Throb (10 page)

“I guess this stunt is a success,” I say disparagingly to Miles when I’ve finally made my way through the crowd of horny assholes.

“Free publicity. This shit will be all over the news tonight.” My brother beams with pride.

“What’s the winner get?”

“Immunity from going home this week.”

“So they don’t have to grovel at the asshole bachelor’s feet to stay for a few more days?”

“What’s your problem with Flynn? He’s a good guy.” Miles looks at me, finally peeling his eyes from his prized production.

“A good guy? What kind of a man goes on a television show to date twenty women?”

“Not everyone lives a golden life and has women throwing themselves at their feet, my brother.”

I ignore him. My eyes focused on only one thing. Across the pier, Kate smiles and kisses a boy on the cheek, but he tries to turn his head and catch her lips. He almost manages to do it too. Kate leans in and whispers something to the boy and he beams. Two seconds later he runs to the back of the line again, digging a dollar from his pocket. I smile as she kisses a few teens innocently on the cheek. Then a muscle-head who must have escaped from Venice Beach saunters up to the table. My teeth clench so tight, I give myself an instant headache.

“Saw you pulling out of the parking lot with Kate in your car the other night.” Miles turns to watch me.

I shrug, keeping my stare straight ahead and try to sound casual. “Found her with her hood open. Car problems. I gave her a lift.”

“Camera loves her. But she seems to have lost some of her interest in Flynn. Think we need to script her to get back in the mood.”

“It’s disturbing the way you think you’re a puppeteer, Miles.” I turn to glare at my brother.

“Get off your high horse, Coop. We’re a lot alike. We both hire people and expect them to perform for us. We make them into entertainment.”

“I expect them to
act,
Miles. They know what they signed up for.”

“So do these women. Do you really think any of them are naïve? Look at them.” My brother looks around the pier. “They’re all playing a game. No one is forcing any of them to be here. In fact, it looks like they’re quite enjoying themselves. I see smiles behind those booths, not chains holding them there.”

“Maybe they don’t have a choice.”

“I’m sure the street walker tells herself the same thing right before she bends over in the alley every night.”

“Ten minutes left, everyone!” the director yells through a bullhorn.

“I’m going on line. Gotta put my dollar in for the one I want to stay.”

“Whose line are you going on?”

“Jessica’s.” Miles nods toward her booth. She’s wearing a strip of material as a top. Her breasts look like they’re about to bust out of the ties that hold everything in place. The show may go from R-rated to X in a few seconds.

“Why don’t you spend a buck? Maybe for two, one of them will let you cop a feel?” he says smiling, completely oblivious to the scowl on my face.

Ten minutes later, I’m almost to the front of the line. Kate and I have been playing cat-and-mouse with our eyes since hers landed on me. I wait patiently for the guy in front of me to stuff his dollar into the box and then it’s finally my turn.

“Didn’t take you for the kind of man to pay for a kiss,” she teases.

“First time for everything.”

“That will be one dollar, please, sir.” Kate extends her open palm.

“So you don’t have to make nice to Dickhead if you win?”

“The winner gets immunity from
Flynn
sending them home this week, if that’s what you mean,” she challenges.

“Is there a limit to how much a man can pay for a kiss?”

“I don’t think so. But they’re only a dollar.”

I dig into my pocket and pull out a wad of hundreds, our eyes locked as I shove them in the box. “Now give me my money’s worth.” I lean in.

“Bossy,” she breathes.

I seal my mouth over hers and don’t stop until the director yells time’s up.

I only made it worse going to see her today. Kissing her. In the moment it was worth it, feeling the way she melted into me and let me consume her, not pulling away, even though anyone could look over and see us. But the afterglow has worn dim and now I’m sitting home alone like a chick pining for some kid who won’t give her the time of day. With all the women I’ve dated over the years, the one that decides to walk the other way makes me want to crawl after her to catch her.

The intercom buzzes. “A Damian Fry here to see you, Mr. Montgomery.” The weariness in Lou’s voice comes through loud and clear.

“Send him up.” Damian Fry is definitely not the typical guy I invite over for a visit. I’ve only used him once before. An actor with a thousand-dollar-a-day coke problem wasn’t showing up for a high-budget film we were shooting. Everyone knew he had a problem, but I needed the dirt in my hands to get out of his multi-million-dollar contract. Damian didn’t just deliver the drug problem on video; he found out the actor was screwing the director’s wife too. Damian could dig up dirt on a saint.

“Come in.” It’s nearly ninety outside, yet he’s dressed in long sleeves and pants, head-to-toe black, and smells like day-old booze and cigarettes. No wonder Lou was suspicious.

“Nice place.” Damian sizes up my net worth in thirty seconds. I’m sure my price just doubled. Should have met this fucker at my office.

“Thanks.” I get straight to the point. “I have a job I need done. But it needs to be kept extremely quiet.”

“Quiet is my specialty.” He grins.

“Definitely not a word to my brother.”

His grin widens to a sneer.

“Wanna dance?” Flynn offers me his hand. I’ve been sitting on the couch since after dinner—
sulking
might best describe my temperament.

“Ummm … there’s no music?”

His boyish smile helps lighten my somber mood.

“Don’t need it.”

I take the hand he’s offering and stand. “You dance without music often?”

“Ah. I didn’t say there wouldn’t be music. I only agreed there was none playing.” Flynn wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close to him for a slow dance. Leading my body perfectly, he sways to a soothing rhythm until my head rests on his chest. I think his lips might brush the top of my head, but I can’t be sure.

His voice is whisper-soft when he starts singing a ballad. I’ve heard him sing rock before, knew he had a nice voice. But the way he croons the words to this beautiful song, it’s absolutely breathtaking. The song is about a son who has to save his mom. Every word rings raw; it makes me certain he’s talking about his own mother.

Do you know who I am?

When I see you today.

I’m still the same.

When I see you today.

Let me help you find your way.

You’ve given me plenty,

Now it’s my turn.

Let me help you find your way.

When I see you today.

We keep swaying to the music long after he finishes singing. Eventually Flynn pulls back slightly, enough to look down at me, but our bodies still touching. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry from the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are half-mast, the heat in them unmistakable, when they drop to my mouth and linger for a long moment. He wets his lips and, I swear, my heart pounds so loudly I can hear the blood pumping through my ears. Ever so slowly, his head begins to drop, his eyes watching mine—silently seeking permission. Our faces are almost lined up when, like a needle scratching to a halt on a record, something comes over me and I effectively kill the moment when I speak.

“Do you think it’s going to rain later?” Inwardly, I smack myself in the head for sounding like such a dim wit. I couldn’t come up with something less obvious?

Flynn’s eyes close, but then he rests his forehead against mine, and chuckles when he speaks. “Worried you didn’t bring rain boots?”

A cameraman comes in and interrupts, asking us to move to a different area where the lighting is better. I’m grateful for the quick change in mood it brings.

“Wanna go for a walk on the beach?” Flynn asks, releasing me from his arms, but keeping his hand still meshed with mine.

“Sure.”

“Do you want to go change?”

I look down at the gown I’m wearing. The salt will probably destroy it. “Nah, it’s theirs, not mine.”

Flynn smiles.

We walk along the shoreline for a half hour. The warm water occasionally reaching up and wetting our feet.

“So who is he?” he asks after a long, comfortable bout of silence.

I look around. There’s no one else on the beach.

“The guy who you won’t let go long enough to give me a real shot.”

I turn to look for the winded cameraman that was following us. The boom can pick up our conversation a hundred feet away.

“He’s sprawled out on the jetty a half mile back,” Flynn says, reading my mind. “Probably still cursing us for making him do more exercise than he’s done in ten years.”

“Oh.”

“So, who is he? Ex-boyfriend or fiancé?”

“Neither, actually.”

“Damn.” Flynn clutches at his chest. “You’re killing me. At least pretend there’s some great guy waiting in the wings.” He smiles.

“It’s not you. Really it’s not.”

“This conversation is getting worse by the minute. What comes next? ‘It’s me, not you’? Like I haven’t thrown that one around before. You’re ruining my self-esteem, here.”

I laugh. “I think your self-esteem is just fine, rockstar.”

“It was.” He turns and walks backwards, holding both of my hands. “Until I met you.”

“You’re sweet. But you’ve had twenty women throwing themselves at you. I think you’ll bounce back quickly.”

“Nineteen,” he corrects me. “But I’d really like to get the twentieth on board finally.”

“You’ve had nineteen other women chasing you. Why do you need number twenty?”

“Number twenty is all I need. The other nineteen aren’t for me, long-term.”

“I think your ego is just looking for a little stroking.”

“It’s not my ego that wants you to stroke it.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

The tide washes up, covering my feet. I splash a wall of water in Flynn’s direction, catching him by surprise. He splashes back and before I know it, we’re both drenched from head to toe. An hour later, we walk back into the house arm-in-arm—soaked, smiling and stirring a scandal we didn’t know was brewing.

Tatiana Laroix is the
it girl
of Hollywood. But she still needs an appointment to make it past Helen. Thank god. I thought by now she’d be chasing someone equally as enthralled with seeing himself up on the big screen. No such luck.

“She said she’s shooting the trailer edits in hangar three and needs to speak to you. She didn’t look happy at being turned away. Again.” Helen hands me a stack of messages. “James Cam is also in that pile, he said it’s urgent he speaks to you this morning. I’m guessing the two may be related.”

I groan. James Cam is the director of the movie Tatiana just wrapped for Montgomery Productions. The two didn’t agree on anything. I thought I was finally done with the petty disputes when we closed down production, but then the trailer needed reshoots, so we had to bring them back for a few days.

I call James back. Apparently Tatiana is refusing to shoot what he wants, claiming it isn’t the artistic vision she had in mind for the trailer.
Actresses.

Two months ago, I made the mistake of taking Tatiana to a premiere. I knew by the end of the night it would be our only date. The way she spoke to people, her newfound fame had already gone to her head. At the after-party, her fingers crawled up my thigh under the table.

I ended the date early, by Hollywood standards anyway, and told her I needed to go home, get a good night’s sleep. But she didn’t take the hint. Instead, she tried to unbuckle my pants as I drove to her place.

There was no avoiding her at any of the film related parties when we finally completed production. She was always by my side, her hand wrapped possessively around my arm, even though the gesture wasn’t returned.

I told her I was busy the next few times she called. Then she showed up at my apartment unannounced. She was near tears, upset about a fight with a director, so I let her in. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed. She was nicer when she wasn’t in public putting on a show, but still not for me. She dropped by my place once more, twice now at the office.