by Witt, L. A.
Finn pursed his lips as he skimmed over the menu. “The hash browns, are those grown organically?”
Bless her, the waitress managed to maintain a poker face. “No, sweetheart. They’re not.”
And there was that exasperated, entitled sigh.
Levi kept his head down, not to hide from her—she knew him—but to keep the producer from seeing him roll his eyes again. Thing #4,781 he didn’t miss about Hollywood—you couldn’t order a meal without someone at the table being an obnoxious activist or adhering to the latest health craze. Or both.
After she’d patiently explained that no, they had no gluten-free toast, and no, there was nothing organic on the menu, and no, the orange juice was not fresh-squeezed, Finn decided to stick with coffee. Probably a wise move on his part. As it was, Levi still wondered what other substances might be lurking in the man’s cup.
Finn sneered at the sugar packet he’d been playing with, and put it aside. Probably because it wasn’t certified and notarized as pure organic raw cane sugar harvested from sustainable fair trade fields and presented in a thrice-recycled packet after a virgin sacrifice. He stirred the cream into his coffee, took a sip—no immediate bad reactions, so maybe it wasn’t poisoned—and set it back on the saucer.
“So,” Anna said to Levi. “Are you in?”
Levi sighed. “I’m out of this business.”
Finn waved a hand. “Listen, we know you’re ‘retired’ and whatnot, but humor us here.” He looked Levi in the eye. “Come down to the set. See how things are run.” He tapped his briefcase. “Give the script a read and see what you think.”
Levi swallowed, regarding the briefcase like it was a venomous snake. “Why me?”
Anna touched his arm. “Because we—and by that I mean I—think this is the perfect comeback for you.”
“I’m retired, Anna. I don’t want a comeback. I just want to—”
“Sweetie, think about it. This is the perfect series for you. It’s set right in your backyard. You’d have a fairly small role at first. It’s—”
“At first?” Levi blinked. “Whoa. I thought you were talking about a guest spot.”
“Well, sort of.” Finn shrugged. “You’d be credited as ‘guest starring’ at first, but the character you’d be playing eventually comes back for a recurring role.”
Levi quickly ran through the series in his head—much as he hated the presence of Hollywood here, he did enjoy both the books and the show—and tried to narrow down which character they were talking about. Someone who’d surfaced early on, then came back—
The penny dropped. “You want me to play Max Fuhrman?”
A huge grin spread across Anna’s lips, and she nodded.
Oh, damn her. Damn her straight to hell. Anna knew one of Levi’s biggest frustrations with the studios was that they kept typecasting him. He’d wanted to try his chops at someone with more emotional range—hell, any emotional range—instead of spending ninety percent of his screen time jumping off or out of exploding vehicles.
Someone like Max Fuhrman.
Fuhrman went back and forth between an angsty alcoholic with a hefty case of PTSD and—thanks to a shaman’s spell—a sociopath. A lazy actor could make him into a generic villain with the occasional moment of humanity, but Levi saw so much potential to portray him as a complex, tortured character.
He swallowed. “Why me?”
Anna shrugged. “Well, you’re—”
“Because the man who played Chad Eastwick has just the kind of machismo we need for someone like Max.”
Anna exhaled so hard it was almost a growl. “Finn, really?”
“What?” He waved a hand. “Look, it’s no secret there’s been a lot of speculation about the show having a homoerotic vibe.”
Levi’s heart dropped. He glanced at Anna, eyes wide, and she gave a little “don’t worry, I’ve got this” nod.
“That’s not why I picked him for the role.” She glared at the other producer. “Levi has the chops and the versatility to play Max. Yeah, we want someone masculine and powerful, but it has nothing to do with the—”
“Your choice doesn’t,” he said. “But the studio’s only considering him because of that. Between a gay lead, the story’s homoerotic undertones, and—no offense—a lesbian executive producer and director, there’s concern about the show’s image.”
Anna rolled her eyes. She met Levi’s and shook her head slightly, a silent “don’t listen to him.”
“Anyway. Bottom line, we want you for this role.” Finn pulled the script out of his briefcase and set it on the table between them. “Give it a look. Come down to the set and see what you think.”
Levi glared at the script, its three brass brads gleaming in the fluorescent light.
Anna chuckled. “This is the role you’ve been waiting for, sweetie.”
It was. It so was.
“And you’re not the only one waiting for it,” Finn said. “The studio’s got two other actors in mind, and they are looking for a reason to sign them over you.”
Levi resisted the urge to make a grab for the scripts. Damn it. These two really knew how to corner him—offer the role of his dreams, and make sure he knew it was being offered to someone else too.
Fuck. This really was the single role in God’s creation that could coax him back in front of a camera. If Hollywood’s bullshit hadn’t turned him into such a cynical asshole, he’d have signed the contract in a heartbeat. Especially with Anna as one of the people at the show’s helm.
A shrill beep startled him out of his thoughts, and Finn pulled his cell from his pocket. “Damn. Would you two excuse me for a moment?”
They both nodded, and he got up and headed for the door. Well, at least he had the common courtesy to take his call outside. Maybe there was hope for the bastard yet.
As soon as Finn was out of earshot, Levi released a breath and rolled his shoulders.
“Ugh, I can’t stand him,” Anna muttered.
“I doubt anyone can.”
“You ain’t wrong.” She smirked. “I don’t think anyone likes him as well as he adores himself.”
Levi laughed.
Anna managed a soft laugh too, but it didn’t last. She held his gaze. “It’s good to see you again, Levi. It’s been way too long.”
“Yeah, it really has.” He paused. “So, uh, all shop talk aside, how have you been?”
Anna shrugged. “Up and down.”
“Yeah?” Levi cocked his head. “Seems like things are pretty damned good on the professional front.”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. But you know the kind of toll that takes at home.”
He grimaced. “You’re probably working insane hours right now, too.”
She groaned, letting her calm, professional mask slip for a second. “I am. And Leigh understands, but I’m not gonna lie: it’s making things tough.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
She shrugged again. “It is what it is. So what about you?” She glared playfully at him. “And why do I never see you around here when we used to run into each other all the time in LA?”
He laughed dryly. “We ran in the same circles there. Here? Not so much.”
“Fair enough.” Her expression turned to genuine hurt. “I figured I’d see you eventually, though.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve . . .” He shook his head. “I guess I’ve taken the recluse thing a little too seriously. And, you know, once the paparazzi started lurking around town . . .”
Anna wrinkled her nose. “Can’t blame you for that. But, well, all the bullshit and paparazzi notwithstanding, it’d be good to see you near a film set again.”
Levi ground his teeth, biting back a snide “Don’t hold your breath.” He forced the hostility out of his voice. “Good to see you in the director’s chair. And executive producer too. Congrats.”
She smiled, and in spite of his mood, he couldn’t help returning it.
“So, am I going to get a shot at directing you?”
And so much for his smile. “I don’t know. It’s temping, but I . . .”
“You don’t want to come out of retirement and deal with all the crap again?”
“Basically, yeah.” He sighed. “I’ve kind of gotten used to not getting calls from my friends and family to ask if this or that tabloid story is true.”
“But have you ever gotten used to not being in front of a movie camera?”
Levi flinched.
“That’s what I thought.” Anna leaned closer. “Look, hon. This business chews people up and spits them out all the time. I get that. You know I do.”
He dropped his gaze. “Yeah, you do.”
“But look at me, hon. I made it. I had to fight my way through all kinds of bullshit because everyone thought the only thing I could possibly direct were man-hating lesbian movies. And now . . .” She gestured at the scripts. “I’m directing more episodes than anyone else.”
Levi exhaled, and then he gave another small smile. “You never have been one to take no for an answer.”
“You’re right.” She arched an eyebrow. “Which is why it shouldn’t surprise you that I’m not going to let you say no to this role.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Because this is the opportunity you were dying for before you gave up on Hollywood. I know it’s not a film, but this is big, sweetheart.”
He let himself grin. “Ever the humble one, eh?”
Anna laughed, rolling her eyes. “It’s not big because of me. Hunter Easton’s a damn genius and his characters are amazing. You deserve a shot at bringing one of them to life.”
“And we both deserve better than what people like him”—he gestured at the place Finn had been standing a moment ago—“put us through. I want to act, but I don’t want to sell my soul.”
“I know you don’t.” Her eyebrows pulled together. “But it’s a damn shame for someone with your talent to give up acting because of that shit. I’m the last person who’s going to tell you anything in that town is easy, and I almost walked away from it myself, but . . .” She touched his arm. “I also know it’s in your blood just like directing is in mine. Filmmaking gets in there, and . . .”
“Yeah, it does.”
Their eyes met, and he knew she had him right where she wanted him.
“Anna, I—”
“Are you really happy, sweetie? Directing little plays in between hiding in the hills?”
“It’s better than what I had before.”
“I’m sure it is, but can you really look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to do this again?”
“If it was as simple as choosing between acting and not acting . . .”
Anna nodded. “I know, baby.” She paused, gnawing her lower lip. “Okay, let me throw this out there. Max Fuhrman’s got a small role for the first couple of episodes. Eight minutes of screen time in one, twelve in the other.”
“And then he’s there for the whole ride starting at the end of the season.”
She nodded. “He is. But if it’ll convince you to at least give this a shot, we can just film the first episode and see how it goes. We can have the contract written so you have an out.”
Levi didn’t want to be intrigued by the idea, but . . . “An out? Meaning?”
“Meaning if you decide after filming one or two of the episodes that you want to bail, you can bow out and we can replace you before anyone’s committed too much time and energy.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “And you think the studio will go for it?”
“They will if they want to keep Hunter Easton happy, and he wants you for this role as much as I do.”
He studied her. “You really want me to say yes to this, don’t you?”
Anna grinned. “I do. You were a successful actor before, and you can be again, even if I have to drag you into it kicking and screaming.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t put that past you.”
“Smart man.” She squeezed his arm. “Just read the scripts and think about it. You don’t have to make a decision right away.” The upward flick of her eyebrow suggested he’d damn well better.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. Will you come down to the set too? I’m headed back there after we’re done eating, and I’d be happy to show you around.”
He exhaled. “All right. I’ll come down and take a look.”
“Good. Good.”
Levi shifted a little. “By the way, I should’ve said this a long time ago, but I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Levi.” She put a hand over his. “You know I never would’ve gotten this far without all your help back then.”
He chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that. We all knew from day one you were going to be kicking Spielberg out of a director’s chair eventually.”
She snorted. “Let’s not go that far.” She tapped the scripts in the middle of the table. “Now, read those tonight and then just try to tell me you aren’t going to join me.”
He laughed again. “Challenge accepted.”
Her expression turned more serious, and she looked him in the eye. “And even if for some inexplicable reason you don’t accept the role, promise me you won’t be a stranger. I miss you.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“Good.” Anna started to say something else, but Finn picked that moment to come back into the diner.
“Sorry about that.” He smiled thinly as he took his seat again. “Damn thing is always ringing.” He glanced at Levi, then Anna. “Did we come to any consensus while I was gone?”
Anna smiled. “He’s willing to come down and take a tour of the set.”
“Great. And you’re going to read the scripts?” Finn nodded toward the bound pages.
Levi hesitated, but finally reached for them. “Fine. After the set tour.” He eyed Finn. “But I’m not promising anything.”
Judging by the way both Anna and Finn grinned, Levi may as well have just signed his name in blood.
So much for retirement.
Chapter 2
Levi Pritchard walked onto the set, and Carter forgot every single line he’d memorized.
Oh my God.
He’d known before he’d come to Bluewater Bay that Levi lived around here somewhere but was as much of a hermit as Hunter. People saw him around town from time to time, or caught a glimpse of him launching his boat down at the marina, but Carter never had.
And now . . .
Fuck.
Levi was wrapped up in a conversation with Anna and Finn, and didn’t seem to notice Carter. Or the fact that Carter was noticing the fuck out of him.
Wow. He’d had a crush on Levi since forever—slight understatement—and seeing him in person wasn’t a letdown at all. Quite the contrary.
Levi must have been in his midthirties now. Maybe even pushing forty, and he made the years look good. Another five or ten, and his nearly black hair would probably start going gray.
Carter shivered.
“Well, look who’s here.” A voice startled Carter, and he turned as his stunt double, Ginsberg, sidled up next to him. “I thought he’d tell Finn to go fuck himself, but . . .”
“Apparently not.”
Ginsberg lowered his voice. “You hear they’re trying to cast him as Max Fuhrman?”
Swallowing hard, Carter nodded. Considering how often his character and Fuhrman would be interacting, he’d been well aware that the man he idolized was the top pick for the role. “Yeah, I heard. I didn’t think he’d actually consider it, though.”
“Well, he must be.” Ginsberg gestured at Levi’s back. “Unless he’s just humoring them.”
“I don’t think he’d come all the way down here to humor them.” Especially not if it was true what everyone said about Levi: that he’d long ago shunned all things Hollywood. Word on the street was that when he’d been approached for another sequel to the Chad Eastwick films, the action franchise that had made h
im famous, he’d responded with anatomical instructions for storing the script.
“He would make an awesome Fuhrman,” Ginsberg said.
“No kidding.”
“Not to mention some eye candy around the set.” Ginsberg elbowed him playfully. “Too bad he’s straight, eh?”
“Yeah. Too bad.”
Though it was debatable. There’d been rumors since the dawn of time that Levi was gay, or bi, or curious, or something other than perfectly straight. Another actor maintained that he and Levi had dated on the down-low for a while, but Levi had always vehemently denied it. Some people said it was revenge after a bad breakup. Some said it was the alleged ex’s attempt to date his way from B-list to A-list.
But Carter had always wondered.
Maybe it was wishful thinking. Not that he had a shot in hell, but the odds might tip slightly in his favor if dudes were on Levi’s radar.
Right then, Levi glanced in his direction, and for a split second, they locked eyes. The script in Carter’s hand almost fell to the floor, but he managed to hold on to it, using his momentary fumble as a reason to break eye contact. And he didn’t dare look again. Great. First time Levi had ever seen him, and he was being a clumsy idiot. Fabulous.
When Carter finally worked up the nerve and turned around again, Levi was gone. So were Anna and Finn. Damn it. “That didn’t take long.”
Ginsberg scanned the set. “Wow. Yeah. Fastest set tour I’ve ever seen.” He glanced at Carter. “You think he’s gonna sign?”
Carter shrugged. I hope. Please, please, let it mean something. “Well, everyone says he wants nothing to do with film, TV, or anything.” Which is a damned shame.
Ginsberg nodded. “Yeah, I thought he’d given up acting completely.”
From a few feet away, a grip named Kevin snorted. “You mean he gave up on trying to act. Have you ever seen his work?”
Carter glared at him. “Actually, I have. Some of his old, pre-Eastwick stuff.”
“Yeah?” Kevin rolled his eyes and yawned. “And?”
“And it’s good. Really good.” Carter turned toward the empty space Levi had been occupying a few minutes ago. “It’s a crime they kept casting him in those stupid action movies.”