Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

  “Don’t get him started. I’ll have to start rethinking my choice of careers,” Brett said, tossing in a chip to the ante. “At any rate, what’s the town like? Because I too am getting paid to go up there, unless Kevin Day has his way.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Patrick asked, his lawyer senses on high alert.

  “Asshole thinks he can do his own stunts,” Brett said, in reference to the actor who had been playing Nick Zane since the first movie. “Apparently my ‘services may not be needed.’”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Patrick said, completely ignoring his Catholic upbringing. “Does that damn director know the meaning of the term liability?”

  Brett just shrugged.

  “God save me from actors and the idiot directors who let them have their way,” Patrick groaned.

  “You see, this is where you idiots fail at life,” Ross said, chuckling. “The only ‘actors’ I deal with are the ones I draw; well, actually it’s some peon from CalArts these days, but the point remains.”

  “What is the town like…just in case?” Brett asked.

  Patrick just smiled into his cards, a pair of queens, heart and spade. A surprisingly fortuitous hand, and the blatant symbolism wasn’t lost on him. And to think, it was usually his ability to bluff that helped him win with these guys.

  “Quaint,” was all he said about Olla. What else could be said about it? “With one or two points of interest,” he added, smirking.

  “Oh, oh, boys, it looks like we’ve lost another one to the fold,” Jake said, eyeing his friend across the table speculatively. “I know that look.”

  Patrick’s eyes shot up toward the man, then shifted around the table. All three were looking at him with their own smirks.

  “What?” he asked doing his best bit of bluffing, making them work for it.

  “Come on, spill it,” Ross said throwing a $5 chip at him.

  Patrick swiftly caught it and laughed. “Thanks for that.”

  “At the very least you’d better stake your claim before this one makes it up there,” Jake said nodding toward Brett, the only other unmarried man at the table.

  “What?” Brett asked innocently, doing his own bit of bluffing. “Women can’t stand me.”

  They all laughed. All anyone had to do was spend one day on set with the man and take note of the panties that would happily drop at his say-so, from the lowliest third assistant to at least a few Academy Award winning actresses.

  “Hmm, you do have a point,” Patrick said. “Actually, this one, she kind of reminds me of Natalie.”

  The table went silent.

  “In that case you’re already a lost cause my friend,” Jake said, the direct look on his face showing only a hint of a smile. “Time to pack it in because you’re about to go off the market.”

  “Hey, I already had this conversation with my mother earlier today,” he laughed in protest. “I don’t need my best friends turning on me as well.

  “Besides, what would become of all the poor, blushing starlets at Lion Studios if I was to be taken off the shelf so soon into my prime?” he said, back tracking.

  “You wanna talk to me about mothers?’ Ross said. “I’m Jewish. I could write college dissertations on what I know about mothers. Thank God Denise finally decided to get pregnant, otherwise I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “Oh, but it’s so worth it,” Jake said, raising his glass of whiskey. “I never thought I was capable of being a dad. But Amber? Boy does that one have me wrapped around her little finger.”

  “Hear, hear,” Ross said, tapping his glass to Jake’s. “I can’t wait for the little monster to make an appearance.”

  “Okay, it’s time to shut you two up. I raise,” Patrick said throwing $1,000 worth of chips into the pot.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Ross, tossing his cards down. “Too rich for my blood, and don’t even think about inserting a Jewish joke. Fold.”

  Patrick laughed, then turned to Jake with raised eyebrows.

  “You know what? Amber’s still in diapers, and that gets expensive. I’m in,” he said throwing in his chips.

  Patrick shrugged and turned to Brett.

  “Not until my company takes off. These days every penny counts.”

  “Wow, when did you get so risk averse?” Patrick asked in surprise.

  “I guess it’s just you and me buddy,” he said to Jake with a grin. “Beware, I have a feeling lady luck is on my side. In that spirit, I’ll go easy on you. $100.”

  Jake just shook his head with a laugh. “Call.”

  “Call.” Patrick said showing his cards.

  His two queens to Jake’s two 7s.

  “And here I thought I was the best poker face here,” Patrick said, laughing.

  “No, I think I just misread that shit eating grin on your face,” Jake said, ceding the pot graciously. “You better find a way to hold on to this girl, she’s already working in your favor.”

  “Heaven help me the day a woman has that much influence over my life,” Patrick scoffed.

  6

  ONE MONTH LATER

  “It’s still so exciting!” Bree said, skipping into the bakery as the bell on the door rang above her. “I just saw Kevin Day walking out of the diner. So surreal. I mean, he’s shorter in real life, but still!”

  Layla looked up past Bree to Main Street beyond the windows. The usually serene and quaint view was now cluttered with strange newcomers and movie props in preparation for the next scene being filmed.

  Ironically, rather than interfering with the tiny, local economy, several stores were doing brisk business due to the temporary increase in population. The Di-vine Delectables bakery was one such lucky shop, mostly in the form of coffee, lots of coffee, and morning pastries.

  “Well, I’ve got the wedding this Saturday, so you all will have to cover the slack while I finish up the cake today. Apparently we aren’t allowed in the shop for tomorrow’s scene.”

  “Do they know you’ll need access to Main Street on Saturday to make your delivery?” Di-Anne asked.

  “Yes,” Layla said. “I already talked to Patr—Mr. Fitzgerald about it and he assured me the major filming for the next scene would be done by tomorrow, and if not he’d make sure they block off a chunk of time with no filming for me.”

  Layla purposely avoided looking at the other two women in the shop. Patrick, or Mr. Fitzgerald, as she forced herself to say to keep from getting too overly familiar with the man, had been back up to Olla every weekend since getting the releases signed.

  He had apparently fallen in love with the town, though Di-Anne and Bree kept teasing her that it wasn’t the town he had fallen for. But boy did the town love him, even the usually reticent Angie in the Olla diner. Apparently Mr. Fitzgerald was a very nice tipper.

  “Well, he certainly seems to have a lot of influence,” Bree said suggestively. “Over the director I mean,” she added solemnly.

  Layla gave a her sharp look. “I know exactly what you mean, and both of you can stop right there.” She turned to include Di-Anne who had done her own bit of not-so-subtle hinting the past few weeks.

  Before they could respond, the bell above the door jingled and they all turned to look. It was the frazzled assistant to Simone Gibson, the actress playing Naomi in the film. She fell back against the glass door as it closed behind her, causing her glasses to slip down her nose.

  “Please tell me you have organic coconut milk,” she pleaded pushing the frames back up her nose.

  Layla looked at her sympathetically. She had heard that the actress was difficult and the look on this poor girl’s face said it all.

  “We don’t even have non-organic coconut milk,” she said apologetically, certain the girl was going to start crying in response.

  “You were my last hope,” she said. “I tried the grocery store, the diner, even the pizza place. I just thought maybe…what am I going to do?” she cried and sure enough tears fell down her cheeks.

  “Okay, o
kay,” Layla said coming over to her since she was nearest. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to one of the small tables and sat her down in one of the chairs. “Let’s sit you down and get you some coffee first.”

  Layla nodded to Di-Anne who was quick to pour out a cup. She handed it to Layla who gave it to the girl who was practically sobbing by now.

  “Do you want milk or sugar?”

  “Milk,” she sniffled, then her head popped up. “Milk! Oh my God, what am I doing? I can’t sit here drinking coffee.”

  “Yes you can,” Layla said, placing a firm hand on the girl’s shoulder as Di-Anne retrieved the milk. “We’ll think of a solution. There’s got to be a place nearby that has organic coconut milk.”

  She gave a look to the other two over the girl’s head that indicated she didn’t have a clue. The nearest thing to a Whole Foods was over half an hour away.

  “Maybe Georgia Davis has some, she’s kind of a health nut,” Bree suggested from behind the counter.

  Before they could continue the bell above the door rang again. The girl gasped and shot straight to her feet, spilling coffee all over her shirt.

  “Well, there you are,” said Simone Gibson, shooting a death stare at the girl. “I was beginning to think you were actually milking coconuts with how long you were taking.”

  “We were just trying to find a solution to your milk problem,” Layla said in a calming tone.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t help her eyes from darting down to the perfectly immobile mahogany grapefruits that were practically spilling out of the skimpy tank top the woman was wearing. Any of the Hollywood rags that speculated on whether or not they were “enhanced” would have no doubt, looking at them now.

  Simone squinted her eyes suspiciously at her, then purposely cast them down to the far more humble offering Layla had on display beneath her white blouse. She felt her face get warm with embarrassment.

  “It seems my assistant has time to socialize with the local ladies welcoming committee instead of—”

  Simone yelped as the door behind her opened, pushing her forward. She spun around angrily, ready to give the offender a verbal tirade.

  “Oh man, I’m sorry,” said Mario, turning around after backing into the store with two heavy bags of flour in his arms. Everyone watched as his tan skin reddened when he realized exactly who it was he had bumped into.

  “Not at all a problem,” Simone said, her voice like sugar, a complete one-eighty from the vinegar she had just poured over everyone else in the shop.

  The two stood there staring at one another, Mario completely dumb-struck, and Simone eyeing him like a seasoned cougar, even though she was only about 27 years old.

  Bree coughed at the counter. “Perhaps you’d like a pastry or some coffee, Ms. Gibson?”

  Simone laughed prettily. “Oh no, sweetheart,” she said over her shoulder, then turned back to Mario. “Hollywood is a vicious beast. One has got to keep her girlish figure if she wants to stay in the game.”

  Simone Gibson’s figure was anything but “girlish,” which is probably what caused Mario’s eyes to wander down the decidedly more “vixen” like figure. His face went from warm to scalding.

  Layla watched Bree give a slight frown. “Shouldn’t that flour go into the pantry, Mario?”

  He blinked up at Bree and shook his head as if snapping out of a daze. “Wow, it was—it was nice to um…nice to meet you Ms.—”

  “You can call me Simone,” she purred.

  Mario chuckled stupidly and side stepped around her to the pantry in back.

  “I think I’m beginning to like the locals,” she mused, watching his retreating figure.

  “I was wondering, Simone,” Bree said, also calling her by her first name as she boldly took the woman up on the offer made to Mario. “I’ve heard that Hollywood can be harsh when it comes to age as well as figure.”

  Layla watched Simone stiffen. The assistant beside Layla drew in a sharp breath.

  “You see, I’m just such a fan. I remember when I first saw you in Hard Knocks. I was just 13 years old at the time.” The side of Bree’s twitched up a bit at this.

  “I know the critics hated it, but maybe because I was so young and silly, I absolutely loved it.”

  “What exactly are you saying, dear?” Simone asked placing one hand on her curvy hip.

  “Oh, I just hope that you have a very long career ahead of you. I for one would hate to see Hollywood cast you out like an old blanket. I think that would send such a negative message to young women like myself.”

  Simone’s eyes narrowed and the two females had a non-verbal stand-off until Di-Anne intervened.

  “Ms. Gibson,” she said, giving a scornful look to her grandniece, “I think there is an organic food store in Red River about 15 minutes away by car. Perhaps we can get someone in town to stock up for you?”

  Simone didn’t even acknowledge Di-Anne. Instead, she turned her fury onto her now trembling assistant. “Sierra, let’s go, now! I’m not paying you to sit around like a wilting violet.”

  The actress pushed through the door angrily, Sierra skittering behind her.

  “You know you’re wrong for that, Bree,” Layla said, but couldn’t help the smile that came to her face.

  “What?” Bree said in wide-eyed innocence. “I was complimenting her.”

  Mario pushed through the swinging doors and looked around the bakery. “She’s gone?”

  “Yes!” all three woman said in unison, causing him to blink in surprise. Then the three of them laughed.

  That Thursday, Patrick found himself once again driving—at a perfectly reasonable speed—past the welcome sign to Olla:

  Welcome to Olla!

  The town that says Hello!

  He had finally had it explained to him, Olla was an English variation of the Spanish word for Hello: Hola. Cute. Like everything about this town.

  The tension he’d had in the L.A. traffic this morning magically disappeared almost as soon as he passed that sign. There was just something about this little town.

  Patrick couldn’t deny that there was also something about the local baker. God, the things he imagined doing to her, maybe in a bed of flour. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the bulge in his jeans grew.

  He had driven up a day earlier than usual because Brett had informed him that yes, Kevin-fucking-Day would be handling “just a few” of his own stunts. Lion Studios’ General Counsel was in agreement that this was not a good idea. Patrick had been more than happy to hop on up to Olla to find out exactly what “just a few” stunts actually meant.

  After checking in to the B&B, his room on permanent reservation, Patrick wandered around the increasingly familiar town. Of course, it was far different these days with the movie crew having taken over. Something about it tainted the image. He couldn’t wait to come back when the trailers and camera crews and, most of all, the actors and actresses were gone.

  He stopped in his tracks pondering that. Why would he come back when the movie was done filming here?

  Jesus, this woman really did have a hold on him.

  Instead of focusing too heavily on this, he stuffed his hands in the pocket of his jeans and went out in search of Zach Breyer, the director. He was here on business after all.

  Maybe afterward he’d pick up a cupcake.

  Patrick was grinning to himself as he turned down Main Street.

  He saw Kevin Day leaving the diner and heading down the street, no doubt back to his trailer. Patrick wasn’t about to handle this business directly with him. The last thing he needed was 10 levels of agents, managers, and publicists boomeranging back at him after the fact.

  His eye was caught by the boy who worked in Layla’s bakery, Mario. The brief interactions they’d had were friendly so far. He had a troubled look on his face. What better way to wriggle his way into Layla’s good graces—and eventually other parts of her—than by helping out the poor boy?

  “Mario!” he called out,
making his way over.

  Mario’s head shot up and he gave Patrick a half smile. “Hey Mr. F.”

  “You know you can call me Patrick, everyone else in town does.”

  Mario gave him a grin. “Everyone except Ms. B.”

  Patrick gave a short laugh and leaned against the wall next to him. “So what do you think I need to do to get her to start calling me Patrick?”

  The younger man laughed. “I think that ship has sailed,” then he gave a frown and nodded in the direction of the bakery. “Besides, it looks like she’s just as star struck as everyone else.”

  Patrick turned his attention to the bakery and his jaw hardened. Apparently Kevin Day had been sidetracked on his way back to his trailer. The trio of women who worked in the bakery were standing under the awning chatting with the man, smiles all around.

  “I think I screwed up earlier today,” Mario said.

  It hadn’t taken long for Patrick to figure out that the boy had a thing for Bree, who was now practically bouncing on her toes in Kevin Day’s presence.

  “Have you even told the girl you like her? I mean you’re a good looking guy, and aren’t you off to law school next year?”

  Mario reached a hand around to grab the back of his neck. “Doesn’t matter, she’s into the artist type. I don’t think she even sees me that way. I mean, look at her.”

  Patrick didn’t have to look at her. The look on Mario’s face told him everything. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Not to worry, I’ll handle this. And don’t sell yourself short. If you want something, go for it.”

  Mario gave him a sly smile. “I could say the same for you.”

  Patrick laughed as he walked away. “I think my uphill road is a little bit steeper than yours, Mario.”

  As he neared, he heard the line that Kevin was feeding Layla, who slid Patrick a cool glance, then returned her suddenly more rapt attention back to Kevin.

  “Frankly, I think you’d make a much better Naomi than Simone,” Kevin was saying to her, that notorious dimple in his right cheek working overtime. “Have you thought about getting into acting? With a face like yours, and no offense, but the body to go with it—”