His Every Defense (11 page)

“I think we might have enough time.”

He checked his phone. “You’re right. Screw the time.” And then he picked her up over his shoulder, like she weighed nothing more than a bag of leaves. He tossed her onto the enormous hotel bed, where she squealed, bouncing a little.

And then he was like a mountain lion, pouncing on her, kissing her deeply and thoroughly. She tasted his newly minted breath, as his tongue explored her mouth, and then he playfully bit her lip. Suddenly he was kissing down her neck, down the plunging neckline of her dress. Everything was hot, burning up, instantly on fire from his touch.

His hands ran up the length of her legs, pushing her dress further and further up until it reached her hips and gathered there, revealing the tiniest, thinnest black thong.

Hunter looked greedily at what she was offering him, her legs spread.

Then he was upon her, his lips tearing at the thin fabric of her panties, teeth pulling it away from her soft, white, bare mound of flesh. And then his mouth was meeting her shuddering flesh, his tongue diving into the folds that were awaiting him.

Kallie moaned and arced her hips into him, giving him access to the deepest part of her. Hunter’s hands clutched beneath her, grabbing her bare buttocks and lifting her behind off the bed as he burrowed deeper into her pussy.

His tongue worked inside, slathering her, pressing, flicking, sucking, licking.

Kallie cried out, as her own hands gripped the bedspread, kneading it, using it to quell the involuntary movements of her arms as she came suddenly.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!”

She stared at him, as she watched him licking her, watched the way he took her flesh against his mouth and met it with total confidence, knowing exactly how to make her come.

When she was finished, he pulled out his cock from his dress pants and told her to turn on her stomach. She did as she was told, breathless with anticipation.

Hunter bent her over the bed, and she turned and saw them in the reflection of the slightly ajar bathroom door, which had a mirror on the outside.

She watched as Hunter inserted himself into her and began vigorously fucking her from behind, his hands on her tits as he thrust into her tightness.

It was a turn-on, like watching porn, only she was playing the starring role.

She was watching the hottest man she’d ever seen screw his woman, and at the same time, she was that woman, being screwed and loving it.

He filled her, again and again, pumping into her wetness, her slickness.

She came once more and then Hunter came too, pulling out just in time for Kallie to sit up and take him fully into her mouth.

A hot spurt, and then another and another coated her throat. She loved it. She sucked him thirstily as he moaned and she used her hand to get the very last of him out and into her mouth.

When they were done, there was no time for laying and cuddling. Instead, they freshened up as much as possible and then quickly left the hotel.

***

Bryson was waiting for them outside the whiter than white, glittering office building that housed Weisman Productions.

As they introduced themselves, she was struck by how tall Bryson was. At probably close to six and a half feet, he was physically imposing. He had broad shoulders, and in person, his shaggy blond hair and affable demeanor reminded her a little bit of Owen Wilson.

Dressed in a casual tan suit with a yellow tie, he looked Hollywood in a way that even Hunter hadn’t managed.

Hunter still looked more like a New York hedge fund manager in his dark, serious suit. The two of them made quite a contrast in style and personality as they sized one another up on the sidewalk.

After shaking hands, Hunter took control. “Let’s go around the corner to Starbucks and have a quick strategy meeting,” he said.

“That’s good,” Bryson replied, smiling. “I do have a few things I wanted to bring up before we go in there.”

Hunter shot him a look. “Well, now’s your chance then. Come on.” He started off for the Starbucks on the corner.

“Don’t walk so fast,” Kallie said, as Hunter strode away from them in full a-type, Alpha Male frenzy.

Bryson looked at her and chuckled. “Is he always this intense?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her cheeks suddenly aflame as she pictured the intensity with which Hunter had just fucked her on the hotel bed not very long ago.

Her nipples stiffened beneath her dress, and she tried to bring her mind back to the present.

They got inside the coffee shop and after ordering and fixing their drinks, the three of them sat outside at a small table with a green umbrella.

Kallie put on her sunglasses, as did Hunter.

Bryson, the only L.A. native, was squinting as he sipped his iced coffee.

“So, what did you want to bring up to me before meeting Max Weisman?” Hunter said, blowing on his coffee cup.

Bryson looked at Kallie and smiled, quickly looking away. He seemed suddenly embarrassed. “The thing is, you know this is a dream come true for me.”

“I would think so. This is a huge moment in my career as well, and I’ve done some pretty cool things in this industry,” Hunter said, as if wanting the gravity of the moment to sink in with the screenwriter across from him.

“I know. I mean, just to be able to work with you is amazing, let alone the chance to have Max Weisman involved.”

“Enough prelude, Bryson. What do you want to tell us?”

Bryson sighed, fiddling with the top of his plastic cup. “I got to thinking about why I wrote that script—why I started wanting to make movies in the first place.”

Kallie and Hunter exchanged glances. She had an overwhelming feeling that Bryson was about to say something unpleasant. “And what did you realize?” she asked.

He looked up and met her gaze. “I realized that I want to direct this film.”

Hunter swore. “You’ve got to be kidding me, man. You drop this in my lap now, fifteen minutes before we go into the lion’s den?”

Bryson put out his hands in a calming gesture. “I tried to tell you last night on the phone, and you cut me off—“

“Well you should have insisted I listen last night. Had I known, I never would have flown out for this godforsaken meeting.”

Bryson’s eyes narrowed. “I understand you think I’m being an arrogant upstart, Mister Reardon. But I know I can do the job. What if Sylvester Stallone hadn’t insisted on playing Rocky Balboa or Tarantino didn’t direct Reservoir Dogs?”

Hunter sat back in his seat and rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be joking, Bryson.

Please, please, please—tell me this is all a joke so we can get down to business.”

“I’m not joking,” he replied, and his affable demeanor switched. His face was cool and calm, his eyes steady. “I wrote the script and I always intended to direct it.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen, so get over it.”

Kallie flinched, as she watched Bryson recoil slightly from Hunter’s words.

“Why not?” Bryson asked.

“Because, it’s not done that way. If we walk in there and insist on an unknown as writer AND director, we’ll have basically announced that we’re trying to sink the ship before it ever leaves the harbor.”

“We can still get big name actors attached to the movie,” Bryson said.

“Oh, can
we
? Is that a fact?”

“Hunter, please,” Kallie said.

“Please what?” He asked, staring at her. “Do you realize what this kid is doing right now?”

“I know it’s disappointing to you—“

“It should disappoint you too. We have a big chance here, guys.” Hunter looked at them both. “A chance that nobody ever gets in this business. A guy like Max Weisman has the pull and the deep pockets to fast track this script and get it made right.

And it needs to be made right. I can’t do it with just my production company—we don’t have that kind of budget. I do small movies. I don’t do romcoms. But if Weisman is on board, then we can make this film and it could give you the chance to someday write and direct and act and even sing if that’s what you fucking want,” Hunter said, looking at Bryson.

Bryson nodded. “Yeah.”

Hunter pointed at him and then emphatically hit the table with his finger as he spoke. “You take the deal now. You play the game—just play the fucking game. And then, when your movie’s made over a hundred million at the box office and you won three golden globes and an academy award—then you can write your ticket on the next film.”

Bryson licked his lips, his face ashen. “Okay. I understand.”

“Do you? Because I’d just as soon leave and get on a plane back to New York then walk into that room and be made to look like a fool.”

“I won’t make a fool out of you,” Bryson said. “I promise you that.”

Kallie felt awful. She knew that Hunter was probably right, but seeing him so quickly and efficiently dismantle Bryson’s dream was sad. It was like he’d just told Bryson that they’d put his faithful dog to sleep.

Bryson’s head was hanging and he seemed disheartened by the conversation.

“Let me go in there and make this deal,” Hunter told them. “I know how to get it done. And then we can celebrate our success, and not worry about the compromises we had to make to get here. Okay?”

They agreed, and the only thing left to do was to go to meet Max Weisman himself.

Going to the top floor of the glittering white building, Kallie was overwhelmed by a feeling of anxiety and near terror. She hadn’t even been scared in exactly this way when that car had been chasing them the other day and Hunter had pulled out his gun.

This was fear that she might not only blow it for herself, but if she said the wrong thing in this meeting, she might blow it for Bryson too. And he’d been waiting years for this chance.

When they got to Max Weisman’s outer office, the young male receptionist took their names and asked them to take a seat. He was wearing a headset, and doing like ten different tasks at once. The phone rang approximately once every five or ten seconds and it seemed like all the receptionist did was tell people that “Mister Weisman is busy now—I’ll let him know you called.”

They sat on white furniture staring out tinted windows that overlooked the street, as cars and people passed by the building, having no idea that many floors up, a few very nervous people were staring down at them.

Finally, the receptionist called out to them. “Mister Weisman will see you now.”

They all got up at the same time and smiled at one another, their eyes betraying their own insecurities, doubts, and of course, excitement and hope.

Even Hunter, as jaded as he might be, seemed to feel the weight of this moment.

After all, as they walked down the short hallway to Max’s office, the walls were lined with the many hit films his company had produced.

These were some of the most iconic, best known comedies and dramas of the last ten or fifteen years. Kallie knew that however successful Hunter might be, he hadn’t achieved near this level of wealth and renown yet.

But surprisingly, what she felt most as they approached the open office door, the biggest emotion Kallie felt was sadness.

Hunter took one look at her before they entered and saw it. “What?” he whispered, as Bryson made his way in and greeted the loud, brash producer.

Kallie shrugged and smiled. “It’s nothing.”

“Tell me,” he said, refusing to go in until she did so.

“I just—it made me sad that Bryson won’t even get a chance to bet on himself. I could tell how badly he wanted to direct.”

Hunter saw what she was saying, but didn’t respond. “We should go in before Max thinks we’re up to something.”

He put a hand on her shoulder, smiled, and then went inside. She followed right on his heels.

***

When the introductions were complete, Max Weisman went and took a seat behind his enormous desk, which was flanked by awards and statues and piles of scripts.

Behind him were pictures of Max with various celebrities: Max on the red carpet with Julia Roberts, Max at a restaurant with George Clooney, Max talking with Woody Allen.

There was even a picture of Max talking to Bill Clinton like they were the best of friends.

Max himself was large, borderline obese, with dark black hair, a curly, thick beard, red cheeks and a bulbous nose. He wore a dark black shirt, with the two top buttons unbuttoned and a frightening amount of chest hair poking out.

Kallie, Hunter and Bryson sat on some spindly, wooden chairs. The chair she was sitting in made her feel like a child in the principal’s office. Perhaps that was the intended effect.

“I love the script,” Max said, leading off the conversation with an enthusiastic smile. “I just love it. Thank you for bringing this to me, Kallie.”

“My pleasure,” she said.

Max looked at Hunter. “You and I have never had the pleasure of meeting in person, but I’m well aware of your production company. I screened The Visitors at a private Halloween party at my house, and everyone went ape shit for it. So I know you’re good. And that little film they made from your novel wasn’t so bad either.”

Hunter nodded and adjusted his suit coat. “I don’t have any interest in making subpar films, Max. And I think this screenplay could be another in a long list of homeruns for your company as well.”

“That’s the idea,” Max said. He took a sip of water. His hands were thick-fingered and hairy, and he wore large rings on his fingers. “But making films is also a tricky business. It’s a collaboration, and starting from square one, I need to be sure I’m on the same page as the people I work with. That’s why I invited you all here.”

“We’re willing to do whatever it takes,” Hunter said.

Max raised his eyebrows. “That’s always nice to hear, but it frightens me a little.

In fact, the guys who say that to me in the beginning are usually the same ones who drive me crazy with demands later on down the line.”

“We don’t have any crazy demands,” Bryson said. “I’m a bartender who wrote a script and I want to see it become a reality. That’s my dream.”

Hunter looked at him. “And I’m a producer with one major hit under my belt, but I’m looking to branch out and have an impact beyond the horror genre.”