Love's Last Chance (16 page)

“Well, no, I guess. But I thought you’d send
an associate or something.”

“And deprive myself of your company? Not on
your life.” His smile was anything but warm.

“And how’s Olga, or Ursula, or whatever the
hell her name is? You remember, your fiancée?”

“You mean Elsa? She’s on location in
Spain.”

“You’re alone?”

“I suppose you could call it alone. You can
change that. Why don’t you come and stay with me? I have a fabulous
suite at L’Chateau. I’ll give you a massage every night.”

“I’ll bet. Thanks, but I’m staying with Chaz
and Meg.”

“Too bad. We could have so much fun
together.” His eyes glittered with lust.

Before Dorrie could respond, the assistant
director and the set decorator arrived and preparations kicked into
high gear. Dorrie downed the last of her coffee and put the troupe
through their paces. Sound engineers tested mikes. Lighting
engineers set up special spots and calibrated the natural light.
The makeup artists and hair stylists moved in. There was plenty of
action, more than enough to make Dorrie forget about Gunther’s
proposition.

Three cameras were set up. Gunther listened
and examined, barked orders one minute then evaluated things
silently the next. She watched him consult with the assistant
director on every shot. Admiration for Gunther’s commanding
presence poked through her emotional wall. She had to admit he was
an excellent producer.
Doesn’t mean I should allow him to
orchestrate my life. And I’m not going to become his mistress. He
can fire me, but he’ll never change my mind.

Her resolve hardened as determination
entered her heart.
I’m going to make this a success no matter
what. No one is going to stop me. Especially not Mr. “Cheater”
Quill.

“A frown on such a beautiful face,” Gunther
chided her.

“I’m concentrating. Focused. I have a job to
do. Please get out of my way.” She pushed past him and called the
dancers onto the set.

The day was a long one. At every break,
Gunther sauntered over to her and sat down. He’d whisper in her ear
or massage her ankle. She squirmed under the knowing glances she
got from the dancers.
They think I got this job because I’m
sleeping with him. Damn you, Gunther. Get away!

“Move. Let me breathe!” She switched chairs
to be away from him.

“I’m drawn to you like a moth to a
flame.”

“The dancers think I’m sleeping with you and
that’s how I got the job.”

“What’s the problem? Make it come true.”

“Gunther! Go! Shoo!” She waved him back a
few inches, and he wandered off like a fox who had left the
henhouse without a chicken.

Chaz joined her. “What’s going on with you
and Gunther? Seems to me like handling three guys was stressing you
out enough. Now you have four?”

“Gunther is
not
one of my guys. And
never will be.”

“Never say never,” Chaz said, wagging his
finger at her. “He’s a rich and powerful man.”

“Been down that road once with him. Once was
enough.” She blew out a breath.

Chaz changed the subject, “Shoot’s going
well,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks. So far, so good. Still, until
I see what they got, I won’t feel secure.”

He patted her on the back. “Hang in there. A
few more days to go and this’ll be in the can.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at him.
Gotta love a
friend like Chaz.
“By the way, you were smokin’ and perfect.
Just perfect. Wouldn’t change a thing.”

Chaz laughed. “Would you tell that to my
wife, please?”

“Megan adores you,” she reassured him.

“I know. Just yankin’ your chain.” He turned
his brilliant smile on her.

When, the break was over, Dorrie and Chaz
returned to the set and began to work. Gunther lurked in the
background, watching her every move.

* * * *

After an exhausting day, Dorrie needed to
soak in the bathtub. She unwrapped her ankle and slipped into the
warm sudsy water with a deep sigh. The bath, just the right
temperature, calmed her nerves and soothed her aching body.
Feels damn good.

She sat back and thought about calling John
Flanagan. Her phone sat in the back pocket of her pants on a stool
nearby. She bit her lip.
If I call him now, I’ll have an excuse
to make it short. Sorry, John, I’ve got to get out of the
tub.

She hesitated.
He was angry. Probably
still is. Damn, I don’t want to talk to him.
She picked up the
washcloth, soaped it up, and idly scrubbed her leg.
I have to
know if he’s the one. If he was, he probably isn’t now.
She
frowned.
Still. Have to give him a chance. Never should have
trusted Drake.

Dorrie pulled herself up and wiped her hands
on a towel. She slipped her cell out of the pocket and slid back
down into the soapy water. She dialed and pressed it to her damp
ear.
Maybe he’s not home. Maybe he’s out screwing some girl.
Anger bubbled up in her chest.

“Dorrie?”

“Yeah.” Then silence.
Stop it. You’re mad
before you even talk to him. Give him a chance.

“What’s up? I thought we said all we had to
say on the ride home.”

Ouch! Yes, he’s still mad.

“Not exactly. I have something else to tell
you.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?
Let me sit down first.”

“It isn’t bad. In fact, it’s good. I’ve been
offered another job.”

She went on to tell him about the job in New
York and her dilemma.

“You’re trying to decide between two jobs
and three guys?”

“Not exactly.” She bit her lip.
Yes,
exactly. Can’t fool you, can I?

“Then what, exactly?”

She was at a loss for words.

“Maybe…you’re right.”

“What do you want from me? You already know
everything about me. What’s left to say?”

“One more thing. Please.” She knew he
couldn’t resist her pleading.

“Okay, shoot.” She heard exasperation in his
voice. She stumbled.
Should I forget John? Is he too far out of
reach?

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Tell me, tell me—I won’t laugh.”

She mentioned that if he wanted to commit,
she’d think about taking the job in New York.

“I already asked you to move in with
me.”

“That was when you thought I’d be in L.A.
You knew I wouldn’t give up this job to live with you. And when
Drake told you about the other guys, well, I figured you’d probably
change your mind.” There was no reply. Dorrie raised her arm up out
of the water.

“What’s that?” John asked.

“What?”

“That noise?”

“Just me splashing in the tub.”

“You’re naked?”

“Yup.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Being naked is always relevant,” he
snickered.

“To you, maybe.”

“Okay, okay. Back to your…plan, or
whatever.”

“Look, it’s okay. Forget it. I made a
mistake. I get it—you’re not interested.”

“What the hell? You ask me then answer for
me, assuming I’m not interested. I can’t win with you, Dorrie, can
I?”

She was quiet.
What the hell am I
doing?
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up and let you
talk.”

“Better. Let me think about everything,
okay? I’ve never been committed to a girl for longer than a couple
of months. I’m committed to my job, right now. Can I think about
it?”

“That’s okay, Johnny. I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. Hey, you gave the
other guys two weeks. At least that Rick guy.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Your dear friend, Drake.”

Damn him!

“So, do I get the same courtesy?”

She sighed. “Okay, you can think about it.
Call me in two weeks with your decision.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

She hung up.
Cross him off the list.
By now, the bathwater had cooled off, and Dorrie was shivering. She
got out, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded into her room.
Wearing a fluffy, white terry robe, she sat at the dressing table,
brushing her hair, when a soft knock on the door took her
attention. It was Megan.

“Come in,” Dorrie called.

“So? What did John say?”

“Cross him off.” She gathered her clothes
and headed for her room.

“Cross him off? That’s it? Come on, give.
There must be more to it than that.”

Dorrie’s chest tightened, tears threatened.
Meg put an arm around her, and Dorrie weakened. She needed to
confide in someone, and Meg was there.

“Why don’t we have a cup of tea and you can
tell me about it. You don’t look happy.”

Dorrie nodded. Megan guided her into the
kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. She peered at the clock.

“Ten. Tomorrow is going to be brutal.”

“Just one cup. Fifteen minutes. I think you
need to talk. I won’t say a word. Just listen.”

Dorrie did need to spill all to her new
friend. With both her folks gone and her brother in Afghanistan,
Dorrie was alone and needed an ear.
Mom, why aren’t you here,
when I need you so much. You’d know what to do.

Fifteen minutes turned into an hour.
Although she was no clearer on where her heart was going, she was
relieved to have unburdened herself. Meg proved to be a sympathetic
listener, whose only advice was to wait for the men’s responses in
two weeks before making up her mind.

Sleep came quickly to Dorrie, who was
physically and emotionally exhausted. No sooner had she closed her
eyes than the alarm sounded, telling her it was five o’clock. A few
yawns and stretches got her blood going. She pulled herself out of
bed.
Major number to shoot today.
She smiled at the
prospect, knowing she was ready and the dancers knew the
routine.

As she tiptoed toward the front door of the
Duncan’s apartment with her dance bag over her shoulder, her
resolve hardened.
Meg’s right. I’m not going to make a decision
or even think about the guys for two weeks. I have work to do. No
time to worry about love.
She closed the door gently and headed
for the street.

Dorrie spent the next few days on the shoot,
conferring with the assistant director and Gunther. Although she
was tired all the time, satisfaction at a job well done buoyed her
spirits. As the filming came to a close, her confidence soared and
pride banished her old concerns.

Although Gunther was a taskmaster, he
complimented her on her work and expressed satisfaction with the
results. She glowed under his praise as a few old feelings toward
him seeped back into her heart.

After taking her seat on the plane back to
L.A., she was surprised to see Gunther claim the one next to her in
first class.

“Surprised?” he asked as he eased himself
down and fastened his seatbelt.

“I shouldn’t be surprised by anything you
do, should I?”

“True, I’m unpredictable.” He grinned.

“And proud of it, right?”

“Of course.”

The stewardess brought champagne. Gunther
raised his glass to hers. “A toast. Job well done.”

Dorrie raised her flute to his and smiled.
His praise still means something to me. On a business level or
personal? Maybe both.

“You look beautiful.”

“Really? My hair’s a mess, and I’m wearing
an old T-shirt and jeans. Come on, you can do better than that,”
she snickered.

“Your hair looks like you’ve just made love.
Your T-shirt shows off your body, and your jeans, well, can’t see
much from here.”

“Flatterer.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps just a man in love.”

Dorrie gave a short, bitter laugh. “Love?
The great Gunther Quill in love? Don’t think so. Everyone knows
Gunther is above love…beyond the reach of human emotion. He’s a
machine, a hungry machine, taking what he wants, when he wants it,
and discarding what’s no longer useful, like the peel of an
orange.” She turned her gaze toward the window.
Why do I care?
I’m so over him. Right?

Curious as to the silence that followed her
pronouncement, she peeked at him. He sat back with his eyes closed,
his champagne sitting on the tray table, held carelessly by the
long fingers of one hand.

His impeccable silk shirt was unbuttoned
just the right amount at the neck. His chocolate brown jacket was
of the finest, thinnest leather and molded to his broad shoulders.
She saw a slight bulge of bicep outlined by the snug sleeve. His
dark brown hair was not too long or too short, but trimmed
perfectly. The style suited him, parted on one side with every hair
in place. A sprinkling of gray at his temples only added to his
attraction.

His looks have improved in three years. He’s
so attractive. I can see how he could take in Grace Brewster. Like
a pretty serpent, he dazzles then strikes quickly. Don’t let him do
that to you.

Slowly, he cracked open his deep brown eyes
and shifted them to stare at her. “Why would you hurt me like that,
Dorrie? Have I wounded you?” he uttered in a low voice.

“I can’t hurt you. You’re invincible,
armored, protected from me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I tried, three years ago, and didn’t make a
dent.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He lifted his drink to
his lips and took a sip.

Dorrie turned her body to face him. Overcome
with curiosity, she had to know how he managed to stay above it
all, to avoid involvement and emotional pain. “How do you do
it?”

“Do what?”

“Never get hurt.”

He uttered a short, mirthless laugh and
straightened up in his seat. “Foolish girl.” He shook his head.
“Everyone gets hurt.”

“I’ve never seen anyone hurt you. Especially
me.”

“Just because I don’t cry in public doesn’t
mean I have no wounds.”