by MK Meredith
“But I think you are.”
She sighed. “Of all the arrogant—”
“Let’s cut to the chase. Your house is perfect for our film and within budget. We want it for twelve weeks. We’ll pay you monthly rent per diem and put you up in a local hotel of your choice to save you any unnecessary inconvenience.”
Interest flared. They were offering more than rent? But it wouldn’t be enough to save her, and the last thing she wanted was to be saved by the institution that hurt her in the first place. She lifted her chin. “Like I said—”
“You need this, Miss Dekker,” he stated gently.
Her jaw dropped open and worked silently for a second. “Why…what in the world would make you think that?”
“It’s simple. Foreclosure.”
She’d never moved so fast in her life. He wasn’t staying one more second in her house. Pure panic fueled her attempts to yank him up by the arm, and thankfully, something human in him let her do it. She all but shoved him out the front door, closing it in his face just in time.
If he knew, did her parents know?
She couldn’t let them find out. They already thought she was immature and rash. Losing the home left to her by Aunt Addi would only prove them right.
The dam broke. All the fears, the heartache, and the failure she’d been reining in over the last few weeks poured out in a waterfall of disappointment.
Through her snot and tears, she managed to call Chase.
Like always, Chase said she’d be there in five. Making her way back to her kitchen, Addi paced the length of the room, swearing and sniffing with every step. Grabbing an éclair from the counter, she shoved the end into her mouth and took a bite twice as big as she could handle. A bit of custard dropped to her sweatshirt.
“Really?” she mumbled with a slump of her shoulders. Closing her eyes, she drew in a calming breath through her nose. Scooping up the creamy filling from her shirt, she held it on the end of her finger while she struggled to chew and flopped down into the chair Roque had occupied minutes before.
Finally able to swallow, she licked the custard and took another bite. This time with a little more care.
She didn’t like feeling this way. Angry. Stressed. She was the vivacious one, the life of the party. Always a big proponent of the “Save the drama for your mama” mantra. But apparently, not today.
The doorbell screeched, sending Addi into an accompanying slew of swear words. Grabbing a napkin, she worked at the sticky chocolate on her fingers as she made her way to the door.
Chase Huntington breezed in, bringing the Caribbean with her. Addi’d swear her friend had stuffed her bra with mangoes and cocoa butter she smelled so good. Chase stopped with cartoonlike precision upon spotting Addi, and her eyes all but popped out of her head. “What happened to you?”
Addi glanced down at herself. Her charcoal off-the-shoulder sweatshirt along with her calf-length yoga pants, smeared with custard and chocolate, spoke of her turmoil.
She gave Chase a once-over. Her ebony pixie shined like cut glass, reminding Addi of Halle Berry’s famous style. She was impeccably dressed, as always, in a burnt orange thigh-skimming sheath dress. Addi hated her but only for a second and only in the way a best friend could hate one of her favorite people in the world.
She and Chase had been close ever since they joined forces to unseat their bully of a cheerleading captain in high school. The merger had proven beneficial. Better, in fact—they were soul sisters.
“Damn Hollywood, that’s what.”
Chase followed Addi back to the kitchen, humor in her low, raspy voice. “No seriously. Love, you look like a toddler given a beater with chocolate icing.”
Addi rolled her eyes and washed at the sink. Drying her hands with a towel, she turned and leaned back against the counter. “I need to call a vault.” When they agreed to a vault, no matter what each thought, they’d never breathe a word of it to anyone.
Chase’s brows shot up. “Really? This is serious.” She lowered to a chair at the table and crossed her legs.
Addi sniffed and wiped her nose. “Love the shoes.”
Chase stretched her legs out in front of her, turning a strappy gold sandaled foot side to side. “Aren’t they amazing? On sale, too.”
Chase didn’t need to worry about sales as the oldest heir to The Huntington Place legacy, a string of high-end hotels that spanned the globe. But her father had taught her to be frugal. Chase was a perfectionist and worked hard at everything she took on—always the consummate businesswoman.
Addi, on the other hand, needed a good sale. She wrinkled her nose. On second thought, she needed to stay away from spending any money, period.
Sliding her plate of éclairs across the table, she offered one to Chase. She lowered into the chair on the opposite side of the table, smiled at her friend’s upturned nose, and grabbed another gooey delight.
“Don’t judge. I’ve had a rough morning.”
Chase frowned. “You didn’t drink much at the wedding last night.”
Addi shook her head. “I don’t have a hangover. Remember…vaulted.”
Chase made the motion of turning a lock at her lips. “Vaulted.”
Addi took another bite of her éclair, on the way to making herself good and sick at this rate. Maybe she was just like a toddler. Exactly what she worked so hard at proving to her family she wasn’t, and why she had to fix this mess she found herself in.
The muscles in the back of her neck tightened like a vise under the import of her dire situation. “The bungalow’s in threat of foreclosure.”
Chase’s eyes shot wide. “What? Addi.”
Addi dropped her head into her hands. “I know, I know,” she groaned.
“Oh honey, how did this happen? I thought the bungalow was yours outright.”
“It was, but I couldn’t pay the taxes. In order to take care of that, I mortgaged the house. But then I got behind on paying that, too, and they denied a loan modification. So now, foreclosure. I have thirty days to pay the lump sum. But that’s just the beginning.”
“What about the money from your ghostwriting?”
“Gone.”
Chase sat forward in her chair, worry creasing her brow. “How?”
Addi threw her hands up. “Malibu. It’s expensive. The money from writing the book and the loan didn’t last as long as I thought. The manuscript that I’d had that amazing offer on was unpublishable after Gallagher Studios released their Box Office hit Heart Break.”
Chase tapped her lip. “And you’re sure there’s no way to prove they stole it?”
“Not if I want any chance at a career in writing. The industry is small, and if I don’t win, I’d be ruined. That damn snake from my critique group knew exactly what he was doing. Having a studio employee scout critique groups was a brilliant plan. I’ll give them that.”
She waved her hand around the room. “Property tax is a bitch, and the other writing contracts I thought were as good as mine fell through. I was so sure of myself when I quit my job three years ago. But this industry is brutal and moves at a glacier’s pace.”
Shoving the empty plate away, Addi bit her lip. “But I can’t go back. I’ve got to make this work, Chase. I have to. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve never felt more myself than when I’m writing.” She shook her head. “I have to figure this out, and I can’t under any circumstances tell my family. I already owe them money, and if they hear about this, they’ll force me to move back in with them. They already think I can’t handle being a homeowner.”
Chase opened her mouth, then closed it. She grabbed Addi’s hand across the table and held it. “You might have to.”
“No. No way. They’d never let me live it down. I know they love me, but not one of them thought I’d made a good decision when I left corporate America. My mom told me it would only be a matter of time before I’d be moving back in. And I don’t think they ever believed me about the movie. The Gallagher’s are some of their closest fri
ends. Besides, she’d always told me I was too trusting. It was as humiliating as it was devastating.”
“Love, I really think you don’t give them enough credit.”
“No, they don’t give me enough. My parents, Luca and Sam, they’ve all coddled me since the day I was born. They never think I can handle anything on my own. When my ex said I was too immature and left, their help all but suffocated me. My mom made appointments for me with a life coach, for Christ’s sake. Can you imagine?”
Chase reached across the table and patted her hand.
Addi continued. “‘To help you figure things out, dear,’ she would say. But I knew it was because she thought there was some validity to his reason for leaving me. He was a selfish, cheating asshole, but I was the immature one. I can’t go through that again. If I go running to them now, it will only prove everything they’ve been saying all along. I need to be the one to fix this.” She closed her eyes.
Standing, Addi stretched and sighed once her neck cracked, releasing some of the tension in her muscles. She walked over to the French doors that led to her backyard and opened them wide. Past noon, the sun warmed the ocean breeze and strengthened the botanical scents floating in from the garden. She breathed it in—an immediate salve.
Her bungalow didn’t grace the sandy coast but, instead, perched high on a hill, giving her the most glorious view of the ocean sunsets. She’d never have been able to afford her home if it hadn’t been left to her by her namesake. Hell, she couldn’t afford it now. But she’d truly believed she could handle the property tax and her expenses if she budgeted her funds carefully and landed a publishing contract. Finally.
But it had been three years without a sustainable paycheck. “I just need more time.” Turning back to Chase, she put her hands out, palms up. “I know I can make it as a novelist once I break in. It’s the initial foot in the door that’s the hard part.”
Chase got up from the table and busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee. “I’m assuming, by your tone, you won’t come stay with me?”
“No, my family would suspect something was up.”
“Well, love, you need to come up with a plan then.” Stopping, Chase turned, pressing a box of coffee filters to her chest.
“Yes, I do.” Addi nodded. Noting the concern in her friend’s eyes, she gave her a hug, crushing the filters between them. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure this out. I need to prove to everyone, myself included, that I’m okay on my own.”
Chase sighed. “What about your old job?”
Addi drew her brows together. Chase never was one to overlook any option. “It took up so much of my life I never got to write. So much overtime. Even if I wanted to, that position was filled a long time ago. But clearly, I need to do something.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
Addi plopped back into a chair at the table, biting her lip. “The film company Roque is working with wants to rent the bungalow.”
“Addi, that’s great.”
“But it’s not enough, and it’s the same people who hurt me.”
Chase sighed. “I know it was painful, but you’re hiding behind the anger of what they did and all the other ‘Hollywood’ stuff, love. Sam doesn’t seem to be suffering now. She just married Gage Cutler. How much more Hollywood can you get than that? There isn’t a woman in the world who isn’t green with envy.”
Rolling her eyes, Addi slouched in her chair. “Don’t I know it. I’m one of them. Have you seen the man?”
Chase laughed. “In person and in my dreams.” She grabbed clean coffee cups from the cupboard with a sideways glance. “I also saw too-hot-to-be-legal Roque Gallagher.”
Addi’s brows shot up.
“He didn’t steal your manuscript, Love.”
“But he worked for a studio who condoned it.”
“I’d still shag him.”
“Exactly. The last thing I need is a distraction of that proportion. I have to figure out my shit first.” Addi rubbed her neck.
“You’re famous for inviting trouble where it’s not wanted. This doesn’t have to be hard. Take the opportunity that presents itself. Let them pay you back in a way.”
“Even with the rent, I don’t think it would be enough. With the per diem maybe, but—”
She tapped her chin, thinking.
A vision of Roque saying “Foreclosure” popped into Addi’s mind. She blinked back her tears.
“Okay. So what do you need?” Chase asked.
If only the rent, including the per diem and the hotel, totaled the sum she owed on the house. Then she might just be able to swing it. Addi accepted the offered cup of coffee and stared into the dark-roasted brew.
An idea took shape in her mind so preposterous her first reaction was a resounding “No.”
I couldn’t. Could I?
She sat forward and looked at Chase. As she took a sip from her mug, the idea took shape.
Pushing away from the table, she wandered back to the French doors and stared at nothing. At everything. She loved Malibu. Her home had a view of the ocean miles long, a little slice of paradise. Quaint with shabby-chic old-world charm and tropical accents. Warm and cozy and perfect. Nothing quite as modern and upscale as Sam’s condo. But it suited Addi’s taste of having one foot in the past while holding a coconut.
Whatever it took to make her dream happen, she’d do it. She had no qualms about using Hollywood like they used everyone else. Living in Malibu gave her a bird’s-eye view of all the backstabbing and lying that went on. She’d seen more friends spiral out of control, more of them lose in Hollywood than win. Her sister successfully finding her way was no small miracle.
Now she was presented with the perfect opportunity. The studio who stole from her was knocking at her door. Maybe it was time to let them in.
“I owe eighteen thousand for two years of taxes I mortgaged and a little extra padding I added since I was refinancing, and I need maybe another two grand for living expenses for right now. Which will allow me to keep my home. Aunt Addi’s home.” Pressure built behind her eyes.
She bit her lip as an uncomfortable sensation wiggled its way between her shoulder blades, chasing the tail of her plan. Technically her idea was a bit on the deceitful side, but losing her aunt’s home would be worse. Besides, she wasn’t stealing, she was taking back what was owed to her. And it was from Hollywood and the studio, not Roque himself. Tinseltown was known for being wasteful. They wouldn’t miss it. And Roque would technically still get what he paid for, and so would she.
“But the property taxes will be due again soon, and when filming is over, you’re still going to need a way to support yourself. I hate to say it, but as much as you don’t want to go back to corporate America, you need a job.” Chase reminded her.
She didn’t want to do anything but write, but this was reality, not the movies. The next best thing would be something fairly flexible, and she needed an excuse to still be around her home during filming in order to carry out her plan.
Tapping her chin, she stared at Chase as she mulled over all the facts.
Chase winced. “Oh, I don’t like the look on your face, love. It’s never brought anything but trouble.”
Addi’s mouth spread into a slow smile. “You said I need a job. And I’m saying I need Mr. Gallagher’s number.”
Chapter 2
Roque questioned his sanity like a man on the brink of matrimony as he hung up and set his phone carefully on his desk. Pulling in a breath, he slid his hands into the front pockets of his slacks and looked out his office window. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on, and yesterday. One hint that someone on his team was falling short, and his backers would run. He couldn’t afford silly mistakes. They cost money. And the bulk of his savings was sunk into this project.
He literally couldn’t afford to fail. Especially now. After all the work he’d done to finally get to this point. After everything he missed out on by being away—his one last connection to his mothe
r. To top it off, an investor hadn’t returned his calls, and he’d been waiting on a check for the past few weeks.
With a sigh, he dropped his head back. He’d been accused of being a workaholic more than once, but he saw it more as having standards and refusing to stop until things were done right. Standards that would make him successful—without counting on the weight of the Gallagher name built by his father and uncle, two of the top directors in Hollywood. Unfortunately, those same standards often came with a consequence. But he was determined his success wouldn’t happen because he was a Gallagher but because he was a damned talented producer.
“What’s going on?” His locations manager, Jimmy Callahan, asked as he placed a folder on the desk.
Roque snapped his head up. “Nothing’s available. At least nothing that meets the requirements for the film. How is that possible?” He forced his jaw to relax, easing the burning ache climbing up the sides of his head.
“The place on Coral Canyon?” Jimmy’s brow furrowed in question.
“Nope.”
Jimmy shook his head. “But I’d already scoped it out. If we needed it, everything was good to go.”
“That’s what I can’t understand. Every place that remotely meets the needs of the film is now unavailable.”
“And the Dekker woman’s bungalow?”
The mere hint of Addi, and the rhythmic clenching of his jaw took off all on its own. He didn’t know how, but he was going to persuade her to rent him her place. He had to. Besides, she needed his help. And what the hell was that bit about stealing her place?”
He thought back to the feisty, sassy woman at the wedding. Once his initial shock of her bold move settled, he’d joined in on the fun. He didn’t like playing games, but if he was pushed into it, he played to win. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Asking around had revealed a bit about the spoiled youngest Dekker sibling. Loud and shocking were two adjectives reported to him time and again.
Never before interested in Disney, he’d found she had a striking resemblance to Tinker Bell, if Tink was a tall, lithe smart-mouth with curves. Asking her out had been a search for some fun, the thought of an entertaining, light-hearted distraction before diving into his next project. But when she unaccountably said no, he’d been rather intrigued. It would have been safer had he felt rejected. Rejection was easy to walk away from, but intrigue, on the other hand, continued to gnaw and demand until its hunger was satiated—and damn it, he’d been hungry.