Hot for Him

by Sarah Mayberry

  And Claudia was older than both of them.

  It wasn’t something she’d ever really registered before. They’d all met at university when they joined the Undergraduate Film Festival Committee, and soon formed a firm friendship. Even though Sadie had skipped a year at school, and Claudia had tried her hand out in the workforce for a few years before opting for higher education, age had always been irrelevant in their bonding.

  Frowning, Claudia checked her e-mail. She didn’t care about her ovaries aging. They could self-combust for all she’d notice—she’d fought too long and too hard to get where she was to walk away from it all to serve up puréed apple and change diapers twenty-four hours a day. Babies were fine for other women, but not for her.

  Ruthlessly she squashed the memory of holding her eldest brother’s first son in the hospital. She’d been surprised by the fierce tug of love she’d felt, the instinctive desire to protect and nurture the tiny red person bundled in the blanket. Almost as though to eliminate any maternal longing, a grim memory pulled at Claudia: an image of a woman huddled on a bed, sobbing her heart out.

  Impatient with her self-indulgence this morning, Claudia brushed it away. While she was contemplating her navel, Ocean Boulevard awaited.

  It was mid-morning when her assistant, Gabby, buzzed a call through to her.

  “I have Leandro Mandalor on line one,” Gabby said. She sounded faintly scandalized that the competition would dare to call.

  Claudia pursed her lips.

  “Tell him I’m unavailable,” she said. “Tell him to call back in an hour.”

  Smiling to herself, she bent to her work again. Did he really think he could just call her after what had happened and she’d jump at the chance to talk to him like a good little girl?

  Probably he did, she knew. That ego. That self-assurance—of course he did.

  Well, he had another think coming.

  Exactly an hour later, Gabby buzzed her again.

  “I’ve got Mr. Mandalor again,” she said.

  “Tell him my meeting has run overtime. He should try again in another hour,” Claudia said.

  An hour later, Gabby came through to Claudia’s office.

  “It’s him again,” she said. She looked faintly harassed. “I think he knows I’m lying.”

  “I’m a busy person, Gabby. He has no way of knowing if I’m in a meeting or not. Tell him I went straight out to my lunch meeting without checking my messages. You don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Gabby picked up the line from Claudia’s office.

  “Mr. Mandalor? I’m terribly sorry, but Ms. Dostis has gone straight out to her luncheon appointment. Perhaps if you tried later this afternoon…?”

  Claudia could hear the low bass of Leandro’s voice without being able to discern actual words. She frowned as Gabby flinched, then went pale.

  “Um, just hold on a moment,” Gabby said, reaching for the hold key as though it were a lifeline.

  “What?” Claudia asked. “Did he bully you? What an asshole.”

  “He said that you’ve had your fun, but that he wasn’t calling about the kiss. He said that something very important has come up and unless you want to see it across the front page of The National Enquirer, you should take his call.”

  To her everlasting shame, Claudia felt herself blush with self-consciousness. How dare he mention that stupid kiss to her assistant?

  “Give me that,” she said, wresting the phone from Gabby’s unresisting fingers.

  Her finger punched down onto the hold button.

  “What do you want?” she asked bluntly as soon as the line went live.

  “My, my. What a terribly quick lunch that must have been,” Leandro said.

  It was the first time she’d heard his voice over the phone. To her astonishment, the deep vibrato of his baritone made something utterly primitive and feminine within her snap to quivering attention.

  “Do you or do you not have a business matter to discuss with me?” she said.

  Gabby was standing in her doorway, hovering curiously. Claudia gave her a thumbs-up to indicate all was well and sent her on her way.

  “That kiss was hot, but not hot enough for me to jump through all those flaming hoops like a dumb circus pony, Claudia. Yes, I have a business issue to discuss.”

  Not hot enough? Where did this guy get off? Claudia puffed her cheeks out and put her free hand on her hip, really ticked off now. Then she noticed Gabby still hovering.

  This time she waved her hand at her sticky-beak assistant, indicating she should go, and Gabby had no choice but to slink away unsatisfied.

  “Fire away, then, Mr. Mandalor. I’m a busy woman.”

  “Not too busy for this. Are you aware that a member of your cast is, shall we say, getting it on with a member of mine?” he asked.

  Claudia blinked and sat back in her chair. She usually had a pretty good grip on who was doing what with whom. It was part of the job—she needed to know who might be at risk, and who was putting the show at risk.

  “No. Who are we talking about here?”

  “Alicia Morrison on your side, Wes Brooks on mine,” he said.

  Claudia winced. Alicia was just seventeen, Wes in his thirties. Not a particularly good look, especially when Alicia played a character called Angel.

  “But wait, there’s more,” Claudia said, anticipating Leandro’s next line.

  “Clever lady. The reason I know about this little…fling…is that Alicia and Wes were dumb enough to videotape themselves in action.”

  Shit.

  “Please tell me that tape has not disappeared,” she said.

  “House break-in. Just your usual grab and run. But guess which tape was still in the video machine?”

  Claudia mouthed a four-letter word.

  “So Wes came to you and confessed all?” Claudia asked. “And now we’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

  “It’s worse than that. I got a call this morning from some scuzzball. He wants to meet tonight to find out what this tape is worth to both of us.”

  Claudia frowned. “Blackmail?” Her stomach tensed. This was a first for her.

  “In a word.”

  Claudia stared at her desk, her mind racing as she calculated what was at stake. Alicia was a popular, up-and-coming young actress. She’d played a virginal innocent since joining the show at age fourteen. Lord only knew when and how she’d met Wes, but Claudia couldn’t help feeling some responsibility for the situation she was in. Who was to say what Alicia’s life would be like if Boulevard hadn’t plucked her out of a shopping center talent competition and put her on national television? Not that Alicia was crying herself to sleep at night over her great career or anything—but perhaps she shouldn’t have to suffer publicly for her bad decisions just yet.

  Then there was the damage this would cause to the show. They had a strong core audience in the Midwest. She could just imagine the kind of mail she’d get if triple X-rated footage began to do the rounds. She’d be forced to lose Alicia, which would mean months of rewriting and stress for her team…

  “Where does our budding entrepreneur want to meet?” she asked, grabbing a pen and pulling her notepad toward her.

  “He gave me an address for a bar on the Strip. Here’s what I was thinking—I go along representing both of us tonight, see what he’s got, whether it’s anything to worry about. Then we reconvene to discuss our options.”

  “Sure. What address and what time?” Claudia said impatiently, brushing aside his offer to be the front man for both of them.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I can see that. Don’t worry, I’m smart enough for both of us. Can I have the address, please?”

  She heard him swear under his breath, then the shuffle of paper on the other end of the phone.

  “It’s called Monkey Shine,” he said, reading out an address on Sunset Strip. “He wants to meet at nine tonight.”

  “Fine. I’ll
meet you there at eight-thirty,” Claudia said, underlining the address and time on her notepad.

  “You really want to do this? Even though I’m giving you an out?” Leandro asked.

  Claudia lifted the phone away from her ear and stared at the receiver. What planet was this guy from? Some place where women still met their men at the door with pipe and slippers in hand?

  “News flash—having a penis doesn’t make you more capable of doing anything except urinating while standing up,” she said. “I’ll see you at eight-thirty. Don’t be late.”

  * * *

  THE LITTLE GRUB flexing his extortion muscles had picked a suitably sleazy locale to begin his apprenticeship, Leandro decided. Monkey Shine had grimy painted-over windows out front and a neon sign with several letters burned out. Inside wasn’t much better—sticky carpet, the stink of stale beer and cigarettes, and lighting so dim he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

  Booths lined the left-hand wall, a bar the right. He made his way to the latter on the basis that the illuminated Jack Daniel’s sign above the glass rack offered marginally more light. He was early—Claudia wasn’t due for another ten minutes—but he’d wanted to check the place out first. If it was beyond the pale, he’d meet her at the door and lay down the law. He was sure she could hold her own in the boardroom or on the studio floor, but this was different. This was shady underbelly stuff, and she was so small he could pick her up and carry her around in his shirt pocket. He didn’t want to be responsible for her getting hurt.

  Ordering a Miller, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the room. There was a doorway at the back with a sign hanging over it announcing that pool tables and toilets could be found on the other side. It was a seedy place, but it didn’t seem to have more than its fair share of bums, drunks, louts and hookers. He figured he’d have trouble convincing Claudia she should go home without bullet holes or a forensic body outline to support his case.

  He’d just taken his first mouthful of beer when something sharp and hard hit him on the back of the neck. Frowning, he shot a look to the ceiling to see if the sky was, indeed, falling, then flicked a look over his shoulder. The second peanut caught him just below the eye, and he jerked his head back instinctively.

  She was seated in the shadows of the third booth from the door, and Leandro shook his head as he slid in opposite her.

  “Had to check it out on your own, didn’t you?” he said.

  “Great minds think alike,” she said.

  She was wearing a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the way the thin knit clung to her breasts. She might be small, but her breasts looked more than enough to satisfy any man.

  “Fancy that, my breasts are in the same place they were last night. A miracle,” she said dryly.

  As always with her, he found himself smiling.

  “You’re a sexy lady. I’m only human.” He shrugged.

  “Subhuman, you mean,” she sniffed.

  “There’s nothing sub about me, babe,” he said with a cocky grin.

  She eyed him steadily. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He took a mouthful of beer, noticing that she was nursing a cola and something.

  “Did you talk to Alicia?” he asked.

  “Tried. She started crying the moment I said the words Wes and videotape in the same sentence. I think she’s been holding out on us,” she said dryly.

  “How so?”

  “It was an Academy Award winning performance—innocent-damsel-in-distress stuff. I felt like Dr. Mengele by the time I’d confirmed the facts. Wish I got that kind of performance from her on set.”

  “You think they were crocodile tears?” he asked skeptically. “She’s seventeen, on her way up. Pretty legitimate to be freaked out that one moment of weakness might ruin it all.”

  She wrinkled her nose, tilted her head to one side. “In my experience, women who do the whole sex tape thing are not wilting flowers. But I reserve my judgment until I see the footage. Maybe Wes had to lay a trail of bread-crumbs to coax my innocent little Bambi to the bed. But I think not.”

  Leandro eyed her over his beer.

  “You’re a real hard-ass, is that it?” he asked.

  “I’m a realist. And, unlike Alicia, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sex how you like it. The stinger for her is that she’s got a profile, but maybe this will teach her to be a little smarter in the future. Shoot, watch, erase. I’ll get a T-shirt made for her.”

  “You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  Her near-black eyes glinted in the dim light. She looked mysterious and sexy and forbidden.

  “I’ve seen Sex, Lies and Videotape,” she said, shrugging one shoulder negligently.

  “Hmm,” he said, grinning at her. “And the rest.”

  Suddenly she slid along the booth seat and stood, crossing to his side.

  “Shove over,” she said.

  He stared at her. “What…?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So the con man has somewhere to sit. I don’t want to rub elbows with him. He might have cooties,” she said.

  “Right.”

  He felt like a real dumb-ass as he slid along the bench seat to make room for her. What had he thought was going to happen? That she was about to give him a little demonstration of sex how she liked it?

  The booths were designed for intimacy, and he found himself brushing against her as she sat beside him. Her scent enveloped him, and he inhaled surreptitiously.

  “Bulgari,” she said matter-of-factly. “Drives men nuts.”

  He let out a crack of laughter. She never missed a trick.

  “You sure it’s the perfume?” he asked.

  She turned her face toward him, and he admired the sweep of her cheekbones and the heart-shaped fullness of her mouth. Her nose was straight and proud, a delicate, feminized version of his own Greek prow, and her teeth flashed white against the plum of her lipstick.

  He was as hard as a rock, thanks to her perfume, her tight little top, the sass of her conversation and the chemistry between them. He reminded himself again that she was forbidden fruit—his greatest competitor—but tonight little head was prevailing over big head. And little head was only thinking of one thing: getting Claudia naked as soon as possible.

  She opened her mouth to respond just as a skinny guy wearing a cap pulled down low over his face slid into the booth opposite them. Leandro felt Claudia stiffen beside him and he instinctively put a reassuring hand on her knee. Her elbow jabbed him sharply in the ribs and he slid his hand free. For a moment there he’d forgotten who he was sitting next to. God forbid that Claudia Dostis need reassurance.

  “I know who you are,” the guy said, gaze flickering over Leandro. He was more interested in Claudia, however. “You’re the producer of Ocean Boulevard, huh? Figured you’d be older. And uglier.”

  His tone was lascivious.

  “And I figured you’d be smarter. Life’s full of disappointments. Where’s this tape you say you have?” she said.

  The guy’s rat-sharp face hardened as he processed her insult, but he placed a notebook computer case on the table.

  “I don’t say I have anything—I’ve got it. And if you want it, you’re going to have to pay,” Rat Man said.

  Claudia looked bored. Leandro dropped an elbow onto the table and leaned forward.

  “More showy, less talky,” he said. “Then we can discuss what it’s worth. For all we know you’ve got footage of a pajama party.”

  Rat Man laughed. “No pajamas at this party, buddy,” he said.

  Unzipping the bag, he flipped open the lid on a seen-better-days notebook computer and pressed a button. The screen sprang to life, and Rat Man flicked them both a look of anticipation before hitting the touch pad.

  Leandro met Claudia’s sideways glance and correctly interpreted the dismay in her guarded expression. Whatever was on the original tape, it had already been converted to digi
tal. Which meant it was just a few mouse clicks away from finding its way, via the Internet, into every teen boy’s hard drive across the country.

  The screen started out black, then a naked body walked in front of the camera and Leandro recognized Wes, naked and sporting a very respectable hard-on. A second body entered the frame, moving in a blur of motion, launching herself at Wes so that he fell backward onto the bed, the woman on top. Leandro recognized her as Alicia Morrison only because he knew it was supposed to be her—the woman on the screen could not have been further removed from the “pure as the driven snow” character she played on Boulevard, or the sweet girl next door she presented as in real life. Naked, full-breasted, and sporting a tattoo of a miniature devil with a pitchfork on her left butt cheek, she was very much in charge. Straddling Wes’s body, she wriggled her hips until she had him placed just right, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the camera.

  The look on her face was pure naughtiness as she slid down onto Wes’s erection. She licked her lips, closed her eyes and mouthed the word “Yum” to the camera. Then she started to work her hips like a seasoned pole dancer, and Rat Man clicked the screen to blackness.

  “I want five hundred thousand,” he said.

  Leandro didn’t bother checking with Claudia.

  “What do you think we are, Bank of America? You think we’ve got that kind of money lying around?”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Rat Man said, supremely cocky now. “You get me the money by Friday, or this goes public. She’s pretty hot stuff, that little blond girl, isn’t she? I reckon I’ll be able to spin a few bucks out of folks watching her shaking her tail feather.”

  “Spare us the yap, Sparky,” Claudia snapped. “How are we going to make this exchange? And how do we know you won’t take the money and release the footage anyway?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you? I’m the one calling the shots. Which means we’ll meet back here, this booth, this time on Friday. No cops, no smart stuff, nothing—or my partner smears this across the world,” Rat Man said, patting the computer confidently.

  “I’ll be here,” Leandro said. There was nothing else to be done at this stage, of course. They had to keep stringing the guy along, no matter what they decided afterward.