Bordering on Obsession

by Susan Kearney

  So who had he made love with last night? And what had been her motivation?

  Even as his anger spiked and receded, he couldn’t keep his curiosity from burning. He damn well wouldn’t give the woman a part in his film. However, crazy as it seemed he wanted to see her again. They’d been that good together.

  But how could he find her again if he didn’t know her name?

  5

  KIMBERLY SAUNTERED TOWARD Maggie’s desk, reels of film under her arm again. She was the most under-used, talented gofer in Quinn’s employ, but she showed up with a friendly grin. “So how did the big date go?”

  “Shh.” Maggie glanced at Quinn’s closed door.

  “You pulled it off? He doesn’t know, huh?” Kimberly set down the dailies, reels of film that she picked up at the airport and delivered to Quinn’s office every morning.

  Maggie kept her voice to a low murmur. “Quinn just spoke to Laine’s agent. He must have just learned that the woman he made love to last night was not the French movie star.”

  “From that Cheshire grin on your face, I’m assuming he still doesn’t know that you took Laine’s place?”

  “He doesn’t have a clue.” And though Maggie hadn’t so much as closed her eyes last night, she was still revved on adrenaline. She’d made love to Quinn and kept her real identity secret. She’d fooled her boss completely. And she’d had a great time and still had her job to boot. Her plan had come off without a hitch and she felt as if she was floating on air.

  This morning, before sunrise, she’d sneaked out of the hotel, and after returning to her apartment, she’d used the hair color her hairdresser had given her to restore her hair to its normal color. She hadn’t bothered with the hair extenders. With her hair pulled up onto her head, no one could see the length.

  “Well, you look pleased and sated.”

  “Mmm.”

  “So on a scale of one to ten, how was he?”

  “Off the chart.”

  Kimberly helped herself to a cup of coffee. “You going to share some details, or do I have to beat them out of you?”

  Maggie grinned. “Be nice, or I won’t nag him into reading your script.”

  “Oh, please. I need some vicarious fun.”

  “Use your imagination,” Maggie teased. “Better yet, find yourself a hunk and take him to bed.”

  “Fine. Keep the good stuff all to yourself. I’ll just march into his office and ask Quinn about his evening.”

  Maggie knew Kimberly would do no such thing. She was still too in awe of Quinn’s reputation, something she’d have to get over if she wanted to make it in the business. But most important was that Kimberly would never betray her friend. There was a deep sense of honor that came through every word she wrote.

  Calling Kimberly’s bluff, Maggie shooed her toward Quinn’s door. “Go on. Maybe he’ll think you were his mystery date.”

  “Like he’d believe that for a New York minute.” Kimberly glanced down at her chest. “I don’t exactly have the right-size equipment.”

  Quinn picked that moment to barge out of his office. Kimberly jumped and spilled her coffee all over her shirt. As she mopped it up and mumbled about cleaning up in the rest room, she made a hasty departure, leaving Maggie to face her boss alone.

  Oh, God. Maggie had made love to her boss and he didn’t know it. If he ever found out, she’d want to die on the spot. While the sex had been terrific and she’d gotten more than she’d wanted, the fling was done. Over. The man was so wrong for anything more than what they’d already shared. Quinn didn’t do long-term relationships—not with anyone. With parents like his, he probably wasn’t even capable of making any kind of commitment. So why was excitement zinging through her veins?

  Maggie took one look at his tight lips and realized this was not the same charming and debonair man-about-town as he’d been the night before. This Quinn was annoyed, on edge.

  Good. He had it all too easy with women constantly chasing him. And she was happy to upset his equilibrium—even if he didn’t realize she was the woman who had done so.

  Maggie eyed him with feigned concern. “Something wrong?”

  “Damn right.” His eyes narrowed. “I want another private line put in my office by tomorrow. Run the new phone number in the classified section. No, take out a full-page ad.” She had to refrain from grinning at the outrageous gesture he was planning. “Make sure I’m billed personally—not the studio.”

  “A full page?” She’d underestimated his degree of upset and a tingle of sheer satisfaction shot through her. She supposed that enjoying his suffering was mean. But after years of fantasizing over him while he ignored her, she could live with herself.

  “And see how fast you can rent a few billboards.”

  Billboards? The idea was pure Quinn, outrageous, expensive, totally off-the-wall. Maggie schooled her face to reveal nothing and started writing on a legal pad. “You paying for this, too?”

  Quinn scratched his brow. “Don’t nag me with details.”

  “Far be it from me to nag.”

  “Good. I have enough woman trouble.”

  She couldn’t resist teasing him a little more. “Woman trouble? Not you? Not one of People magazine’s Ten Most Eligible Bachelors?”

  Maggie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Quinn rarely lost his temper. The man was too controlled, too on top of things to lose it. But as he paced in front of her desk, his long legs covering huge chucks of carpet, his shoulders ramrod straight and his eyes lit with an inner fire, she could see that he was worked up, all right.

  “This is serious.”

  “Right. You want the ads and the billboard to have your new private phone number along with your name? Quinn Scott, movie producer? I hope you have nothing better to do than answer the phone because it’s going to ring off the hook. Or have you forgotten that everyone wants to be a movie star?”

  “Okay. I’ll have to be discreet.”

  Maggie held the pen poised over her pad. At least Quinn was so worked up that he didn’t notice her amusement or her excitement at having taken such a risk. “Buying a full-page ad and placing billboard advertisements across L.A. isn’t exactly what I’d call discreet.”

  Quinn stopped pacing long enough to glare at her. “Then what would you suggest?”

  “Me?” Maggie scowled at him. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” she lied. But of course she did. He wanted to find the woman he’d made love to last night. He wanted to find her. She almost chuckled, but sucked it down and released a choking sound. Even telling herself he would be spending a small fortune for no reason didn’t banish her amusement. As one of the wealthiest men in Hollywood, he wouldn’t miss the money.

  “You okay?” Quinn asked, back to his pacing. She’d underestimated him a little. Despite his furious strides across the room and his bad mood, he’d still noticed she’d bit back that last chuckle.

  To distract him, she went on the offense. “You going to explain to me what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  She tossed her pen onto the pad and leaned back. “Okay.”

  “Yes.”

  She just stared at him, marveling at how quickly the man changed his mind.

  “Okay.” She didn’t pick up the pen, just watched him pace. Quinn really had terrific energy. And stamina. Last night, he’d lasted for hours. And he’d been a wonderful lover. But now he was being incredibly stubborn. Once he got an idea in his head, he didn’t let go of it. But he might change his mind a dozen times before he settled on a final strategy.

  “I don’t know.”

  As she’d predicted, he’d changed his mind again.

  Maggie tried to insert equal parts sympathy, frustration and sarcasm into her tone. “Quinn, obviously you haven’t thought through whatever this is about. And I’m not a psychic. I can’t read your mind. Therefore, if you want me to place an ad for you—let me be clear—I need to know what it should say.”

  He glared at h
er, nodded and changed direction, heading back to his office. “I don’t want to be disturbed.” He shut the door quietly, but she suspected only pride had kept him from slamming it.

  Not sixty seconds later Kimberly returned with a damp shirt and a wary look at Quinn’s closed door. “What happened?”

  “He’s trying to find me.” Maggie’s voice sounded odd, even to her own ears.

  “You mean the you of last night?”

  “Yeah. I had to talk him out of buying a full-page ad in the newspaper. And billboards.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Kimberly flopped into the chair opposite Maggie. “What are you going to do?”

  Maggie giggled. She couldn’t help it. “I’ll do whatever he tells me to do. That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

  “Maggie!”

  “What?”

  “Come on. Don’t you feel the least bit guilty? Even I could see he was…irritated.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Maggie shrugged, shoving away the twinge of nagging guilt. “I shouldn’t feel guilty, should I? It’s not like I forced him to do anything he didn’t want to do.”

  “Right.” Kimberly let that subject drop, but picked up another.

  “And you don’t want another night with him?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Just the suggestion of experiencing more Quinn had her nerve endings jumping up and down and shouting yes, yes, yes. But Maggie knew all too well that risking more time with Quinn increased the danger of her getting caught. What she hadn’t counted on was how very easily she could get caught up in the pleasure of a passionate venture.

  “If screwing him out of your system in one night didn’t work, you might want to go for another.”

  “Sheesh. I don’t know how I feel yet.” Except deliciously sated and ever so daring. She liked both feelings very much. And, for once, Maggie didn’t want to think about the future. She just wanted to enjoy the parts of her plan that had worked. She still had her job. And she’d had her night of fun.

  Kimberly swiped Maggie’s coffee cup, sipped and frowned. “It’s cold,” she complained, then drained the rest in one long swallow. “So what are you going to do now?”

  WHAT THE HELL WAS HE GOING to do? Thank God for Maggie’s good sense or he’d be making a fool of himself with those billboards. He didn’t know what he’d do without her, especially today when he was so distracted. He could count on Maggie to take care of the dog problem as well as a myriad of other details that he didn’t have time for. She really had a brilliant future as a casting director and if he didn’t rely on her so much in his office, he would have helped her on her way much sooner. Maggie was close to the perfect employee. She didn’t ask him to find parts for her relatives in his movies, and while she nagged him about reading Kimberly’s script, she did it because he ought to read his own production assistant’s script. And Maggie had a way of reducing the chaos in his life and never asked for anything in return. She wouldn’t even castigate him for ignoring the stack of messages on his desk while he paced his office, thinking.

  He could hire a private investigator. Maybe a P.I. could lift the woman’s prints off the hotel room balcony. After all, she’d gripped it tightly enough. But it was a hotel room and other tenants must have clutched that same balcony, although perhaps not quite for the same reason.

  Damn her. Who did she think she was to pull a switch like that on him? He felt angry enough to charge into battle, but he hadn’t a clue about his nemesis.

  And he’d never been so intrigued by a woman in his life.

  It would serve her right if he forgot she existed. Just chalk her up to one fantastic, mysterious experience. He should pretend to himself that he’d been drunk and had forgotten to ask her name. Pretend she hadn’t struck some chord that made him yearn to beat her at her own game. But to do that, he had to learn her identity—preferably without making a fool of himself in front of Maggie and the entire population of Hollywood.

  Although his loyal secretary hadn’t a clue what had happened, he could just imagine her smirk of amusement if she knew that a woman had placed her boss in such an untenable predicament—no way would he reveal a smidgeon of the intimate, embarrassing details. Not only had the mystery woman not asked him for anything, but she’d given him the best sex he’d ever had and walked away without telling him her name. As if what they’d shared wasn’t worth a repeat performance.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Quinn dropped into his chair and swiveled to face the window and stare out into the city. Hundreds of people on the streets of L.A. were going about their everyday business. He should be taking care of his.

  Instead he was obsessed with that woman.

  He kept going over the facts that might clue him in to her identity.

  She’d arrived in the company limo and stayed in the room paid for by the studio. He picked up the phone and dialed the company driver himself. “Charles, was there anything unusual about your pickup of Laine Lamonde?”

  “No, sir. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “I thought it a bit odd that she wore her mask the entire time, sir.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  Another dead end.

  There were no credit card bills to trace. No phone calls. Not even a note. Studying the paparazzi photographs of the masked woman didn’t give him any clues, either.

  No one had seen her face. Not the limo driver, the magazine photographers, the other party guests. Not even him.

  He could run into her at lunch, or out jogging, or in the elevator and he’d never recognize her. She’d given him so little to go on. They hadn’t even discussed anything as personal as her favorite drink.

  His intercom buzzed. “What?”

  Maggie still sounded as if she were chuckling. “Poopsy just ate the director’s wig.”

  “And?” He didn’t need interruptions right now. Hadn’t he told her that he didn’t want to be disturbed?

  “Poopsy’s tummy is upset. Rege wants to take her to the vet, which will stop production for the day, since they need new dialogue written.”

  Stopping would mean hundreds of thousands of dollars in cost overruns. Filming a movie took dozens of people, actors and actresses, stunt people, cameramen, grips, cosmeticians, wardrobe and sound people. They couldn’t shut down because one mutt had an upset tummy.

  “Can’t they phone the vet?”

  “Apparently he won’t diagnose over the phone.”

  “Maggie, what’s that liquid substance that makes little kids vomit?”

  “Ipecac syrup?”

  “Yeah. Tell them to give some to the dog.”

  “Suppose it kills him?”

  “Check with the vet. Pay him his walk-in fee. But don’t let them shut down.”

  “Okay. Oh, if you want a full-page ad in tomorrow’s paper, I need the copy within the next hour.”

  He released the intercom button. There had to be a way to word the ad other than “Producer seeks mystery woman wearing mask for another night of hot sex.” He groaned in frustration that his thought processes couldn’t seem to deal with this problem in a logical manner. He’d started his career by writing screenplays, surely he could come up with something subtly worded. But then, if he made the wording too vague, his mystery woman might not get it. And if he was specific—too many people would realize what had happened to him. Normally when he had a writing problem he had an entire studio full of high-paid writers whom he could put to work on a solution. But using them would mean explaining his awkward predicament, and then he’d likely be reading about his love life in tomorrow’s gossip column.

  Right now only the mystery woman knew what had happened, and Quinn wanted to keep it that way. But he considered confiding in Maggie. While Maggie might chuckle at him, his secretary knew her job depended on keeping her mouth shut.

  Maggie wouldn’t gossip, except maybe to Kimberly. And Kimberly wouldn’t dare repeat his problems if she ever wanted to work in this town again.

&
nbsp; Quinn strummed his fingers on his desk. Talking to Maggie might be his best bet. She was a woman. She knew how they thought.

  And he had an idea. Quinn shot out of his chair and his office, back toward Maggie’s desk. He waited impatiently for her to finish what sounded like a conference call with the vet and the writer.

  She spoke calmly into the phone as if she dealt with animal emergencies and temperamental writers every day. “You got that, Rege? Feed the dog regular food and bread. Anything the animal swallowed should pass right through.”

  The moment Maggie hung up the phone, Quinn had to refrain from pouncing. “Who signed the receipt for the jewels Laine was supposed to wear?”

  “The hotel concierge.”

  “And where are the jewels now?”

  MAGGIE OPENED A DRAWER and handed him a faxed receipt from the jewelry store that had loaned the necklace and earrings. “The jewelry was returned by courier. Why?”

  “Because the woman who impersonated Laine wore these jewels last night.”

  “Someone impersonated Laine?” Maggie widened her eyes in surprise, thinking if she could pull this off then she deserved an Academy Award.

  “And she wore the necklace and earrings delivered to Laine at the hotel.”

  Maggie frowned at Quinn. “Are you sure?”

  He glared at her. “She was with me for hours and wore nothing but the jewelry. I’m sure.”

  Under his fierce scowl, Maggie swallowed hard. “You’re saying that someone sneaked into Laine’s hotel room, borrowed these jewels, wore them while she was with you and then returned them to the jewelry store? Really Quinn. I’m not sure if you’re saying someone pulled one over on you, but if she did, would she have returned millions of dollars in jewels?”

  “Maybe I should have hotel security check their video cams.”

  Quinn no longer sounded so sure. Obviously he didn’t want to create a fuss and reveal that he’d been duped. Maggie didn’t blame him. Luckily all the hotel security cams would reveal was Kimberly in Laine’s room, but Kimberly had been sent there by Quinn to deliver the dress, and when she’d left, she’d hidden the dress in a shopping bag. Time to give him a graceful way out.