgia had fallen victim to the glitz and glam. At twenty-four, she had ten movies to her name and twice as many trips to rehab. She’d gone from a Hollywood darling to a cocktail party punch line in the past three years—and that was where Sofia came in.
She had taken the actress on less than ten days ago, and in the next four days Georgia’s life and reputation would be completely turned around. All thanks to Sofia.
Right now while strangers removed all the temptations of her former life, Georgia was getting a head-to-toe spa day at Girgio’s. Not only would her life suddenly be polished, orderly and genuinely glamorous, she would be, too.
“Miss King?” Karin poked her head in the bedroom door, chewing on her lip as she waited to be acknowledged. The nervous gesture only drew attention to her assistant’s fresh-faced youth. Karin wasn’t helping herself out with that ponytail either.
Sofia cocked an eyebrow, shaking her head. “Ms. King, please. I’m not defined by marital status.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot again.” Her apology was genuine, which betrayed her short time in LA. Sofia had a soft spot for the starry-eyed girls who sent her emails asking about work. Karin, like many others, had been sent her way by a producer friend, because she had all the makings of an excellent assistant—punctuality, work ethic, a submissive personality—and none of the it-factor to be an actress. She wouldn’t last six months. None of them had, which was what made them ideal candidates for the position. They never stuck around long enough to see the potential blackmail material they encountered on a daily basis.
Still a new assistant twice a year meant coping with the little nuisances.
“You have a phone call,” Karin informed her.
“I don’t take phone calls during cleanings,” Sofia reminded her in a gentle voice. “Please take a message.”
“It’s your father,” Karin said timidly.
“Put him through,” Sofia said, clinging to the last shred of patience she could muster, “and next time mention that right off the bat.”
Karin nodded, scurrying back to the makeshift office she’d set up in the kitchen. A few moments later Sofia’s phone buzzed with the incoming call. She slid Accept as she made her way into the bathroom to check on the team’s progress. “Hi, Daddy.”
“There’s my baby girl.” Arnold Maxx was one of the most intimidating men in Hollywood. He’d scared more directors out of the profession than any other producer and was loosely linked to four suicides. A fact which he shrugged off as part of the business. Now he headed up the most profitable film company in the world, Maxximum Studios, but the one thing that could turn him into a giant cuddly teddy bear was his only daughter.
Sofia smiled at his pet name for her, softening as usual at his affectionate tone. She’d got her attitude from her daddy, although even now while she ran a successful multimillion-dollar enterprise she couldn’t say no to him. After her mother’s death, they’d stuck together in a city known for tearing relationships apart. When she pitched him her crazy business idea, he’d got her foot in the door with the Hollywood elite. She’d taken it from there, building a name for herself as a miracle worker, but she’d always be grateful that he’d believed in her little scheme from the beginning.
“Anything new in your life?”
“Working myself to death,” she said dryly.
“Same here,” he admitted. “So does that mean that you’re on a job?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t like her dad to call in the middle of the day to chitchat. Neither of them had time to waste like that, but it was nice to pretend for a moment.
Turning, she caught one of the techs watching her in the mirror. She shot him a withering glance, and he turned away quickly. She’d learned a long time ago that it didn’t matter if she wore a bikini or a parka—most guys saw blonde and lost their ability to function in polite society.
“Ms. King?” Another tech held up a prescription bottle for her approbation.
Sofia took it, reading the label before she snapped open the lid. Flush, she mouthed to him.
“I’m calling in a favor,” her dad continued.
“I’m free in a couple of days,” she said, scanning the contents of the medicine cabinet for any more bottles. Plucking two aspirin bottles from the shelf, she tossed them into the garbage. What twenty-four-year-old popped aspirin? Celebs loved to hide drugs in plain sight.
“No good. I need you now.”
Sofia recognized the firm tone her father usually reserved for contract disputes. The one he used when he was cutting someone’s budget. “Daddy, I have four days left on this job, and she’s one of your girls.”
He paused as though considering this. “Which one?”
“Georgia Andrews.”
“That girl is a train wreck. Maxximum has a much bigger problem.”
Sofia could picture his dismissive wave as he spoke, and her eyes narrowed. She’d run from the industry because of men like her father, and while she adored him for reasons largely related to genetics and the lottery of birth, she also knew that when he looked at his actresses he saw a bottom dollar. Georgia’s career was in the toilet, which meant she wasn’t worth his time. “I have a responsibility to my client.”
“I know, baby girl,” he said, quickly shifting his approach. “But you can put Georgia up in rehab for a few weeks. My problem can’t wait.”
“She’s not a jug of milk,” Sofia said. “I can’t put her on ice so she doesn’t spoil.”
“Look, when was the last time I called you in?”
Sofia hesitated. He had her there. After all these years her father had never actually called her in for a job. “Never.”
“I need you to handle this. You’re the only one I can trust to turn this situation around,” he admitted in an uncharacteristically anxious voice. “I’ve got six weeks of on-location shooting sunk into this picture and my star is a time bomb.”
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. He was right—she owed him this. She’d put Georgia up in Malibu Heights, where she could at least be certain the girl would behave herself, and be back in two weeks to start the process over again. “Who will I have the pleasure of fixing this time?”
He paused. “So we’re agreed then.”
“Daddy?” she pressed. He was avoiding her question, which wasn’t a good sign. “Who is it?”
“You’ve already agreed,” he reminded her, “and if anyone else could do this I would have brought them in.”
“Who is it?” she demanded.
“Isaac Blue.”
The name punched her in the gut, and Sofia sucked in a breath so quickly the air whistled over her lips. “Dammit, I am the last person you can trust to turnaround Isaac Blue!”
“I think you’re wrong about that, baby girl,” her dad said. “Call it a hunch.”
He had to know that wasn’t true. Just like he’d known not to mention that bastard’s name until he’d got her to agree. He obviously remembered that she hated Isaac Blue, but if he was asking her to do this, he must not remember why.
“Are you there?” he asked after a few moments of silence.
“Sorry, I was busy fantasizing about all the ways I’m going to make you pay for this one.”
Her father laughed, sounding relieved. “Anything you want, baby girl.”
Sofia grabbed her purse, shouldering it with a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Let’s start with your private jet.”
* * *
Judging from the white-hot pain searing across his forehead, Isaac had been shot. Or stabbed. Or hit in the skull with an ax. The possibilities seemed pretty endless actually. Pushing up to his elbows, he opened one eye slowly, wincing as the morning light hit. Or afternoon light. Or unethically bright floor lamp. He couldn’t be sure.
Yep, this was going to be one killer hangover.
Flashes of memories filtered through his mind as he tried to piece together exactly what had happened. Big Ben. The film set. A pub. It was no good. Dropping back on his bed, he raised his hand to rub his throbbing temples.
His fingertips were black.
Not smudgy, I’ve-been-working-on-a-car black or it’s-probably-time-to-bathe black. Nope, they were stained black with a permanent ink meant not only to document his identity but also to shame him. Black ink on all ten fingers was the modern day scarlet letter. Who knew they even arrested people in London? It seemed too impolite.
When he finally touched his temples, he winced again. Poking the skin over his left eye gingerly, he discovered what was probably a helluva bruise, which reminded him that he’d been in a fight. He still didn’t remember going to jail, but if he’d been dumb enough to start throwing punches he must’ve been drunk enough to majorly screw up.
“You’re awake!”
Isaac flinched at the perky exclamation, uncovering his eyes as a pretty brunette skipped into the room. She was topless, and under normal circumstances he would have appreciated watching all three girls bouncing cheerfully toward him. Right this minute he was still working out the details of how he’d got home, wondering how bad his face was, deciding how to charm his agent and director into not caring that he looked like a prize fighter, and coping with a head-splitting hangover. Plus, pretty as she was, this girl was too goddamned bright-eyed for morning time—or waking hours in general.
“Do you want me to get you some breakfast?” She flopped onto the bed and ran a finger over his abs in an attempt at seduction. “Or I could help you wake up in other ways?”
Isaac held up a finger to silence her. “Shhh.”
“Oh!” she yelped. “Do you need an aspirin?”
“I need...”
“Yes?” she prompted breathlessly.
“Silence,” he finished.
The girl was quiet for a moment, and he peeked carefully out from his hands. She’d caught a strand of her espresso locks between her fingers and was twisting it with what looked like a considerable amount of effort.
“I can be quiet,” she burst out finally, and Isaac pulled a pillow over his face as she continued. “Or get you breakfast or give you a blow job!”
He shoved the pillow away and took her hand to soften the blow. “Look, um...”
“Heidi,” she offered, saving him from fruitlessly searching for her name.
“Heidi, look. You’re a pretty girl, and obviously, you’re very...nice—” it was the kindest thing he could think to say “—but I really just need to get some more sleep, drink my weight in water and call my agent.”
She tilted her head and stared at him. “You don’t want a blow job?”
This clearly puzzled her, and if he was being honest, his dick felt pretty puzzled, too. But if there was anybody dumber than him after a night of drinking, it was his dick. It might have a mind of its own, but it was also dense and easily distracted by pretty girls with their soft thighs that spread in welcome for him.
Isaac pushed the pillow over his lap to cover his hard-on and hopefully muffle the pleadings of his other half before Heidi got any ideas. If he hadn’t been out fucking things up last night, he might not have turned her down. Then again he probably also would have known her name without having to ask, not to mention that he’d remember how he met her in the first place.
Tears welled in her doe-like eyes and he cringed. He’d wanted to let her down gently, but she’d had to go and offer him a blow job. That meant she knew who he was. Offering a blow job? That meant she’d expected their time together to go a little differently, and based on the fact that he still had his jeans and shoes on, she was probably disappointed.
There was nothing left to do but pull his best get-out-of-jail-free card. It was ironic that this trick only worked with overly enthusiastic fans. “I’ve got to shoot tonight.”
“I totally understand,” she said, pressing a hand over her bare breasts in an uncomfortably maternal display. “Maybe we can get together later tonight and I can give you that back rub I promised you before you fell asleep last night?”
“Absolutely,” he lied, shifting out of bed and guiding her toward the door. “Let me get your number.”
She rattled it off to him as she hooked her bra and shimmied back into her shirt. Isaac pretended to key it into his phone, a performance he’d perfected over the years. He was an actor after all.
Now that she was fully dressed, he ushered her toward the door, eager to get her out and start dealing with the fallout from last night. She was probably a really nice girl, but the problem was that nice girls and guys like him didn’t compute. Plus, Heidi was eager and nice, which was a dangerous combination. Girls like her weren’t content to brag that they’d bagged a movie star for a night. They wanted him to call. Sometimes they showed up on set. They didn’t understand why he might only be in town for a week before he had to head to another location.
Reaching for the door, his fingers closed over the handle just as Heidi threw her arms around his neck. Smashing her lips against his, she stuck her tongue in his mouth before he processed what was happening. His body responded to her obvious ardency as he struggled for the doorknob. Jerking the door open, he wrenched away from her and forced his most charming smile onto his lips.
“Call me?” Heidi batted her lashes as if they were butterfly wings.
His grin broadened as he opened the door wider, but it fell from his face when he caught sight of the woman frozen there midknock. The blonde’s expression was blank, completely unreadable, but there was ice in her blue-eyed glare. She was nothing like the girl. No, her hair fell to her shoulders in soft, expertly styled waves held back by the Gucci sunglasses perched on her head. Her red pencil skirt matched her lips and hugged the shapely, but obviously toned, thighs that streamed into the longest legs on the highest heels he’d seen for a long time.
The woman stepped aside to allow Heidi to pass. Her momentary shock had worn off, and now her crimson lips twisted into a rueful smile as the girl glanced frantically from Isaac to the stranger before she took off down the hall. He owed her for her timing, that much was certain, but it didn’t explain what she was doing here.
“Good afternoon, Isaac.” Distaste colored her greeting.
She wasn’t eager to see him, which meant she was here for a reason. He extended his arm. “Come in.”