Billion Dollar Urge: A Billionaire Romance

by Jackson Kane

  “It’s time Chip becomes a man.” I took the gun out of Mitch’s hand and pushed it into Chip’s chest. “I’ll make sure he cleans up his mess.”

  Mitch sighed hard through his nose, and with a stern, set expression, he nodded. He opened the front door to go join the others and drive the bus, but stopped and glanced back at me. “It’s good to have you back, Jack.”

  “Yeah.” I said, then shoved a terrified Chip toward the stairs to deal with his fuck up.

  When I hobbled down the stairs I saw the older man and a woman chained to thick pipes. The crew had taken this place before the night they came for me, so this was my first time seeing them. They had blankets, water and buckets, but not much else in the empty unfinished basement.

  “No, please,” the man pleaded when he saw that Chip was holding a gun. He was out-of-shape, balding and in his early sixties. He pulled his wife close and attempted to shield her as best he could.

  Thank, God, there were no children here when Mitch first arrived.

  “I’m so sorry,” Chip said, slowly raising the pistol. He was openly weeping, and his arms shook so much that it was a miracle he didn’t drop the gun. Mitch didn’t tolerate witnesses or loose ends that could lead back to the crew. Chip knew that both the man and his wife had to die or he did.

  I put a hand over his and lowered the gun.

  That wasn’t a choice I could allow a misguided kid like Chip to make.

  His bright eyes were racked with guilt as he stammered out the beginning of a weak sentence, “But, the rules…”

  “Go turn the radio up as loud as it goes. Be ready to leave when I come up and don’t come back down here. I’ll take care of this.” I didn’t have to tell the scared kid twice. He flashed me a grateful, yet still hauntingly sad look, handed me the gun, then ran upstairs as fast as he could.

  When I heard the music start blasting I checked that the door was shut and I put my finger to my lips, silencing the terrified couple. I punched a number into my burner cell that I had memorized for the last ten years.

  I sighed. Was there really no other way out of all this?

  I knew the answer before I even thought of the question. The realization of how fucked all this was had seeped into my bones. There was no getting out now. I only had the one option available to me.

  “It’s me,” I said to the empty air of the unacknowledged, but connected phone call. “I’m finally ready.”

  “I see.” The voice finally answered me. “I never thought you’d actually call me.”

  “Is the deal still on?” I asked.

  “It can be.” There was a flurry of movement on the other line. I knew exactly what he was up to, it’s the same thing I’d have done if I was him. The voice helpfully asked, “What do you need from me?”

  I told him where I was instead of waiting for him to trace my call, then told him what to expect and what he would need for everything that came next. When I was satisfied that my future was set in stone I hung up and pulled out my gun.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Chapter 25

  Autumn

  The stylish office was destroyed. Broken bodies lay in heaps all around me. The red streaked walls were lined with bullet holes and carnage. The chair beneath me was almost too damaged to withstand my weight. I was in the middle of all the chaos stunned into disbelief that after all this time this was how it ended. My body was so exhausted from crying that I couldn’t even shoo away a housefly from crawling lazily down my arm.

  “I—I” All my thoughts were of Dante getting shot and bleeding out. My eyes welled with tears, my breathing choked and stuttered so much that I had trouble getting the words out. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  The gun slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the ground.

  “And cut!” The director called out from behind a stand covered in monitors. She discussed the minutia with a few of the producers. “Stand-by. Reviewing footage. Autumn get ready to go again and can we get another fly on deck please?”

  My first day on set and they had me filming my character’s last scene in the movie. I couldn’t even pretend to know why we were shooting the movie backwards, and with everything that happened recently that was the furthest thing from my mind.

  “Um, Can I—” I asked, as the Fly Wrangler rushed over with a pair of tweezers.

  “Sure.” The director agreed, “Quickly, please.”

  “Thanks.” Every time! We’d repeated that scene fifteen times trying to get the fly to walk a certain way down my arm. A shiver erupted through my body the second the big, black fly was removed my skin. I stood up and shook my arms out. I desperately wanted to scratch my arms where the fly walked across, but I couldn’t because it would show on camera.

  “We’re going to keep that take. Good job, Autumn.” The director changed her mind after liking what she saw. “Moving on.”

  Thank God! I scratched my arm furiously to replace that chilled walking fly sensation. The make up department was definitely going to have to touch me up, but I didn’t care. Ahh! Having a frozen fly defrost on your skin then start walking around felt so incredibly disgusting and weird!

  I carefully navigated my way through the set trying not to disturb any of the wreckage. Bloodied extras and stunt performers who were doubling as dead bodies started to stir and find their feet.

  “Feel free to take a breather,” Jess, my assistant, said, handing me a bottle of water once I was clear of the chaos. I didn’t know I was even going to get an assistant until Jess introduced herself this morning. She was a little older than me and with her jet black hair and bangs, she had a Bettie Page thing going on. She pulled up her phone and read down the Call Sheet with all the day’s shooting information.

  “Your next scene is going to be B-five-P-three. That’s the big shoot out at the end of the film on that stage over there.” Jess pointed to one of the other fully-constructed and furnished sets in this large building. She handed me the script sides she’d kept folded in her back pocket. All my sections were highlighted. “I believe that’s these pages. I also sent them to your phone as well.”

  “Perfect. This is great, thanks.” I took deep breath and forced my head to clear. “You think they’ll mind if I step outside and get some air?”

  “I doubt it. I’d say it’s going to be at least another two hours before we get to your stuff.” She paused, checking the time and glancing furtively at the lingering emotion in my expression. “You went to a pretty dark place there, are you alright?”

  “Yeah.” I conjured a soft smile that was convincing enough. “I’ve just had a lot of experience to draw on lately.”

  She offered to show me the easiest way out of the building, but I declined. These last few days I’d been surrounded by so many people that I needed to just walk aimlessly for a while.

  Jason had been an incredible sweetheart about letting me stay in one of the many spare rooms of his home. I got a little freaked out when I first saw a picture of myself at his house in a YouTube video. With the paparazzi leaking my whereabouts online, how long until Mitch and his crew showed up?

  Jason seemed to read my concern, because within the hour of telling him what I found I noticed that armed security around his house had doubled. It let me feel safe enough to sleep for a couple hours here and there.

  What I didn’t expect was the near constant parade of script writers, producers, actors and media professionals. I did my best to stay out of the way, but it became a little harder to do when every night seemed to end in a party. I couldn’t even get food in the morning without stepping over some half naked hangers-on sprawled out drunk on his floor. Not feeling the party scene at all, I shut myself in my room, and tried to stay distracted.

  His place was such a change from the quietness of Dante’s estate, where it was only the two of us most of the time. The training was grueling, but after that first week I began to enjoy the progress I was making. I had a goal and for as frustratingly slow-going as it
was, I was making steps in the right direction.

  But it was the proud look on Dante’s face and his subdued praise when I got something really right that I cherished the most. It was only when those perfect moments had passed, that I realized how much they meant to me. Despite everything he’d done, I missed Dante so much that it hurt.

  On my way out of the building, I passed the other two sets. Aside from the destroyed office I’d just filmed in, the first one I saw was a child’s bedroom. Brightly-colored, painted, walls were covered in stickers and posters, and littering the shelves and floor was enough video games and action figures to fill my little cousins Christmas lists ten-times over.

  Beyond that, in stark contrast, was a disgusting, double-bunked cell that looked like it was ripped from a hellish prison built in the early nineteen-hundreds. The windowless, cracked, concrete walls, rusty, seat-less toilet, lone caged-in flickering light and thick metal door gave me a claustrophobic anxiousness that quickened my stride to the side door that led out into the main lot.

  Seeing all the different sets in this one building was a lot like casually strolling through someone else’s dream. It was surreal walking through them because they weren’t connected narratively in any way. The scenes only worked when viewed from certain angles. The longer I walked, the more my perspective changed and the more rough staging, extension chords, and building material became visible; all the magic just fell apart.

  “Oh!” I reached for the handle when the whole door pulled back. I stumbled forward without the expected weight to stop me and nearly crashed me right into Jason who was just coming in from makeup and wardrobe. I stopped myself by placing a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s quite alright,” Jason laughed loudly through his dark sunglasses and wide smile. He held the door for me to step outside. Several of his friends greeted me with a wave as they funneled out of Jason’s trailer and into the soundstage I’d just walked out of; a haze of smoke lazily chased after them. They didn’t bother to hide how lit they were, because they knew Jason was too famous of an actor to ever get hassled over it. “Well aren’t we quite the pair?” He raised his sunglasses and looked me over.

  “The miracle of movie magic, the blood’s been dry for ages.” He looked like hell in his tattered Navy service dress white uniform, which was almost half red with fake blood. Most of his medals and a few buttons had been torn off, and he was missing a shoulder board and a glove. He still had the sword though. All the fake damage to his skin and real distressing of his outfit couldn’t dull his natural handsomeness and captivating electric blue eyes.

  Even filthy-looking and stoned off his ass, Jason Brenner was an undeniable Hollywood heartthrob.

  “Our characters have certainly seen better days.” I agreed, glancing down at my evening gown which looked like it had gone through the same wood chipper as his clothes.

  “The tragic love story.” Jason pontificated, acting grave from physical and emotional wounds. “I guess we weren’t meant to be.”

  “I guess not.” I smirked, thinking back to the morning I saw Jason nearly nude passed out on the couch, surrounded by a pile of topless women and one bottomless guy. When I saw them, I couldn’t shake my surprise, but I did make an active effort to cover my eyes as I walked to and from the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. I swear. It was good to see he wasn’t too torn up about me turning him down when he asked me out at Dante’s place.

  And to think, I remember speculating while crunching away at my Golden Grahams, I could’ve been one of the girls in that pile if only I hadn’t fallen for him and not Dante.

  “Are you finished for the day?” Jason asked, letting one of his private security guards hold the door open for him.

  “No, I’m just on a break. I might wander over to craft services for a coffee or something.”

  “Cool. Well I should head in before they yell at me.” Before he disappeared inside he gave me a clumsy high five, which left me chuckling as I walked down the side of the building.

  It was amazing how quickly the starry-eyed, awestruck fangirl in me faded away. The more time I spent around him made me realize just how normal Jason was.

  Or rather how normal you could get while still being a wealthy celebrity at the height of your popularity.

  He was charming, goofy and surprisingly accommodating and considerate. I’d never be able to think of him the way I did Dante, but he was a great friend when I needed one.

  Once I got to the intersection and cleared our row of actor’s trailers that lined our side of the road, I got a nice view of the Lionhouse studio grounds. When I rode in with Jason this morning in his caravan of black limousines, I didn’t get to see all that much. We stopped at the gate briefly, but otherwise drove right to the soundstage.

  I decided to stretch my legs and walk the few blocks to the closer of the two Starbucks that was in the studio lot. The soundstages were these giant warehouses that were laid out in a grid, several of which had their red lights on which meant they were actively filming other movies and TV shows.

  Past all that were the wildly varied backlots, those were exterior sets built for outside filming. One of them was a rustic saloon, whorehouse, sheriff station and other rickety wooden buildings that you’ve seen in every western movie ever. Another backlot was a massive, one-for-one replica of Times Square in New York City, except where all the giant advertisements were supposed to be there were only empty, green screens so they could add whatever they wanted in post-production. The one I walked through was a nondescript suburban street with nice-looking houses on either side. It could’ve been ripped from any town in middle America.

  Aside from all the sets, they had their own fire station, movie theatre, diner and even a credit union. The only way in or out of the property was through heavy-duty security checkpoints. Lionhouse reminded me of a small town, or at least a gated community, that had way too much money and a serious case of schizophrenia.

  I was also surprised at how much regular activity there was on a given day. I waved to a couple dozen people who slowly drove by in one of those small, guided, studio buses with the open sides. The excited tourists waved back and said hello as they took countless pictures, and behind them was a small, school bus on some kind of field trip. Work trucks, vans and hideously expensive cars and trucks bustled back and forth on the busy streets.

  Stepping out of the coffee shop, I began to make my way back to my soundstage when I saw an unmistakable form getting shuttled past the middle America set and down toward the administrative buildings.

  Dante?

  I dropped my coffee. A compulsion washed over me, and I began walking after him. I never expected to see him again. I didn’t even know he was alive. When he rounded the corner and disappeared, I kicked off my heels and broke into a run. “No. no. no.”

  I didn’t know why he was here, or whether he was working or pulling a job, and I didn’t care. I couldn’t lose him again! I didn’t care that following him might put my job or even my life in jeopardy. All thoughts about my scenes and what I was supposed to be doing dissipated from my mind; the only thing that mattered was seeing Dante again.

  I was barely able to keep the fancy-looking golf cart in sight and chasing far behind them must’ve made me look like a mad woman to all the onlookers. My mad dash brought me all the way to the other end of the massive studio lot which wasn’t something I ever could’ve done before Dante’s training.

  Panting, winded and with a painful stitch running up my side at not properly stretching beforehand, I jogged past the empty cart I’d been chasing. With its large columns and intricate design work, the building looked like it had been here since Lionhouse originally opened.

  I caught my breath and stretched before I pushed open one of the large wooden doors and went inside.

  “Hi, can I help you?” The confused receptionist’s featured swung from concerned to frightened the closer I walked toward her. She looked antsy sitting behind an elegantly simple des
k that overlooked a grand and gorgeous waiting room.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I said, fighting to keep the pain from the run out of my voice. “Did the stuntman, Dante Marks, just come through here? He was with a man in a nice suit. Early forties. Extremely thick eyebrows.

  “Ah. That’s Mr. Jonathan Hernandez, our CEO.” The lady’s expression took on a little relief. At least she didn’t look like she was on the verge of calling security on me any more. “Are you with the tour group?”

  “Seriously?” I balked, spreading my arms and looking down at my intentionally tattered outfit. What kind of tour looks like me? Was there a Brides of Frankenstein event happening in the area? “I’m an actor, Autumn Moore.”

  She shrugged apologetically, forcing me to go on and explain the project I was working on and who else was apart of it. I thought once you became a celebrity everyone instantly let you do whatever you wanted? Yet, another reminder of how I didn’t feel like a real celebrity.

  “Oh, well. I’m not sure who Mr. Hernandez was with.” The receptionist said at length. “But I was just given word that his office is open if you’d like to go talk to his secretary and see if he’s available.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The receptionist told me which floor Mr. Hernandez’ office was on, then unlocked the elevator from her desk. I pressed the call button on the wall and impatiently waited for it to become available.

  What was I going to say to Dante when I saw him? Did he even want to see me?

  The elevator door beside me dinged softly and soundlessly whooshed open, pulling me from my mounting anxiety. An older, yet incredibly stylish woman with a sharp business suit and even sharper asymmetrical haircut stepped out. She paused, lowered her glasses and scoured my form. She wore the disdain of someone who didn’t have the time to comprehend what the hell she was looking at. Despite their light blue shade, she had the hardest, coldest eyes I’d ever seen and the glare she gave me sent a shiver up my spine.