Hollywood Enigma: Hollywood Name Game Book 5

by Alexa Aston

  “This may sound crazy but I want to go back to school. My bachelors in English Lit won’t get me far. I . . . I want to teach, Wynn. Like Dad.”

  “At the university level?”

  “Yes. I’ve been volunteering for over a year now, working three nights a week with an adult GED program. It’s been rewarding but I’d like to kick it up a notch.”

  “That means getting a masters and your PhD,” he noted.

  “I know. I start classes after Labor Day at UCLA. They have a masters available on a doctoral track. I have no idea what the workload is like, otherwise I’d stay on with you and handle things.”

  “I’m fine fending for myself. I’m not totally inept and can pay a bill or two. If for some reason I need help, I’ll hire it.” He paused. “I’m proud of you, Cady. Mom and Dad would be, too.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that, Wynn.”

  Scarlett walked into her office. Wynn knew she was there before he could turn around, thanks to that subtle floral scent she seemed to favor.

  “Listen, Cady, I need to go. I’ve got a business meeting. We’ll talk more later.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “Same here. Bye.”

  Wynn disconnected the call as Scarlett sat across from him.

  “Let me read through the contracts before we talk. I want to get a handle on them before you and I brainstorm.”

  He pushed the file folders toward her. “I did that while you were gone. Made a few notes. Ask if you have any questions. I know what’s in them, backward and forward.”

  Opening the Kindle app on his phone, Wynn began the book about Edward III he’d downloaded last night. History, especially the medieval era, had always fascinated him. England, in particular. It was the chief reason he’d bid on the trip at the silent auction. Wynn had been to cities all over the world—London, Tokyo, Paris, Hong Kong—but like a rock band which never knew what town they played, he’d never been able to experience these cities. The closest he’d come to seeing the Eiffel Tower or Big Ben was his view from a plane window.

  As he tried to settle into the book, he watched Scarlett surreptitiously. She read with a pen in hand, sometimes trading it for a pink highlighter as she marked a passage in the documents. She also had a tendency to tap her index finger against her lips while in thought. A deep yearning ran through Wynn. He was desperate to kiss her again. The sex had been phenomenal but just as much, he’d enjoyed talking with her. Scarlett Corrigan was the first person in over a decade to break through his layers of protection and touch his heart.

  His soul.

  She tossed aside what she read and picked up a different manila folder, withdrawing a sheaf of papers from it. Once more, Wynn did his best to concentrate on reading and failed miserably. Her perfume wafted over to him, taking him back to having her in bed, naked, her skin heating and the floral scent rises as their bodies came together.

  Without warning, Scarlett pushed to her feet, a slow smile lighting her face.

  “I may have hit on the way to set you free.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Scarlett pulled up to Rhett’s home, noting the DeLaurias’ SUV and a gorgeous, sky blue Spitfire had beat her there. She assumed the classic sports car belonged to Wynn and eyed it with envy. He’d offered to pick her up but she’d told him she’d be coming from court and would meet him instead. Hopefully, he would offer to drive her somewhere in it another time. She had a weakness for hot guys behind the wheel of a cool car.

  No. Forget about it. Wynn Gallagher was her client. She was nothing more than his attorney. Maybe in the future, his friend.

  Then why couldn’t she get the image of a naked Wynn out of her head? Just the thought of his lips pressed to her throat and his hands roaming her body caused her mouth to grow dry.

  “Enough!” she told herself. She better pull it together before she saw him. If she didn’t, the eagle-eyed duo of Sydney Revere and Cassie Corrigan would know in an instant how she felt about Wynn.

  Reaching for her purse, she also grabbed a small bag with a change of clothes before heading to the front door. She rang the doorbell and her nephew opened the door, his grin revealing he’d lost both front teeth now.

  “Auntie Scarlett!” Kyle exclaimed, throwing his arms around her waist. “Drew’s gonna be in karate with me this year.”

  She ruffled his hair. “That’s fantastic, Mr. Toothless Wonder. You’ll need to teach him all about the pledge and earning badges.”

  “Mom said to tell you to come to the backyard. Dad’s making pizza.”

  “Pizza?”

  Kyle beamed. “We got a pizza oven. It’s fun ‘cause we get to pick our toppings. Mom says you have to have a veggie topping with every meat but last night I picked way more meat. Don’t tell.”

  Scarlett gave him her best conspirator smile. “I won’t. I’ve got to change clothes first before I head outside.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell them.”

  She went to the nearest powder room and slipped out of her jade green suit and cream silk blouse and the sky-high heels that made her legs look terrific but cramped her toes. Pulling out a sleeveless, ice-pink shirt, she put it on and then stepped into khaki capris and camel-colored sandals. A quick glance in the mirror told her that her makeup and hair looked fine but she added a bit of gloss. She wanted to look her best. It didn’t matter that Wynn Gallagher was no more than a client. Scarlett had a burning need to make him want her as much as she wanted him. Since she couldn’t have him and would probably suffer all night watching him, he needed to suffer a little right alongside her.

  She went to the kitchen because she heard voices and found Kyle and Cadence eating their dinner. Scarlett brushed a kiss on her niece’s forehead and ruffled her nephew’s hair before she headed out the back door. Immediately, she saw everyone gathered in a circle under a large umbrella around a table. Her pulse jumped as she caught sight of Wynn and moved to join the group. The mantra in her head kept saying, “Be cool,” but her heart raced as if she’d just galloped in the Kentucky Derby.

  “I smell pizza,” she proclaimed. “And I hear Rhett has a new toy.”

  Her brother gave her a wry smile as he kissed her cheek. “An outdoor pizza oven is not a toy. It’s a thing of beauty. I can’t believe we never thought to put one in. I’ve got three different pizzas baking now.”

  “You know me—you had me at pizza,” she teased. “I don’t care what toppings you place on it. Pizza is the bread of my life.”

  Cassie greeted her. “Rhett’s getting down when to shuffle them around. Most important, he’s excelling at dessert pizzas.”

  “Sweets? Now, we’re talking,” Sydney said. “Come sit with me, Scarlett.”

  She did, first kissing Dash hello and then greeting Wynn. She noted he looked handsome in a blue and green plaid sports shirt and slacks—and happened to be sitting on her other side.

  “Long day in court?” he asked.

  Scarlett smiled. “Long and victorious.”

  She shared a few details about the case she’d wrapped up, which involved a playwright claiming his former friend had stolen one of his characters and used it in a novel to be published soon. Thanks to building a solid foundation, Scarlett had proven the similarities between the two characters and linked the character back to the playwright’s childhood. The man had lifted heavily from his own experiences in creating the play’s lead. With today’s ruling, the play would go on to be produced on Broadway—and the novel would never see the light of day.

  Rhett took a long, aluminum peel and scooped out a sausage and mushroom pizza, placing it on the granite island and then used a smaller peel to move the two remaining pizzas to different locations. Cassie sliced the pizza and passed plates around as Rhett removed a second pizza topped with Canadian bacon and pineapple.

  “I hear there’s homemade pizza!” Breck O’Dell proclaimed as he rounded the corner of the pool. He greeted everyone with kisses and hugs and then stopped at Wynn. “Wynn Gallagher. Damn. You�
�re even taller and better looking in person than on the screen.” Breck offered his hand. “Hope you don’t mind me man crushing on you.”

  Wynn shook it. “The pleasure is mine, Breck. You haven’t written a bad screenplay yet.”

  Breck chuckled. “Oh, I have, Brother. They just haven’t seen the light of day.” He took a plate and loaded it with pizza as Rhett removed the final one from the brick oven.

  Cassie opened an ice chest and distributed cold bottled waters as everyone moved to an oversized picnic table to eat. Once more, Scarlett found herself next to Wynn. With so many gathered, her leg rested snuggly against his.

  Causing her insides to play let’s pretend we’re Olympian gymnasts.

  “Mmm. This is amazing, Rhett,” Sydney declared.

  “Yeah. If that acting thing doesn’t work out for you, buddy, you may have a career in dough,” Dash added.

  They enjoyed an hour of eating and casual conversation. Scarlett was pleased when Wynn jumped right in. He’d held back at the charity dinner the other night but she determined having met everyone before except Breck had put him more at ease.

  “Did you drive or fly in from Vegas?” she asked Breck.

  “I drove. It’s only about four hours. I like the time spent in the car, out on the open road. It’s my uninterrupted think about plot and characters time.” Breck glanced at Cassie. “Especially when we’re having a little trouble with the direction of what we’re writing.” He looked to Wynn. “Cassie told me you’d be perfect for Mark Brockwell. Talk to me, Wynn. About anything. I want to get a feel for your speech rhythm and personality. Not that you’re anything like Mark Brockwell.” He grinned. “At least, I don’t think you’re a murdering philanderer who wins a senate race and sets his aim for the presidency.”

  Wynn looked taken aback.

  Cassie glared at Breck. “Wynn didn’t know anything about Mark. Way to go, Mr. Charming. Bulldoze your way in and make Wynn think I’m nuts for wanting to write for him and our character being so evil.”

  Wynn recovered quickly. “I’m actually flattered you think I could pull something like that off. It would be an interesting challenge and different from anything I’ve ever done. My attorney character was very earnest and naïve for the three years I spent in that role. The surgeon I played was uber confident but fair. Carbon Man is, well, Carbon Man. I think it’s terrific you think I have more range.”

  “Oh, you definitely have more to show the public, Wynn,” Cassie affirmed. “You’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re capable of portraying. Breck is right, though. We want to hear a little about you and we can share about this script, as well. It’s in the really early stages and if it’s something you’d consider doing, then we’d appreciate your input.”

  “You . . . want my input?” he asked, surprise obvious in his voice.

  “We don’t always write with a person in mind,” Breck said. “However, Cassie was sold on you from the beginning.”

  Wynn turned to her. “We just met the other night, Cassie.”

  Rhett chuckled and threaded his fingers through hers. “My wife is a terrific judge of character and talent. If she thinks you can do it, believe you can, Wynn.” He looked at her. “Cassie believed in me when no one else did.”

  Scarlett had to look away. She adored how affectionate her brother and sister-in-law were with one another but tonight it saddened her. It made the emptiness inside her seem even vaster than ever before.

  “You need to know I’m locked into two more superhero films for Rylon Pictures,” Wynn said. “It would be two years before I could even think about doing this.”

  Cassie shrugged. “We can wait. Breck and I knock out a good three screenplays a year, sometimes more. First, we’d need to finish this one. I have two others I’m working on solo and we have another we’ve toyed with.”

  “What’s your process?” Wynn asked. “I’m curious how writers collaborate.”

  Breck laughed. “Our process. Let’s see . . . how do I explain it?”

  “We always outline together,” Cassie said. “I insist on that so we know the direction of the story.”

  “We’ve done it every which way after that,” Breck continued. “Cassie’s written a first draft. I went in and rewrote it. Then she went at it again. Other times, she’s written the entire first half while I worked on the back part and we switch up. What’s worked for us lately is every other scene. She writes the first and emails it to me. I read it, make some quick corrections, and give her notes before I send it back. Then I write the next scene while she polishes the first. We go through the same process, alternating scenes, until the script is done. For some reason, that’s been the pattern we’re settling into. We’ll meet in person sometimes to hash out things, too.”

  Cassie giggled. “Usually, we meet when Breck says he can’t face changing another dirty diaper. We like to do a read-through, just the two of us, testing our dialogue aloud to see if it flows.”

  Wynn nodded. “Both of you also write separate screenplays.”

  “We’re still partners in that endeavor,” Cassie revealed. “I show Breck my outline and we brainstorm through it, adding and deleting things. I write my draft and then send the entire thing to him to read through. He returns it with his notes and I take another crack at it based upon his suggestions.”

  “I do the same,” Breck confirmed. “Cassie reads everything I write. I add her spit and polish it up. In the end, our so-called solo efforts only have one name on them but we have each other’s six.” He paused. “So, have at it, Wynn. Talk to us. Let us get to know you.”

  Scarlett saw Wynn looked uncomfortable with all of the attention suddenly upon him. “Why don’t you tell us a little about your family and your background?” she suggested.

  He seemed to relax with having a direction to go. “Okay. I grew up in a small college town in Georgia. My dad was the chairman of Winter College’s history department, specializing in the American Revolution and World War II. Mom taught calculus and physics at the local high school.”

  “Opposites attracting,” Dash said. “The right-brain and left-brain parents. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I do,” Wynn said. “Dad named all of us after American historical figures he admired. My older brother, Del? He’s Franklin Delano Youngblood. My younger brother, Payne, was Thomas Payne Youngblood. Mom refused to spell it like Thomas Paine, the author of Common Sense, though. She replaced the ‘’' with a ‘y’.” He chuckled. “Del and I still teased Payne that he was a pain in the ass. Even when he wasn’t.”

  Wynn grew quiet a moment. “Payne was diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer. He died when he was twenty-two.”

  Scarlett sensed the tension in Wynn and wanted to reach out and take his hand. It took willpower to refrain from doing so.

  “I suppose that’s why you’ve been such a big supporter of my cancer foundation,” Rhett said. “I’m sorry you lost Payne.”

  Wynn cleared his throat. “I also have a sister, Cady. Elizabeth Cady Youngblood. She’s the baby of the family and ten years younger than I am.”

  “What about you, Wynn?” Sydney asked. “Where does your name come from? I’m having trouble thinking of some great historical figure named Wynn.”

  “Oliver Wendell Holmes,” he said. “Once again, Mom disliked how the Holmes family spelled their son’s name, so she put her own spin on it.”

  “All of your siblings are Youngbloods,” Breck noted. “Is Gallagher your stage name?”

  “It was. I took it the summer between my junior and senior year of college when I played summer stock on the east coast. One of the lead actors was Thom Youngblood. He didn’t want some green newbie associated with him and demanded I change my last name. My dad’s best friend was a fellow history professor, Grant Gallagher. I just liked how Wynn and Gallagher went together. When I came to Hollywood, I wanted to give my family some measure of privacy in case I made it so I legally changed my name and earned my SAG ca
rd as Wynn Gallagher.”

  “I think you got the better end of the deal,” Scarlett said. “The three Corrigan girls and one boy got our names from Gone with the Wind, Mom’s favorite book. You three boys and girl wound up with names honoring great Americans.”

  “What else, Wynn?” Cassie pressed. “What do you enjoy doing away from the set?”

  “I rebuild classic cars. Read history books. Row. Do yoga.”

  “What about with your friends?” Breck asked. “Do you hit the beach? Travel? Not that I read the tabloids with any regularity but I never see you out and about with anyone.”

  Wynn stiffened next to her.

  “I don’t go out,” he said. After a long pause, he added, “I don’t really have friends. My brother and sister are pretty much it.”

  In his admission, she heard a world of heartache. Instinctively, Scarlett reached for Wynn’s hand under the table.

  “Family can be important,” Dash said. “Sometimes, though, people don’t have family to rely on or they extend it by choice. Their friends become their family. That’s how it worked for me. My mom ran off when I was a kid because she couldn’t deal with having given birth to a disabled child. My dad’s way of dealing with it was drinking himself to death. For a long time, it was just Herc and me.” Dash glanced around the table. “Until I found these guys. The people you see, Wynn, have become my brothers and sisters. My friends. My confidants. My business associates and sometimes screen partners.

  “Going it alone can be tough on your soul, Wynn. If you have trust issues—like I did—this group can go a long way to helping you get over them. Whether you decided to do a film with RCDS or not is up to you. I hope you do. But whatever happens, know this circle has a lot to offer you. Including friendship.”

  Dash stuck out his hand from across the table and Wynn took it. As the two men shook, Wynn’s hand also tightened around hers.

  The poignant moment moved Scarlett. Tears welled in her eyes. She glanced at Sydney, sitting across from her, and saw her similarly affected. Scarlett wanted Wynn to experience the camaraderie this group offered because of the loneliness she saw in him. More than anything, though, she yearned for Wynn to fit into this close-knit group not as an individual.