by Robyn Grady
Hunter Productions had enjoyed a record opening weekend with their most recent release, Easy Prey, an action flick featuring one of the day’s biggest box office stars. Dex had other movies coming out but he had a good feeling about this one. The characterization was genius. He smelled smash hit. Awards.
Dex eyed Shelby again, caught the time on his watch. Right at seven. Two steaks, desserts, a bottle of wine, cat in the bag…
“I’ll be over after ten,” he told Rance.
Silence echoed in his ear.
“You’re fobbing this off because of a woman,” Rance said.
“No, I’m not.” Not in the usual sense.
“I thought you were committing yourself to building Hunter Productions back up. Making it strong again.”
Dex had known Rance a long time. He counted this man as a friend. Now Dex’s jaw clenched and voice lowered. He was laid-back, certainly. That didn’t translate into pushover.
“You’re forgetting who pays the bills,” he let his friend know.
“You need to make the cash to pass it on.”
Dex ended the call. With her own phone, Shelby was taking shots of the famous fashion shops on Rodeo Drive across the way.
“You need to cancel, don’t you?” she said, phone near her face as she clicked. “That’s fine. In fact, it’s best.”
Flicking back his jacket hem, Dex set his hands low on his belt. Damned if he’d let her get away that easily. If for some reason she gave notice at the café, he might never find her again. But Rance had a point.
While he’d refused to spend his life hunched over a desk at the office, until this latest hit, Hunter Productions’ books had favored the lean side. When he’d first come out here from Australia, a kid of twenty-five, a friend at the time had helped him with manipulating budgets. He’d learned a lot from Joel Chase, and had put in the kind of crazy hours his family might have trouble believing of him. Even so, if he had to tend to business tonight, he wouldn’t let this other important matter slide.
“Come along,” he suggested. “We’ll grab a bite afterward.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know you well enough.”
“I don’t own a wooden club, Shelby. I won’t knock you out and drag you away to my secret lair.”
Her gaze held his with a narrowed pondering look that said she wasn’t so sure. She was wary and, living in a place like L.A., wary was good. If she was cautious about going to some unknown address, it only showed common sense. Another plus.
He’d lay the rest on the table.
“My writer’s hit a snag with a script,” he explained. “The story’s a romantic comedy with an edge. We’re working on a pivotal scene where everything falls apart. The man who the female lead once loved—a man who cheated on her—is getting married to her friend and she’s invited to the wedding. Her date for the evening had to bow out so she’s gone on her own.”
The single line forming between Shelby’s brows suggested that she was intrigued so he went on.
“She’s sitting with a group of the bride’s relatives, who go on about how beautiful the bride looks in her gown. Then a clumsy waiter spills cucumber soup on the female lead’s dress.” When Shelby blinked, maybe remembering the splashed coffee incident earlier that day, he continued. “In her stained gown, she’s on her way to the restroom, asking herself why she’s putting herself through all this, when she runs into the groom.”
Shelby waited. “Then what?”
“We’re not sure.”
Exhaling, she glanced around at the same time she absently dropped her cell in her tote. A Santa Ana wind chose that moment to whirl around their feet, up their legs and into her bag. The gust picked up a loose paper—a card of some sort. Twirling out from the tote, it circled midair then swept toward the road.
Shelby snatched at it. Missed. Without thinking, she stepped off the curb at the precise moment a gleaming new V-8 sedan whooshed past.
Two
Dex leaped forward. At the same instant, the gust from the vehicle—or, perhaps, her own fear—propelled Shelby back onto the curb. Off balance, she smacked into him, then toppled sideways toward the pavement. Before she hit concrete, he caught her in a dramatic low-slanted pose.
While she lay stiff at a thirty-degree angle, his arms suspending her weight, Dex found himself studying her face. Her eyes, fixed and round with fright, were actually the most unusual mint-green mixed with flecks of blue. A tiny scar interrupted the sweep of one eyebrow. This close, her lips looked so much fuller.
Those lips moved now, quivering as Shelby managed a few hoarse words.
* * *
“Seems I’m still getting used to the traffic.”
A second of inattention and she might have ended up in the hospital, or worse. Instead she was lying here, her back a foot off the ground, her mind spinning and nerve endings crackling with awareness.
This was a city where stories came to life. Right now she felt as if she were in a movie: a girl far from home almost demolished by a moment’s distraction. Instead she’d been saved with the help of a tall, tawny-eyed man, who felt so hot and capable holding her in this tango-type dip that, if she weren’t so dazed, she might well melt.
Dex carefully set her on her feet. As the numerous sounds and lights faded back up, Shelby schooled her expression, straightened her twisted dress and told her rabid pulse to quit pounding so wildly.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Everything except my pride,” she admitted. “I feel stupid.”
Judging from the curious looks of passersby, her incident was a bigger draw than Bernice’s show.
“That paper that whipped out of your bag,” he said. “It must’ve been important.”
She remembered and her heart squeezed. “Sentimental value,” she replied. Now that piece of her was gone forever.
Dex crossed to a nearby base-lit palm tree and swooped down. When he returned, the paper—a photo—was in his hand. Shelby’s breath let out in a rush. Accepting it from him, she pressed the picture close for a second then placed it in her tote, in a zipped compartment this time.
“A person I respect very much,” he said, “used to say that sentiment is never overrated.”
While now didn’t seem the right time to ask who that person might be, Shelby decided she’d like the opportunity to find out…maybe over a late dinner.
“Is that invitation to visit your scriptwriter still open?” she asked.
His face broke into a big white smile. “Rance and I would be honored.”
A few minutes later, he was opening the passenger-side door of a sleek black Italian sports car. After she’d slipped into the leather bucket seat and buckled up, the engine growled to life and the pristine machine rolled into a break in the traffic.
“Does this sort of emergency script thing happen often?” she asked, trying not to double-guess this decision or feel overwhelmed. Far too much had happened today. She wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up and found this had all been a dream.
“When you decide to make a movie,” Dex said, changing up gears, “there are all kinds of challenges.”
“I imagine a room filled with smoke,” she said, “and a man sitting at the end of a long table, tapping away madly on a typewriter while someone else paces back and forth, head down, hands clasped behind his back.”
Dex sent over a look.
“A typewriter?”
She reconsidered. “Guess that’s a little last-century.”
“They have heard of the internet where you come from, right?” he teased.
“Oh, sure. We put a cow on a treadmill to generate the extra electricity.”
He laughed, and that warm deepwater feeling swirled
around her again.
“I’m not a native to these parts, either,” he offered. “I grew up in Australia.”
“That explains the accent. I thought maybe British.”
“We Aussies have better tans.”
In the shadows, her gaze swept over his neck, his hands. From what she could see, he was naturally beautifully bronzed.
“Australia’s halfway around the world,” she said, forcing her gaze away from his classic profile—the strong jaw and hawkish nose. “What made you move here? Fame and fortune?”
Or had he run away from something? It happened.
“My family owns Hunter Enterprises.”
“Which owns Hunter Productions, I presume.” His movie company.
He clocked down a gear to take a bend. “My mother was born near your neck of the woods.”
“Oklahoma?”
“Georgia, actually.”
“Um, hate to tell you, but Georgia’s nowhere near Oklahoma.”
“Oh dear. I am still new to town, aren’t I?”
Smiling, too, she settled more into her seat. “Back to your story…”
“My mother and father found each other at a Fox Theater event. Dad was taken with her Southern charm and beauty. He proposed the next month.”
She grinned. “Your daddy’s a romantic.”
“He sure did love my mom.” Dex’s thoughtful smile faded. “When she died a few years back, he married again.”
“A nice woman?”
“My father thinks so.”
Heading down a less busy stretch of road, he stepped on the gas. With the engine growling and scenery slicing by, she waited for him to say more about his stepmom, but he didn’t, which seemed to say a lot.
Soon they rolled into a wide private drive situated in an upmarket neighborhood. A dark-haired man around her height answered the towering wood-paneled door. When he noticed her, the glare behind his trendy spectacles said he wasn’t pleased.
Shelby thought about turning on her heel and finding her own way back to her apartment. Instead she found the wherewithal to appear unaffected. She’d dealt with and survived those kinds of looks before.
The moment passed, introductions were exchanged and Rance Loggins invited them both inside.
Dex and Rance traded a few words as they moved down a glass-walled corridor that showcased the tropical gardens outside. In a room decorated in hardwood, gleaming steel and slate-gray leather, Shelby quietly took a seat on a cloud-soft sofa while Dex shucked off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
As he began going over the problem scene with Rance, Dex lowered himself down beside her—too close, Shelby thought, yet strangely not close enough. Whether having him save her from hitting the pavement earlier or the simple fact the other person in the room wasn’t thrilled at his surprise company, she felt somehow safer knowing Dex was close. Safer and also hyperaware—of his scent. Of his heat.
His thigh was only a reach away, obviously muscled, long and strong. Her focus shifted to his polished big black shoes. Those feet sure would thump around in a pair of cowboy boots.
“So, what do you think?”
With a start, Shelby brought herself back to the conversation. Dex had spoken to her, and both he and Rance were waiting for a reply.
“What do I think about what?”
Rance reiterated the scenario—Shelby was sure more for his and Dex’s benefit than hers.
“The female lead was the groom’s girlfriend until he cheated on her. Broke her heart. Later he proposed to her friend. She’s at the wedding reception and has bumped into her ex. Now they’re standing face-to-face.”
Dex thatched his fingers behind his head and stretched out those long trousered legs. “She needs to slap his face. Stomp his foot. Throw a drink in his face. We just need the words.”
“I’m telling you,” Rance said, “there’s no surprise in that. The audience will expect it.”
Shelby wet her lips, took a breath. She could see it all so clearly.
“She needs to speak up. She needs to speak to everyone there.”
Dex lowered his hands and studied her. “You mean confront him in front of the entire reception crowd about his cheating?”
“She’s classier than that,” Shelby said. “She’d gather herself and, never feeling more alone, in her cucumber-soup-stained dress, with everyone knowing and pitying her, she’d ask for the microphone and say what a gorgeous couple the bride and groom make. How she wished them every happiness. When she hands back the mic, with tears glistening in her eyes, the audience won’t applaud. As she walks away, weaving between tables then out wide arched doors that let in the sunshine, every guest is quiet. They’ve heard the rumors. In their hearts they already know. Reese and Kurt’s relationship won’t last.”
“You mean Jada and Pete’s relationship.”
Shelby blinked across at Rance and gave a thin smile.
“Sure,” she said. “That’s who I mean.”
* * *
Dex sat mesmerized. What just happened? Shelby had no experience with scripts or storytelling as far as he knew, and yet she’d enthralled them both with her rendition of how this pivotal scene ought to play out. Except…who were Kurt and Reese? And an even bigger question now was…behind that homegirl front, who was Shelby Scott?
Running a hand back through his shock of dark hair, Rance jumped up. “Let’s get that down.” He slipped in behind the laptop, pushing aside the hard copy, which was fanned out over the tabletop. “We’ll need more backstory.”
Three hours passed, during which Shelby joined Rance at the table, Chinese was ordered in and the scene ended up in great shape. On his fifth cup of coffee, Rance turned at enough of an angle to sling an elbow over the back of his chair.
“Do you write, Shelby?” he asked.
“Not my strength.” Shaking back her mane of mahogany hair, she admitted, “But I watch a lot of movies.”
Dex pushed away his empty box of chow mein. “Have an all-time favorite?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Bet I won’t.”
“I like silent movies,” she admitted. “I like Valentino.”
“So do a lot of women in L.A.” Rance stood and stretched his back. “The haute couture kind.”
She laughed, and Dex saw Rance’s face light in a way he’d never seen before. After a nasty bust-up, Rance hadn’t dated in over a year. Dex guessed that tonight his friend had decided the drought should end.
“I don’t have much interest in high fashion,” she said.
“You should.” Rance sauntered over to where she sat. “I’m sure high fashion would like you. The screen, too. I’m surprised Dex hasn’t offered you a read.”
“Of a movie role?” She set down her chopsticks. “I don’t much like talking in front of people unless they’re kids.”
While she explained her nanny background and how tonight’s meeting had come about, Dex mulled over her admission. He wasn’t sold. She had spoken in front of a crowd at least once in her life, and the mysterious Reese and Kurt had comprised the subject matter.
As if she’d read his mind, her green gaze hooked over and caught his. Then she studied the time on her drugstore wristwatch and declared, “I need to get home.”
“Beauty sleep?” Rance asked with a you’re beautiful enough shine in his eyes.
“Shift starts at seven.” She found her feet. She’d already explained her work as a waitress on The Strip.
“Shelby’s place serves the best cheeseburgers in town,” Dex said. “And the best coffee—when I can keep it in my cup.”
He and Shelby shared a private smile before she began collecting empty boxes. “I’ll clean up.”
“You’re my guest,” Rance insisted.
“You’ve done enough with your help on that script,” Dex pointed out.
“More than enough,” Rance added.
But, her mind made up, Shelby had already gathered up the boxes.
When she was out of earshot in the kitchen, Rance readjusted his glasses.
“She’s not your regular flavor. At first I thought she was another wannabe actress hoping to ride on your coattails all the way up to leading-lady heaven.”
“And now?”
Rance held his heart. “I’m in love.”
That was Dex’s cue to laugh. But he didn’t. Instead he stood and offered his friend a warning.
“She’s off-limits.”
“I thought she said you liked her for a babysitting gig?”
“And I don’t need her distracted from her job.”
“This is for your little brother, right? A vacation. Some time building sand castles. Couple days doing Disneyland. You’re not signing Shelby to a five-year contract.” He tapped fingertips on top of his hard copy. “She might enjoy having a stab at a different kind of role.”
“Helping you with scripts?”
“Why not?”
He’d tell him why not.
“She’s young. A nice girl from a small town. She doesn’t need anyone confusing issues.”
“And I suppose you have no intention of throwing a few of your own complications in.”
Dex was about to set Rance straight. Certainly Shelby was a beauty in all senses of the word, but he wasn’t laying a trap for her. He didn’t plan on seducing her, no matter how much he might like to.
Shelby reappeared.
“So, we’re done here?” she asked.
Rance’s grin was wry. “For the time being.”
After goodbyes, Dex and Shelby were back on the road. He put the address she gave him into the GPS while mulling over Rance’s comments. Shelby had been in town a second, and already she was attracting attention because of her looks and intelligence. Her modest brand of charm. As he pulled the car out and headed down the street, Dex decided that he’d need to get her signed before someone else snapped her up as a babysitter, model, actress, script doctor or, possibly, wife. Things happened fast in this town.