L.A. Fire (4 page)

***

 
Getting off the phone with Julian’s executive assistant, I sat back in my chair
and relaxed. I was too flustered earlier by the prospect of speaking to Julian
to realize he obviously had an assistant who handled all of his appointments. I
reached over for my coffee mug, only to realize it was empty.  That was a
dire situation that needed to be fixed immediately. I literally couldn’t
function without coffee. I drank it the way vampires drink blood. All through
college, my best friend Lisa, who had now just moved to New York to take a job
at a major publishing house, used to tease that if I didn’t have my three
Starbucks Caramel Machiatos a day I’d go into cardiac arrest. I have no doubt
she was right.

 
I grabbed my mug and quickly checked in with Paul to see if he needed a refill.
Then I headed to the office kitchen, still on cloud nine about finding a
dynamite screenplay so soon and having my good instincts acknowledged. I opened
the kitchen door absentmindedly and ran smack into a solid, muscular chest. I
stumbled, and almost fell, but strong hands gripped me tightly and held me up.
I looked up, and felt my heart slam against my ribs as I found myself staring
into those intense, piercing blue eyes I’d recognize anywhere. Standing this
close to Julian, I could feel the heat coming off his body, and smell a deeply
masculine, musky scent that made me go weak at the knees. “Careful,” he said in
a low, husky tone that sent desire rippling through me. I took a small step
back, still unsure of my legs, wondering if they would buckle beneath me.
Julian held on to my arms, and I reveled in the feel of his powerful
grip. 

  I stared at him in awe, too
dumbstruck to speak. The man was drop dead gorgeous. Today he had on a custom
tailored teak Armani suit, with a light blue shirt and a slightly lighter
metallic blue tie. The whole ensemble made his eyes look a deeper blue, and I
couldn’t help getting lost in them. Those eyes were so intense, so mesmerizing.
And keenly, forcefully intelligent. They spoke of a man who could sum up a
person accurately in swift glance, see through any lie, unearth a person’s core
truth. I felt naked and trembling beneath that gaze. A big part of me wanted to
run and hide, but a stronger part of me reveled in that feeling of exposure. I
wanted to be seen by him. I needed it. I craved it.

  But I couldn’t do this. He was my
boss’s partner, and he was almost thirty, a good seven years older than I was.
He was experienced, cultured, and way beyond my league. I quickly took another
step back, and held up my coffee mug in front of me as though it were some kind
of pathetic shield. He looked at how I was holding my mug, and the corner of
his sensual mouth raised in a crooked smile. “Need a refill?” he asked,
amusement creeping into his low, sultry voice.

  “Definitely,” I said, giving him
a nervous smile, but gaining my composure. He placed his hand in the small of
my back and guided me into the kitchen. It was empty except for the two of us.
There was round wooden table in the center of the room, and I had a sudden,
involuntary flash of Julian hoisting me roughly into his arms, laying me
sprawled and panting on the table, and taking me right then and there with all
of his raw, sensual power. My breath caught again at the image, and I nervously
tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, then went over to the coffee machine and
started fidgeting with the carafe.

  “You’re shaking,” he said,
placing his calm, soothing hand over mine. I smiled weakly, and felt my lip
start to tremble.

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I said. He
studied me for a moment with those keenly intelligent eyes, and I knew I was
fooling nobody.

  “Are you all ready for the
meeting tomorrow?” he asked, taking the carafe from me, grabbing a mug from a
kitchen cabinet, and filling it with coffee.

  “I’m a little nervous,” I said,
looking down at my mug and avoiding his gaze.

  “You’ll do fine,” he said. “Let
Paul take the lead on this one. From what I hear you’re talented and a quick
study. You’ll get the hang of this soon enough.”

  Paul told him I was talented.
Given that my boss was not quick to praise, that meant a lot. I looked at him
uncertainly, almost shyly, and his expression became dark and savagely sexy. I
had to look away. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, peering into my
mug, and keenly aware of his scorching gaze riveted to my profile.

  “I’ve worked with Paul for five
years,” he said. “I trust his assessment. And my own.”

  I glanced up at him quickly,
surprised. “But you don’t even know me,” I said.

  “I’ve read your resume,” he said.
“Quite impressive, Miss Stevens. Paul was smart to hire you.” A feeling of joy
rushed through me. I looked at him with awe and gratitude. “And I’m lucky that
he did,” he said, giving me a devilish grin that had my knees going weak again.

  His eyes were burning, and
riveted to my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Stevens,” he said, looking
intently, almost ardently into my eyes, then flashing me another smile and
sauntering out of the kitchen.

  I stood there for a moment,
feeling heat pulse through me, and a throbbing ache between my legs. I let out
another long, shuddering breath, realizing that for a moment I’d stopped
breathing. There was no question. I was done for.

  “There she is.”

  Stepping through the door of my
apartment, I was met with a beaming Angela, dressed in geometrically patterned
blue and white Vince Camuto shift dress, gold buckled motorcycle boots, and
holding a glass of champagne. I looked her up and down and gave her a puzzled
look. “I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

  She took a sip from her flute,
and smoothed down her glossy black hair. She eyed me over the rim of her glass,
her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m not,” she said.

  “Hot date then?” I asked,
dropping my purse on the glass coffee table and sinking into the couch. Truth
is, I was hoping she wasn’t going out to meet Ziggy. The walls in our apartment
were thin, and I was really looking forward to a peaceful night free of
grunting, groaning, screaming, and other sexual fireworks.

  “Nope,” she said, moving into the
kitchen, opening the cupboard, and pulling out another champagne glass. She
then spun around, opened the fridge door with a flourish, and pulled out a
bottle of champagne. Not just any champagne, but a bottle of Dom Perignon. She
filled the flute, topped up her own, and slinked back over to the couch. “We’re
celebrating your success. Congrats babe,” she said, handing me my glass. 
 

  I suddenly felt the overwhelming
urge to cry. “Are you kidding me?” I said, all choked up. “Dom Perignon? That
must have cost you all of your tips from last night.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes in a
here comes trouble way, and put her hand on her hip. “A whole night of tips?
Please. Have you ever seen me work the bar? I could buy us a whole case of this
stuff with my earnings from one night.”

  I knew she was exaggerating.
Angela made good money for sure, but getting me this gorgeous champagne was a
serious cut into her weekly budget. It was such a sweet, grand, and beautiful
gesture. “Ange, you’re the best,” I said, jumping to my feet to give her a
heartfelt bear hug.

  “Cheers,” she said, flashing me
her perfectly straight, big white teeth. Angela was truly model gorgeous. Tall,
slender, and with curves in all the right places, she was a total knockout. She
was also a fabulous mimic. She could do just about any character in any movie
I’d ever seen. She bartended to pay the bills, but she was an aspiring actress,
and spent every free moment during the day either practicing her craft or
attending auditions.

  “Any auditions today?” I asked.

   She frowned briefly, then
shrugged her shoulders. “Nope. But I’ve got something coming up next week. It’s
for a new soap opera. Called . . . wait for it . . .
Dashing, Filthy, Rich
.”

  I started laughing. “You’ve got
to be kidding me.”

   “Nope,” she said, a look of
wry amusement crossing her face. “My agent hasn’t sent me the script yet, but
apparently I’m trying out for the part of a rich heiress with a drug problem.”

  “Well that’s not a stretch,” I
said, bracing myself for a slap. I was only kidding around, but sometimes I
worried about Angela. At times she’d snort a little coke to keep herself going
at the end of the night, and Ziggy, who was almost always on something, wasn’t
exactly the best influence.

  She smirked at me. “Well, at
least you’ve been forewarned. If you catch me coked up, chalk it up to a
sacrifice I have to make to get into character.”

  I rolled my eyes at her, and she
laughed, but there was an edge to it. She knew I worried about her, and deep
down, as much as it irritated her, she knew I had good reason.

  “Anyway,” she said, “Drink up.”

  “Love the dress by the way.”

  She threw her head back, emptied
her glass, and did a little twirl. “I got all dressed up for you. If you can’t
get the girl to the party, bring the party to her,” she said, dropping onto the
couch next to me. “Anyway,” she said, her tone getting serious, “you’re right
about the bar. I wouldn’t have been able to hang out with you. Now we have all
night to get silly drunk and catch up.” She filled up her glass, and wiped off
a drop that had spilled down the side. “Any cute men at the office?” she asked,
her tone getting light again.

  “Actually. . .”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she
slapped me on the arm. “Sarah Stevens. Have you been holding out on me?” She
shifted her legs up onto the couch, and gave me her full attention. Then she
gripped my hand again and said, “Spill it.”

  I let out a long sigh, and pulled
my legs up too so I was facing her. “I kinda have a crush on my boss’s partner.
Julian.”

  “He’s hot?” she asked.

  “Devastatingly hot. And totally
off limits. I mean I can’t jeopardize my career.”

  She looked at me in confusion.
“But you don’t work for him. What’s the problem?”

  I took a sip of my champagne,
suddenly feeling edgy. “I can’t do it. Guaranteed, my boss would totally look
down on me. And my job means everything to me. I’m not going to throw it away
over a guy. Plus, I don’t know anything about him. Other than the fact that
he’s drop dead gorgeous and filthy rich. Anyway, he’s probably dating someone.”

  She looked at me quizzically, and
arched an eyebrow at me. “Or maybe he’s not.” She put her finger to her lips,
and scrunched her forehead as though she were deep in thought. “Ridiculously
hot
and
filthy rich.” She nodded in an exaggerated way, with mock
seriousness. “Yes. I definitely see the problem there.”

  I shook my head vehemently. “No
Ange, there’s just no way.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and
said, “Okay, fine. But it’s time you move on, you know? It’s been six months.”
She looked pensive for a moment, as though she was seriously considering
something. She bit her lip, and gave me a worried and apologetic look, like she
knew I’d react badly to whatever she was about to say. “Rob asks about you all
the time, you know. He knows he fucked up. And he wants you back.”

  I suddenly felt flooded with
anger. “I’m never taking him back, Ange. Never.  And I don’t ever want to
hear from him again,” I said, my voice trembling with rage.

  Angela put her hands up in a
gesture of defense. “Okay. I get it, Ser. I totally get it. Don’t shoot the
messenger. I just don’t want to keep anything from you. He says he knows he was
a total jerk. The fame went to his head and he jeopardized one of the only
things that really mattered to him.”

  “It’s too late,” I said. “He
treated me like dirt. He embarrassed the hell out of me. And then there’s that
video,” I said, my voice starting to shake again. “I’ll never be able to live
that one down.”

  Angela reached over and started
soothingly rubbing my arm, “Hey,” she said softly. “Everyone blows up once in a
while. You’re just unlucky that it was caught on video.”