Hollywood Player: Hollywood Name Game Book 3

by Alexa Aston

Sydney nodded. Dash felt as if he’d passed some kind of secret test.

  “I usually don’t go to movies,” she shared. “That’s why I didn’t know you. What are you known for?”

  “Being difficult,” he admitted. “I may be a slob in real life but I’m a perfectionist where my work is concerned. I’ve had a tendency to argue with directors who were too willing to cut and print and move on. I want my best to be what goes into a film. I owe that to the public who plunks down their hard-earned bucks to see it.” He grinned. “And for making the tabloids. The paparazzi seem to follow me everywhere. That’s what I’m known for. Unless you meant movie titles, that is.”

  Monty set down bottled waters for the three of them and opened the pizza box. He’d already gotten a few slices so Dash followed his lead. He bit into one.

  “Mmm. This is outstanding.”

  “Best pizza in Santa Monica,” Monty said.

  Sydney took a single slice and nibbled on it, lost in thought. Dash hoped she’d liked what he’d said. If she didn’t go to the movies, naming his last five pictures would’ve meant zero to her.

  She swallowed and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “What’s your idea of a good director?”

  He thought a moment. “One who gives me room to maneuver. Who lets me approach a scene in more than one way. I develop pretty intricate backstories for my characters. I’d love to share that with Monty for this guy in No Regrets. Ideally, I’d want to brainstorm with him and the screenwriter and get their thoughts. I enjoy collaboration.”

  Sydney looked to her father. Something passed between them. What, Dash couldn’t say.

  “What did you think of the screenplay?” asked Monty.

  He relaxed. “It’s one of the best I’ve read. The chance to work with you and Cassie Corrigan would be amazing.”

  Sydney’s brows shot up. “Cassie Corrigan wrote it? I haven’t read it yet,” she apologized. “I saw one movie this past year. It was the one she and Breck O’Dell wrote that won Rhett Corrigan his first Oscar.”

  “This is one Cassie wrote solo,” Monty said. “Breck is writing and developing a comedy series for his wife, Jolene. She did a Showtime special and now they want her to do a series for them.”

  “Interesting. I’d like to meet Cassie, Dad.”

  “I can arrange that. After you’ve read the screenplay.”

  Sydney stood. “That’s what I’m going to do right now.” She put two more pizza slices on her plate. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m off to read. Where is it?”

  “On my desk in the study.”

  “I know,” she said. “Two copies. A clean one and one with all your notes. I’ll read the clean script. I don’t want you to influence me or sidetrack me while I read.” She reached for her water bottle. “I’ll see if you’re right for this film, Mr. DeLauria.”

  “Please. Call me Dash.”

  “That’s an unusual name.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “My dad named me after Dashiell Hammett. He loved reading detective stories. My brother’s named after Hercule Poirot. He goes by Herc.”

  As he finished speaking, it surprised Dash that he offered her that kind of information. He never opened up about himself. Or even mentioned Herc. To anyone.

  Sydney’s face softened. “My mom named me. She and Dad went to Australia for their honeymoon. She fell in love with Sydney. Especially the opera house. That’s what I’m named for.”

  “I hope Australia’s not your middle name,” he teased.

  A blush tinged her cheeks. “No. I’m Sydney Harper Revere. Mom’s favorite book was To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  Dash smiled. “Harper Lee. That’s my favorite book, too.” He rose and offered his hand again. “Nice meeting you, Sydney Harper Revere.”

  She set her water down. This time, she took his hand and gave him a firm handshake in return. “Same here, Dash.”

  He held on to her hand just a second too long and could’ve kicked himself. He released it and Sydney left the room.

  CHAPTER 4

  Sydney retreated to what had been her old room. Someone had redone it. Gone were the wall posters and pictures tucked into the mirror. She checked the closet and found it empty except for a few hangers. She didn’t know if one of the wives or a decorator had made the changes. The furniture remained the same but now the room was in soft shades of blue. She returned downstairs and retrieved her suitcase and briefcase. She could unpack later. Right now, she had more important things to investigate. As she munched on the pizza, she opened her laptop and signed up for a free month of Netflix.

  It was funny how she’d grown up with movies being at the center of her family’s life and yet she’d rarely taken the time to watch any since she started law school. Those three years had been packed with reading briefs and cramming everything about the law into her head. She’d belonged to several study groups. By the time she went to classes and prepared outside for the next session, she’d barely slept.

  That’s when she’d learned to trust Wake. He was a brilliant student. Methodical in his thinking. He approached each case as a puzzle to untangle, one that he knew if he were patient enough, the knots would come out. Sydney enjoyed time spent with him, whether they went over lecture notes or other notes they’d taken in their readings. After a short time, Wake was as much a part of her life as anyone had been. When he suggested she move in with him, it seemed a natural extension of their relationship and would save time traveling between each other’s apartments.

  It took until after their marriage but Wake had blown her trust in him. Big time. Sydney wondered how long his affair had been going on—or if it had been the only one. With both of them being new attorneys out to prove themselves at different firms, they put in a minimum of a hundred hours a week. She’d learn to brush her teeth in the shower and bought a combination shampoo/conditioner to save precious minutes. That meant they rarely spent even an hour awake with one other. It still hurt that Wake found time to see another woman. She shouldn’t feel that way. She hadn’t loved him. She’d loved the idea of him. Solid. Dependable. Neat. Nice-looking. Comfortable in every social situation. Noncontroversial.

  Pretty much the opposite of Dash DeLauria.

  The actor was devastatingly handsome. His smile alone would launch a thousand females screaming at a red carpet event. He looked a little rough around the edges and seemed to be the kind of man who would pick a fight and enjoy doing it. He’d already admitted he was a slob, though he had looked presentable for the meeting with her father. She could see that controversy would follow him wherever he went.

  In other words, Dash was poison. Sydney knew to keep her distance from him—even if she had experienced sexual sparks that she hadn’t known existed by merely looking at him. She had little experience with sex, having only slept with her two husbands. Craig, for all his manliness and tough guy reputation, wasn’t that interested in it. They probably had made love a dozen times in the four months they’d been married. It was routine and not anything like Sydney had expected. Craig was more interested in hunting, car racing, and acting than having sex with his young, sexually inexperienced wife.

  With Wake, he’d always been gentle with her. He kissed her softly. He stroked her lightly. He was in and out before she really knew it. It was nothing like the romance novels she’d gobbled up in college when her roommate would be out late on a Friday or Saturday night. Sydney would lose herself in the stories of love. She would cry when the heroine did. Become tingly and experience shallow breathing. She’d feel the passion when the couple finally made love for the first time, longing to have that kind of man. One who would treat her right—and kiss her senseless.

  Real life hadn’t appeared anywhere close to what appeared on the paper. After she caught Wake cheating and he admitted how long the affair had gone on, she realized that’s why people read books and watched movies. They were in it for the fantasy.

  Because the fantasy would always top real life.

  She decided to G
oogle Dash before watching one of his films. Immediately, pictures popped up with drop-dead gorgeous women by his side. At film premieres. Club openings. Rock concerts. Chic restaurants. He was everywhere, all the time, and usually with new arm candy in each photograph. It made her wonder how he had time to shoot any movies.

  Then she started reading articles about him. She couldn’t find much on his past. He’d played football in high school. His parents were dead. He’d left Kansas at eighteen and headed straight for Hollywood to make a name for himself. He’d waited tables and painted houses and worked construction jobs while waiting for his big break. She glanced through a list of his filmography and clicked on several of the films. Each time, his role got a little bigger until he was the headliner. It was obvious he hadn’t taken much time off. He was her age and had a huge body of work, all in film. Despite playing hard, he also worked hard. She admired anyone with a strong work ethic.

  The question was, could he act?

  Sure, he had tremendous good looks that obviously translated well to the screen. Sydney wanted to know if he knew what he was doing. If he could take direction. If Dash DeLauria could make himself and the other actors around him look good.

  She returned to her new Netflix account and did a search for him. She’d skip his early efforts, figuring he’d learned and grown as an actor since those experiences. She wanted to see the last four or five movies he’d been in. She found the titles and opened a new browser. She called up each title and read plot summaries of his most recent. Now that she knew what each one was about and a little about the characters he’d portrayed, she would zip through and select a few scenes to watch to get a sampling of his range—and see if he had talent.

  Over the next two hours, Sydney’s admiration for Dash DeLauria grew. He was a natural on camera, with the charm and ease of a young Matthew McConaughey. Each time, he got better and better. He also was generous enough to open up to the other actors he shared scenes with, even letting them steal the limelight at times for the good of the story. In her opinion, very few actors did that.

  Especially ones as appealing as Dash.

  Since she knew what he was capable of, she’d read the No Regrets script.

  Ninety minutes later, she couldn’t see anyone else in the part of Paul Hannigan. The story would challenge Dash in every way. He would have to strip down not only physically but emotionally. He’d need to show a vulnerability and sensitivity while convincing audiences that his character could change.

  Exhausted, Sydney pushed the script aside. She was still on east coast time, which meant it was three in the morning for her. She didn’t have the energy to turn off the lights as she closed her eyes.

  As she did, a small part of her hoped she’d dream about Dash DeLauria.

  ◆◆◆

  Sydney blinked. She frowned. She managed to keep her eyes open despite the harsh overhead light shining above her.

  She looked around and remembered the craziness of yesterday. She’d quit her job in Boston. Left her apartment. Boarded a flight for California. Asked to go to work for her father. And had landed a job as his new storyboard artist. It didn’t happen much faster than that.

  She stumbled out of bed without checking the time. She was a person who, once awake, couldn’t go back to sleep. What she needed was a hot shower and even hotter coffee. The shower got her blood flowing. She dressed quickly and put on minimal makeup. She reached automatically for her glasses and then realized they weren’t on the counter. The fact that she would no longer hide behind her oversized frames scared her a bit. She wasn’t the teenager who’d left this house a dozen years ago. She wasn’t Sydney 2.0, her invention to distance herself from The Wild Child reputation.

  She supposed she was creating Sydney 3.0 now. Like an iPhone, continually trying to improve. She chuckled. Maybe she should go by Siri Revere.

  She went downstairs and flipped on the coffeemaker. While it warmed up, she tossed two slices of bread into the toaster and found the peanut butter. Soon, she had hazelnut coffee and breakfast in front of her.

  Her father pattered into the kitchen and pulled out a mug. He selected a pod and inserted it in the coffeemaker.

  “What did you think of the script?”

  “I think it’s terrific,” she replied. “A great action plot with the kidnapping. The political intrigue adds depth and complications. The character arc for Paul Hannigan will be tough to pull off, though.”

  He added a splash of cream to his coffee and stirred before bringing the mug to the table and sitting down. “Do you think Dash has the talent to do it?”

  Sydney nodded. “I pulled up a few scenes from different movies he’s been in. He’s still raw in some ways, but with the right direction? He could definitely be Paul.”

  “You mean under my expert direction?” her father teased.

  “Exactly. How did you find this property?”

  “Sandy Sanderson interned under me several years ago. He wound up directing the Rhett Corrigan vehicle last year.”

  “That film was a big change for Rhett,” Sydney noted. “He’d been a straight action star for so long.”

  “He blew everyone away in that role,” her dad said. “Sandy got a lot of great stuff out of Rhett when no one would’ve believed him capable of it. I’d heard Rhett’s agent dropped him when he tried to get out of the action genre that he’d been boxed into.” Monty blew on the liquid and took a sip. “It sure as hell didn’t hurt that Rhett’s wife and best friend wrote the script with him in mind. With two people who love you and believe in you rooting for you like that and writing something that amazing, he rose to the challenge.”

  As usual, her dad had given her way more than she’d asked for but she found the information interesting. She decided to steer him back on track. “I’ll ask again, how did you connect with No Regret? Through Sandy?”

  “Yeah. He’s already working with Rhett on a second film. Another one that the wife and friend wrote. Sandy had called a couple of times and asked a few questions when he was shooting with Rhett before. Then we had dinner a couple of weeks ago and Sandy gave me the script. Said Cassie Corrigan had written this one by herself and that she and Rhett didn’t think it was right for him. Their production company was looking for a director and Sandy mentioned me as a strong possibility. They said let me look at it.”

  She tore another piece of toast off and smeared it liberally with peanut butter. “I can see what attracted you to it.”

  “We’re in the early stages. I’m not sure how Dash even heard about it but he cold called me and asked if we could meet. Said he hadn’t read the screenplay. Only heard about it but he knew he could do it.”

  “That’s pretty cocky.”

  Her dad hesitated. “I’d say more confident than cocky, though I can see where you might get that impression. I don’t know, Syd. He seems like an actor in search of something.”

  She smiled. “You’d like to help him find it. What if he turns out to be as difficult as he says he is?”

  “I’d say that I want his best work in the finished film. I don’t care how many takes he requires. In fact, I’d like to do more rehearsal on this one than I usually do. The action sequences will be easy to lay out. I’m more interested in the other stuff.”

  Sydney sat up. “That’s really different for you. I’ve never known you to rehearse your actors a lot.”

  “I think this story calls for it. Anyway, I’m starting to pull my team together. Now that you’re my storyboard artist, I can relax about that. You know me. You know what I’m after. When do you think you can have the boards ready?”

  “I’d like to meet with Cassie Corrigan first and ask her a few questions about the characters. Then I think if I work my ass off, I could have something for you by this time next week.”

  “Good. That’s about the time we’ll start casting. I’d like you to sit in on that.”

  “Will you have Dash read for the part?”

  “Definitely. I’ll bring in a
few others but, in my mind, he’s already Paul Hannigan.”

  Sydney drained her coffee. “First thing I want to do is get my original hair color back. I’m going to beg Ramon to squeeze me in today. I checked online and he’s still in the same spot. I also need to find a place to live.”

  She saw disappointment flash in her father’s eyes and amended her words. “Unless you don’t mind me hanging around here.”

  He brightened. “I’d love that.”

  She thought a moment. “Do you still have the Malibu house? The light there is so good. I could use some downtime. Peace and quiet while I’m working.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. It’s going to start getting hectic around here.”

  “If you didn’t work from home, it wouldn’t have to be like that.”

  He grinned. “I love my commute.” He walked to the butler’s pantry and emerged a moment later with two key rings. “Here’s the Malibu key. Same code.” He hesitated. “You remember it?”

  She nodded. Every code had always been her parents’ anniversary date. “Yeah.”

  “Good. You’ll need to stop and pick up a few groceries but the basics are there. You’ll need wheels. This is to the convertible.”

  Sydney took both and merged them. She couldn’t believe he’d kept her mom’s convertible, much less that she’d be driving it.

  “Do you still miss her?” she asked him softly.

  He let out a long breath. “Every damned day. Your mom was my soulmate, Syd. I used to curse the gods for taking her away from me but I finally realized I was lucky enough to have her in my life for as long as I did. Not many can say they loved someone as completely as I did Monica.”

  She saw the tears well in his eyes as her own throat grew tight with emotion.

  “That convertible made her happy. I can still see her behind the wheel, the wind blowing her hair as she laughed with pure joy. That’s why I’ve always kept it in mint condition—because it reminds me of her and all the good times we had together.”

  Sydney embraced him, holding on tightly, her own memories of riding in the car with her mother whirling like a kaleidoscope in her mind.