High-Stakes Bachelor. Cindy Dees
it part of your callback.”
The hallway door opened before she could come up with a polite way to turn him down but still get the dream acting job. “How are we doing in here?” Adrian asked from the doorway. He seemed leery of charging in and finding pints of blood spilled on his floor.
Nervous, she jumped to her feet. “Good. I think we’ve got things under control,” she declared with false cheer.
“Thanks for your time this afternoon, Miss Izzolo,” Adrian said politely. “We’ll be in touch.”
Oh, God. The classic Hollywood brush-off. Don’t call us; we’ll call you. She’d clobbered the star of the movie and wrecked her shot at fame and fortune, after all. It had been a fun fantasy for the five minutes it had lasted. Ah, well. Maybe she could still break into stunt work, someday.
She headed for the locker room to retrieve her cheap nylon gym bag and get back to her regularly scheduled life. She threw open the locker door and stared in dismay. Her bag was shredded. As in literally shredded. Her extra audition clothes were in tatters, and what little makeup she had was smeared all over the rags formerly known as the only decent clothes she owned.
What the heck? Who would do a thing like this? And why?
Jackson had no idea what to do about casting the lead actress part in the film. His gut shouted at him to go with Anabelle Izzolo, the unknown with the wild talent. But just as surely, the movie’s investors were going to want him to go with a more established actress. Someone like Shyann Brooklyn.
The tall blonde had been last to audition today. Although Shyann looked great on film, he doubted there was room for him on the silver screen with her and her ego. She was nasty, self-centered and not all that bright, either. He doubted she would have long-term staying power in the business. A few films from now, after the public got its fill of looking at her, it would dawn on everyone that she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.
His phone vibrated. It was a text from his grandmother to call her. Meddling woman. Oh, Minerva was well-meaning enough, but a royal pain sometimes. Too bad he loved her so damned much.
His father, a soldier, had died on active duty, and his mother had drowned in her grief and wasted away on sleeping pills until she’d finally OD’d. Gran had taken in the whole passel of Prescott kids, him, his three brothers and his twin baby sisters, and raised them all. Minerva had married young herself, and his parents had married right out of high school. As a result, Gran was far from ancient and was energetic, nosy and felt within her rights to boss all of them around. She was a classic iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove type.
And right now, he was ignoring her.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped out into the studio’s parking lot. The blistering California sun slammed into him. The soundstage he and Adrian had built was inland far enough not to catch the ocean breezes that cooled the California coast. But the price had been right on the sprawling piece of property. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow as he threw a leg over his Harley and cranked it up. The powerful engine revved between his legs and, as usual, gave him a bit of a hard-on.
He rolled out of the parking lot and spotted a familiar figure standing at the bus stop in front of the studio. Ana Izzolo looked about ready to burst into flames in the blazing heat. There was one bus in Serendipity, California, and it operated on no discernible schedule. She could be standing there for another hour.
He pulled to a stop in front of her. “Can I give you a lift?”
“I’m okay. I’ll catch the bus.”
“Hop on. It’s hot as hell out here. No telling when the bus will come along.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’m staying in the north end of town. Don’t you live the other direction?”
They were talking Serendipity here. The entire town could fit on a postage stamp. He could go from one end of Main Street to the other in approximately sixty seconds, and that included having to stop at the one traffic light in the whole town. He unhooked his spare helmet from its perch on the backrest and held it out to her. “Hop on.”
She hesitated, but eventually took the helmet from his outstretched hand and strapped it on her head. She slid her leg through the gap between his rear end and the backrest, and settled herself behind him. Abrupt awareness of her hot little crotch nestled against his butt roared through him. Day-umm.
Her arms snaked around his waist, which had the effect of mashing her breasts against his back informatively. Soft. Springy. Resilient. Well, that answered that. Her female assets were real. Good to know. He’d never been a fan of hard and lumpy implants.
You’re about to be her boss. Behave yourself. Nope. His body wasn’t listening to reason. His erection swelled until his jeans were uncomfortably tight. Good thing he was sitting on the bike and not trying to walk.
He twisted the throttle and the Harley leaped forward. Ana relaxed behind him and moved easily with the bike. She obviously knew how to stay centered and quiet on top of one. He didn’t let many women ride with him because they usually threw off his balance. He could hardly tell she was aboard, though, as their bodies moved in perfect unison. Only that sexy female form clinging to the length of his back reminded him she was there.
The farther inland they went, the hotter the air got. It was official. They were in hell. He followed the directions she gave him through the radio-mike between their helmets, and in a few minutes he pulled into a shabby motel parking lot. A few disreputable-looking surfers were just coming back after a day in the water, but the parking lot was otherwise deserted.
“Need me to walk you up to your room?” he asked. His grandmother was a stickler for the niceties and had raised all the kids to be polite.
Ana stiffened against his back. “No, but thanks for offering.” She slid off the bike a little too hastily and he shot out a hand to steady her as she stumbled.
“Dinner, tonight. With me,” he stated.
“No, thanks.”
“That wasn’t a request. Your audition isn’t over yet.”
If she’d been awkward before, she was board-stiff and epically uncomfortable now. Jeez. Did she think he was going to throw her down and rape her on a casting couch? He said defensively, “I just want to talk more. Get to know you. Find the chemistry between us. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“I’ll meet you at a restaurant,” she countered quickly. “Pick a place.”
“Romaletti’s.” She wanted to have her own ride home, huh? Did she not want to sleep with him or just doubt that he would be interested? Hmm. Intriguing.
She disengaged her arm from his fingers, and he was startled to discover he missed the feel of her skin. He took the helmet she passed him and watched her pull her blond hair out of its ponytail. It swung around her shoulders pertly.
Realizing with a start that he was staring at her, he tore his gaze away from her. For lack of anything else to look at, he eyed the motel. It looked one step up from a crack den. But it was the only low-cost lodging in town. Serendipity was mostly a secret enclave of the rich and famous. It was far enough north of Los Angeles to get out of the rat race, but close enough that a private jet could have a person back in the heart of L.A. in less than an hour.
He and Adrian had chosen the sleepy little town to house their production company precisely because of its laid-back atmosphere and distance from the Hollywood rat race. Not to mention real estate wasn’t sold by the square foot up here or for exorbitant prices. That, and his grandmother’s home was here. He’d just finished fully renovating the place and adding a few bells and whistles to it. Serendipity was where he’d grown up. His roots ran deep in this town.
“Thanks