Impulse

by E. B. Walters

  An unfamiliar black SUV pulled out of her father’s driveway just as she entered the street running in front of their house. The driver, with a head built like a bullet, leered at her as they drove past. A shiver crawled up Jillian’s spine. New employees? Her father always employed a part-time guy to help drive the rig on long road trips or help Uncle Rowan assemble the equipment. Since he was out of commission, chances were he’d want someone on a permanent basis.

  A boy revved the engine of his motorcycle ahead and drew Jillian’s attention. Jillian hid a grin. Watching this would never get old.

  As far back as she could remember, kids on the block would try to impress her father with their biking skills. He’d give them pointers and warn them to be careful, but that was it. Finnegan Troupe never employed anyone outside the family to do stunts. Temp handymen and stunt coordinators like Chris, yes, but never stuntmen and stuntwomen.

  Jillian parked her bike beside Ricky’s and waved to the biker as he rode past. Using the open garage door, she entered the house. A voice drew her to the living room. Ricky. He was yelling something.

  Ricky was the bike expert. He’d taught her everything she knew about bikes—parts, performances, and how to modify them to suit her needs. He was also a hothead. Jillian wondered who he was yelling at now.

  “They came to the house, Cian. A bunch of thugs. One touched Sophia’s head. You bet I wanted to punch him. Why didn’t you or Dad tell me things were this bad?” Ricky asked.

  Jillian stopped and frowned. What did Ricky mean by things were bad?

  “What do you mean he didn’t want me to worry?” Ricky snapped, then grew quiet. He was the only one she could hear, which meant he was on the phone. “Since I got married? Fucking hell, Cian. I told him Ginger didn’t want a big wedding. Yeah, yeah, that’s beside the point now. I knew we were overextended when the Reno gig fell through, but he told me not to worry. The next thing I knew we had a new rig and the wall was upgraded, but to get in bed with Armenians like Petrosian is suicide. We have to do something.”

  So the troupe had been having problems for over a year, and Cian and Dad had never bothered to tell Ricky or her? Did Uncle Rowan know? Cian was their father’s right hand man. He could convince any officials to back up the troupe, organize a gig anywhere at the drop of a hat, and rally up employees.

  “How much do we owe?” he asked. “Three-fifty?”

  Jillian gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Three hundred and fifty grand? They couldn’t possibly pay all that back. What was her father thinking? Chances were he’d borrowed a lot less, but it had accrued interest.

  “Just what I overheard through the door,” Ricky said, his voice low and defeated. “They expect full payment in three months or they’ll take over the business and make us pay off the rest working for them.”

  My stomach dropped. They were the Fearless Finnegans, not some Armenian lapdogs.

  “Okay. I’ll join you guys after Elena comes home. What about Jill? Shouldn’t we contact her?”

  Yeah! Jillian inched closer.

  “Cian. No. Dude, we have to tell her,” Ricky added. “If she finds out that you left her out of the loop, she’ll go ballistic.” More silence. “Dad said that? I guess I’d forgotten about her mother. Still, if he sees how much she loves being back and the way she’s already drawing in a bigger crowd… Oh, I get it.”

  She hated the one-sided conversation. She could only guess what Cian was saying, and it pointed to Dad not wanting her involved.

  “No one is like her. I don’t care how or who you plan to replace her with. No one pulls moves the way Jill does.”

  Jillian sucked in a breath. If he’d reached out and decked her, the pain would not have been this unbearable. They planned to replace her?

  Her first instinct was to storm into the room, snatch the phone from Rick, and yell at Cian, but then she remembered her father was down the hall. He was the one calling the shots. Her fight was with him.

  Carefully, Jillian backed up, opened the side door leading to the garage, and slammed it shut. “I’m home. Where is everyone?” she called out.

  No, she wasn’t going to fight with her father, but she planned to make him change his mind.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lex pulled into the underground parking of Dublin Tower on Wilshire Boulevard, parked his bike, and speed dialed his secretary as he entered the elevator. She picked up before the doors closed.

  “Did you get the file?” he asked.

  “Yes. The studio e-mailed it, and I made copies,” she said. “Jillian Finnegan is a member of XS100, one of the top organizations for stuntwomen. They have a website with stats, pictures, and stunt reels. It might be easier to view her portfolio online.”

  “Thanks. Bring the file upstairs and e-mail me the link.”

  “The file is on your foyer desk.” There was reproach in her voice. “And I just sent the link.” Paula Watson had been with him for eighteen years and could anticipate his needs before he voiced them. She was also the only employee with access to the penthouse, his home away from home.

  His phone flashed with a new e-mail message. “Got it. Anything on her agent?”

  “Greg Underwood’s agency is in Glendale.”

  “Get him on the phone.”

  “I already tried. He’s meeting with a client outside the office and won’t be back for another hour. I told his people to return my call as soon as he gets back.”

  Lex had no intention of waiting around for some agent to fit him into his schedule. “Can I get there in half an hour?”

  “Not with the traffic, but Mathews is around and Rake’s people won’t mind if we use his helipad. Underwood Agency is only a block from Rake’s offices.”

  He and Rake went way back to college, parties, and easy lays. Now they were into more serious stuff. “Tell Mathews we’re leaving in”—Lex checked his watch—“thirty minutes.” That would give him time to shower and change. “Tell Cavendish and his team to be ready, too.” His legal team was used to dropping everything at his command. “Where’s Douglas?”

  “I just sent him out to pick up a few things. He should be back any minute.”

  He wanted to remind her that Douglas was his employee, not her personal errand boy, but the two of them had a special relationship he never understood and her silence said she wasn’t done. Paula never did anything foolish or they wouldn’t still be together.

  “I wasn’t going to ask, because you’d eventually tell me what was going on when you were ready, but I’m curious now. First you wanted information on the actresses, now a stuntwoman. What’s going on?”

  “It’s business.” Paula had been with Fitz-Valdez Real Estate when he started working there while he was still in college. Ten years his senior and resourceful, she used to scare the hell out of him. Now he couldn’t imagine his business without her. Her loyalty was the one thing he could count on, but this business with Jillian was… different.

  It was more than different. It was personal and private despite what he’d told Paula. He didn’t want anyone to know about his plans for Jillian. Lex’s eyes narrowed on the elevator numbers as he mentally went over their last meeting.

  The protective instinct toward her surprised him. Maybe it was the vulnerability he’d glimpsed in her eyes the moment she’d placed her hand in his. Or the way she’d trembled when he’d kissed her hand. The woman was a contradiction. Gutsy, yet vulnerable. If things went according to plan, no one would ever know how their relationship began.

  “Paula, cancel Cavendish. I won’t need him or his team after all.”

  The silence this time was longer. He could hear the wheels in her head turning. He rarely made a move without covering his bases, which meant his lawyers going through the contract with a fine-tooth comb. This was a first. But like he’d said, the situation with Jillian was special.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, Lex,” Paula said, speaking slowly as though choosing her words carefully, “but I hope you�
�re not doing something that would land us in jail. I took an oath to never testify against you.”

  Lex chuckled as the doors opened. He stepped out of the elevator and into his foyer. “No, Paula. It’s nothing that dire. And I don’t recall asking you to take an oath.”

  “No, you didn’t, but a woman a lot scarier than you did when she asked me to be your assistant.”

  His mother could be overly protective and equally outrageous. “Then I release you from the oath. I’m still officially out of the office, unless—”

  “Your family calls,” she finished. “Your mother called and wanted to make sure you will be making an appearance at her party on Saturday. To paraphrase her, you better be there or else she’ll bring the party to the penthouse. It’s big enough to accommodate her guests. She also doesn’t understand why you insist on staying in the city when you have a perfectly comfortable home and people to take care of you at the mansion.”

  Home was really the family estate in Palos Verdes. His mother was attached to it and none of his siblings had wanted the headache of its upkeep, so Lex had done what he always did and stepped up. He’d added a wing and made a few changes, which had pleased his mother, before taking up permanent residence.

  “I’ll call her.” He picked up the folder from the foyer desk and continued to the kitchen.

  “Speaking of home, your refrigerator is empty again except for bottled water, some white wine I’m sure I left there last year, and a carton of milk that expired weeks ago. Douglas will be there in a few minutes with some groceries. I gave him a list.”

  Lex rarely had meals at the penthouse, so Douglas rarely cooked except for an occasional breakfast.

  “Thank you.” Lex studied the kitchen and frowned. Something was off. “Paula? What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Mathews is headed to the helipad.”

  Had she rearranged his kitchen again? No, something was different. He had a keen sense of observation and knew when his personal space had been disturbed. Douglas never did anything without consulting him first, and Lex might not use his kitchen except to brew coffee, but…

  “Did you take my cappuccino maker?” he asked.

  “I was sure you wouldn’t notice,” she said. “Do you know how hard it is to buy a birthday gift for a man who has everything? This cappuccino maker, Lex, came from the bottom of my heart and you never use it. I’m keeping it.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” He preferred his coffee black, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. His sister and cousins loved their coffee smothered with milk and cream. “I love that machine.”

  “Oh, you do?”

  “Bring it back, Paula.” He grinned when she laughed and said she was on her way.

  Lex disconnected the call and studied the folder. Part of him wanted to open it and read everything about Jillian Finnegan. A resume didn’t give an insight into a person’s character. That was the kind of thing you learned as you got to know them, and he meant to get to know Jillian in every possible way. He also had a rule about doing a thorough background check on everyone he did business with, except this wasn’t business.

  Lex turned, walked to the coffee table, and dropped the folder on top of a pile of nature magazines. Anything he learned about Jillian Finnegan was going to come directly from her, not a resume.

  ~*~

  Jillian threw the keys in the tray by her door and kicked off her shoes. She started unbuttoning her shirt before she reached her bedroom. She was still hurt and… really, really pissed.

  She stood under the hot spray and swore, imagining her brothers cringing. She’d learned to curse from them, yet they acted like she was insane to copy them.

  Well, screw them!

  How dare they want to kick her out? They were supposed to stand up to their father. Be her champions. Even Ricky had said she was the best. She’d tried to guilt him into confessing, but he’d zipped out the door before she could say anything. Ricky could never keep a secret. Worse, her father had been asleep, leaving her no reason to linger by his bed.

  Why didn’t he want her back riding? What was he thinking borrowing money from seedy characters? She screamed in frustration.

  The shower didn’t make her feel better. She needed a plan, something that would make her father see that he needed her. Cash her stocks and bonds? Refinance her condo? She might get eighty. Maybe a hundred grand. But that wouldn’t be enough. Not by a long stretch. Chris had drilled into her to always save something for rainy days. In her line of business, sometimes it didn’t just rain. It poured. No stunts meant no pay. Or you could be on top of the world one minute, the next broken up like a China doll because some idiot stunt coordinator’s assistant made a mistake.

  No, she didn’t want to cash in her retirement monies even though she felt like she was in the middle of a hurricane. She needed more work. Shorter gigs with huge pay checks. She tried not to overlap jobs, but she could work evenings and on days when she wasn’t filming. Then there were weekends when they weren’t shooting at a location.

  She needed to talk to her agent.

  Yanking on a bathrobe, Jillian left the bathroom and bent over to pick up her jacket from the floor, almost slipping on the wooden surface. One of these days, she was going to carpet the whole place instead of using area rugs. The problem was she loved her love nest the way it was. Bold colors on the windows, pillows, and rugs. Candles and canopy bed curtains. It suited her. She plopped on top of her bed and removed her cell.

  She had missed a call from Greg. Nice. Maybe he already had something lined up for her. She got comfortable on her many pillows and swept a hand across the missed call.

  “I’m happy you called back, Jill,” Greg said. He was a fast talker, who got excited even over the smallest of parts and always saw a silver lining in every role, which made him a great agent. His firm had over a hundred clients, most of them kids.

  “That’s funny, G,” Jillian said. “I was just about to call you. What’s going on? Why are you whispering?”

  “Am I? Oh, okay.” His voice returned to normal. “I have a job for you. Something you can do while filming your present segments.”

  Jillian sat up. “No way. I was just thinking about that. What kind of job?”

  “Acting.”

  She sighed. “I’m trying to get away from acting, G. Doesn’t JLo or Beyoncé need a female security guard while in L.A.? Maybe an overindulgent pop star’s planning a birthday party and needs girls in bikinis to mud-wrestle? I need something that makes tons of money in the shortest amount of time.”

  He laughed nervously. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “What do you think? People see me and assume I’m a defenseless female, until I disarm them. And don’t say I can’t handle a real gun because I’m licensed to pack, and I can dismantle and put one back together faster than most security guards these movie stars employ.”

  Greg groaned. “Yeah, I’ve heard about the way you pass time at the set. Quit showing off and listen, Jill. We have a new client. Terms are negotiable, and the hours are flexible. The best part is he’s willing to work around your schedule.”

  “You had me at a new client.”

  “The guy doesn’t make a move without a slew of lawyers, yet he flew out to Glendale personally to discuss you. I’m not too thrilled that he’s taken over my office and has my secretary running around doing his bidding, but your portfolio must have impressed him because he wants to work with you and no one else.”

  Jillian grinned. He must have heard about her mad skills. “Is Chris on board? You know I don’t work with any stunt coordinator except him.”

  “I told him the same thing, but he said you won’t need Chris.”

  She frowned. “What kind of gig is it?”

  “He won’t tell me.” Greg sounded pouty. He went back to whispering. “He insists on talking to you in person first. He wants to meet with you tomorrow evening. Are you filming?”

  �
�I’m done for the week. When and where am I meeting him?”

  “Eros. Seven o’clock.”

  Eros was an exclusive, new restaurant on Melrose, and everyone she knew claimed they served the best seafood in the greater Los Angeles area. To her, seafood was like any food. Not to Chris and Greg. They’d met at a seafood restaurant. Greg insisted they were reaching for the same crab leg. So romantic.

  A few months ago, she had tried to get them a reservation at Eros for their anniversary and learned that she had to wait a month to get one. Obviously, her new client had serious connections to get a reservation on such short notice.

  “Does this client have a name?” Jillian asked.

  “Didn’t I tell you? His name is Alexander Fitzgerald, a real estate billionaire that rivals the toupee-wearing dude, except he has better taste. Remember the art studio in Venice you were admiring during your last shoot? He did that. He restores old buildings. Even his new ones add something to their surroundings. His family is very prominent. His brothers and uncles…”

  Jillian had gone into selective listening as soon as Greg had mentioned Lex’s name. Billionaire, huh? He hadn’t dressed like one, but he had a presence and the arrogance she associated with the privileged.

  She wasn’t surprised Greg knew about the Fitzgeralds. He lived and breathed gossip blogs, magazines, and L.A. Times Seen & Heard pages. Like most agents, he had to be on top of things in Hollywood—who attended what and with whom, and who got snubbed. She was the opposite. Couldn’t care less.

  “He’s still there, isn’t he?” she asked.

  “Yes. How do you know?” Greg asked.

  “You’re whispering, G, which means you’re in the cave.” The cave was really a giant walk-in closet. Greg was a creature of habit. He hid in his closet when he didn’t want to talk to a client, or when he wanted to discuss a client with Chris.