by MK Meredith
Roque studied her again in that unsettling way of his. She feared he could see the lies like a headline running across her forehead. It was her turn to shift in her seat in the face of his endless silence.
Without warning, his hand shot out, grabbed the edge of her chair, and pulled her toward him, the grating of wood on wood loud in the quiet hum of morning. Her breath seized in her lungs as she grabbed onto the edges of the chair to keep from falling, her hand closing over his larger one, his heat warming her palm. Roque’s nose inches from her own, he narrowed his eyes to twin blue slivers.
Her gaze slipped to his lips—big mistake. Her mouth watered. What was wrong with her?
“What are you up to?”
She swore her heart stopped. Did he know? No, he couldn’t. Studying him a beat longer, she outright laughed. “You don’t trust people easily, do you? Nothing’s going on.” She flicked her gaze to his mouth, then back to his eyes.
He stilled, and her body tightened. God, the man was delicious. “Don’t you think it’ll be more fun if we get along?” She gave his hand a slight squeeze.
He held her gaze then broke into a grin. After a pause, he slid his hand from under hers and leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got a point. And unfortunately for you, after introducing us to your coffee, no one else is allowed near the coffee press.”
Addi struggled to hide the enormous relief his words produced. When her shoulders wanted to sag, she pulled them back. She slowly controlled her exhale. Freaking out about him finding out what she was really doing was exhausting. “I can live with that—besides, I can’t stomach anyone else’s coffee, anyway.”
Roque pushed back from the table, then took his cup over to the sink, rinsing it and setting it on the counter before turning to face her. Thank God. That ass was a distraction. She bit her lower lip and dragged her gaze back to his face.
He raised a brow. “I’ve got work to do. Jimmy, the location manager, is going downtown to get permission to mark off a portion of the road out front for tomorrow’s shoot.”
She stood, pushing in her chair as she straightened. “Perfect, I’ll go with him. Catering is set up for tomorrow, but I need to handle today, so I need to stop at the store. Good with you, boss?”
Roque stepped close, and besides the pulse throbbing in the side of his neck, she couldn’t even tell he breathed for how still he stood. “I like the sound of that.”
She played with the button over his sternum. “Oh, I could get used to it, too. Under the right circumstances.”
His eyes widened for the briefest of seconds before he wrapped his hand around hers, releasing it at her side with a chuckle. “Behave.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” She bit her lip with a grin.
Roque’s teeth flashed white as he returned a smile more predator than prey. Yes, she’d have to remember to be careful with this one.
“One more thing, I’ll need you to assist with securing clearances for a few copyright materials. The list is in the folder I gave you.” He headed out to greet the crew who clamored through the front door. It always sounded like a frat house when they were all in attendance.
Addi couldn’t help but watch him go.
An alarm sounded in her head, and for the second time that day, she was jerked out of dreamland. A dream as vivid as any blockbuster movie.
And damn it if Roque Gallagher didn’t have the starring role.
She blinked. What had he said? Secure copyright materials? How the hell was she supposed to do that? Grabbing her laptop, she typed in “secure copyright materials” then clicked enter.
Her heart stopped. If there was a film clip which also included a soundtrack, or a scene in which a notable painting could be seen hanging on the wall, or any other similar use of copyrighted materials, she’d need to gain the licenses from the music publisher, music performer, the painting’s rights holder. She placed a shaking hand to her forehead. No problem. Days had twenty-four hours built into them for a reason. Who needed sleep?
A short time later, Addi waited in the car poring over the list of needed copyright materials while Jimmy took care of a few things. The courthouse and sheriff’s department were a stone’s throw from the Country Mart, Malibu’s seaside version of a city center.
After Jimmy procured the necessary permits, they stopped at the bank.
Addi took her check inside just to make sure it deposited with no issues. As she signed her name to the back of the check and handed it to the teller, the weight she’d been carrying lightened a bit.
She’d done it. She was saving her home. For now. The small nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her of how much more she had to do before she secured it, but she shoved it aside. She needed this victory, this moment to celebrate. It was a huge step in the right direction.
With a skip in her step, she followed Jimmy into the coffee shop, then back outside onto the patio, disappointing a few fans when she announced she was not, in fact, the actress Jaime Pressly, and took a chair across from him.
Jimmy’s low chuckle followed the fallen spirits of the two young men. “That happen often?”
“More than I’d like. If I made that kind of money, I wouldn’t need this gig.”
He nodded. “I can see it though, quite striking actually.”
“Yeah? Find me her kind of work then.” Addi grinned and watched all the comings and goings around them.
She adored Malibu. She loved the hills that shot up to the east and the exhilarating expanse of the ocean to the west as if protecting her little slice of paradise from the rest of the world. The combination of salty ocean air and fresh green earth always made her think of paradise.
Everywhere she looked, shoppers were out and about, filling their bags and emptying their wallets. A few families played in the park or took pictures with Mr. Hammer, or as she liked to call him, Mr. Tush, a huge metal sculpture of a hammer with a happy presence and a cute perky butt. Malibu was her home as much as her bungalow was, and she vowed she’d keep them both.
Jimmy took a sip of his coffee, his tattooed bicep bunching tight, then raised the mug in salute. “Delicious. Almost as good as yours.”
She smiled. “Brownie points for you.” Sipping from her own cup, her grin broadened with his deep chuckle. Jimmy was a big guy with dark hair that always looked as if he was a week overdue for a haircut and scruff that he kept edged and groomed. He looked more like a hot biker than a location manager. Apparently, he’d always wanted to act, but as soon as the cameras started rolling, he’d discovered that he didn’t. So working on films was the next best thing until he could make a living from his photography. A man of many talents.
Addi had liked him right off. Upon introduction, she’d raised up on tiptoe and swung her arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. “You got good taste, Gallagher.”
Jimmy’s grin had practically glowed as Roque had rolled his eyes.
They’d been immediate friends. He helped her figure out some of her responsibilities, and she made him coffee upon his every request. The better deal fell into her court as far as she was concerned because the man had skills and knowledge.
His eyes followed a pair of well-developed, or purchased, tushes encased in yoga pants across the parking lot as he spoke. “You’re coming along.”
Addi watched with him. She was no hater and a fan of yoga pants herself. Her bottom never looked so good as when propped up by spandex. “It’s only been three days, but I’m learning. I need the extra cash, so I don’t want to screw up anything. But I need to do a bit more research on the industry. When you all start talking shop, it sounds like a different language to me.” The list she had waiting for her made her shudder.
“Roque has high standards. But it isn’t only all about his project. He takes care of his people. When a job’s done right, he says so. I’ve worked for plenty of people who’d rather choke on their own arrogance than say a kind word. If he was one of ‘em, I wouldn’t be here.”
Addi�
��s phone chirped. Digging through odds and ends, she pulled it from her bag, fumbling to turn it right side up. “Crap, crap, crap.” She stared at the email notification. Re: Blue Winged Press.
Her stomach clamped down as if spring-loaded, and she straightened in her seat against the pressure.
Jimmy tilted his head. “Everything okay?”
Addi twitched her head in a quick no. “Email from the publisher I’d submitted to.”
“Open it.”
Addi sighed. “If it were good news they’d have called. Maybe.”
Leaning forward, Jimmy squeezed her shoulder. “It’s all part of the process; open it, get it over with…then keep writing. Right?”
She flicked her eyes to his, then opened the email. A quick scan confirmed what she already knew. They loved her voice; she had great characters—but—there was always a but.
With a heavy heart, she pulled in a breath and closed the email. She laid the phone on the table and glanced out to the hills. Maybe she could get lost in them, some place where no one could find her, some place she could lick her wounds. It didn’t matter how many times it happened. Every “no” was a knife in the chest. Every “no” pushed her dream further from her grasp and made her question why she thought she had a right to be successful in such a finicky industry.
Jimmy cleared his throat. “You okay?”
Addi blinked back the tears that stung behind her lids. “Yes, sucks, but I’ll be fine. Like you said, all part of the process.”
She had more submissions out, more chances for a “yes” but more for a “no” as well. She dreaded the potential for pain more than she relished the excitement of a “yes,” probably because one seemed more likely than the other. Quitting wasn’t an option, but damn if the thought didn’t dance about her head with every rejection. Welcome to the world of writing, Addi.
He nodded. “Keep moving forward.”
Addi lifted her chin and smiled. Moving forward, yes, the only thing she could do. Move forward with her writing, saving her home, and proving to her family she could take care of herself. “Absolutely.” Which was why she needed to keep this job through the end of filming. How else would she have the access she needed to her house to keep living there without anyone finding out?
“Come on, we need to get back.”
Jimmy paused, cup midway to his mouth. “What’s the rush?”
“I need this job for quite a few reasons. I need to show him what I’m made of.”
A short time later, Addi flew from the truck before Jimmy had come to a full stop, anxiety pushing her to move. There was nothing she could do at the moment about her rejection, but she could tackle lunch.
Rounding to the tailgate, she lowered it then grabbed her grocery bags, three to each arm.
Jimmy came around to join her. “Here, let me get those.”
She jerked her chin toward the open bed. “Just close the tailgate for me. Thanks.”
The front door flew open, and Roque crowded the entrance. “Need a hand?”
She threw him a smile, then nudged past him. “Nope, just get out of my way. These are heavy.” Her arms burned with effort, and she needed to set her load down before she dropped it all.
Once in the kitchen, she place her assortment of fresh produce and deli goods on the counter and got to work.
“I could have helped,” Roque said, stepping beside her at the counter.
“I’ve got my job; you’ve got yours. Go do it.” Blowing her bangs from her forehead, she forced herself to focus. Slice, chop, dice, repeat.
He watched her work for a moment longer then left her with a nod. She could handle her work, needed to handle her work. His offer to help was kind, but he couldn’t do his job if he was helping her figure out hers. If Addi did anything right in the next few months, it would be her position as his assistant. With her little plan, it was the least she could do. She placed a hand to her forehead, surprised by her own clammy touch.
Addi washed her hands, then stacked sandwiches on a platter. Balancing two trays, she headed through the French doors to the tables that were set up in the backyard for lunch.
The last thing she needed was to give the man any reason to fire her from the set, especially right after they’d become sort-of friends. It would be a hell of a lot harder to see her brilliant plan through to the end without her job, and seeing it through to the end was non-negotiable. If there’d been any question before, her rejection solidified it. No writing contract meant no money, and no money meant her plan to make Gallagher Studios pay her back was the only way to save her home.
Chapter 6
Roque watched Addi work throughout lunch. Efficient and precise, filling plates, producing sauces and dips at a moment’s notice, even fresh-baked cookies. When the hell had she baked cookies? Not one request for help or one hesitation in her step. That was work he admired.
She was a force, one he’d felt from the beginning.
As he watched her move about, he couldn’t help but admire what he saw. Her red-encased derriere called out to his hands, and just a hint of cleavage taunted him from the opening of her blouse. Her severe hairstyle had him itching to pull it or release it and muss it up; he wasn’t sure which—the hell he didn’t. A vision of her leaning over him, breasts swaying, her hair a wild halo around her face, had him shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Fuck.
Oh, he’d pull it, too, but that would be from a different position.
He shook his head and furtively looked about. If only he could get past their conversation this morning. He’d been surprised to find her already on set and ready to go. Coffee for him, no less. She did have a familiarity and a stake in the project since it was her house, so maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised.
Her teasing had been torture, the minx, but the anxiety that peeked through her defiant gaze nagged at him. He usually had a good sense for when people were hiding something from him.
Usually.
The familiar pain rolled into his chest and settled like lead in his gut. Suddenly not hungry, he pushed away the plate of remaining food.
“Are you okay?”
Addi’s concerned voice broke through his memory. He flexed fingers stiff from being clenched into tight fists. Clearing his throat, he glanced up into her wary gaze. “Yeah, yeah, just thinking.”
She extended a plate toward him. “Cookies help.” She shifted from one foot to the other in his silence.
He glanced at her, taking in the sincerity on her face. Remembering the plate of éclairs on her kitchen counter, he had no doubt she believed every word. He grabbed one. “Thank you.”
Looking away and then back to him, she pointed toward the house, then picked up his plate. “I’m going to get everything cleaned up. The crew’s inside.”
He nodded once and took a bite, almost sighing when the warm chocolate melted on his tongue. “Great work today.”
Tilting her head, she hesitated and then beamed. “Jimmy was right.”
Without a clue what she was talking about, he remained silent and soothed his raw emotions by watching her walk away. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.
Lowering his head to one side, then the other, in an attempt to ease his stiff neck and strained muscles, he shoved down his cynical thoughts. Maybe it was the importance of his project. If he were ever going to get out of his father’s and uncle’s shadow, this was it. But not everyone wanted to see him succeed. There were more than a few people in the industry who were sick of the Gallagher monopoly. It seemed to him, if they put as much effort into trying to be successful themselves as they did in trying to see him fail, they’d already have made it.
He’d been putting out fires since day one with his casting director, who’d apparently been fed erroneous information about Roque and the family—something about his uncle misleading investors. Not even close to true, just the press trying to create a story where there was none. Little things, annoying things, but enough that Roque decided to keep a tight vig
ilance on the happenings with his crew. Then his investor had canceled lunch. He could only imagine it had something to do with the rumors. The phone had been stuck to his ear all morning, and he wished it would have been with good news at least one time.
But no matter, he’d find a way. Work harder, longer hours—whatever it took. As it was, he worked from sunup to sundown and sometimes well past night and into the morning, too. Hard work wasn’t what scared him.
The ringing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. Slipping it from his pocket, he glanced at the screen and stood up. “Fairmont. I’ve been waiting for your call.” Quick strides carried him through the house to the back guest room, and then he carefully closed the door. Silence filled the line as he sat down at the small antique desk. “Hello?”
“Mr. Gallagher, I’m really sorry but—
“Ms. Delaney?”
“Yes, sir. I—
A heavy stone settled in Roque’s gut with her stammer. “Be straight with me, Ms. Delaney.”
The silence screamed in his ear before the soft tone of her voice finally reached him. “Mr. Fairmont is pulling out, sir. He’s already handed the funds over to another project.”
“No, we have a contract. He’s legally obligated to—”
“He’s made up his mind. I’m sorry.”
“Motherfucker!” His phone flew out of his hand before he finished swearing, then landed on the carpet with a thud.
Roque stared at it, his ragged breaths burning through his chest. He supposed it was good his aim was off though the smashing of his phone against the wall would have felt so much better than the dull sound of it falling to the floor.
He could take the man to court. And he would. They had a signed contract—but by the time he’d be able to wring the money out of him, the film would already have stalled out, and his crew would have gone on to jobs that could actually pay them.