Lights, Camera...Kiss the Boss

by Nikki Logan

  Ever.

  It didn’t matter that her legs gave way, because Dan held her so securely in his arms. Every part of him was rock-hard and, wrapped so close into him, she felt as though the two of them had simply melted into the stone archway.

  In that moment she would have quite happily resided there with him for ever.

  Dan’s head lifted, his brown irises now liquid magma. Colour raced high in his jaw and his breathing was rough against her ear. ‘Tell me to stop.’

  Ava heaved in deep, ragged breaths, her thoughts jumbled. Why on earth would she stop something that felt this good?

  I will never be with you…

  Shut up, shut up! She trembled as endorphins surged through her system. She glanced at the door leading to the guestroom. The thought of Dan pressing down over her in the bedroom there, silhouetted against the giant moon was…perfect. But the chances of him sticking around afterwards? Of having anything more meaningful to offer her than one night?

  Not high.

  Still, she wasn’t going to get another chance. She was lucky to be getting a second crack at her dream at all. And she was older now, and wise enough to know that there was no such thing as a happy ending. She glanced again at the door and verbalised her decision.

  ‘Don’t stop.’

  Dan buried himself in her hair and pressed his lips behind her ear. Her legs sagged. He lifted her hard against him on a groan and turned towards the door.

  Just then Ava’s answering machine finally picked up the call in the guesthouse. Her father’s voice carried out to where they stood. ‘Hey, brat, it’s me. Sorry, I’ve missed you…’

  Dan froze, mid-step. Mid-kiss.

  ‘Steve and I were cleaning the garage and we came across a pile of your old things. We were wondering if you wanted them? The only thing I recognise is your old blue bike, the one with the spokey-dokeys still on it.’

  Dan’s breath punched out of him. Ava looked into his pained face, his suddenly blank eyes where the fire had been.

  No, no, no…. Her pathetic tugs towards the bedroom failed miserably. He tore his arm away from her and his head sagged towards his chest.

  ‘Anyway, just give me a call and I’ll talk you through it. Okay, talk soon. Love you.’

  A beep, then silence. The only sound in the garden was them both heaving in a lungful of air. Ava took his hand in hers, her voice artificially, desperately light. She tugged…

  But he resisted. Right up until that moment Ava had thought there might be something to salvage. That her chance might not have turned completely to ashes with one phone call.

  He lifted tortured cold eyes and she knew.

  Daniel Arnot was about to reject her…again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EXCRUCIATING .

  That was the only word for it. Ava wasn’t sure what was worse—the moments where Daniel refused to meet her eyes, or those accidental moments where they did meet hers across the busy set, dark, shuttered, and glaring at her from under thick lashes.

  Nice work, Lange. Sleeping with the man who broke your heart. Your boss. The fact she hadn’t was only a matter of semantics and a few precious minutes. If not for her father’s call…

  It was all horribly out of character for her. She’d slept with an impressive total of two men in her whole life—hardly a football team. She’d not had the time or the interest for more. The first time had been all about getting it out of the way, shucking off the virgin label. And the second time…Well, he’d been nice, funny and interested, and she’d thought that might be enough. It had been affection more than attraction on her part.

  But she’d sure been attracted two nights ago. She’d never felt such a yearning. Stupid word, but it fitted perfectly.

  She could only wonder what she’d be feeling today if the phone had been set to silent.

  ‘Ava?’ Brant appeared beside her, and she welcomed the distraction. ‘Care to run some lines while they change the set-up?’

  Brant knew next to nothing about plants—although he was a quick study—so he rarely deviated from the text provided by the show’s writers. The cues were his anchors, and so, for his sake, Ava tried to memorise them. If she was going to go roaming freely off-script to talk about her passion, the least she could do was give Brant his in and out points.

  He thrust some crisp, clean pages at her. She took them cautiously. ‘What are these?’

  ‘Rewrites.’

  ‘They’ve rewritten the segments?’ She had one to-camera segment today, and Brant had one. Both complicated set-ups. Between that was some serious design time. Now she had to run new lines.

  ‘Nope, merged segments. We’re doubling up in each one.’

  Both of us? She glanced at the pages and saw the writers had added a line or two for each of them in the other’s segment. At least she wouldn’t be standing there like a dunce while Brant presented. ‘Why?’

  ‘Orders from our friendly neighbourhood producer. Shall we?’ He popped her on the shoulder with his rolled-up pages and smiled.

  She sighed. ‘Sure. Let’s use the stairwell, where it’s quiet.’

  They were eight storeys high on the roof of a small business block on the edge of the Sydney CBD. A rooftop seething with tradesmen, television crew and assorted Urban Nature work crew. She’d designed this rooftop habitat months ago, such was the preparation which went into some of these rehab jobs. To Ava it was rehabilitation: turning grey concrete messes into natural spaces with soul. She’d relished the challenge of taking this barren man-made rooftop and softening it with native grasses and succulents, running it through with timber boardwalks.

  All day long they’d drawn curious looks from the windows of the factories that overlooked their worksite. Ava wasn’t sure what interested them more, the transformation of the roof space into a lush garden, or the cameras and obvious television activity. Or possibly the presence of pin-up boy Brant. She’d like to think the former.

  ‘You sure you don’t want to use your trailer?’ Brant gave her one of his winning smiles as she hauled open the door to the infrequently used stairs leading from the rooftop. ‘It’ll only take a second to get there.’

  Ava frowned. Was he trying to get her alone in her trailer? The way he was leaning on the doorframe oh-so-casually, smiling down on her, cajoling…But there was something not quite authentic about it. She looked around them. And smiled.

  ‘You don’t want to get your trousers dirty.’ She knew she was right. The stairs were caked in years of commercial grime.

  Brant glanced over his shoulder and then pursued her into the stairwell, pulling the door closed behind them. ‘It’s filthy in here,’ he whispered urgently. ‘And Carrie will have my ass if I trash another set of trousers.’

  Ava laughed. ‘You are such a princess, Maddox.’

  He whacked her harder with his script pages. Ava laughed more. It was getting tougher not to like him. ‘Fine, we’ll adjourn to my office—where we can rehearse in the splendour to which you’ve obviously become accustomed.’

  Brant smiled as they turned to the stairs and slung one arm around her shoulder. ‘You’re a good sort, Lange. I owe you one.’

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  Cool air was sucked in as the rooftop door suddenly opened behind them. Ava twisted to follow the sound.

  ‘Dan.’ She cringed at the breathiness of her own voice, and the subtle lift of Brant’s eyebrow told her he hadn’t missed it. Defensiveness surged through her. ‘We’re off to rehearse our surprise new lines. Your doing, I understand?’

  His chocolate gaze was steady. ‘I wanted to try working you two together more this episode. Give you a chance to get to know each other.’ He looked pointedly at Brant’s arm around her shoulder then looked at Ava. ‘Perhaps it was unnecessary?’

  Brant dropped his arm, but not in much of a hurry. ‘I’m not complaining. I think we make a good pair, don’t you, Ava?’

  She struggled to muster a smile. The Dan she remembered had never switche
d it on and off quite so effectively, but he was standing scowling darkly at her now. Two nights ago he’d had his tongue in her mouth.

  For the first time since moving to Sydney she felt out of her depth. Was this how things were done in Dan’s high-rise world? Treating people this way? She wasn’t cut out for it if it was. But she’d be damned before she’d let him see that. She took her cue from Brant, adopted an unconcerned veneer and smiled. Her best TV-host sparkler.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Without a backward glance, she continued down the stairs to the top-floor elevators, below which was the safety of her mobile office. The one place she knew Dan would not enter uninvited. Since gifting it to her it in the first place he hadn’t set so much as a foot across its threshold. It was her sanctuary.

  She felt his eyes on her until she pushed through the heavy door onto the top-floor landing. She glanced up at him just before she passed through. He stared down the stairwell as dark and gloomy as a storm cloud.

  One that was threatening to break.

  Yesterday’s work had been brutal, but productive. They’d shot all the ‘before’ segments, showing the scope of the barren rooftop canvas they would be working with, and overnight construction fairies had come in and laid the entire space with a chequerboard of timbers and subterranean drainage to help keep the tonne of introduced soil on the rooftop from becoming waterlogged.

  They’d captured that work in time-lapse, so that there’d be no illusions that it was an easy job, but for the production crew the hard work started now.

  Dan roamed the set, thinking about how long it had been since he’d been hands-on in production. Or since he’d worked outdoors. It felt good.

  Really good.

  The stairwell door opened and Ava and Brant emerged from below, kidding around with a sound technician and entirely relaxed at the start of the day. But the moment her eyes found his they dulled and the gorgeous smile faltered.

  Damn. He’d done that. He’d done exactly what he’d promised James Lange he’d never do.

  Hurt Ava.

  Twice. And now he’d been complicit in setting her up with a lech. The worst possible type of man for her. Okay, the second worst possible type of man. Maddox had yet to paw her in her own front garden. Dan glared at the blond pretty-boy and the way he smiled at Ava.

  Give him time…

  On a curse, he marched over to where Ava poured coffee from the makeshift servery. ‘Ava. Can I have a minute?’ he barked at her.

  She fumbled the coffee she was pouring, and then placed it down carefully before turning to him. Silent. Not giving an inch. He probably deserved at least that. The caterer raised his eyebrows and turned politely away, but Dan knew he wouldn’t miss a thing. He drew her away from prying ears.

  ‘About Maddox and you…’ The rest hung awkwardly.

  Ava raised her eyebrows, clearly impatient. He instantly felt about eight years old, facing his father. The man with a special talent for making a boy feel stupid. But on this occasion he was doing just fine on his own.

  ‘The two of you are…getting on well.’ He struggled to pull the frost from his voice

  Ava shook her head and took a deep breath. ‘Yes, we are. Isn’t that what all the rewrites have been about? Building rapport?’

  ‘On screen, Ava. Not off.’

  Her sharp mind raced. ‘There is no “off screen” with Brant and I. What are you accusing me of?’

  ‘I’m not accusing you. I’m just reminding you. I don’t want any interpersonal issues affecting production.’ You stinking hypocrite, Arnot.

  Ava glared at him. ‘Brant’s not the man you seem to think—’

  ‘I know exactly what kind of man he is. He’s not the right sort for you.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Sparks practically shot from her eyes. ‘And what kind of man is right for me?’

  ‘Someone who challenges you. Someone with half a brain.’

  ‘Only half? You flatter me.’ She shot him a contemptuous look and turned to walk away.

  ‘Don’t.’ He reached out and spun her towards him. The caterer abandoned all pretence of not listening in. Dan pulled her entirely out of earshot. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

  She blazed at him. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I’ve done something to you that you weren’t a willing party to. You kissed me back.’

  ‘I thought your plan was just to pretend that never happened?’

  ‘It happened, and my bet is we’ve both been thinking about it,’ he said.

  ‘But not talking about it, apparently.’

  ‘What’s to talk about? It was a mistake.’

  Doe eyes rounded in her pale face. ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘You’re Steve’s little sister—not to mention you’re the talent on my show. And we have history.’ He stacked the excuses so high he could hardly see over them. ‘You and I hooking up was never going to be anything but inappropriate.’

  ‘Inappropriate? That’s a very politically correct way of putting it.’

  ‘You want me to say mistake again?’

  Colour roared into her face. ‘The kind of man that suits me or doesn’t is none of your business, Daniel Arnot,’ she raged. ‘My relationship with Brant is also none of your business. AusOne’s bought my face and my expertise. Nothing more. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’ She twisted free and marched off towards the rest of the crew.

  A choice curse crossed his lips.

  He’d stuffed that up royally. All he’d wanted to do was warn her, take some of the wind out of Maddox’s sails. His gut was festering like an ulcer watching them together. Smiling at each other, sharing private jokes. Sharing private anything.

  It galled him almost as much to watch it as it did to know that she was playing right into the network’s hands. What had happened to the professional self-respect she had gone on about? He’d barely had to give her a nudge and she was falling right in with a sleaze like Maddox. So easy.

  Dan frowned. Ava wasn’t easy. The woman was pure hard work.

  Despite what they’d shared three nights ago, Dan knew in his heart that it wasn’t her style to sleep with someone on the first date—it hadn’t even been a date, he had to remind himself—so she wasn’t about to go tumbling into bed with Maddox.

  Not straight away, anyway.

  But later? When she’d got to know him a little? Would she remain blind to the real man beneath the glamour? The man who liked his women fast and free? Who left them even faster? Just the thought of Maddox’s hands on Ava’s body made his skin burn. He unclenched his balled fists and glanced at the red welts across his palm where his nails had cut in.

  Not Ava.

  He felt like a fraud. Pushing Ava towards Maddox with one hand and pulling her away with the other. He’d jeopardised his job, just now, trying to warn her off. But he’d underestimated her tenacity and her loyalty. Or maybe he’d underestimated Maddox and his skill. Either way, the result was the same.

  Maddox one, Arnot nil.

  Damn.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THERE were less than ten minutes to crunch time. The first show of the new season was airing across Australia at seven-thirty p.m. Ava kept telling herself it didn’t matter if she did well—that it wasn’t important to excel, she only had to be reasonable. Maintaining her professional credibility was what was important, and the designs. Not being the world’s best television presenter.

  But another part of her wanted to do well. For herself and for Dan, if she was being honest, to help make the show the success he so desperately wanted it to be. She was still mad with him, furious that he’d brought Brant into the stupid mixed-up mess that was their friendship, but despite all that her lingering feelings for him still drove her to do well for his sake.

  Lingering, Ava? Or returning?

  Dan entered the crowded bar on the ground floor of AusOne and, judging by his suit, he’d come straight down from his office. He scanned the room immediately, until his eyes
met hers for less than a heartbeat before he looked away. But his room-scanning ceased. He immediately became engaged in conversation with a few of the mid-level executive types from the network.

  She fought her natural inclination to think he might have been looking for her. Probably gearing up for battle. The past few days had been uncomfortable enough—avoiding each other’s eyes, the stony silences.

  ‘Nervous?’ Carrie, resplendent in a peacock-blue skirt and with the sensational make-up you would expect of a professional, shoved a glass of juice into Ava’s hand as she slid into the booth next to her. Ava regretted her choice of a simple summer dress and not even eye make-up.

  ‘It feels weird to be worrying about anything more than how the design comes across on television.’

  ‘The design and you will both be fabulous.’ Carrie squeezed her arm.

  ‘I hate this part.’ A bright-eyed Brant slid into the booth beside Ava, then waved Carrie around to his other side. ‘If we go down in flames then I’d like to do it sandwiched between two beautiful women.’

  Carrie laughed and obliged, shuffling over to Brant’s left. ‘Nice suit,’ she said to him, sipping her drink innocently.

  ‘Spotless, you’ll notice.’

  Their typical banter helped take her mind off the moment to come. She looked at her watch and swallowed. Two minutes to launch. Dan moved to stand under the widescreen television and called for hush.

  ‘In just over sixty seconds the second season of Urban Nature will hit living rooms all over the country,’ he announced. ‘Advance audiences have liked it, some have loved it, but we’ve all seen shows rate well on test and then sink on air.’

  Ava swallowed. He looked so calm, utterly confident. She knew he had to be anything but, and her heart went out to him. She reined it in.

  ‘This won’t be one of them. We’ve pulled a good show together, folks.’ He raised his beer in salute. ‘To all of you who’ve worked so hard, and to what we hope will be AusOne’s biggest new hit…to Urban Nature.’