Ruined

by Shiloh Walker

  She’d said no, and then he had threatened her. Not with severing their contract or anything. No, he’d said he’d show up on her doorstep and that was ten times worse.

  So fine.

  She’d go see him and explain herself.

  He might not like it, but he’d just have to deal with it.

  The phone rang just as she was settling down for what might have been another thirty minutes of sleep and she could have whimpered. The sight of her best friend’s name on the screen caused a mix of emotions to rise up—one was sheer irritation. She’d needed that thirty minutes of sleep.

  The other, though . . . need.

  For the past couple of days, she’d resisted the urge to call Abigale and unload everything. Abby would listen—she might die of shock, but then she’d recover and listen.

  But Marin wasn’t quite to the point where she could tell her yet.

  As the phone rang, she huddled into the blankets and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the burn of tears.

  ***

  He’d looked a little pissed himself when she stormed into his office not too long ago but now he looked . . . calm.

  Calm and clear-headed as she told him again what her decision had been.

  “No.” Tapping his fingers on the desk, he stared at her shrewdly.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Marin demanded.

  “I did.” He was already reaching for his phone and she gaped at him as he held up a hand to shush her while he buzzed his assistant. Her voice came on the line and JD said, “I need Sojo and Townsend on the line. Pronto. Tell them both it’s about Torn and it’s urgent.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Marin pointed out. “You aren’t going to be able to change the circumstances.”

  “Some circumstances? No. But others?” He shrugged.

  She huffed out a breath and got up to pace. Now that she’d woken up, had time for her head to clear and her body to settle, she wasn’t so cranky, but that didn’t mean she regretted the call she’d made to JD.

  She was doing the responsible thing here, even if he couldn’t see that.

  “JD, this just isn’t going to work. It’s not possible.”

  “As long as you’re professional, as long as we keep our heads and think around the problem, everything is possible. Come on, Marin.” He flashed her a smile. “It’s Hollywood, after all.”

  She rolled her eyes at the absolute corniness of the statement but before she could argue, Sojourne Torré—the director of Torn—came on the line. It wasn’t more than a minute before she was joined by Michael Townsend.

  Sojo, as always, was blunt to the point of rudeness. “I don’t have time for chitter-chatter, Rutherford. If your boy Barnes has flaked out, then I’m going to find my own man to play Rand.”

  “Sebastien doesn’t flake out,” Marin said, irritated. “If he’s committed, he’s committed.”

  There was a humming kind of pause, and then Sojo said, “Well, Marin Lassiter. Please tell me that you aren’t the matter of utter urgency.”

  Her stomach clenched as she looked over at JD.

  “Everything is fine . . . for the most part, Sojo. We just had something . . . unusual come up.” JD flicked his eyes toward her.

  Marin averted her own and waved at him.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  But JD would have to figure that out for himself.

  ***

  The phone rang two days later.

  As was becoming his habit, Sebastien pounced, Marin’s name already hovering on his lips.

  Then his eyes fell to the caller ID and the bubble of hope burst, going sour inside him.

  It was his manager. He talked to JD more than he talked to his brothers sometimes—and he was talking to them on a regular basis now. Well, most of them anyway.

  “Hey, JD.” Disappointed, it took him a few seconds to process the words that JD bluntly laid out. Very bluntly.

  “Ah . . . can you say that again?”

  JD did, repeating it in the same blunt fashion and Sebastien closed his eyes. He took a moment to think over his response. Still, even after taking that moment, he couldn’t think of anything decent to say. So he went with his gut response. “What in the hell do you mean, we start working in two weeks?”

  “You heard me. We’re stepping up production. We’ve had all the parts cast—save yours—for a while now. A lot of the preproduction shit was in the works before the project got sidetracked and pretty much everything will still work. They’re already hammering those details down as we speak.”

  Sebastien wanted to shout, Fuck pre-production . . . I’m not ready.

  JD continued on serenely. “They were going to spend the next few months getting ready, but something’s come up and if we want to move forward, we have to do it now. They’re starting rehearsals in two weeks and filming will follow that.”

  “What the fuck, JD? We weren’t supposed to start filming until next year!” A sweaty fist of panic wrapped around Sebastien’s throat, not that he was willing to acknowledge it as such. It had been only three weeks since he’d agreed to take the part and while he’d already pretty much memorized his lines, he still wasn’t sure if he was ready to get in front of a camera again.

  And he still had to face Marin, get things good between them.

  His throat felt dry and for the first time in several days, he found himself looking at the cabinet next to the refrigerator. It was no longer empty. He’d rearranged all the stuff in it just so it wouldn’t be empty. Now all the vitamin shit and protein powder mixes he drank daily were in there, along with a few other things that were all to remind him that he was getting back on track—getting his body healthy—getting his brain healthy.

  But he wasn’t craving some power fruit smoothie shit deal.

  He wanted a drink. He wanted some scotch, or just some good ol’ Jack Daniels.

  “Sebastien.”

  JD’s voice was mild, a steadying influence as if he knew exactly what was going on in Sebastien’s mind.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” He shoved the heel of his hand against his eye and turned to stare outside, focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. You don’t need a drink, man. You want it. You don’t need it. Breathe . . . breathe . . .

  “Look, Sebastien, this is how it is. The director is on board, your costar is on board. The crew is taking care of everything else that needs to be done to get ready on time. So, the question is . . . will you be ready?”

  He swiped a hand down his face and tried to ignore the fact that he was sweating. “Sure, man. You know me. Once I commit, I’m committed. Besides, it's not like half of Hollywood is knocking my door down these days.”

  “That’s your fault, kid,” JD said pragmatically.

  “Suck my dick, man,” Sebastien muttered. He started to pace, deliberately keeping his eyes on his shoes so he wouldn’t be tempted to look back at that damn cabinet. He felt more nervous now than he had in ages—maybe in forever. “Look . . . I’ll . . . Fine. I’m on board.”

  He sucked in a breath and told himself to look on the bright side. Marin couldn’t keep ignoring him now, right? Right. “I’ll get in touch with Marin soon so we can start working on—”

  “That’s not going to happen right away. She’s out of touch for a few days still. You might be able to reach out to her this weekend.” His manager paused. “But don’t worry—you got this, Seb. The two of you are combustible on the screen.”

  JD hung up before Sebastien had a chance to say anything—or demand anything. Like . . . What the hell do you mean she’s “out of touch”? You’re talking to her!

  He almost called JD back.

  Almost called Marin.

  But he didn’t.

  He was too on edge and he knew it.

  Carefully, he hung up the phone, and then retre
ated to the couch, playing the conversation over in his head.

  “Combustible,” he muttered.

  Yeah, he could probably agree with that.

  ***

  Marin sighed, the soup settling gently in her empty belly.

  It had been almost a week since the meeting-turned-phone-conference-turned . . . whatever. She was finally getting a handle on things, although really, it would help if JD and Sojo weren’t calling every day.

  And one of them did call almost every day. If one of them forgot, then the other filled in. She was about ready to unplug her phone just for some peace, but with time winding down, she knew better.

  Soon, they’d start rehearsals and after that, they’d hit the ground running.

  She couldn’t believe they just wanted to go ahead.

  After what she’d told them.

  But whatever.

  She took another small spoonful of soup, and then looked at the pills next to her bowl. Once she had enough food in her belly, she’d take them, but she was nowhere near ready for that yet. They made her sick enough as it was.

  Silence wrapped around her house, so all-consuming she could hear the clock down the hall as the minutes ticked by. Normally, silence didn’t bother her. She’d been an only child growing up and had always been used to entertaining herself, but lately silence, emptiness, the very aloneness of her life was getting to her.

  When a bell chimed, alerting her to a visitor seeking entrance at the gates of her home, she eyed the pills in her hand. “I’d like to use this as an excuse to not take you,” she said sourly.

  But she didn’t. Popping the pills back, she washed them down with ginger ale and moved to the console for the security system set up beside her phone. It featured a small screen, showing her the face of her visitor.

  Dash seemed to sense her staring at his image and he flashed her a wide grin. “You might as well open up, gorgeous. I let you break our last two dates, but sooner or later, you have to come out of your cave. We start work in just over a week.”

  She stuck her tongue out at the monitor. One press of the button had her talking to him. “I’m not in a cave, thank you. This is a very nice house and I’m enjoying some R&R before I put my nose to the grindstone again.”

  “It’s a very nice cave,” Dash said. “And you’re hiding for some reason. Open up and let me in or I’ll blow the house down.”

  “First it’s a cave, now it’s a house . . . is it made of hay, sticks, or bricks?” She couldn’t resist smiling at him, though. He was easy to talk to and he was . . . comfortable.

  Wonderful thing to say about the guy. She liked going out with him because he was comfortable. He was gorgeous, he knew how to kiss, and he made her feel comfortable.

  Making a face, she pushed the button that unlocked her gates. “Come on in. I’ll unlock the front door, so let yourself inside. I need to clean up a little.”

  “Sure thing, beautiful.”

  The gates would swing closed once he was past the sensors so without waiting, she carried her ginger ale off with her and headed up the stairs. She had soaked in a hot bath last night—she had planned on a taking another one, but that wasn’t going to happen until Dash left.

  She heard him calling up to her just as she pulled the brush through her hair one last time. “I’m coming. Impatient jerk,” she said, shaking her head.

  He laughed. “You love me.”

  Snorting, she started down the stairs. Her belly did a slow flip, reminding her of the pills she’d taken.

  The pills.

  Shit.

  Ignoring what the rush did to her uneasy stomach, she all but flew down the steps. Seeing Dash leaning against the counter, she gave him a wide smile and slowed to a casual walk. “So, how are you? Ready to get to work?”

  Moving past him, she shot a furtive look to the table and saw the two bottles there.

  In response to her nerves, her stomach did a rude flip-flop and she had to bite her inner lip to keep the nausea under check.

  “Not really. They sure as hell are rushing this, but I’ll manage. How are you doing?” He came up behind her and caught her in a hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’ve been avoiding everybody, hiding out like some criminal. Have you been on the run, Marin? Going deep underground or something? Nobody has seen hide nor hair of you the past few days.”

  “Ha, ha.” She turned her head and pressed a casual kiss to his cheek before tugging away from him.

  It was probably the kiss that ruined things.

  While they’d been out on a couple of dates and while she enjoyed his company, Dash had been the one to make every move.

  Every single one of them.

  And he paid just a little too much attention when she casually pulled away from him and headed over to the table, just as casually picking up the bottles and dumping them in a drawer. After she’d done that, she picked up her bowl and took a bite, then grimaced because the soup had gotten cold. She put it into the microwave to reheat and when she turned, she saw Dash.

  He was holding a bottle of her pills—the most incriminating one.

  “Darling . . .” He slid his gaze from the pills to her face. “Well, I know one thing. It can’t be mine. I’m still trying to get to second base with you.”

  ***

  Sebastien saw the car parked in front of Marin’s house and wanted to bite something.

  Or punch something.

  Naturally the first thing that came to mind was the owner of the car.

  Dash would have made an excellent target, except for the fact that he hadn’t really done anything wrong.

  Jaw clenched, Sebastien stared down at the low-slung vintage Ferrari. Sebastien wasn’t as into cars as some, but he remembered hearing somewhere that Dash’s favorite toy was a 1961 Spyder. It was sleek, sexy, and painted a dark blue that was just a few shades away from Marin’s eyes.

  Fuck.

  Everything reminded him of her.

  Had Dash taken her cruising up the coast in this? The top down, her hair whipping around behind her.

  He’d just go and buy his own convertible if she liked them that much.

  “Won’t matter, dumb-ass. She ain’t into you. The cars aren’t the issue.” Feeling like a moron, he rubbed his hands up and down his face before tipping his head back to stare at the sky. He pulled in a couple of deep breaths, blew them out.

  Once he had his head relatively clear, he moved away from the car and started toward the house.

  He was only a few feet from the door when he heard the raised voices—raised, follow by a shout edged with something that sounded like panic.

  ***

  Head spinning, Marin gripped Dash’s arm while another spasm of nausea gripped her.

  She shuddered and got back over the toilet just in time.

  She thought she might have just puked up everything she’d eaten—not just today, or even this week. Things she’d eaten six months ago might have just come pouring out of her.

  “It’s okay, Marin,” Dash murmured, his voice steady and calm. “Just breathe . . . It will pass.”

  She wanted to punch him.

  Her entire face felt hot when she was finally able to ease back down and she collapsed against him, staring dully at the toilet.

  “This is your fault, you know.”

  “I think we’ve established it can’t be,” he said easily. “We haven’t gotten that far in our relationship. Although I’m happy to move things along . . . once you’re feeling better.”

  She couldn’t even laugh. “You’re such a hound, Dash.”

  “Hmm.” He brushed her hair back gently. “Think you can stand up?”

  She wasn’t sure, but she was damn tired of being on bathroom floors. “Sure.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  The new
voice had her stiffening.

  Slowly, she raised her head and met the eyes of Sebastien Barnes across the expanse of the bathroom. It was the smaller one tucked off of the main hall in her house, but there was still plenty of room. Marin liked having room. Lots of it. There wasn’t a single place in her home that wasn’t large enough to hold a small meeting inside it and that included the bathrooms. Not that she had meetings inside any of her bathrooms . . . normally.

  But just then, as Sebastien crowded inside, things seemed to shrink in around her. As Dash eased upright, helping her up as well, she closed her hands into fists.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  He shot Dash a dark look. “I heard yelling—sounded like somebody was in trouble.” He scraped his nails down the five o’clock shadow on his face before adding, “The front door was unlocked, so I came in.”

  Marin blinked, shaking her head. “Why . . . Sebastien, why did you think somebody was in trouble?”

  The look on Sebastien’s face was one she knew quite well. It was a typical Barnes look—stubborn, resolute, defiant. Folding his arms over his chest, he lifted his chin. “I heard you yelling. Then somebody shouted—like I told you.”

  “Oh, for the love of . . .” Too disgusted and tired to finish her sentence, she eased away from Dash. Her knees wobbled at first, but they held.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly, still standing close and keeping his voice down.

  She didn’t know why he bothered. The smell in the air made it obvious what had happened. As they moved away from the toilet, it flushed automatically and she took a few steps toward the sink, desperate to wash away the foulness in her mouth. “I’m good, Dash. Thank you.” She glanced up at the mirror and without thinking, she added, “It’s still your fault.”

  Sebastien’s frown deepened, while Dash pressed a hand to his heart and bowed his head. “Darling, if it will make you feel better, I’ll take full blame.”

  “Sure you will.” Ignoring them both, she turned on the water and picked up a cup from the lip of the sink, taking a sip and swishing it in her mouth. She spat it out and did it three more times before she was satisfied. After washing her hands, she turned around and the wall of testosterone standing in front of her was enough to make her want to pull her hair.