by Maggie Marr
“We have so many scripts that need to be read. So many. And obviously way too many dogs. I’m at the agency twelve hours a day. Dillon is on set twelve hours a day. We need someone here.”
“You mentioned Mathilde?”
“Great housekeeper, phenomenal cook, not a dog walker and and habla very little inglés.” Choo bit his bottom lip. “Look, you obviously want into the business. And this is a great way to get there. You’ll be reading scripts all day. Yes, you’ll have to walk the boys a couple of times a day.” Four pairs of eyes looked at Choo as though they knew he was speaking about them. “But the rest of the time you’ll be here with Mathilde, reading some of the biggest movies in town.”
This job, this place, seemed like an opportunity I needed to grasp with both hands. An opportunity that satisfied all my needs: a job in the industry for the summer, a job in the industry next spring, after I graduated, if I survived this job, a paycheck, and a place to live. But… the opportunity came with a giant snag and that giant snag was downstairs with a bimbette pressed to his side. The guy I’d be reading for seemed to totally hate me, or at the very least seem to think I was a worthless nobody.
“What about Dillon?” I asked and now stroked Bernie’s belly.
“He’s really not that big of a jerk,” Choo said.
I looked up through my lashes at Choo.
“Okay, he wasn’t that big of a jerk before all this happened. And he won’t be as big of a jerk once he gets used to it… at least I hope not.
“Wait? So all this is new? How did this happen…? I’d wondered why if Dillon is such a big deal how come I’d never heard of him.”
“Because he’s the next big deal. Or everyone seems to think he is.” Choo rolled his eyes up toward the sky and shook his head in disdain at that idea as only a little brother could. “He’s got two films in the can and he’s filming his third. Mission Ranger releases in July, White Heat in September, and Offend and Defend he’s shooting now. Based on those films, he’s getting offers, but the public doesn't know him yet. If Mission Ranger does great, then his career is set, but if it tanks…” Choo shook his head and scrunched his nose. “Let’s just say my brother, right now, needs to keep booking the roles, at least until Mission Ranger hits.”
“He’s on his third film?”
Choo nodded. “In six months. Before that he got plucked from campus and tagged for an Armani underwear ad. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Six months later, he’s the next It boy in Hollywood.”
I pictured a nearly naked Dillon with only tighty-whities. Heat flashed through my body. Those arms, that chest… his abs and hips and ass… every inch had to be just as tight. Heat flushed up my neck. I’d see where that tattoo ended… I shook my head and jerked my thoughts back to now and away from the naked images of Dillon that my brain was creating.
“Wow,” I said. “That would be one wild ride.”
“It has been. We’ve both gotten a little carsick a couple of times.” Choo scooted to the edge of the bed and let his feet drop to the floor. “So you’ll stay?” Choo’s eyes seemed to plead for me to say yes. Choo thought he needed me here, I didn’t yet understand why, but I definitely needed the job, and a place to live, and a paycheck.
The four dogs leaned against me. They loved me. And Dillon loved them. How bad could a guy who actually rescued animals be? I would be reading for Dillon, but that didn’t mean I had to be around him. Plus, what choice did I really have? I didn’t even know where my Jeep was. I slowly nodded and a small smile stretched across my face.
“Awesome!” Choo said and hopped off the bed. “I’ll let you get settled.” He stopped and turned. “Do you see that giant pile of paper over there? Next to the desk?”
I swallowed and nodded.
“That, my lovely Lane, is why you’re here.” He flashed me a smile. “Grab a script, come downstairs, and I’ll fix you another Choo special.”
Dillon
“What the hell is that?” I said and poked Choo in the shoulder as he ambled down the stairs.
He turned his smart-ass look at me, the one with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow. The one that, before they threw us out, our parents used to say was identical to my smart-ass smirk—no wonder Choo’s look nearly drove me off the rails.
“That is your new reader,” he said. He looked like he’d just solved the biggest problem in the world. He leaned forward his voice low. “And I was right,” he said. “Totally untouchable.”
My heart slammed into my ribs. I reached my hand to the banister.
Yeah, Lane was untouchable, but in a totally different way than I’d expected. She wasn’t ugly or gross or disgusting. Choo knew me so well. Lane was completely untouchable because she was too perfect.
“Not even you are depraved enough to tap that. I knew it the first time I saw her. You may be Mr. Tough Action Man, but I know you, big brother, I do.”
Choo was right. She was too good, too pure, too innocent—exactly what I’d want for a forever kind of girl, but not what I wanted for now. I wasn’t ready for forever. I wasn’t even close. Not now. Not anytime soon. Not with the image that Webber and Boom Boom and even I had spent months developing. Not when I was so close to getting my career launched. Not when I had Choo to get through college.
I had rules with women. One of them was not messing around with purity. If a girl wanted to throw herself at me, who was I to say no? Especially the easy lays that inhabited L.A. I was quickly becoming a trophy for some of those girls—they wanted to sleep with an actor, especially an actor on the rise. I could walk into any club and walk out with nearly any piece of ass. Perfect. No problem. Those were a different type of girl, those were the type of girl that Lane Channing wasn’t. I could tell just by being in the same room with her. But I could also tell that she was gorgeous, and rules or no rules, I didn’t need her in my space all the time.
“Won’t work,” I said. “I need a guy reader.”
“You have over thirty scripts someone has got to read and an offer on a Steve Legend film that will get pulled on Monday if you don’t give them an answer.”
I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left. Why did my brother have to be such a pain in my ass and be right?
“She’s smart and she needs a job.”
“I don’t want her in my space.” I searched the room with my eyes. “I don’t want anyone in my space, why is that so hard to understand?”
Choo pushed past me to the bottom of the stairs. I followed him to the foyer. “Look, I don’t have time to do the reading and the dog-walking. I found a solution; deal with it.”
“I don’t want to deal with—” I glanced up toward the top of the stairs. My heart thwapped in my chest. She wore a dress, if you could call it a dress, more like a long shirt. Her legs gleamed. From where I stood, I could see way too far up her thigh to the tiny patch of lace at the top of her leg. I tried to pull my eyes from her, but I couldn’t. Rules or no, I was so completely and utterly screwed.
Chapter 6
Lane
The next morning I met Mathilde. The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and something warm and sweet—and bacon. God, I loved bacon. My stomach grumbled and reminded me that yesterday I’d had a salad and four Choo specials.
“Buenos días, señorita. Mi nombre es Mathilde.” Her face was like a gentle hug and a smile raced across it. “Sit and eat before you walk the pups.” With the mention of food, my stomach rumbled again. I sat at the place fixed for me, and Mathilde filled my plate with bacon, eggs, fresh blackberries, and a warm scone. She set the meal before me and then fixed my coffee. I wasn’t used to being waited on, but when I asked to help, she shushed me and waved me back to my seat.
“Choo said I feed you and help you,” she said and smiled. “You are too bony. You need to eat.”
I would have agreed with her if I wasn’t so busy shoveling food into my mouth. I ate like a girl who hadn’t seen a hot meal in days…. Well, I was that girl. Once I finished my breakfast, I fo
und four leashes, four scripts, and a long note from Choo on the center island. I had my orders and a set of house keys. No vehicle to transport me and the pups to Runyon Canyon, one of their favorite places, but we could walk—it was only a mile.
“Okay, so look,” Choo said over the phone, “be careful of rattlesnakes at Runyon Canyon.”
“Yeah, right,” I said and laughed, but when Choo didn’t laugh back I wondered if he was serious. “You’re kidding, right?”
“They lose a couple of dogs every summer at Runyon from rattlesnake bites. Just don’t let them off their leashes all at once. They get too brave when they’re all running around without leashes. They do better two at a time.”
Runyon Canyon was a giant, steep-hilled park with scrubby brushes, a dirt trail at what looked to be a near-ninety-degree angle, rocks, and trees, set high in a residential neighborhood. Choo’s safety warning in mind, I stopped at the bottom of Runyon, looked up at the brilliant Los Angeles sky, and then started up the steep incline. The pups trotted with me. I wasn’t brave enough yet to set any two of them free. Runyon was packed with runners, walkers, and dogs, all of them huffing and puffing up the never-ending hill. The dirt path wove around bushes and through scrubby trees. We turned around giant rocks, forever climbing. My thighs started to ache and I gulped for air. The dust was a reddish color. Kong trotted next to my feet and Bernie loped by Kong. Scorsese and Spielberg tugged at their leashes, straining to run up the hill. Those two were strong and impatient. I pushed forward. By the end of this walk, I’d have my workout done for the day.
I reached the third turn, and I bent down and unsnapped Scorsese and Spielberg. The duo ran three feet ahead but then stopped and looked back at me, Bernie, and Kong. I was pretty sure they weren’t going to take off without us, so we started the stiff hike to the very top. Runners passed me and while I was in pretty good shape, the way they were pushing and sweating and panting impressed me. Near the top, I looked up and just ten feet beyond us was a familiar broad chest with a familiar tattoo.
I stopped and took a deep breath. A bolt of energy zipped through my body. The heat that coiled in my belly and spread between my legs contained a kind of want that I’d heard about but not experienced. My breathing shallowed as my eyes roamed over Dillon.
A light film of sweat glistened across his chest. The sun heightened the shadow under his six-pack, the existence of which I’d speculated on just the night before. No wonder he’d been plucked from a college campus to be an Armani underwear model. His hard, muscular thighs, his chest, even his flatiron stomach, all of it meshed together to make a perfect body—really, absolutely perfect. So perfect it barely looked real. Looking at Dillon with his sweat glistening perfection made breathing difficult. I struggled to pull my eyes from ogling his body. I was thankful, once again, for my sunglasses.
I’d overheard Choo and Dillon talking late last night. I didn’t hear the exact words but could pretty much tell from the tone that I wasn’t exactly wanted. I needed this job. I needed to last through the summer as Dillon’s script reader and get my offer from CTA. Being physically attracted to Dillon wouldn’t help, but I could control my physical feelings. I might agree with the world that Dillon was sexy, but I didn’t really like Dillon. So far, all I’d seen of him was a self-involved jerk. Granted, I did really adore Choo, and I did adore the pups, and all five of them seemed to think Dillon was A-okay, but I still wasn’t sold on Mr. Dillon MacAvoy. It would take more than his all shades of sexiness plus a little brother’s love and the abject devotion of four rescue dogs to convince me that Dillon was anything more than the narcissist who’d humiliated me in front of an entire film crew.
That little memory, the memory of my humiliation at the hands of Dillon, threw a bucket of cold water on my physical desires. The heat scorched out. Scorsese and Spielberg barked. They’d caught sight of the gorgeous man dripping sweat not far from us and bounded up the hill, wagging their tails. Bernie and Kong both pranced by my side once they saw Spielberg and Scorsese’s reactions. Bernie looked up at me and whined.
“I know,” I whispered over an exasperated sigh. “Mr. Perfect is here. Come on.”
Looking at Dillon was like looking at chiseled perfection. His body was thick with muscle. He wore shorts that were slung low on his hips. Dillon bent down and patted Bernie and Kong. He turned his face toward me. A giant smile burst across his face. My heart hiccupped.
“Morning,” he said.
“Hi.” My smile was hesitant. I shifted Kong and Bernie’s leashes to my right hand and pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. All four dogs were a wiggling mass of joy around him.
He stood. I forced my eyes to remain on his eyes and not wander across that thick chest or down that lovely hint of hair that whispered below his six-pack to underneath his shorts.
He cleared his throat. I’d failed to control my roaming gaze. His lips hitched up on one side. I’d been caught, a second time, checking him out.
Scorsese and Spielberg sniffed the grass just to the left of the path. Women in shorts and tank tops kept sliding their eyes to my near-naked boss and whispering behind cupped hands. Dillon’s effect on females was undeniable—even I, who’d witnessed his penchant for jerkiness, went noodle-legged at his sweat-glistened chest. He wasn’t super famous yet, but he had graced a giant billboard on Sunset Avenue sporting nothing but his tighty-whities and his giant package. They either recognized him from the Armani ad or simply couldn’t keep their eyes off this gorgeous man.
I couldn’t blame them. I couldn’t control my own eyes, so of course they wanted to let their gaze roam up and down his arms, chest, and—Dillon turned toward the grass where Scorsese and Spielberg stood—his ass.
The tiniest gasp escaped over my lips. A light film of sweat decorated his back and his tattoo wound its way around his muscled arm, over the V muscle of his back, and past the waistband of his shorts. Where did that tattoo end? I licked my bottom lip and pulled it between my teeth. Heat pulsed through my body. That beautiful, firm, globe of an ass was right there. I fought the urge that hit me to reach out and grab that gorgeous ass.
“Scorsese! Spielberg!” Dillon called.
A redhead in a neon-pink jog bra and a brunette in a white tank top tittered behind cupped hands when they heard Dillon call out the names.
“Cute names,” the redhead cooed and cocked her eyebrow in a come-hither look.
Dillon’s megawatt smile breached his face. He reached out his hand to me without looking at me or speaking; instead, his eyes ogled the girls’ asses as they walked by.
“Leashes,” he commanded.
I stood there and ignored him.
His ripped his eyes from the two retreating females. “I asked for the leashes,” he said, his tone impatient.
“You didn’t ask,” I said and let Bernie pull me toward the grass. “You didn’t say may I please have the leashes. You barked ‘leashes’ like I’m supposed to know what that means.”
He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped. He turned his head toward the view of Los Angeles, sighed, and then turned back. “Lane, may I please have Scorsese and Spielberg’s leashes.”
My heart thwapped in my chest. He was going to fire me for sure, but I deserved to be spoken to in a polite tone. I lifted the two leashes and he took both from my hand.
“Thank you,” he said and snapped one to the collar of each dog.
He turned and we fell into step with each other. Kong, Bernie, Scorsese, and Spielberg all trotted just in front of us.
“You found everything this morning,” Dillon said. “Did you meet Mathilde?”
I nodded. “She seems nice.”
“Did she feed you?”
I nodded again. “So much food. Does she do that all the time?”
“Why do you think I run up and down Runyon Canyon every morning?” Dillon tipped his chin toward me and flashed his smile.
I looked away from him and toward Bernie and Kong. The power of that smile was catac
lysmic. Being the focus of that stellar smile was like being thrown in front of Klieg lights.
“We have a little bit of a language barrier,” I said.
“It’s tough. I’m guessing you don’t develop Spanglish skills in Kansas.”
I slid my eyes toward him. This was the first sincere, non-derogatory comment he’d made about me being from Kansas. I searched his face for some sort of sneaky look that showed he was teasing me, but there was nothing on his face.
“No habla español,” I said. “That is the limit of my Spanish.”
“Mathilde understands a ton of English,” Dillon said. “She just doesn’t speak it very often.”
“How long has she been with you and Choo?” I asked.
“Since we rented the place, which was right after I booked my first film.”
I nodded. We bounced along. He stopped, bent down, and let all four dogs off their leashes. They jumped with glee. Choo had told me never to let them all off their leashes, but I figured since they were Dillon’s dogs, he knew what to do with them.
“How long have you been doing that?” I panted out. I really needed to work out more. Dillon’s body glistened with sweat, but he wasn’t out of breath from the steady climb.
“What?” He shot me a puzzled look.
“Rescuing dogs?”
He tilted his head and gazed at me, then looked back at the happy pack of four just a few feet ahead of us. “Nearly my whole life,” he said. “I couldn’t keep them until I had my own place.” He scratched his neck and his hand drifted down across his chest and finally to his side.
I kept my mouth closed and reminded myself not to drool. I needed to at least pretend I didn’t think he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever spoken to in my entire life. Besides, his ego was too big for a girl like me, plus I was certain I was two speeds below his normal gear where women were concerned.