“Dammit!”
Zach slammed the empty bottle on the coffee table. Who was he kidding? This business was as tricky as any he’d ever seen. How was he supposed to know who to hire as a male lead for Hollywood Wedding? The script called for a man in his late thirties, but what did that mean? A younger Paul Newman? An older Tom Cruise? Zach had no idea, and the director was no help. Zach had asked his advice, and the guy had almost frothed at the mouth.
“Get me Mel Gibson,” he’d gushed.
Even Zach knew enough to laugh. If Triad went in hock for the next fifty years, Gibson would still be an unattainable dream.
And his boast to Eve, about getting big spenders to invest their money, had turned out to be hollow All the big spenders he’d approached wanted to know who was starring in the film before they sank any money into it. And most of them wanted to know what had happened to Eve.
One or two of them had asked the question with a wink—which had, for some reason, made him want to punch out their lights. But a surprising number of others had said Eve had turned out to be more knowledgeable than they’d expected and that they were sure her expertise would be missed.
Ed Brubeck—who’d turned out to be fifty, jovial and gay, Zach thought with a grim smile—had been more direct.
“Nobody’s going to put money into a ship without a rudder, Mr. Landon,” he’d said.
Had Eve really been that rudder?
No. No, she couldn’t. The old man had given her her job at Triad as a gift…
Or had he? Would Charles really have done that? His father had been a lot of things, but never stupid and certainly never sentimental.
Zach put his head in his hands. He’d never even considered that possibility, but then, it had all seemed so obvious just a short time ago. Now—now, he wasn’t sure of anything, certainly not of the route Eve Palmer had taken to the top…
Or of why he couldn’t get her out of his head.
“Dammit!”
He grabbed the remote control and aimed it at the TV. A sitcom came on, something that looked as stupid as he felt. He hit the mute button, swung his legs up on the sofa and stretched out, his arms beneath his head.
He had faced trouble before, and gotten out of it. There had to be a way.
By midnight, he still hadn’t found it. The hands of the clock hit one, then two. Zach’s eyelids drooped. Seconds later, he was asleep.
* * *
Zach shot upright. He was in total darkness except for a hissing black and white square hovering a couple of feet off the ground, and there was an incessant ringing noise someplace just behind his head.
The phone.
He grunted, swung his feet off the sofa and felt around on the table beside him. Something crashed to the floor but he ignored it and dragged the phone to his ear.
“Zach?”
The remote was under his butt. He dredged it out, aimed it at the TV screen and watched the picture disappear.
“Yes,” he grunted. “Who the hell is this?”
“Is that any way to say hello to your big brother?”
“Grant?”
“On the nose, buddy. How you doing?”
Zach groped for the lamp, hit the switch and blinked when the room filled with light. He looked at his watch and groaned.
“Grant, do you know what time it is?”
“Sure. A little past seven.”
“In New York, maybe. Now try deducting three hours and see what you come up with.”
“Oh, man,” Grant said. “I’m sorry. I forgot the time difference.” A smile crept into his voice. “I’ll bet you just got to bed, too.”
Zach sighed. “You got that right.”
“Party time, huh?” Grant said, chuckling.
Zach shut his eyes, leaned back and massaged his temples.
“Listen, pal, it’s great to hear your voice, but why are you calling?” His eyes flew open. “If this is some gag you and Cade cooked up…”
“No. This is for real.” The humor had left Grant’s voice. “Zach? You recall the time we talked about how to score in the market?”
Zach sighed. “You’re telling me you need stock market advice at four in the bloody a.m.?”
“You said something about knowing when it was time to cut your losses.”
“Yeah. I told you that only the true believers and the certifiably insane don’t know when it’s time to cut their losses and get out.” He chuckled. “Hey, man, I charge my clients a lot of dough for those words of wisdom.”
“It’s good advice, right? I mean, you wouldn’t think a man was admitting defeat if——”
“Grant?” Zach was wide awake now. “Are you in financial trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s—it’s this guardianship…” Grant’s inhalation sounded harsh. “My ward isn’t—she isn’t twelve.”
“She’s younger?”
“Older. She’s not a girl, Zach. She’s a woman, and——”
Zach got to his feet. “And,” he said, his voice harsh, “she’s doing a number on your head.”
Grant made a sound Zach figured was supposed to be a laugh.
“Yeah.”
“Cherchez la femme, old buddy,” Zach said, closing his eyes. “Look out for the female of the species. Whenever there’s trouble, there’s a dame in the picture.” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and sank down on the sofa again. “Do yourself a favor, man. Hand the babe off to some other sap.”
“I thought of that, but I signed on for this and——”
“Well, sign off! Cut your losses, remember?”
“Zach? Are you okay? You sound funny.”
“Sure,” Zach said quickly. “This production company is all screwed up, that’s all, and—and listen, brother mine, I’ve got a breakfast meeting this a.m. and if I want to be my usual brilliant self…”
“Sure. Get some shut-eye. And thanks for the advice.”
“Yeah. Just be sure you take it. When in doubt, cut your losses.”
Grant chuckled. “And run.”
Zach hung up the phone, walked to the window and looked out over the sleeping city. He knew the answer to his problems. It was as clear as if somebody had scrawled it across the smoggy sky.
It was just that he wasn’t very good at eating crow, but crow wouldn’t taste much worse than turkey and a turkey was what he was going to have on his hands if Hollywood Wedding was a failure.
He turned from the window and glanced at his watch. It was pushing five o’clock. Time for a shave, a shower, a pot of black coffee and then…
Then, he thought with a sigh, he’d have that breakfast meeting. It wasn’t one he’d planned on, but so what?
A little risk put spice in a man’s life.
* * *
Eve was in the shower when she heard the distant tinkling of the phone.
Let the answering machine take the call, she thought, tilting her head to the spray. Anybody who telephoned this early in the morning deserved to speak to a machine.
Besides, phone calls at this hour meant someone was having a crisis. And she wasn’t in the mood for anybody’s crisis but her own.
It was amazing, how one person could come busting into your life and turn it upside down, but that was what Zachary Landon had done. In no time at all, he’d humiliated her personally and ruined her professionally—and the worst of it was, she’d helped him do it.
Eve shut off the shower, slid open the stall door and stepped onto the bath mat. How could she have been such a fool that night? She’d thought about it endlessly as she’d gone from fruitless job interview to interview, and she was no closer to an answer now than she’d been days ago.
Zach had come on to her, but so what? Men had been coming on to her for years, starting with dear old foster Dad, but she was an adult now; she knew how to deal with the problem.
A chilly look, an even chillier remark, she thought as she pulled on a pair of baggy sweatpants and an even baggier sweatshirt, and, if necessary, a
swift kick where it would do the most good, were enough to stop the most relentless would-be Don Juan.
So what had gone wrong? She had given Zach enough cool looks to freeze water, said enough nasty things to have sent him running…
Yes, but she certainly hadn’t kicked him. Eve stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair from her face. No, she hadn’t kicked him at all. Instead, she’d gone crazy in his arms, reacted to his kisses and to his touch in a way she had never even dreamed of reacting.
And Zach had counted on that, she reminded herself grimly as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. He’d made his position painfully clear with all that rot about having her number and knowing she wanted him…Which, of course, was untrue.
The man was a consummate seducer, smooth and experienced with women. He’d set out to humiliate her, and he’d succeeded. Admirably.
Eve shut off the bathroom light and strode briskly down the hall to the kitchen. As for what had happened the next day—well, she had no one but herself to blame for that. Quitting her job had been one thing, but sending back the check Zach had sent had been just plain stupid. Triad owed her that money, dammit. She’d worked hard, and now what did she have to show for her efforts?
She yanked open the refrigerator door, peered inside at the almost empty shelves and sighed. Nothing, that was what. She had little money, no job, no prospects…
The telephone rang again. Eve glanced at the clock. It was still early, but you never could tell. Someone might be calling about a job. She’d sat through half a dozen interviews; maybe one was going to pay off, she thought, and picked up the handset.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Eve.”
It was the last voice in the world she wanted to hear, the last voice she’d ever thought to hear again. For an instant, she was too shocked to react.
“It’s Zach.”
“I know who it is. What do you want?”
“I left a message on your machine a little while ago. Didn’t you get it?”
“No. And I’m not interested in getting it. I’ve nothing to say to you.”
“Look, I know we didn’t part amicably——”
Eve laughed.
“All right, dammit, so we parted badly.”
“Badly?” Eve shook her head. “You have a talent for understatement.”
“Eve, we have to talk.”
“We are talking, much to my regret. In fact, I don’t see any reason for this conversation, so good——”
“Wait! Don’t hang up, dammit. I…I…” His breath rasped sharply through the phone. “Listen, have you had breakfast yet?”
“Have I what?” she said, and laughed.
“Do us both a favor, okay? I haven’t had much sleep, my stomach’s growling, and my disposition’s shot to hell.”
“What a pity.”
“Just answer the question. Have you eaten yet?”
“No. And now I probably won’t. Hearing your voice has just about ruined my appetite.”
“For whatever it’s worth, Eve, this isn’t easy for me.”
“You’re breaking my heart.”
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Where shall I make a reservation? The Polo Lounge?”
Eve took a deep breath. “Let me say this in words of one syllable, so there’s no danger of you not understanding. I do not like you. In fact, it would not be over-stating things if I said I hated your guts. Is that clear?”
He gave a sharp laugh. “As glass.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree on something.”
“We can agree on more than that, if you give me the chance.” There was a silence, and then Zach cleared his throat. “I was wrong. About you not being capable——”
“You’re repeating yourself, Zach. I heard this speech before.”
“No. You never heard me say that—that I was wrong about why my old man put you in charge of Triad.”
Eve knew it was a moment for some clever, biting retort but she was speechless. Say something, she told herself fiercely. She swallowed hard, took a breath and spoke.
“If you’re waiting to hear the sound of my knees hitting the floor in gratitude——”
“Look, I know you think this is too little, too late, but at least hear me out.”
“Why should I?”
Because Triad needs you, Zach thought, but he knew there was more to it than that. He wanted Eve beside him. He didn’t entirely trust her, she could infuriate him with a look or a word—but like the yin and the yang of the world, she could also make him feel more alive than he had in a long, long time.
“Because I need your help.” There was silence on the phone, and he spoke quickly, afraid she was going to hang up. “Eve.” His voice took on a softer tone. “Have breakfast with me. Please.”
Eve hesitated. What could be more harmless than breakfast?
“All right,” she said. “Pick a place and I’ll meet you.”
Zach let out his breath. “How about the Polo Lounge?”
The Polo Lounge? It was the place for power breakfasts, where Hollywood’s elite drank their decaf, buttered their toast and agreed to multimillion-dollar deals.
No, Eve thought, not the lounge. If he’d set out to confuse her, he’d more than succeeded. She’d meet him someplace simple and down-to-earth, someplace where his brand of bull wouldn’t mean a thing.
“There’s a place just a couple of blocks north of my apartment,” she said. “You can’t miss it.”
“What’s it called?”
Eve smiled. “El Mirador,” she said, and hung up.
* * *
He was waiting for her when she got there, leaning against his Porsche with his arms crossed over his chest, and she knew right away that if she’d thought to put him in his place by meeting him at a taco stand, she’d made a mistake.
Zach was a man who’d dominate any setting, and that was what he was doing now. Dressed casually, in chinos and a navy blazer over a white shirt worn open at the throat, he looked more handsome and masculine than any man had a right to look.
Her heart did a quick two-step that sent it knocking against her ribs.
He smiled as she walked toward him, his green eyes reflecting as much amusement as irritation. He straightened up and came toward her, his gaze flickering over her, and she almost regretted that she hadn’t bothered changing out of her sweatsuit or that she hadn’t at least brushed out her hair and put on some makeup.
But then she remembered exactly what kind of man Zach Landon was and that they’d played this game before, and her regrets faded away.
He jerked his chin toward the pink and purple flowered awning behind her.
“El Mirador, hmm?” he said.
Eve shrugged. “Rumor has it that Michelin’s about to give the place a gold star.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Well, the food can’t be any worse than the stuff my hotel serves.” He took her arm, his grasp just tight enough to keep her from jerking away, and led her to the counter. “What do you recommend?”
“Arsenic,” she said sweetly.
Zach ignored her and scanned the hand-printed menu wall. “We’ll have the mangoes,” he told the counterman, “and then the ranchos huevos. Oh, and two large coffees.” He shot Eve a smile as he paid for their meal. “We can have champagne later, to celebrate.”
“Don’t talk like a fool, Zach. I can’t imagine we’d ever have anything to celebrate.”
Zach laughed, but he didn’t answer. It was safer that way, because the thought occurred to him that she was probably right, he was a fool—a fool to involve himself with Eve again.
She had not taken any pains at all for this meeting, that was obvious. She was dressed in an outfit as sexily stylish as a paper bag, her face was shiny and untouched by makeup, her hair was yanked back in a ponytail, and she was treating him as if he was the bearer of bubonic plague.
In short, everything about her said she hated him. But none of it made her any less desirable.
The baggy pants only made a man wonder at the long length of the legs hidden inside. The oversize shirt lent an air of sweet mystery to the faint, high thrust of her breasts. As for makeup—why would she need it? Her eyes couldn’t be more blue, and her mouth was already the soft pink of dawn.
She didn’t need any artifice at all, not even perfume. Her own scent, clean and fragrant as a flower, rose to his nostrils and dazzled him. He wanted to pull her closer and bury his nose in her hair to inhale her essence, lift her face to his and taste her mouth…
“Señnor?”
Zach looked up. The counterman was shoving a tray toward him. He hefted it in one hand, kept a grip on Eve’s elbow with the other and led her to a wooden table sporting a Corona beer umbrella.
Eve yanked free and settled herself on the bench. Zach sat down opposite her.
“What is it you want, Zach?”
“First we eat, then we talk.”
She watched in stony silence as he stabbed a plastic fork into the eggs and lifted it to his mouth. “Mmm,” he said. “Hey, that’s not bad.” He took another bite, then took a sip of coffee. “Not bad at all.”
Eve swallowed. Zach was tackling his breakfast with gusto, and she was sitting here and listening to her stomach growl? Not accepting Zach’s check had been stupid enough, but wasting perfectly good food was even worse.
She scowled, reached for her fork and dug in.
When she had finished, she took a final sip of coffee, wiped her lips with a paper napkin and sat forward.
“Well?” she said brusquely. “What’s this all about?”
Zach pushed away the tray, propped his elbows on the table and locked his fingers together beneath his chin.
“The past week’s been—I guess the word I’m looking for is interesting.”
She gave him a honeyed smile. “How fortunate for you.”
Zach sighed. “Maybe what I really mean is that it’s been difficult.”
“Difficult?” She laughed. “How could anything be difficult for the man who knows everything?”
“We finished The Ghost Stallion.“
Eve’s left eyebrow rose. “How nice,” she said politely.
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