Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason (13 page)

F
riday morning bright
and early I’m at my desk, refreshing my browser every five minutes to see if the new Variety article has been posted yet. Samuel English called me yesterday for quotes, after he’d already talked to Cheyenne and Mona.

I was a wreck when he called, still reeling from Stark’s vicious actions the night before. I didn’t see any of this coming a month ago when I sat across from him in Trident’s conference room, despite his crude comment about Jackie. The fact is, I became quite fond of him that night at Pastiche, when we made the bet. He was fun, engaging, smart, handsome, and as I learned later, exactly the kind of lover I’ve been craving. I even took the day off yesterday and just lay in bed, watching stupid reality shows to try to forget about what had taken place between us the night before.

I push him from my mind and refresh the website again. Still nothing, but there’s a new article about a proposed merger between two popular indie production companies, Mental Image Studios and Thunder Strike Productions. I’ve worked with both of them in the past and though I hadn’t thought of it before, this combination makes perfect sense. They will instantly grab prestige and power that would have taken them years to acquire on their own. The new company, cleverly dubbed Brainstorm Films, will be able to take bigger risks with their projects, and consequently reap bigger rewards. I buzz Brian and tell him to send a single basket of gourmet goodies, along with a note of congratulations telling both of the owners they might as well start learning to share immediately.

Once that’s taken care of, Stark jumps back into my mind. Try as I might, I can’t focus on anything else. Even though we’d both been trying to out-do each other with our business scheming and plotting, it seemed like we were becoming more than mere rivals. I was really starting to like the guy and got the impression he felt the same.

To make matters worse, the way in which he ravished me on his couch was something right out of my deepest sexual fantasies. All my adult life I’ve longed to be taken by a man that way — especially a man so sexually skilled. If only he hadn’t been such an utter asshole at the end of it.

I think back over the events of the last month, trying to see how we reached such a painful stage. Stark had started it by fucking Mona just to show me up. After we made the bet, I’d repaid him by seducing him in my office, then leaving him hanging after getting what I wanted out of it.

I suddenly get it.

Stark wasn’t insulted by my using him for sex, then dismissing him. He was
hurt
.

That has to be the reason.

He insisted on getting revenge not to one-up me in our rivalry, but so I would feel the same pain I had inflicted on him. Sure, he wouldn’t admit it, probably not even to himself, but he and I bonded over the previous few weeks and by the time we had our dinner date, I was already developing feelings for him. It’s only logical to think he was doing the same for me. Then I coldly kick him out of my office just to make some kind of misguided statement.

What have I done?

I refresh Variety’s website for the umpteenth time and see the top headline has been updated.

I quickly read the article, written by Samuel himself – a rarity these days. He does a splendid job of making it sound like this outcome was the result of a concerted effort by a group of industry people who firmly believed in equal pay for actresses. No one reading it would suspect that almost everyone involved had ulterior motives. The article plays down the idea that things will change overnight because of this, but acknowledges that it’s a significant first step.

Stark actually did the impossible, masterfully setting this up in a matter of hours. It’s truly remarkable, and I have to tip my hat to him, even if he does apparently despise me now. I consider sending him a congratulatory text, but hold off when I remember I should still be angry over how he treated me.

Or should I?

I don’t have the luxury of sifting through my feelings because calls start pouring in. The rest of my day is spent taking congratulations, talking to reporters and doing phone interviews for radio and podcasts. One surprising effect of the article is the number of calls the agency receives from actresses investigating the possibility of changing representation. Though it was never his intention, Stark is actually putting money in my pocket again.

By the time I collapse at home later, I’ve made a decision about this bizarre relationship he and I have, the one we started without even realizing it.

Despite the fact that I’ve grown to adore Stark, I’ll have to forget about that aspect of our situation. No flirting, no dating, and definitely no sex. It won’t be easy, but I’m a strong woman, and I can force myself to give up a possible relationship with a wonderful man, seeing as how it was never meant to be in the first place.

Mason Stark is a business rival, and that’s what he’ll stay.

T
he hubbub created
by the announcement in Variety lasts for days, and I’m so busy I don’t have time to think about much else. I receive numerous congratulatory phone calls, emails and texts, and while I accept the plaudits for my small part in the matter, nobody is aware that I’m the one who put this whole brilliant plan together.

They’ll also never know that it’s a scam. Cheyenne Parris and Drake Manning will not be paid equally for
Texas Flood
, though she is getting a seven-million-dollar raise and this will benefit actresses in the future
.

No, only five people — me, Jackie, Drake, Link, and Claire — know that Drake will actually earn a hell of a lot more, and all of us have a vested interested in keeping it a secret.

Ah, Claire. It’s been a week since I fucked the hell out of her, then casually kicked her to the curb. I’m experiencing two entirely different emotions about my behavior that night. On the one hand, it was justified and deserved, and it felt great to take my arrogant business rival down a peg. On the other, I have some guilt about it because by that point it seems like there was more involved than just our little rivalry. As it turns out, feelings can get in the way of revenge sex.

I’ve begun to think it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to date Claire. You know, see where things lead. Every other time I’ve felt like this about someone, I always had a problem with the idea of being with only one woman, so I usually demanded that we continue to see other people. Sometimes the woman agreed, sometimes she didn’t. If she agreed, it never bothered me if she slept with someone else, because I knew was doing it as well.

With Claire, I know I wouldn’t want to take that approach. If I were to date and sleep with her regularly, it would have to be monogamous on both sides, because there’s no way I would risk losing a woman like her just to keep my pussy options open. The idea of locking myself into a one-on-one relationship with someone that great in bed doesn’t bother me.

That’s not the problem, though.

I can’t overlook the fact that she’s a business competitor, and having any kind of relationship with her apart from a friendly rivalry would simply never work.

Then there’s that fucking bet. I honestly don’t know which of us won, because it all boils down to a matter of semantics: salary or overall pay. Neither of us recorded the exact wording of the bet, so it can never be proven one way or the other.

All in all, I reluctantly decide we should probably just let it die. If I make Claire keep her end of the bargain, I would end up either further humiliating her or deepening whatever feelings we have for each other. The former no longer appeals to me, while the latter would just make the inevitable that much more painful.

With that in mind, I attempt to put any idea of further non-business contact with her out of my mind. As Mick Jagger says, you can’t always get what you want.

* * *

O
f course
as soon as I’ve made that decision, I run into her by accident.

I’m at Runyon Canyon Park on a Saturday afternoon, about to start making my way down the more difficult of the three trails down the hillside there. I usually work out with my trainer, but my brain is fried from the events of the last month and I need to clear the cobwebs. Just when I get to the beginning of the dirt path, I’m stunned to see Claire cresting the hill in front of me.

At the top, she immediately puts her hands on her knees to catch her breath. I watch her for a moment, marveling at how she can be sweaty and exhausted, yet still so fucking beautiful.

When she finally resumes walking, I’m directly in front of her and she sees me instantly. I don’t know what to expect, since I was pretty ugly to her last time we were face-to-face, but she smiles and approaches me.

“Well if it isn’t Mason Stark, Hollywood’s newest feminist.”

“I told you we’d all be heroes, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” she says. “And you were right. It was an ingenious plan, and it worked. Pat on the head for you.”

“Listen, I wanted to apologize for that thing at my house,” I say. “Or at least I think I do. Then again, you unquestionably deserved it.”

Her soft laugh surprises me. “I probably had it coming. It’s too bad, though, because I was really enjoying myself up to that point.”

“Yeah, me too.”

After an awkward silence, I say, “And about that bet…”

She rolls her eyes. “Not that goddamned bet again.”

“I just wanted you to know—“

“Mason, shut up. Regardless of the bet, we had something, didn’t we? Or we were starting to, maybe?”

Her face is an exquisite mess, all red-cheeked with sweat matting her hair to her forehead.

“Don’t tell me it was just me,” she says, snapping me out of my momentary trance.

“No, it wasn’t. I felt something, too. You’re amazing, Claire. It’s just that our situation…”

“No need to explain. Like they say: It wasn’t meant to be.”

This is the most heart-wrenching conversation ever. Every fiber of my being wants to throw caution to the wind and wrap my arms around this woman, and maybe never let go.

“You know what bugs me, though?” she asks. “We went straight from teasing each other as rivals right into full-on sex. Twice, even. That’s a shame.”

My expression obviously tells her I don’t understand the point she’s trying to make.

“We never had time to flirt much,” she says. “Or to date, to hold hands – you know what I’m saying. In our rush to prove some kind of point to each other, we bypassed all the romantic stuff.”

I smile and nod. “We skipped the foreplay.”

“Exactly! We skipped the foreplay. Even our two kisses felt like contests.”

I laugh when I realize she’s right. Then I get trapped in those alarmingly blue eyes again.

She tries to continue, “And now we’ll nev—”

My lips stop hers. My arms move of their own accord, pulling her to me and pressing our bodies together. This is the kiss she meant, the kiss that says so much more than “I’m ready to fuck you,” still filled with passion but also with promise. Time stands still and the only motion belongs to that sublime kiss and the cool February breeze dancing around us.

We don’t stop until we hear the applause. A dozen other runners have stopped to witness our impromptu display of affection, not realizing the bittersweet ending it represents.

The small crowd disperses as I release Claire. She has tears in her eyes, which she quickly dabs away with her T-shirt while pretending to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

“I should go,” she whimpers. “I’ll see you around town, Mason.”

Then she walks off toward the parking lot, leaving my T-shirt spotted with her sweat. I watch Claire disappear around the corner and no longer feel a sense of superiority over my rival. Instead I’m filled with sadness over what might have been.

At this point, I would give anything to have this incredible woman in my life, every day. I know that’s not possible, though. All the way down the hill I mentally curse the hand that fate has dealt us.

I
t all started
when I ran into Mason at Runyon Canyon. I’d just finished my uphill run and looked horrendous, so of course that’s when I’d see him. He arrived moments earlier and still looked fresh, not a bead of sweat on his handsome face. I, however, was drenched and probably smelled like a locker room.

It was absolutely the worst possible time for us to finally have our first legitimate kiss.

Nevertheless, that kiss was spectacular. Fireworks-go-off, skin-gets-goosebumps, actually-made-me-cry spectacular. I don’t know what Mason felt, but that kiss torched my heart.

I’m sobbing as I drive home from Runyon Canyon afterward, tears streaming down my cheeks. I finally know with certainty that I want Mason in my life. Maybe not every day, but enough to satisfy my longing for him.

Wait,
why not
every day
? A girl can dream, right?

It would be amazing to wake up next to him, to snuggle with him in the morning. I could make him breakfast while he showers, then luxuriate in the decadence of him occasionally doing the same for me. And we’d have mind-boggling sex as often as we want.

There’s only one problem with my romantic fantasy: We would be leaving our shared house and driving to separate jobs at the competing agencies we own. Mason and I are sworn business enemies, and nothing can ever change that.

That’s when fate steps in. My car radio has NPR droning on in the background as my mind weaves its frustrating dream scenario, but one phrase demands my attention.

“The newly created Brainstorm Films…”

My brain begins to churn furiously. Within thirty seconds I’m nearly hyperventilating. My hands start shaking so much that I have to pull over until I can calm myself.

Can I do this? Will it actually work?

* * *

S
till buzzing later that night
, I gather my courage and send Mason a text.

I worry that he’s busy at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, but his response comes quickly.

I type the words, then hold my breath as I send it.

I wait for what seems like an eternity. Maybe he’s out somewhere, in a restaurant or bar. What if he’s on a date?

My turn.

This time the reply comes quickly.

I’m getting more excited with each message.

He’s bound to be perplexed. His next text confirms it.

Now I’ve got him where I want him.

His response catches me off-guard.

No, no, no. I don’t want to go back to his house just yet, especially not for this. Thinking quickly, I come up with an alternative.

That time is necessary so I can get dressed and put on make-up. I wait with bated breath. Ding.

I send him my address, then fire off one final message.

* * *

I
’m absolutely terrified
the moment after I send that last text, and that fear is still with me as I sit in my living room and wait for Mason Stark — my enemy, my business rival, my lover, and the man who’s occupied my every thought for weeks now.

I’ve chosen to wear jeans and a light sweater, this time with a bra. This is strictly business, and I don’t want him thinking with his smaller head tonight.

I’m really going out on a limb here, leaving myself emotionally vulnerable. If Mason likes my plan, then it’s automatically brilliant. If he doesn’t, it will likely ruin things between us, irreversibly so.

When I open the door for him, it’s all I can do to resist the urge to get another of those kisses. His look is casual, but studied: old Levi’s and just the right T-shirt and hoodie combination to look like he’s not trying to be handsome and sexy, despite all visual evidence to the contrary.

“Bet you never thought you’d walk through this door,” I say teasingly.

“I knew I would eventually,” he replies. “And you of all people should know better than to bet with me.”

I blush at my error as I lead him to the patio. It’s a cool night, but I have a gas heat lamp there to keep us warm.

I’ve made a pitcher of martinis. Tonight he’s on my turf and will be drinking my drink. I pour a couple and hand him a glass, then raise mine for a toast.

“What are we drinking to?” he asks.

“To the future,” I say.

“So what’s this grand idea?” he asks after he takes a sip. “Don’t beat around the bush.”

Mason wants to get right down to business, which is fine with me.

Here goes everything. I take a big drink, mustering all the confidence I can.

“You and I should be together. Being apart makes no sense. We have amazing chemistry and would make a tremendous team.”

My skin is tingling as I stare into his eyes. My heart warms when I see him break into a smile.

“That kiss must have really had an impact on you,” he says, in a tone unusually gentle for him. “It did on me, too, Claire. But we both know this can’t possibly work.”

Oh my god. He doesn’t understand.

“Mason, no,” I say. “I’m not talking about that.”

“You’re not?”

“No, this isn’t about us. Except it is, kind of.”

The smile is gone and he just looks confused. “Then what the hell are you talking about?”

He must think I’m a blithering idiot. Time to change that.

“A merger.”

He’s so stunned he can’t speak.

“Not a merger of you and me, naked or otherwise. A merger of our agencies,” I say.

“You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. It makes perfect sense no matter what angle you view it from.”

Mason starts to say something, but I cut him off. “Let me talk. Please.”

He sits back in his chair, giving me the floor. I take a deep breath, then lay out the entire plan.

“Here’s what I’m thinking: Creative Talents and Media Arts merge to form a single entity, with nearly three thousand clients, including some of the biggest movie stars and athletes in the world. You and I each get to focus on the parts of the business that most appeal to us: I would take care of building alliances and courting studio executives, producers, casting agents, and the like, while you handle the poker-game shit I hate so much.”

He’s listening and isn’t making weird faces, so I continue.

“Our combined agency automatically becomes a major player in movies, television, sports. We could even add a music division, something neither of us currently has because we’d be stretched too thin. Everyone on our current rosters will benefit from the power we gain through a merger. As just one example: With my Nike contacts and your poker skills, we might be able to get Marcus Jennings a quarter-billion-dollar endorsement deal.”

I stop talking and wait for a response. Mason’s eyes dart around as he thinks, often coming back to mine.

“It would be a logistical nightmare,” he finally says. Good, that’s the easiest objection to overcome.

“No, we do it fifty-fifty, since CT and MAU are worth roughly the same,” I say. The two of us have a pretty good idea of the valuation of each other’s business. “Both of us put up our entire agencies, no holding back of smaller divisions or keeping any clients separate. This is all-in. The hardest logistical issue would be finding new offices and coming up with a name.”

“What about major decisions? What if we disagree?”

“Then we talk it over until one of us convinces the other,” I say. “We’re both intelligent, reasonable people. And our agencies as they’re currently constructed aren’t all that different.”

Here we go. Outlining the merger idea was the easy part. What I’m about to do is going to be sheer torture.

“Mason, I like you, a lot. I like being around you.” I take a breath. “I assume you feel the same toward me?”

His wide grin melts my heart. “Your assumption is correct.”

“So there’s no reason not to do this,” I say. “We’d get to work together every day. It makes so much sense that I can’t believe neither of us thought of it before.”

“What if we can’t get along? If we have regrets afterward?”

I look him dead in the eyes and say, “Neither of us is stupid enough to walk away from what would be one of the more powerful talent agencies in town.”

“Good point. We’d lose whatever power we gain from the merger,” he says.

I bottom-line it: “So that’s it. That’s the idea. We merge business to form a powerful new agency, and the icing on the cake is that we get to work together. We no longer have to be enemies. What do you think?”

“And if we keep getting more involved personally?”

I laugh. “Don’t even go there. One merger at a time.” For some reason I feel compelled to protect myself. “Actually, we shouldn’t do that. It’s not a good idea for us to be involved in any way other than the business.”

My heart aches the moment I say it, but risking personal rejection right after risking professional rejection would be more than I can handle right now.

“I’ll have to think it over,” he says. “I was not expecting this tonight.”

“What, did you think I invited you over to seduce you?” I ask, replacing my vulnerability with snark.

“Maybe. I was kind of hoping, at least in the back of my mind.”

And then we’re suddenly kissing again. Goddammit, this second real kiss is as good as the first, and I feel the passion rising quickly in both of us. I hate to do it, but I have to slam on the brakes. I don’t want to take this relationship any further now that Mason might be interested in a merger.

I put my hands on his hard chest and push him back.

“No, Mason, we can’t. We might be business partners soon. Go home and think this over.”

He’s disappointed, but he knows I’m right. “Yeah, of course.”

He asks a few more questions about the proposed merger, and I answer as best I can. I’m far from an expert on corporate mergers, though.

I finally tell him, “Look, those are all just details, and details can be worked out.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Mason, the only real question right now, the one you need to go home and consider carefully, is…”

I look him in the eye.

“Would you like to get into bed with me, business-wise?”

A few minutes later I walk him to the door. Mason says he’ll have an answer for me soon, then gives me a look that says something way more than business. As we stand in the doorway, the martinis in me want him to decide on the spot, then to sweep me off my feet and take me straight to the bedroom to have his way with me – against my better judgment. Instead, I settle for a chaste peck on the cheek, then he’s gone.

As soon as I shut the door, I feel a hollow sensation. I’ve just sacrificed a shot at personal bliss for the sake of business.

What does that say about me?