Double Take: A Leading Man Romance

by Harley Rayne

  I turn to look at her, and she looks vulnerable for once, like she just opened herself completely bare to me. She takes her glasses from the counter and shoves them on, and she looks so small and pitiful that I want to kiss every fucking negative feeling right out of her. “Kylie…”

  She shifts nervously. I blink a few times. I’m not used to seeing her like this, and it worries me. I take a step closer, but she takes a step back.

  This is it. This is when she leaves.

  To my credit, I’m doing a great fucking job of pretending to be stoic, but I feel the blood rush away from my face. Fucking hell.

  “Are you…” Kylie wrings her hands together. “Am I your, uh… am I your girlfriend?”

  I’m sure my expression doesn’t help her at all. There’s so much hope and innocence in the question, and I’d been so worried that my jaw is slack and my eyebrows are lifted. Blood rushes back into my face and I go to her, taking her face in my palm. “Kylie…”

  “Got it,” she says, trying to sound casual. She’s a terrible actress. “No girlfriend. We’re good. Just wanted to—”

  I silence her with a kiss and she gives, softening in my arms. I pull back so I can look right at her. “I want you to be. But…”

  “But.”

  “But… you don’t have to be so shy asking me for things. If you want something, tell me. I don’t want to be the guy that intimidates you. I also…” I hesitate, and though I don’t tear my gaze from hers, I’m sure it’s obvious in my eyes. “I also want you to know that this meeting… it might not work in my favor. And then I’ve got a really tough decision to make.”

  Kylie nods, her hand slipping over mine at her cheek. “I know. About whether or not to keep filming porn, or do the lawsuit, or whatever, I get it.”

  “Yes. Exactly.” The last thing I want to do is disappoint her. I’ve prepared her for the worst, but even then, it feels like it’s not quite good enough. There is no way to prepare her for what could come next. It seems fine in theory, because it’s just a job, but when I’m worn out, sweaty, and smell like another woman… things are going to be different.

  “We’ll make it work,” she says, reassuring me. “Now go shower. Boyfriend.”

  I go, after giving her one last glance before I slip back into my bedroom. I’m not going to set myself up for failure. I’m just going to say what I need to say, and that will be the end of it.

  All I know is that I can’t go back. Not now, not when I have so damn much to lose.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Kylie

  I go with Brett to the Kinked Up offices. I’m expecting something seedy, like someone’s basement or a rundown warehouse with lichen covering the door. But it’s big and it’s nice, a legitimate business.

  That surprises me. I always figured that porn was something that could be done with forty bucks and a handheld digital camera. But attached to the office building are soundstages. And from the length of the structure, it seems like there are a lot.

  “Lori built this thing from the ground up,” Brett tells me as he pulls into a parking spot. There’s a sign there. Brett Buckhurst. Of course there is. It’s good to be the king.

  “It’s nice,” I say, but my disdain for Lori is, unfortunately, obvious.

  He puts the car in park and takes my hand, and his is cold and clammy. “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to. I know that this hard for you. But it’s just a meeting. And fuck Lori, honestly.”

  “Fuck Lori like she wants to fuck you?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  He’s smiling now, so I feel a tiny bit triumphant. I can feel his nerves in the way his hands are shaking, and I know he’s doing this for us. He’s having this meeting that he really doesn’t want to have in order to make a life for us, and I find myself in love with him all over again.

  “I’m coming in,” I tell him definitively. Brett nods and he swallows. He looks at the time on his car’s dashboard and, with a breath sucked in tight, he climbs out. I follow suit. He takes my hand as we start into the building.

  It’s like the freaking Prince of Wales walked in. Women who are far too thin and way too plastic squeal and kiss Brett on the cheek, welcoming him back. A man with shoulders almost as broad as Brett’s steps forward to clap him on the shoulder and ask him how filming went.

  It’s obvious that Brett hasn’t told anyone about his intentions for coming here today, and that Lori hasn’t either. It’s clear that she’s hoping this meeting isn’t what she thinks it is, and at the very least that she’ll be able to wiggle her way out of it.

  Brett is gracious as he leads me through the hallways. He introduces me to a few people as, “Kylie, my girlfriend,” but I must look terrified and doe-eyed because no one tries to shake my hand. Truthfully, I’m pretty glad about that. I’m trying to reserve judgment about the people working here, but given that every eighth person is wearing little more than a towel, there’s no telling where their hands have been only moments earlier.

  Stop judging. I sigh. I try, but I’m only human.

  We take an elevator and Brett drops my hand in order to fold both of his together, his fingers lacing. He’s scared. I’ve never seen him coming apart like this before.

  When that stance doesn’t do anything for his nerves, he folds his arms completely across his chest and stares straight ahead. His expression is set, he’s stoic, and I can see him putting on his battle armor. We’re silent most of the way up, until the ding of the elevator announces our arrival to the required door.

  “You’ve got this,” I say quietly.

  He nods. “If you don’t mind waiting…”

  I step out of the elevator into the waiting area of the office, and I know Brett has a lot on his mind right now. The last thing I want him to do is worry about me hanging around and impacting things for him. “I don’t mind at all,” I say, and I try to sound reassuring.

  I don’t even squeeze his hand once we’re under the watchful eye of those around us, like the receptionist, potential actors waiting for their chance, and marketing personnel.

  Brett smiles at the receptionist, a brunette woman with her hair pulled back too tightly and obvious implants, and says, “Hey, Candi.”

  Of course her name is Candi. Of course.

  Candi smiles back, a dazzling smile, warm even with her front teeth completely crooked. “Lori’s waiting. Head on back.”

  Brett turns and gives me a look and his eyes are wild, even though the rest of him is nice and calm. I smile, and it’s all he needs before he disappears further into the offices, heading for a meeting he doesn’t want to have.

  I wish there was some way that I could make this easier for him, but I’ve got no sway. I’m the girlfriend, not the lawyer, and as far as I know, there’s no easy way out of this.

  Brett and I realized when we were driving in that there wasn’t an easy solution, or an easy way out, and we’re just going to have to deal with the consequences of his career. Hope is more real than anything else I’m feeling right now.

  I settle down in one of the chairs, glancing at the magazines scattered on the table in front of me. A pretty young girl reaches forward and grabs one of the People magazines, flipping through it nervously. She looks up at me and whispers, “I think that was Brett Buckhurst.”

  I can’t help myself. I grin and add, “Yeah, it was. I was on the elevator with him.”

  The girl looks like she’s going to lose oxygen completely at any moment, but my attention turns away from her. It depresses me, somehow, seeing all of these people here waiting for their big break. I’m sure some of them actually wanted this career, but I want to cry for those that don’t. But knowing what it has cost Brett, I want to tell them that it will never be worth it.

  The meeting cannot be over soon enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Brett

  Lori is ready for war. I can see it in her eyes as soon as I step into her office. And she can sm
ell reticence on me. I try not to let it show, aware that it gives her a leg up, but there’s far too much at stake for me now. She’s sitting at her desk, back erect, hands clasped on the top of her desk.

  “Sit down,” she says.

  I’m reminded of the movies of hers I used to watch as a teenager, where she wielded a crop and barked orders at young men who obeyed her every whim. I do the same and ease into the chair across her desk. I sink into it easily, folding a leg so my ankle lies over the other thigh. My arms are crossed across my chest still. I don’t break eye contact.

  This is it. This is our final stand. This is the moment we’ve both been dreading since I accepted a role in The House.

  Lori speaks first. “The answer is no.”

  I struggle to look casual as I lift an eyebrow at her comment. “You don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “Yes, I do. And you know damn well that I do.”

  Playing naïve is an obvious insult to the both of us, so I drop the implication entirely. “You’re right. I want out.”

  “Like I said.” Lori turns to her computer and starts typing as though the discussion is so fucking unimportant to her that she can’t even give me the benefit of eye contact. “No.”

  “There’s a little thing called free will…”

  “Free will? You’ve got to be joking.” Lori turns the screen of her computer around, and there it is. My contract. I wonder if she had it up on the screen, waiting the whole time. “Signed, sealed, and in a lock box. Electronic copy just in case. You remember, don’t you? Your ass is mine until 2019.”

  I look at the contract, squinting at the screen as though I can make it disappear with just a look. “They’re words on a page, Lor. They don’t mean anything.”

  She turns the screen back to face her again, uses her mouse to scroll, and reads, “During your employment with Kinked Up, you shall devote competent energies, interests, and abilities -- that means your cock -- to the performance of your duties under this agreement. During the term of this Agreement, you shall not, without Kinked Up’s prior written consent, render any services to others for compensation or engage or participate, actively or impassively, in any other business activities that would interfere with your duties hereunder or compete with Kinked Up’s business.” Lori looks up at me expectantly, and I barely raise an eyebrow.

  “I know what it fucking says. I signed it. Why are you telling me this?”

  Lori leans forward again. Her tits press against the desk, and she’s obviously trying to distract me. My eyes don’t waver from hers, however. “Because we didn’t have to lend you out so you could be De Niro for a few weeks. We let you as a gesture of good faith. You’ve got three years left. That’s it. There’s no fucking around.”

  She’s right. I don’t have a hand to play here. All I’m doing is beating my head against the wall and hoping something sticks. I’m hoping for mercy that Lori is obviously incapable of giving me.

  I also have no fucking clue how I’m going to be able to continue this for another three years. I hate that I’m desperate. “Can we negotiate at least?”

  Lori pauses. She’s considering it. I’m glad she’s not a totally cold-hearted bitch, but I can almost guarantee her reaction, regardless. She’s going to get the best deal here, and I’m going to be shit up a creek no matter what.

  Still, she decides to play ball as she asks, “What do you have that I don’t have already?”

  I’m drawing a blank. I can think of nothing. She’s already got my dick in a proverbial vise here and there’s nothing I can do to pry it loose. “Name your price.” I put the burden on her.

  This delights her, and I instantly regret it. She’s trying to make it as impossibly hard to agree to as possible. I’m absolutely fucking horrified when she finally answers.

  “A series of amateur videos. Give me… let’s say… five more.”

  I already despise where this is going, but I’m going to ride this negotiation out as far as it will go. “Five more amateur videos, then I’m out?”

  “Then you’re out.”

  It seems too easy. It seems like there should be another addendum to this. Lori is more manipulative than this. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s a hell of a lot better than I thought I was going to get. “Yeah. Draw up the new contract, and I’ll sign it.”

  I rise and I head to the door, hoping to escape before the deal gets worse. I don’t quite make it.

  “Oh, Brett?” I turn to see Lori’s shark smile. “One of those movies has to feature your pretty girlfriend. Get her on camera and see how she looks.”

  “Fuck you.” My heart is in my stomach as I consider for a moment launching myself over her desk and wiping that smile off her face. She’s lucky I have a hard and fast rule about putting my hands on a woman. But the idea of sucking Kylie into this part of my life is nauseating.

  “You’ll go out with a literal bang,” she says cheerily.

  “No. No fucking way,” I hiss.

  Lori looks surprised, though the faked expression is so fucking horrible that I wonder if she didn’t climb out of hell moments before. “Why not? Isn’t she the reason you’re leaving? I bet she’d be happy to help you get there.”

  “God damn it, Lori!” I’m furious now, and I can’t hide it anymore. I raise my voice, railing against her. “She’s fucking innocent in all of this!”

  “One movie,” she counters, and her calm makes me want to scream. “Just one movie with her, and you’re done.” She smiles again, and this one is more evil than the last. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “We all hope,” I spit, and pry open the door to her office. “No fucking deal.” I would rather film scenes every day for the rest of my life than allow Kylie to be objectified for even a moment. Lori knows that, and she’s used my weakness against me.

  I think about Kylie out there in the waiting room, unaware of everything that’s happened. I imagine her hesitance, her frustration. I imagine that she’s praying for an outcome that I now know won’t come. I don’t know how I’m going to face her. And I sure as hell don’t know how I’m going to explain to her why I have to stick around for the next three years.

  “Wait,” I say, my hand still on the knob as I turn back to Lori with one last ditch effort at gaining my freedom while keeping Kylie out of this. “I do have something you don’t have…”

  “Oh? And what would that be, dearie?” Lori asks, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

  “Someone who deserves you just as much as you deserve him.” I grin wickedly, delighting in the thought that everyone might get exactly what they need.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Kylie

  “No. There’s no way,” Rob half-screams when he looks down at the contract in front of him, his pen poised in mid-air. He’d been all ready to sign and make all of his problems go away via a binding non-disclosure agreement, but stopped when he saw the letter head. “I’ve submitted at Sundance! My last project has been accepted to mother fucking Cannes! I am NOT producing porn!”

  “It’s this, or someone named Hannah gets fifty percent of every film you ever make,” Brett says knowingly, cocking his head in mock sympathy. He really is a good actor, I realize for the umpteenth time.

  Rob turns and glares at me. “This is blackmail. I could have my attorneys all over your skinny ass.”

  “But you won’t. You don’t want this to leave this room. Besides, don’t think of this as buying my silence, think of it more like doing penance. You screwed up—a lot, and with quite a few people—and I’m prepared to keep my mouth shut and state that nothing physical happened between us if it comes to that.” I fold my hands and smile benevolently. “In return, you’re upping the credibility over at Kinked Up, and helping a really great guy buy back his life. Don’t think of it as lowering yourself by filming porn, think of it as making the world a better place for a lot of people.”

  Rob blew out a breath that caused the hair falling across
his forehead to flutter. I can’t believe that’s the kind of “little boy lost” move that once made me half-swoon. Now, it just makes him look like a spoiled kid who’s finally come up against someone who won’t give in to his tantrums.

  He picked up the pen and put the tip to the signature line, but then he hesitated again. Underneath the table, Brett found my hand and gripped it tightly, silently willing him to sign. If this didn’t work, if Rob didn’t go through with it, the agreement was off and Brett was locked back into his three years in porn.

  Neither of us dared to look at Lori, who wore a practiced expression of nonchalance. We knew she was actually beside herself at the thought that Rob Mulligan, the great it-boy of Hollywood producers, was agreeing to a four-movie deal, to be worked out at one film per year for the life of the contract. This kind of thing, while maybe not guaranteeing anything in the mainstream, still meant tons of exposure and the option to bring in high-dollar, big-name talent for what would amount to pornographic art films.

  Rob sighed and let his forehead drop to his open hand, resting it on the table. He let his eyes glaze over for a moment then signed on the line before flipping it over a few pages and initialing in the other places. He let the pen drop to the table and pushed back his chair, storming out of the room without saying a word to anyone.

  “Well, that was only a little bit awkward,” I finally said, breaking the silence with a weak attempt at humor. Brett laughed along with me though, finally feeling the weight of his contract lifting from his broad shoulders. Even Lori smiled triumphantly.

  “Don’t forget, dearie,” she began, pulling a stack of papers out of her Berkin bag and tossing them across the conference table to Brett, “we made you. And you’re good. If you ever want to come back…” She cut her eyes at me for a moment, realizing what she was actually hinting at. “…we’ll leave the light on for you.”

  “That won’t be happening,” he said, fighting to keep his voice stead before softening slightly. “But thanks…for everything.”