Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers)

by Adele, Danube

  “Fine.” Good. Taylor got the money for Peter. She’s a fucking godsend. He’s such a prick. If he weren’t such a fucking amazing writer I’d tell him to go fuck himself, the fucking diva. No room for this shit in business. His thoughts came to me as clear as a bell, and I was warmed by them, thinking that he really appreciated me.

  “Updated call log.” I handed him our traveling clipboard. He usually spent the morning returning calls. Throughout the day, I collected and updated his call log. Just one of the many pleasurable (sarcasm here) duties I performed.

  I continued to stand there, trying to get a quick imprint of his baseline mood, see if there were any wayward thoughts about Frank, but general impressions were coming back to me instead of specifics. Low-level stress, which no one needed special powers to see in him, a sense of excitement over a new client he was going to take on who he thought would be successful and a growing irritation that he wasn’t alone in his office. At that point, he looked up at me impatiently. I’d been standing there staring at him too long.

  “Was there something else?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  “Then go do what I fucking pay you to do. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.” I sensed an immediate guilt over the explosion. His thoughts followed. Maybe Frank’s right. If I keep acting like an animal, Taylor might leave. She’s got the connections now. I need to bump up her responsibilities. Make sure to give her a raise at her next review. Can’t afford to lose her.

  I caught this as I turned to leave the room and felt like I’d hit pay dirt. Frank wasn’t after my head. Cool. He was batting in my corner or something. Who knew? People usually had their own agendas, which were nearly always self-serving. I didn’t know why he was sticking up for me and didn’t care. What was important here was that Frank wasn’t going to be a prick about the whole Friday episode. I’d exaggerated the event in my mind, clearly, as he didn’t seem to be looking to do me in. Beyond that, it just didn’t matter.

  The day felt a bit off, unreal, even as I went through my to-do lists and marked off completed tasks, feeling only some of the usual satisfaction of accomplishment. I didn’t really know what was going on with Cyn. I had no idea where she was, what she was doing or why she’d needed to leave, really. Somehow she was connected to Ryder, that much was certain. She knew Nick, who knew Ryder, and I just don’t believe in coincidences.

  And what in the world did Ryder want with me? Who were his goddamn people that he kept mentioning were being somehow warred against?

  I put in copy requests to the mail room, looked through a few inquiry letters, made calls to various movie studios looking for open writing projects and answered calls with my usual efficiency. And still, intense, pale green eyes kept popping into my mind. My insane voice in my head wondered where he was and what he was doing and whether or not I would have a chance to be naked with him again. It was hard to acknowledge what a sick little puppy I was turning out to be.

  “Got a lunch meeting with a new client. Need you to come and take notes.” Reggie came out of his office ready to leave. I could only stare at him and wonder what was going on. I never went to his lunch meetings. I could feel impatience rolling off of him, and I caught disjointed thoughts like need to look at tiles with Frank, why did we have to do that today and not the weekend? Get a workout in later, do dinner with Steve at Warner Studios about this new guy, fucking amazing, why the fuck is she looking at me like that?

  “You want me to do a conference call?”

  “No,” he said with exaggerated patience, which was another way of saying “Are you fucking stupid?” in Reggie talk. “You are coming with me, but bring your own car. Frank’s meeting us there, and we have some things to do after.”

  “All right. I just need a few minutes.”

  “Going to the Ivy. Meet us there.” He walked off with his cell phone already at his ear.

  I grabbed a small yellow pad and a pen, shoving them both into my purse, and did a quick shutdown of my laptop, wondering if I was supposed to bring it along. I figured it likely wasn’t going to be necessary.

  Just as I was about to head out the door, my cell phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, and though I considered ignoring it, I thought it might be Cynthia.

  “Hello?”

  “Have lunch with me.” It was the deep, dark voice belonging to the man whose image had been tormenting me since I first set eyes on him.

  “Ryder.” My heart pinged and warmth involuntarily entered my soul.

  “I know you get an hour. Meet me.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t. I’m still pondering won’t.”

  “Why can’t you?” His tone was softly demanding.

  “Reggie wants me to come to this lunch meeting with a new client.”

  “Where?”

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “It’s not usual for him to ask this of you. Why today?” The suspicion in his voice was sudden and sharp, like a blast of icy wind, dampening the secret flutterings of my heart. It reminded me that he had secrets, a few of which surrounded me. He was an unknown quantity. He was getting entirely too comfortable injecting himself without invitation into the different facets of my life.

  “How would you know this isn’t usual?”

  There was a brief pause. I filled in the gap with my sudden intuition.

  “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” Christ, one humiliation after another. Was I a job? Were all of his romantic maneuverings of me just further manipulations? How much of a stupid female was I being?

  “I’ve been watching you,” he confirmed.

  “For how long?”

  “A while. Where are you guys going?” His tone was hard, all business.

  “It’s none of your damn business.”

  I hung up in his ear, but the satisfaction from that action lasted only a few seconds at most. Then I was back to feeling heart heavy and stupid. He’d been assigned to watch me for whatever ridiculous reason. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve this, and while it needed further thought and analysis at some point—because, shit, someone was assigned to watch me, which was totally creepy and made me out to be a criminal—I just couldn’t analyze it yet. I needed to get through lunch without losing it. I deliberately shut down my thoughts with the promise that later I would give in to a good cry and figure out what my problem was and why I would be attracted to someone who could so coldly manipulate me, and I went down to my car.

  The Ivy in Los Angeles was expensive and picturesque, with a quaint, white picket fence surrounding outdoor tables, which was a complete contrast to the actual attitude of the place. It gave the impression of being friendly and welcoming, when in reality, only the stars were seated on the patio, and anyone who was an unknown was seated inside and virtually ignored. I was just glad to be appropriately dressed for the occasion, since it was a high-end restaurant.

  I decided to park a few blocks away though, because my car is such a piece of junk. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love and appreciate my car, but Reggie would pitch a fit if he saw me driving up in it around a new potential client, so I parked two blocks away around the corner and walked.

  It was hot and uncomfortable, but I took my time so I wouldn’t be too flushed or sweaty when I got to the restaurant. My thoughtful actions delayed me, and that made Reggie frustrated regardless. I didn’t need my mind-reading powers to see that. From a distance, I could see he was speaking companionably with a guy I assumed was the new potential client, but when he caught sight of me, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. Thankfully, he was trying to put on a good face for his new client, which meant I wasn’t going to catch hell just yet. I had no doubt he would say something to me later, though.

  “Here she is. My assistant, Taylor Lane.” Reggie f
orced a smile to his face as I walked up, though his thoughts spoke for themselves. Jesus, fuck. She took fucking long enough, and we’re sweating our asses off here.

  “Sorry for the delay.” I walked up and held out my hand to the attractive man standing beside Reggie. He was medium height and build, though a little on the lean side, and probably a few years older than me. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and thrown on some jeans and a T-shirt with casual leather hiking sandals. Not exactly the height of fashion, yet in a strange way, the absolute height of fashion for the young Hollywood elite.

  He had grayish-blue eyes peering out from under his overlong, dark blond locks, which were fashionably swept across his forehead in a slightly adult-modified Bieberesque fashion. Appreciation lit his eyes, as they did a quick and involuntary sweep of my body. Though his thoughts weren’t fully articulated, I could sense the surge of interest and his desire to see my breasts naked, which made me want to smirk. Guys were so easy. Still, it was flattering. I appreciated the complimentary reaction.

  “Absolutely worth the wait. Paul.” He introduced himself with a charismatic grin, holding my hand longer than was absolutely necessary. Gorgeous purred through his mind.

  Reggie noticed the lingering touch, and his anger drained away as though by magic. I could already see his brain scheming to see if he could work this to his advantage, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

  “We should sit,” Reggie interjected smoothly. “Our table is ready.”

  “After you,” Paul said to me, and I preceded him, knowing he was going to watch my ass as I walked ahead. That was okay with me. I do have a fine ass I’ve worked hard to shape. However, I wasn’t expecting to “feel” Paul’s strong desire to cup my ass and “see” how well he imagined it fitting in his hands, which made me blush. I like to pretend nothing shakes me, but with sex and intimacy I can definitely be embarrassed. It made it difficult for me to look him in the eye as he held my chair out for me. Maybe this whole mind-reading thing just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  We were shown to one of the patio tables, which was a testament to Reggie’s power in Hollywood. I recognized a few famous faces, though really, I’ve worked in Hollywood long enough to have lost my awe of celebrity.

  Over fancy mineral water, we discussed stars and movies in general, agreeing that there was a strong need for more meaningful, meat-and-potato movies and not just the cotton-candy fluff that was coming out. We also discussed Paul’s first screen sensation, which was the reason he was suddenly thrust into the limelight, needing representation.

  “It was a fluke thing. I went to law school after graduating with this sort-of-useless degree in economics,” Paul started.

  “You’re a lawyer?” I asked, I couldn’t help my somewhat surprised tone of voice. Paul looked like he was one with Seattle grunge fashion, which seemed the opposite of lawyerly attire.

  “Was,” Paul corrected with a chuckle. He leaned toward me with interest glinting from expressive eyes. “I discovered I prefer the lifestyle of a screenwriter. I can ditch the suit and tie and choose my hours of work. I never was a morning person.” When I glanced over to see if Reggie was paying attention to us, I saw he’d sat back and was suddenly texting with a frown of bewilderment.

  “Sorry. I’ll be with you guys in a minute,” Reggie murmured. “Something’s come up.”

  “Take your time,” Paul insisted with a friendly smile. In a warm tone, he added, “I’ll talk with your lovely assistant while I have her undivided attention.”

  He was definitely a charmer, used to having success in life and with women. I could sense that he liked being a peacemaker and creative thinker who didn’t look for confrontation and just wanted everyone to get along, which was why it was so weird that he went into law. What did that journey look like?

  “How does one go from law to screenwriting?” I arched a bit of a comical eyebrow.

  “Courage or stupidity. I’ll let you know which in a few years,” he said as an understatement, though I could definitely see a twinkle in his eye. He was proud. He was happy.

  “Clearly, this has been a success, don’t you think?”

  “It has. Far more than writing legal briefs. As I read through cases and studied tax codes, I found myself playing with an idea that involved money and espionage, which was way more interesting to me than the job itself. The rest is history.”

  “Wow. Then you hit it the first time through, and it’s maybe like the universe is giving you feedback that you made the right move. I imagine you have more ideas cooking?”

  “Matter of fact, I have a million ideas. They’re all up here.” Paul tapped his head with two fingers, grinning with genuine eagerness. He really was an attractive guy, and if I hadn’t already met Ryder, he would have appealed to me.

  Damn him! I needed to get him out of my head.

  And somehow he’d gotten my cell-phone number, which I needed to question him about. There was an exciting man in front of me who was attractive and, it seemed, interested in me, but my psyche was rejecting him for not being Ryder, which had also been my reaction to Rico. Not that I was ever going to date a client, because really, that would be very uncool and the quickest way to lose my job, but still. I’m thinking of the principle of the matter. Here I was thinking about Ryder, getting all distracted and distanced from what was happening right in front of me.

  Let’s get back to our current programming. And just as I thought that, Reggie finished his business on his cell phone and rejoined us.

  “I read the script you had Frank give me. Excellent.” Reggie nodded, sounding all business.

  Frank was the one who gave us the script to look at? Wasn’t he just a do-gooder helping out others? What was his deal? How did this whole incestuous relationship start? Paul was connected to Frank who was connected to Reggie?

  I didn’t have time to ponder, because I needed to keep up with the conversation. It had suddenly become more formal. It was why I was here, after all. I pulled out my notepad and began doing shorthand to keep up with points being discussed.

  Our food showed up, stopping the flow of conversation, and it took all of Reggie’s willpower not to snap at the waiter. Reggie had been under the impression that he was about to close a deal, but I sensed Paul was still on the fence. I could “feel” he was tired of doing meetings (ours, apparently, wasn’t his first), tired of feeling worked by Hollywood types and just wanted to be home working on his computer. Meetings weren’t his thing. Glitz and glam weren’t his thing. He was a T-shirt-and-jeans kind of guy who just enjoyed being a homebody and doing normal, everyday activities. He was feeling exasperated by the formalities and wished it was just the two of us having this meal so he could get to know me better.

  I flushed.

  I had a Caesar salad, Paul had a burger and Reggie had crab cakes. Conversation remained light and topical while we were eating, but toward the end of the meal, Reggie took a call from Frank and stepped away. When Reggie returned, Paul got right down to business.

  “What can you do for me that one of the other agencies can’t?”

  “At one of the large agencies, you will not be given the attention your work deserves, because they’re too busy catering to their high-profile clients. We are never too busy to serve your needs.” Reggie wiped his mouth with his white cloth napkin and tossed it lightly by his plate as he sat back in his chair. “I’m a partner in this firm, and we made a conscious choice not to overbuild our business in order to make sure our clients get full customer care. And still, if you look at our client list, which you’ve had a chance to do, you’ll see that we represent very successful people. We’re a boutique agency by choice, not necessity.”

  Paul looked over at Reggie. “I’ve had a few other meetings this week with the Charles Louis Company, Adams Group and Morris Entertainment, which all have high-profile client
s. They were all trying to be my good buddy, get me free tickets here or there, do me some favors, buy me a great lunch, et cetera, which is total bullshit. Their client lists are in the hundreds, which gives me the feeling of being part of a mill instead of a human enterprise. I have to say that this has been more real. So what’s next? What’s the next step if I sign with you?”

  “Your work will get out to all the major studios when I think it’s good enough. Taylor and I read all scripts and take meetings on them before we send them out. We want to make sure we’re sending out the best product we can. In the end, it’s what makes this a winning situation for all of us. Your movie gets made, and it’s not just another piece of crap being thrown out to the public. Four of my writers have had major motion picture award nominations, and two took them home in the last five years. I’m looking for quality here. I don’t believe in making shit movies.”

  “All right. I’m in.”

  “Let’s draw up the contracts and meet later this week.” Reggie grinned.

  “All right. Sounds good.”

  “Taylor will take care of you. Ah, there’s Frank.”

  I looked up in time to see the silver-haired man who’d been sitting by Reggie’s pool last Friday come through the picket fence in a casual summer suit. He was taller than Reggie by an inch or two.

  Of course, my heart was pounding, wondering how he was going to handle our “misunderstanding,” which I was still confused about. But as it turned out, I didn’t have to worry. As we all stood to greet him, his eyes caught mine and he winked, which immediately worked to alleviate some of my residual stress from the other day. I’d actually believed he was going to kill me. Ludicrous, right? Here he was, hugging Reggie and shaking hands with Paul. He was the reason Paul had been able to get his work looked at. Connections. Pure Hollywood. Idly, I wondered what favors were owed and what this connection entailed, but there was nothing unusual about doing business this way. It was, after all, how things got done in Hollywood most of the time.

  “How’s your dad, Paul? Haven’t seen him in some time.” Frank’s voice was jovial, with his slight British accent.