EARLY EVERY MORNING, NIKKI LEFT the Malibu house and drove to the Revenge production offices in the Valley. She had her own private office next to Mick’s. He’d surrounded himself with a team of alarmingly young production people, while she’d brought in several thirtysomethings who knew what they were doing, and a very capable line producer. Hopefully, together, they’d make a cohesive group.
Everything was a go situation. The advantage of having Lara in the lead role was that they didn’t require any other star names. Apart from Aiden Sean, the movie was cast with a group of talented unknowns; the financing was in place, and principal photography began in two weeks. Being a producer was very different from merely designing the clothes. Now she was in a boss situation, and it felt good when everyone came to her for answers.
Only another two days and Lara would arrive from New York and could meet with Mick. Oh God! Nikki thought. Either they’re going to hate each other, or it will be a lovefest. She prayed it was the latter.
If only Richard would lighten up. She’d expected him to be proud of her for what she was doing. Instead he did nothing but put her down.
So far she hadn’t met Aiden Sean. Mick kept insisting the three of them should get together, so today they were having lunch.
“I’m depending on you to keep him in line,” she reminded Mick sternly. “Aiden’s your responsibility. If he screws up, it’s all your fault.”
“I got it, I got it,” Mick said, snapping his fingers in the air.
“Any trouble at all and he’s out. I hope you’ve told him that.”
“Don’t havta tell him. He knows.”
When Aiden turned up an hour late, Nikki was shocked at how pale and gaunt he was, with white, almost translucent skin stretched across the fine bones of his haunted face, bleak ice-gray eyes, dusty brown hair pulled back in a scruffy ponytail, and a painfully skinny body decorated with various tattoos. In spite of being a scary presence, he was still attractive in an offbeat, drugged-out way. Like a world-weary rock star—he had the look.
He shook Nikki’s hand, burned-out eyes staring right through her. She noticed that his nicotine-stained fingers trembled when he went to light a cigarette immediately after their introduction.
Mick had assured her that Aiden was straight now and in all kinds of programs—a guaranteed reformed addict.
No true drug addict is ever reformed, she thought. They’re merely taking a long pause before their next fix.
If Aiden had not been an out-and-out junkie for so many years, he could have had a big career. As it was, he’d only managed to survive in the business because he was fiercely talented and always gave an amazing performance, in spite of being half crazy on drugs most of the time. Directors liked to employ him because he always delivered. Producers didn’t because he was a major risk.
The three of them went to an Italian restaurant on Ventura. Aiden slid into the padded-leather booth, immediately ordering a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. Nikki observed that he smoked three cigarettes before the salad, even though the waitress, a pretty girl who was a fan, kept informing him there was no smoking in the restaurant.
“Fuck it,” Aiden said, his voice like cracked tar over gravel. “A guy’s gotta have some outlet.” Ice-gray eyes carefully checked her out. “I gave it all up, Nikki,” he said mournfully. “No coke, no speed, no fucking anything. I’m havin’ a drink. Don’t let it bother you, I give up drinking when I’m working.”
“I’m sooo looking forward to being on the set with you two,” Nikki drawled. “Mick doesn’t smoke when he’s working, you don’t drink. Wow—this is going to be a blast watching the two of you control your addictions.”
Aiden smiled—a small, thin smile. “You produced anything before, Nikki?”
“No,” she said, immediately on the defensive. “However, I’ve worked in movies for the last six years. I’ve had plenty of experience.”
“Doing what?”
“Costume designer,” she replied, determined not to let him intimidate her. “And, of course, my husband’s Richard Barry, so I’ve certainly had an education in all aspects of moviemaking.”
Now why had she told him that? He was supposed to be impressing her, she didn’t have to give him her résumé.
“How old’re you?” he asked, sucking on an ice cube.
“That’s an extremely rude question to ask a woman.”
He expelled the ice cube back into his glass. “You ashamed of your age? What are you—thirty-five—forty?”
“Thanks a lot,” she said indignantly. “Thirty-two.”
He chuckled—a chuckle with a mean streak. “Knew I could get it out of you.”
“Why?” she couldn’t resist asking. “Do I look older?”
“Just f—in’ with you, darlin’,” he said casually.
Shouldn’t he be kissing her ass? This was the first job he’d had in eighteen months, and with his track record, he was lucky to get it.
“How old are you?” she demanded, not happy with his attitude.
“Thirty-four goin’ on dead,” he said blankly.
“You’re both old,” Mick said with a crazed cackle. “Now me, I still got it goin’. Last week I had a babe who couldn’t’ve been more than fifteen givin’ me head in the back of my limo.”
“And you’re proud of that?” Nikki asked, amazed.
Mick sniggered. “It’s a guy thing,” he said with a superior smirk.
“Yeah, probably a guy who can’t get it up,” Nikki muttered.
“Now, now—don’t go getting jealous,” Aiden said, mocking her.
Oh God, she’d been worried about Lara meeting Mick, when this one was ten times worse.
She didn’t want to think about the rape scene. Richard had warned her to be absolutely sure about the people she hired—especially the actors, and she hadn’t listened. Now he’d spend the next seven weeks saying, “I told you so.”
She decided getting too friendly with these two misfits was not a good thing. Distance was good. A cool attitude would let them know who was boss.
As soon as she had finished eating she consulted her watch: “I hate to eat and run, but I have an appointment.”
“Somethin’ I should be at?” Mick asked, mouth twitching.
“No. It’s uh . . . personal,” she said, sliding out of the booth.
“See ya on the set,” Aiden said, looking her over in a way that made her uncomfortable.
She hurried from the restaurant, stood outside on the sidewalk waiting for her car and took a big gulp of fresh air.
There was something about Aiden Sean that spelled trouble.
• •
“I haven’t called Mick, and I don’t intend to,” Summer said defiantly. “ ’Cause I didn’t even like him. Aiden Sean’s the hot one.”
“Then why’d you do stuff with Mick in the back of his limo?” Tina asked, ever practical.
“I didn’t,” Summer answered indignantly. “One sloppy kiss, and then he tried to make me suck his you know what.”
“Did you?”
“No way. I thought going outside with him would get Aiden to notice me.”
“Which it didn’t,” Tina pointed out.
“I was into a stupid fit,” Summer admitted. “Didn’t you ever do anything that even when you were doing it you knew was dumb?”
They were sitting on the beach, wearing minuscule bikinis with thong bottoms, smoking a joint and working on their tans.
“Yes,” Tina said. “When I was a hokey little kid.”
“You’re not so old.”
“I’ve been around.”
“So have I,” Summer said, throwing back her head to catch the sun.
A fiftyish man, jogging along the beach, did a double take on both girls and almost stopped.
“Married. Three kids. Cushy job,” Tina said, eyeing him up and down. “I could have him any time I wanted.”
“Men!” Summer said.
“Pricks for brains,” Tina said.
“You’ve got it!” Summer agreed.
And they both rolled on the beach in fits of giggles.