by Mel Curtis
“I am not coordinating some cattle call for a Foundation video,” Gemma said, confirming Maddy’s suspicions about the joy of working here. “I have summer mid-terms Friday.”
“Really?” Maddy continued to make an effort to be nice. “What are you studying?”
“Business at UCLA.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She’s studying labor relations. Why else would she always be complaining about working conditions?” Blue came to stand next to her, towering over Maddy, until she breathed in his cologne and hormone-prickling sex appeal. “This is a business, Maddy. You can’t just walk in and expect to take over.”
Reminding herself that Poppa Bert’s albums were at stake, Maddy clenched her thighs against unwelcome sexual attraction. “Did you sign the talent contract your lawyer approved?”
Blue sighed. “Yes.”
A choir of angels sang. The office was suddenly illuminated with bright light as the sun broke through the fog. A moment of rare exultation filled Maddy’s body with heart pounding elation.
“But – ” And then Blue brought her crashing to earth. “I still want to hammer out the details.”
Too bad. “You already signed.” Maddy turned back to Gemma. “How would you like to earn some extra money as a production assistant?”
“I don’t think I could.” Gemma didn’t bother looking up from her book. “I’m so busy here.”
Crickets chirped as Maddy gazed about the pristine office. There were no clients. The phones weren’t ringing. Money woes? Yep.
“Oh, she’s very busy.” Blue quirked an eyebrow at his employee, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Especially since we installed direct phone lines so Gemma doesn’t have to do much more than greet clients at the door.”
Gemma’s chin jutted out. “It says in my contract I can study if all my work is done.”
“She has a contract?” Maddy looked from Gemma to Blue. Then back to Gemma. It was safer for her equilibrium to look away from the Avenger’s playboy.
“She has a contract,” Blue confirmed, his finger drum roll like a snare drum immediately before the trap door dropped at a hanging. “My dad was a man of many talents, business not being one of them.”
“He taught me a lot.” Gemma sniffed. “I’m going to run this place one day.”
“Awesome.” Maddy brushed Blue’s hand away from the desk in a stay of execution on Gemma’s behalf. “What say you do some double-dipping and help me check in girls next Tuesday?”
“No!” Blue bristled like a dog whose turf had been encroached upon.
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Blue-Bird of Happiness.” Maddy grinned. “Gemma will have Foundation business as a priority. I’ll just need help with the girls’ release forms.” She scanned the lobby. “And I’ll need a quiet room with good light to film.”
“There are plenty of offices down the hall by the kitchen. Only four people work here,” Gemma offered, more pleasant and helpful than she’d been up until then.
“Fantastic.” Maddy was in full rah-rah mode now, almost completely over the effect of Blue’s presence. “I expect them to start showing next Tuesday around nine. Will that work for you, Gemma?”
The young woman nodded.
“Gemma? What about me and my schedule?” Hands on hips, Blue leaned into Maddy’s space. Churlishness did little to dilute the sex god’s charms.
Maddy’s hot-o-meter spiked into the red zone. Her body swayed toward his. She was in strong need of emergency cool down measures, in this case, her Auntie Maddy alter ego. “I’m assuming you’ll make yourself available.” Auntie Maddy patted his well-muscled shoulder.
Gemma laughed. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”
He scowled. “Don’t encourage her. I still have demands Maddy has to meet.”
Be still, foolish heart.
“You know what I think of your demands.” Maddy darted around him and poked her head into the first office. She tried not to cast Blue as the demanding lover in a sex scene, but he’d make a great shirtless pirate, even without an eye-patch.
A pretty woman with dark hair that draped her shoulders like liquid silk gazed guilelessly up from her computer screen as if she hadn’t heard any of the conversation outside her door.
“Hello.” Maddy surveyed the room. It had great light. A red and black kimono hung diagonally on one Granny Smith apple green wall. A black lacquered vase with sprigs of pussy willows sat on the credenza. Other accents had been placed about the room. Everything came together to make the occupant’s complexion glow.
The woman catalogued Maddy’s khaki capris and green cotton blouse, filed her assessment under Lesser Being and smiled emotionlessly. “Whatever you’re thinking of using my office for, the answer is no.”
As Blue introduced her to his younger sister, Maddy realized that in all her interactions with Blue he’d never made her feel inferior, like Cora just had. Oh, he’d huffed and he’d puffed, but in the end, Blue hadn’t blown any houses down.
“Maddy’s going to film something for the Dooley Foundation.” Blue carefully left out any reference to reality TV and Playboy Avengers. Not smart considering he’d have to explain the presence of his exes next week.
Cora speared Blue with a look that hinted at obstinance. She stood to greet Maddy. “When did this come up?”
“The morning Amber left. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“Why bother a lowly employee?” Cora’s handshake was firm, her eyes coolly assessing. “The answer is still no. Only I use my office.”
“No worries.” Maddy turned to Blue. Not thinking about pirate eye patches. Not thinking about bare chests. Not thinking about sex. It took her a moment to catch her breath and start thinking again. “How about you show me a couple of offices where we can have some privacy? I mean…where I won’t disturb the rest of you.”
Blue’s gaze let Maddy know she’d be disturbing him just by breathing.
“Please,” Maddy added, smiling brightly.
“Come on,” he said so sharply his teacup poodle trotted over to join them, his ears flopping like loose pink ear muffs.
Maddy looked with interest at a conference room, but decided the walls were too white. The poodle pounced on Maddy’s foot, sniffing the leather tassel on her red flat as if it were fine wine. Blue swooped the dog into his arms, turning a deaf ear to the little canine’s low growl of protest.
“Wait. Just because you can’t use my office doesn’t mean you should keep me in the dark.” Cora trailed after them, a picture of sophistication in skyscraper heels, a tight navy skirt and teal silk tank. “What are you going to be filming? Do we have a new life coaching method? Are we featuring new coaching staff? Or…”
“I’m just doing some preliminary work on a reality show, mostly to determine which of the women photograph well. Some people are flat on camera, while others just come alive.” Maddy moved down the hall to the next office, nearly jumping out of her skin when Blue’s fingers nipped into the small of her back warningly.
“Since when are you doing a reality show, Blue?” The pout in Cora’s voice was palpable. Here was a woman who knew how to make her brother suffer.
Blue refused to be cowed. He brushed his sister off by handing her the poodle. “Don’t you have consultations or something to be doing?”
“I can help.” The sincerity in Cora’s voice was surprisingly compelling, even though the look in her eyes didn’t manage to match it. “If you need me. On or off camera. Blue won’t ask for help, but I’m here for you.” Cora’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but smiles never did in some women until you broke the ice.
“Thanks,” Maddy said politely, not one to turn down help when she didn’t know what she’d need. “I’ll keep that in mind. Just don’t get your hopes up. This is preliminary footage. Like a mini-pilot. We’ll be very limited on air time.” In case that was what Cora was looking for. In Maddy’s experience, everyone wanted to be on camera.
“I’ll leave a card for
you with Gemma and if you could leave me your number that would be great.” Cora gave Blue a look of sibling triumph before retreating to her office.
“Women.” Blue thunked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I probably should have told her.”
“Yep. The trouble with family businesses is that secrets cause hard feelings.” Maddy moved quickly down the hall before he could touch her again. The light in the next room wasn’t as good as in Cora’s office, but the office was more spacious.
“Sounds like you speak from experience.”
There was one more door. Maddy headed toward it. “My parents own a dry cleaning business in Sherman Oaks.”
“No shit. You could pick up my dry cleaning.”
“I repeat. I’m your producer, not your errand girl.” She glanced around. Great light. Soft peach walls. A tan suede love seat. Maddy began shoving the desk back against the wall. “This room will do.”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun?”
“How so?”
“I have conditions. I have needs. I have – ”
“Still trying to hold out for more money?”
“Pride.” He tossed his hands in exasperation. “Is there some way we can do this without me losing what little pride I have left?”
Maddy stopped rearranging the furniture. The cavalier playboy was gone. In his place was a handsome man willing to admit his vulnerabilities. She’d seen this facet of Blue in the parking lot when he’d defended his dog. She longed to capture this perspective of the playboy on camera.
“Yes,” she admitted. “We can do this without emasculating you, but only if we work together.” In that moment, watching this Blue Rule, she was sure of it.
He didn’t believe her. There was panic in his eyes and a worried set to his mouth. “You don’t care what this does to my life, do you?”
“Yes, I do. I want you to become a beloved household name. I want those crazy women to stop picking on little dogs and get a life. And I want your father to be proud of the way you helped these women get back on track.”
For once, Blue was speechless.
Chapter 10
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…The limelight in Hollywood sometimes shines so bright our talented stars can’t take it – appearances, social media presence, charity events, red carpet walks. Rehab has seen quite a few check-ins recently – Lon Gleason, Mimi Sorbet and Nan Forrester, just to name a few. Makes me wonder if fame and fortune are worth the toll they take.
“Where are you off to?” Cora leaned in the doorway of her office on Wednesday afternoon.
Blue pulled up short. “I was going to a…uh…charity thing at the Flash practice facility.” For two days, he’d called everyone he knew about volunteering for charity and had finally struck pay dirt with Jack Gordon.
Cora used silence to see if she could get more out of him and when he didn’t give, she asked, “Can I ride shotgun?”
He wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t. Cora was in a strange place. She didn’t want to be involved in the Foundation, but she didn’t want to lose out on her millions either. Prickly by nature, Cora was needier than she let on. She had yet to shake off her starry-eyed, I-deserve-it euphoria from college graduation, probably because she hadn’t needed to work until their father died.
When they arrived at the practice facility, Ren, the seven-foot tall, South Korean center for the Flash, loped over to greet them in the parking lot. “We need you, Blue Rule.”
“Why? I thought this kid wanted to play with you.” Blue nodded a greeting to Dave, who stood next to the doors, already filming. “I’m here to shag balls or something.”
Ren stopped to admire Cora. “Is she yours? I think I have seen her before. She and I will make beautiful children together. She has good bone structure. Here.” His baseball-glove sized fists bounced off his hips.
“She’s my sister,” Blue growled as grumpily as Mr. Jiggles, who seconded the emotion from his carrier. “Show some respect.”
“This is how we show respect in my country.” Ren’s hands swallowed one of Cora’s. “We express interest. I am Ren Du, the pride of South Korea. Would you be my Evening Star?”
She laughed. “I don’t agree to anything on the first meet.”
“Ren, it’s hard to believe your English has gotten better.” Blue strode toward the doors. “You were saying you needed something.”
“We need a mascot for the boy,” Ren said.
“So get someone.” Why was this Blue’s problem?
Ren easily caught up to him, his legs being a mile high. “Jack arranged with the Make a Dream group to give this dying boy his last wish. He wanted to play on the court with the Flash, some cheerleaders and a mascot.”
Dave stopped filming to clip a mic on Blue’s collar.
“What’s that for?” Cora surveyed Dave and found him wanting, as evidenced by her upturned nose.
“We’re making a documentary,” Dave said in that way of his that made Blue want to smack him.
How Maddy had ever worked with the guy was beyond Blue.
Cora looked around. “Where’s Maddy? I thought she was in charge.”
“This has nothing to do with that crazy woman.” Dave rolled his arm, as if it was stiff.
“We’re doing two different film projects,” Blue explained. “One with the Rules and one with just me.”
“Mine is better.” Dave picked up his camera and started filming.
Blue sighed and exchanged a look with Cora that pleaded her to tuck away her outer bitch for the afternoon.
Cora crossed her arms, but said nothing.
“Mr. Blue,” Ren said. “This dying boy needs someone to play the mascot.”
Shades of his Elvis-costume wearing father.
Blue was about to give a hearty, hell, no! when Dave whispered, “This is perfect.”
And Blue supposed it was on some level. On a separate level, it was mortifying.
He wanted to ask: Are you sure the kid is dying?
But that would defeat the purpose of the documentary. He was supposed to be kind-loving Blue, good-Samaritan Blue; never the not-on-your-life Blue. “Of course, I’ll be the mascot for this kid.”
Cora’s jaw nearly dropped on the ground. “Bitch Almighty.”
Dave shushed her.
“You are a prince, Mr. Blue.” Ever the gentleman, Ren opened the practice facility door, ducking in after them. “This way.”
When he’d asked the Flash owner if there was any charity work he could help with, he’d been forced to admit he hadn’t done a thing to find his soon-to-be-ex-wife a man. Jack had dropped a few intense f-bombs about the importance of his wife’s happiness. Blue had blamed his lack of progress on the long cue of business at the Foundation. Out of guilt, he’d called and left Vivian a message, requesting a meeting.
Blue had never seen the Flash mascot at a game. He suspected Jack had come up with the costume specifically to torture Blue. He looked at himself in the locker room mirror – red body suit, black boots, red mask, black cape with a lightning bolt on it.
Holding Mr. Jiggles, Cora couldn’t stop laughing when he came out. “You look like Mr. Incredible.”
“Except the Incredibles knew to refuse capes.” Oh, yeah. Jack was paying Blue back for slacking, big time. He was going to have to put more effort into finding Vivian a hook-up.
Cora laughed harder.
“I’m doing this for the kid,” Blue muttered, smiling for Dave’s camera.
And then he was out on the court, standing next to five gorgeous cheerleaders, who cooed and hung all over him when they realized someone was filming him. If it wasn’t for Dave in his face and Cora laughing in the background, there would’ve been more than a casual bulge in his tights.
Blue was in need of a casual hook-up. It took him a moment to shake the image of Maddy’s curves, dangerous when accented by those take-me-home-forever brown eyes. He needed someone who had no interest in settling down. He was starting to dou
bt that woman existed.
The Flash took to the floor for a shoot-around.
“Where’s the kid?” There was no munchkin on the court. No overwrought mom on the sidelines.
“Right there.” A cheerleader helpfully pointed out.
The kid was about six-feet tall, skinny as a straw, and pale as milk. He looked like he’d graduated from Ghoul High. This was no tot. He had a sweet three-point shot from NBA distance.
The scrimmage began. The pep squad shook their pom-poms, sparkly and God-given. Blue walked up and down courtside applauding when the kid made a basket. In the spirit of things, he even swirled his cape once.
And then the kid ran over to the cheerleaders and planted a kiss on each of their lips.
And then the kid ran over to Blue, and jabbed him like a punching bag, with a series of unexpected power punches that had Blue out of breath and doubling over.
Ren pulled the boy off Blue by the scruff of his neck. “That is not honorable, Mikey.”
“I’m dying,” his attacker gasped. “I’m never going to get drunk and punch out a mascot. Let me at him.” He swung again.
Blue leapt back, feet tangling in his cape. He fell on his ass. Damn cape.
Ren gestured for Blue to go to the locker room. “This wish is done.”
Blue didn’t need to be told twice. He walked – only slightly stooped – back to the locker room.
“Wait.” Dave came around to get a better shot of his face. “Talk about how important it is to fulfill a child’s dream.”
And Blue, who wanted to punch somebody, bit back the impulse, and talked as if he’d just made all that kid’s wishes come true.
Maddy’s parents’ home in Sherman Oaks was encased in plastic.
Sometimes she felt her parents’ emotions were encased in plastic.
Plastic runners made static-inducing trails throughout the house. The living room couch and chairs were fitted with plastic. The dining room chair cushions and tabletop were protected in plastic. That alone would have made Maddy sweat every time she came home. Add the condition that she take over the family business if her producing career didn’t get off the ground soon, and the house gave her hives.
