The TROUBLE with BILLIONAIRES: Book 3

by Kristina Blake

  Logan came to where I was sitting as the director and crew set up the next scene, settling in a chair that had just suddenly appeared. He touched my hand lightly.

  “Bored to death yet?”

  “No. This is fascinating.”

  He smiled that dazzling smile that made my stomach tighten. “I’m glad you’re not bored. But if you get bored, the driver should be somewhere just past the trailers. You could have him drive you back to the house.”

  “I think I’ll be okay.”

  Logan started to say something else, but the director called him back to the set.

  I sat back and watched, very aware of the curious stares I was getting from the various assistants, crew members, and caterers who filled the room. I wanted to be incredibly immature and stick my tongue out at them in an I’m-with-him-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it style. Instead, I texted Madison:

  You won’t believe where I am!

  ***

  Mellissa

  It was a really bad idea to decide to cook a big meal when nausea had a relentless grip on my stomach. I walked through the aisles of the grocery store trying to avoid the areas that caused the worst sensation of imminent puke, but that was proving harder and harder to do. It seemed like everything set it off, from the sight of raw meat to the smell of fresh coffee to the rotisserie chickens in the deli.

  I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to buy. Conrad was a Texas boy. Any kind of steak would suit him fine, as would almost any kind of potato dish. But the idea of smelling a steak frying on the grill sent my poor stomach packing its bags. I thought about pasta. It seemed fairly benign until I considered the creamy Alfredo sauces that I knew would come back up quite quickly and the tomato concoctions that would leave me reeling with heartburn.

  What did you make for a man when you had to tell him that a relationship that was still in its infancy was about to become something bigger and more intense than either of you had planned?

  I walked through the produce section and picked out a few fresh fruits, deciding whatever I made would have to include a fruit salad, the only thing that seemed to sit well with me these days. And a stew, maybe. I could handle a hearty, beefy broth if I didn’t think too hard about the beefy part. Maybe some potatoes, a few carrots, some onions and celery. I could do that.

  As I walked along the aisle, I heard a baby cry. I turned around just in time to see the panicked look on a man’s face. Must have been the first time he was alone with the infant. He looked to be only a few weeks old. I wanted to help, but I realized I had no idea what to do. What do you do when a baby cries? I watched his panic grow, as he carefully picked the baby up and rested him high on his shoulder. Almost instantly the child relaxed, the cries turning into soft, hiccupping sounds. The man smiled and nodded in my direction before pushing his cart out of the way with his free hand.

  If it was always that easy…

  I turned back to my shopping, wondering if Conrad liked fresh garlic, or the stronger powered kind.

  ***

  Annie

  Lunch was a line of tables set out under canopies, each one laden with things I never would have imagined in such an outdoor venue. There were lobsters and steak, pasta and pizza, three different kinds of chicken, and every fresh and cooked vegetable a person could want. It was like a buffet, but high scale.

  Logan filled his plate with steak and pasta, encouraging me to take what I wanted. I felt a little selfish, honing in on what was meant for those working on the film, but the fried chicken smelled too good to pass up. I took the several pieces offered by the caterer’s waiter, blushing when he gave me a smile that meant more than you’re welcome. Then, I dumped a couple of slices of tomato and a little of Ranch dressing on my plate and followed Logan to the trailer.

  “Is it always like this?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Everyone’s so nice. I always kind of imagined it would be more like a prize fight or something.”

  “Everyone’s nice to your face. But I’m sure tongues are wagging when we’re not around.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Where do you think all that crap they print in the tabloids come from? Someone sees something or does something and rumors get started.”

  “What do you think they’re saying about you?”

  “They’re probably wondering who the hell you are and why I brought you to set.” And then he smiled. “At least they aren’t talking about drug rehab or what happened Friday at the photoshoot.”

  I tilted my head slightly. “Is that why you brought me? To distract the gossipers?”

  Logan’s eyes dropped to his plate. “No.”

  “Not that I mind. I’m willing to help out any way I can.”

  His eyes came back up to mine and for a second I thought I saw something there, regret maybe. Then he shook his head. “I brought you because you’re supposed to be here to watch out for anything unusual going on around me. You can’t do that if we’re not together, right?”

  “True.”

  He took another bite, then shoved his plate away as he lifted another set of papers. He glanced through them, his lips moving as he read a few lines that had been altered in some way.

  “This next scene’s with Rachel.”

  He looked at me as though he expected some sort of reaction. I just nodded. When I didn’t say anything else, he handed the sheets across to me. I wiped my hands on my jeans—didn’t want to stain them with my fried chicken greased fingers—and took them, reading quickly through the scene. Apparently their two characters have an established relationship at the beginning because they were to do part of the scene in their underwear.

  “Do they close the set for these sorts of scenes?”

  “No. They usually only do that if the female actor is naked.”

  “Then I can watch?”

  “You want to watch?”

  I offered a nonchalant shrug. “It’s why I’m here, right?”

  Logan nodded, his eyes lingering on mine once again, as though he was expecting to see something he didn’t.

  It was almost an hour before they called him to set. Logan walked to set in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier, the makeup artist touching up his face as he sat in a folding chair, the director hammering at him about what he expected from him during the scene. They all ignored me, moving around me, bumping into me, but never speaking to me directly. I didn’t mind. Logan’s eyes jumped to my face every few minutes, as though to verify I was still there, and that was enough for me.

  They had shifted everything over a little, so that the cameras were set up in front of a bedroom set. It looked a little like my bedroom back in Portland, a small room that barely fit a bed and a nightstand. There was a door off to one side that led into a realistic looking bathroom, and another door that opened into bare space, but that was supposedly the door that led to the rest of the apartment. There were three walls, one that sported a single window with light, purple curtains over it. If I stepped up onto the carpeted floor and didn’t turn around, it really had the feel of a complete room. But, I guess, that was the point.

  Rachel came onto the set, immediately shed the light blue robe she wearing to reveal a high cut pair of panties and a tight, short tee underneath, and slid under the sheets. The director had a quick, whispered conversation with her before beckoning to Logan to join them. He touched my hand without looking at me as he walked away, causing Rachel to shoot a curious glance my way.

  “Okay, boys and girls,” the director said, “let’s try to get this in as few shots as possible.”

  The scene began with Logan sneaking into the room, stripping quietly out of his clothes before falling into the bed with Rachel who was curled up on her side. He moved up behind her and pressed the length of his body to hers, whispering something I didn’t quite catch into her ear. At that point, the director stopped the scene and had them go back to the beginning, forcing poo
r Logan to redress and slip out the door.

  It took three times before the director seemed satisfied and allowed the scene to progress. Rachel pretends to wake up and demands to know what time it is, her fake sternness a little unbelievable to my ears…but what did I know, right? Logan seemed a little tense as he worked through his lines, especially when Rachel began to run her hand over his bare chest. I don’t know if I was the only one who noticed, but the director had them run through the scene ten times before he finally backed off. Each time Rachel seemed to touch Logan a little more intimately and each time he kept his hands clearly where the cameras—there five in all—could see them. There was one take where he kind of jumped as Rachel’s hand disappeared under his hip, making me wonder if Rachel was taking the intimacy of the scene a little too far.

  The whole thing was surreal, like being a voyeur, watching the guy I lusted for make out with another woman. And, in a way, it was exactly that. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to be jealous, but the whole thing made me more than a little uncomfortable. I was definitely relieved when it was over.

  Logan and I didn’t get a chance to talk afterward because they immediately set up another scene, then another. By the end of the day, Logan had filmed on five different sets, three of those with Rachel, two with the other male actors in the movie. In all of them he wore the same clothes, his makeup done the same way, his hair perfectly styled the same way. It was like watching one man’s day take place in broken pieces, out of order, and repeatedly.

  It was exhausting.

  Logan didn’t say much on the drive home. Almost the second we walked through the door, he headed upstairs, jumping into the shower to wash the day off of him. I stepped outside, finally taking a moment to enjoy the beautiful gardens, even if it was too dark to appreciate the few blooming flowers. Christmas in LA. What a difference in the weather between here and home. Portland was expecting snow soon…there was probably snow on the ground in Bend already. Not that I missed the snow. It was just different.

  “They think you’re my girlfriend.”

  I turned at the sound of Logan’s voice. “Who does?”

  “The gossips.” He held up his smartphone to show me an article on a tabloid website with the headline, ‘Logan Mitchell Dating?’ “It didn’t take them long.”

  “It never takes long for gossip to spread.” I glanced through the article, which hardly said anything of substance, and handed the phone back to him. “Does it bother you?”

  “The fact that they’re gossiping about me? Or what they’re saying about you?”

  I shrugged. “Either.”

  “I’m not public about my personal life for a reason. I don’t want to see my life story twisted and bent and splattered all over the internet. And I don’t want the people I care about hurt by what might be said.”

  “But isn’t that part of being a celebrity?”

  “Maybe.” He pushed the phone into his back pocket and came to stand beside me where I was playing with the leaves of a lilac shrub. “But I never set out to be a celebrity. I just wanted to do something that would support me late into life and would leave some kind of legacy.”

  “You could have had that with astronomy.”

  “The legacy, maybe, if I was lucky enough to find something the million other astronomers in the world missed. But the pay…not so much.”

  “Is money really that important?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I looked at him, feeling like I was missing something in what he was trying to say. He lifted his hand as though he was going to touch me, but then he let it fall.

  “I don’t mind them calling you my girlfriend,” he said softly. “It’s kind of nice. I just…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m a big girl. I think I can handle a little gossip and innuendo.”

  His eyes rested on mine a bit longer before he sighed and turned back toward the house. “Should get to bed. First call is eight, so we’ll have to head out about sixish.”

  I nodded, my heart once again soaring a little higher than it should have as I realized he was inviting me to spend another day at the studio with him.

  ***

  Madison

  “‘Logan Mitchell arrived on set of his new movie, Mr. Prime Minister, on the arm of a redheaded beauty,’” I read from the browser on my phone. “‘No one knows quite what their relationship is, but between the hand holding and the long, lingering stares, it seems that the notoriously private Mr. Mitchell has finally decided to go public with a clearly romantic liaison.’”

  Rawn glanced at me, as he stood in front of my closet unbuttoning his dress shirt. We were spending the night at my place for the first time, Rawn deciding it might not be safe for me at his house and too uncomfortable in the secret room of our apartment. It was weird, having this high powered executive in my college bedroom, but it was kind of nice, too. It made it seem like he was a more solid part of my life now that there was little left we hadn’t shared, figuratively and literally.

  “I hope Annie doesn’t believe her own press.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s going to end up hurt when all of this is said and done. I mean, even if Logan really cares about her, how long could a relationship between a movie star and a college student really last?”

  “I don’t know. How long can a relationship between an executive and his assistant last?” Rawn crawled onto the bed beside me and kissed the tip of my nose. “If I’ve learned anything from being with you, it’s that the impossible really isn’t so impossible.”

  I shook my head, part of me wanted to believe what he said and part of me hoping he was wrong. Logan’s secret weighed heavy on me. I kept telling myself I owed him no loyalty, not like I did Annie or Rawn. And I hated lying to them, even if it was a lie of omission. But I also understood where he was coming from and why it was important to keep his secret his way, for his reasons. I just knew that Annie was going to get caught in the crossfire, and it was killing me to know I could have stopped it if I had just broken my promise. “We don’t know that there’s anything really going on between them.”

  “No, but you know Annie. Do you really think she could spend that much time alone with her idol and not attempt to seduce him? Or that Logan is a stronger man than the rest of us weak, whipped men?”

  “You’re not whipped.” I touched his face, my soul always soothed just by the feel of his flesh under mine. “And Logan is different. Maybe he’s smart enough to avoid complications.”

  “His secret must be very dark if you, Annie’s best friend and biggest cheerleader, is hoping she will miss the opportunity to have a relationship with her…what do they call it now? Her bae?”

  “I don’t know. Would you call the secret I kept dark?”

  Rawn’s eyes immediately narrowed as the wheels began to spin in his head. Ironically, it was all centered around the first time I met Logan Mitchell: the night of the launch party I collapsed, practically in Logan’s arms, causing Rawn to accuse me of infidelity to a relationship that still wasn’t clearly defined. Only then did he learn of my diagnosis of MS and my sister’s death from complications of the same disease.

  “Is Logan—”

  I touched my finger to his lips before quickly replacing it with mine. Rawn didn’t need further encouragement. He pushed me back against the pillows, my phone getting lost in a tangle of limbs and scattered clothing as we quickly moved together, making love with an intensity I’d only ever known with Rawn. Funny how easy it was for me to give myself over to him without the restraints and the blindfolds. How easy it was to trust when I had a clearer measure of control. It was a redefinition, subtle, but clear, of our relationship. If only I believed it was enough to satisfy the need for control in Rawn.

  Chapter 6

  Annie

  We were falling into a routine now. It was only the second day hanging out with Logan at the studio and I was like an old pro. I knew who was supposed to be in his trailer and who wasn’t, who was suppos
ed to be around him on set and who wasn’t. It had even gotten to the point where I felt confident enough to send away rogue assistants and barely concealed reporters.

  “I don’t know what I did before you,” Logan teased as we ate lunch together. “You’re better than a bodyguard.”

  “It comes from years of beating off the boys so that Madison could concentrate on her studies.”

  “Hmm, so you were her bodyguard first. Do I have to worry that you’ll go running back to her when she needs you?”

  I shrugged. “You never know.”

  He smiled as I tucked into my potato salad. You would think it would get easier to sit under the bright light of that smile, but it just got harder. I wanted to touch him, to run my finger tip over the bottom edge of his lip, to slip my thumb into the dimple that popped up each time his smile was genuine, like it was now. It took every bit of self-control I had not to and—Madison could attest to this—I have very little self-control.

  “Have you heard from them lately?”

  “Madison texted this morning, said something about Rawn looking for the water bottle lady, but that’s about it.”

  Logan sat back, a fresh water bottle, one that was completely sealed when he picked it up, his face a mask of deep thought.

  “I’d like to get ahold of her myself.”

  “Have you heard from the hospital? Do you know what drug it was?”

  Logan shook his head. “I left before they could do anything. If they drew blood, it likely was to test for drugs.”

  “It would be helpful to know what it was.”

  “I have no doubt it was oxycodone, like Conrad’s reporters were suggesting. It would make sense.”