by Alexa Aston
Irv pursed his lips. “Not the quality we want. You’re the one who’s always telling me it’s gotta have a story. Relax, Rhett. Look forward to Fireball’s numbers. Your last movie opened at number one and stayed there for three weeks. With this being a holiday release, I’m sure it’ll do even better. Relax. Spend some time with your family at Christmas. And for God’s sake—hire an assistant. You were late to that GQ shoot last week because you forgot about it. An assistant would keep on top of things like that.”
“And a housekeeper. I need one of those, too. A cook would be nice.”
Irv frowned. “Did Consuelo go back to Mexico again?”
Rhett nodded. “I’m not taking her back this time. End of story.”
“Shall I contact my housekeeper’s agency? I can get you set up, big guy.”
He decided to remind his agent one more time about scripts. “No, I’ll get a housekeeper. Just send me something to read, Irv. Anything, okay? I don’t mind switching genres. In fact, I’m ready to break out and try something new. You know—flex more than my muscles.”
Irv pulled out a sheaf of papers, ignoring Rhett’s request to send him something in a new genre. “Here’s the beer deal you need to sign. You’ll shoot it in Japan a week into January. It’ll only play there but there’s an option for a few European countries that we can exercise. I’ll get the shooting details sewn up and let your assistant know,” he said pointedly.
He indicated where Rhett should sign. Rhett scrawled his name seven times.
“This’ll pull in three mill, Rhett. Piece of cake.”
They shook hands and Rhett left Irv’s office. He stopped to visit with Julie a minute.
“Like the new place, Jules?”
She smiled. “What’s not to like? Irv’s a partner in the hottest new agency in town. He gave me a twenty percent raise, which my almost sixteen-year-old son has decided should go toward a car for him. That is, if he passes his driving test. And if I can afford the insurance.”
Rhett whistled. “Kenny’s almost sixteen? Now, I know I’m getting old. He was in single digits when I signed with Irv.” He raised his eyebrows. “So, will you get him a car?”
Julie groaned. “You sound like Kenny now. All men are alike.”
He smiled. “We have to stick together. Tell him hi for me.” He looked up and saw Ray Pearce turning the corner. The man was worse than a fan on the street. He always wanted Rhett to go with him to a Lakers game or a restaurant opening or any high-profile place they could be seen at and get their picture together. Ray lived for publicity.
Julie motioned him to follow her and they took off down the hall, stepping into the breakroom.
“Stay here. I’ll head him off. Give me thirty seconds then come out of here and turn right. An unmarked door at the end of the hall will lead you out the back way.”
“I owe you, Jules.” Rhett flashed her a grin.
“You sure do. Ray Pearce is an asshole.” She smiled sweetly and walked back out.
Rhett turned and saw a tall brunette sipping from a mug. A short blonde stood at the microwave, waiting for it to beep.
“Merry Christmas, ladies.”
The brunette stepped in front of him. In a low purr, she said, “I could be the best present you ever unwrapped, Rhett.”
He laughed. “I’m on Santa’s naughty list this year. No presents for me.” He left the breakroom and followed the route Julie suggested, deciding to head down the stairs and avoid the elevator. Somehow, he took a turn too tightly and missed the step. Rhett grabbed for the handrail to keep from falling. As he grasped it in one hand, he felt his ankle turn and groaned. He righted himself and tested the ankle gingerly, sucking in his breath at the zing of pain.
“Great,” he muttered to himself. “Just a terrific day all around. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get mugged on the way to my car.”
He limped down the remaining flight of stairs, glad he was near the bottom. He hobbled through the lobby with as much dignity as he could muster. At least he’d lucked out and landed a parking place in front of the building after the earlier gas disaster.
Slipping on his Ray-Bans, he exited the building and walked slowly to the car, hoping no paparazzi hung around. He placed a hand on the hood of his car for support and stepped off the curb, circling around to the driver’s side. Before he unlocked his door, he heard a woman scream something about her dog and tires squealing. Rhett twisted around just as some clunker smacked into his prized convertible.
CHAPTER 3
Cassie squeezed her eyes closed as she plowed into the vehicle. An awful crunching noise sounded, metal grinding against metal. No airbag exploded because the car didn’t have one. She bounced off the steering wheel as her heart slammed against her ribs. The guy that had stepped out couldn’t have survived the impact. What did they call it—vehicular manslaughter? She would go to prison for the rest of her life. This would be the final nail to hammer into the Cassie Coffin. She’d taken a life and would give up her own in payment. Forcing her eyes open, her jaw dropped in amazement.
The guy was alive.
Granted, he was draped across the trunk of some foreign-looking convertible but she hadn’t crushed the life out of him. Somehow, he’d managed to spin around, quick reflexes saving his life. He came upright and limped a few steps. Great. She must have nicked him. He leaned against the car—what was left of it—and held a hand to his forehead as he turned to stare at her.
Her adrenaline spiked. She’d totaled his very expensive car. Cassie had the feeling the stranger was about to tear her apart. She would meet him in the middle and grovel. Maybe turn on some tears for good measure. Hadn’t Jolene told her that men hated themselves when they made women cry?
Cassie unhooked her seat belt and tried to get out of the car. The door wouldn’t budge. Great. She’d have to go back to climbing in through the passenger’s side as she had last month when the Civic went through a temperamental stage. Or maybe not. She glanced around and saw the crumpled hood, steam rising, and watched as the sedan shuddered, giving up the ghost.
The smell of gasoline began to permeate the air, clouding her judgment. She looked down at her outfit and knew today’s interview wasn’t happening with the way she looked. She’d seen homeless people appear more pulled together. Confused, she wondered what she had wanted to do.
Cassie saw the stupid dog again, a yapping, spoiled poodle. The prissy mutt’s owner teetered over on stilettos taller than the Eiffel Tower and scooped the dog up, hugging him to her tightly as she glared at Cassie. Cassie estimated the dog’s outfit cost more than her last month’s rent. The woman walked on, not bothering to ask if she needed help. Hollywood. It was a different world from Texas.
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Nothing else of value to save. Cassie prayed the passenger door would open. If it didn’t, she could always climb into the back seat and get out that way.
Suddenly, he was hollering. The guy she’d sort of hit. It must’ve been his car she’d smashed. If she hadn’t been sure before, she was now. Men and their cars—no one came between them.
Cassie giggled at her flash of wisdom. That was one car that wouldn’t be cruising around Beverly Hills anytime soon. Jeez, what would this do to her insurance? She already had two speeding tickets in the last eighteen months. Her insurance agent would drop her now. She’d be at the mercy of those goons that only advertised on late night TV. They charged an arm and a leg to cover high-risk drivers. She was now a charter member of that club.
She looked up as the guy inched closer, hobbling along, yelling, his arms waving. Breathing the gas fumes had her disoriented. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. She started to apologize but then remembered her mom told her never to apologize after a wreck because that could be construed as admitting guilt. She was at fault. Big time.
The guy made it to her and tried to yank the door open. It wouldn’t move. Before Cassie could speak, he reached through her open window and hauled h
er out.
“Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing?”
He mumbled something but all Cassie could do was stare at him. He had the most amazing gray eyes, dark and stormy and full of anger.
At her.
Recognition seared through her. “Oh, God. You’re Rhett Corrigan.”
If her heart had been in overdrive before, it now pounded like an African drum—loud, erratic, and wild. She realized he was running. Rhett Corrigan was hauling ass. Just like in one of his movies. At least as much as he could. His gait was off. She must have hit him after all. Clipped his knee, run over his foot, something.
Then the explosion sounded. Cassie flinched as she looked over her shoulder to see the Civic turned into a fireball. Flames rose and flickered like dancing devils. They ran along the entire frame and leaped onto Rhett Corrigan’s convertible, lighting it afire. Suddenly, the convertible also exploded and Cassie understood that the gas tank caused the fireworks.
She sucked in a deep breath of sweet air and glanced back at her rescuer. “You saved my life,” she said in wonder, her head starting to clear now that she wasn’t inhaling noxious fumes. “If you hadn’t pulled me out when you did, I would be toast.”
A violent trembling shot through her body, quick as a California brush fire. She clutched the movie star’s shoulders, digging her nails in deep. He winced but she couldn’t help it. It was as if she’d jumped into the Atlantic’s icy waters as the Titanic sank and then miraculously was pulled to safety. Her teeth began chattering uncontrollably.
Rhett lowered her feet to the ground but still hung on to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. His eyes still flashed steel gray but she could see a smidgen of sympathy lurking there.
“I think so.” She frowned and glanced down at her bare right foot resting atop his Bruno Magli loafer. “I lost my shoe.”
His eyes swept down and back up. “I guess you did,” he agreed.
The trembling stopped as quickly as it had started. Cassie sensed the hot flush creep up her neck and spill onto her cheeks. She became aware of being locked body-to-body with the world’s most famous action star. She swallowed hard and relaxed her death grip on his shoulders. She tried to step back but he still held on. Probably because he knew she would collapse in a heap on the sidewalk if he didn’t.
Despite everything, all she could think was how melt-your-bones good it felt being in his arms.
She pushed that crazy thought aside. She owed him an apology. “I am so, so sorry about your car, Mr. Corrigan. A dog ran out and I swerved so I wouldn’t hit him. I hit a squirrel once back home, right after I got my driver’s license, and I was sick for two days. Throwing up, crying.”
The puzzled look on his face made her realize how foolish it was to talk about squirrels when she’d almost hit and killed the world’s highest paid movie star.
Come on, Cassie, think. Get with the program. Speak like an adult. Say something serious. Money. Adults always thought about money.
“I promise I will pay for your car, sir. It will take me this life and most of the next to do so, but I will pay you to the penny.” She frowned. “And that knot on your head. I’m very sorry. I’m not quite sure how that happened. I saw you limping. Did I hit your leg?” Her eyes widened. “We should call 911. ER needs to check you over. I’ll bet you’re insured for millions. All of America knows how valuable you are. Let me call an ambulance.”
Cassie somehow separated herself from him and dug in her purse for her cell phone. “Oh, great. It’s dead. This thing will not hold a charge anymore.” She glanced up. “I suppose you have one we can use?”
Rhett nodded, a ghost of a smile threatening to break out. “I don’t need an ambulance. You might.”
“No, seriously,” she assured him, “I’m fine. Better than fine. Well, not really fine because I just totaled your car and mine and it looks as if my job interview at Merriman Smith won’t happen and I’ll be stuck working for Manny until my teeth and hair fall out, but I’m really okay. Really. Other than not having insurance anymore. No one will cover me after this mother of a wreck.”
The sound of sirens pierced the air. Cassie looked back at the burning cars and saw a crowd had gathered. Every person in sight held up a cell phone, snapping pictures and shooting video.
“Oh, no. We’re going to be on the news. Manny will know I lied about having to go to the dentist. I am so fired.”
A woman in a Cornhusker shirt rushed toward them and began taking pictures.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hollered at the gray-haired granny. “Back off! Mr. Corrigan doesn’t need some tourist from Nebraska shoving a camera in his face, much less selling them to some sleazy tabloid.”
Cassie looked around. “Who are all you people? Get out of here. Right now.” She waved her arms like a wild woman. Part of the crowd backed off. The rest clicked away, huge grins on their faces.
“You’re giving them what they want,” Rhett whispered in her ear. Tingles rippled through Cassie at the slight touch. “They feed on this stuff. Come on.” He took her elbow and led her back across the street. He limped due to whatever injury she had caused; she limped because that’s what a person did trying to walk in one high heel.
Rhett briefly stopped at the patrol car parked near the now-smoldering cars. “I’m Rhett Corrigan, Officer. We’ve had a little fender bender here.”
The cop laughed. “You ain’t joking, pal. Crushed City is more like it.” He paused. “Could I take a selfie with you, Rhett? My wife would leave me for you. It’d be great to get a picture with you.”
“Sure.”
The cop whipped out his phone and stepped next to Rhett. Cassie watched as he took a picture. The cop beamed, while Rhett looked dark and dangerous.
“Thanks, Rhett!” the cop exclaimed.
“Can we step inside, Officer Malone?” Rhett asked. “My agent’s office is in this building. We can give you all the particulars and avoid this crowd. Enough of the footage will wind up on Entertainment Tonight as it is.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Corrigan. I’m all yours.”
Cassie found herself being propelled inside the building. She glanced at the address on the granite wall as they entered. She put two and two together and knew Rhett’s agent and her interview would be the same place.
“I am so screwed.”
CHAPTER 4
“That’s all I’ll need for my report,” Officer Malone said. “Sorry to have met you under such circumstances, Mr. Corrigan. Miss Carroll.”
The policeman exited the first-floor conference room they’d been taken to by building security for privacy. Rhett watched Cassie wring her hands, tears welling in her eyes, as reality sank in.
“Miss Carroll—”
“Cassie, please. Since I’ll be writing you a check a month for the rest of my life, we might as well be on a first-name basis.” She pushed her hands into her hair. “Why would I tell the world’s highest paid movie star I’ll call him by his first name? I think slamming into your convertible scrambled my brains.” She shook her head. “And for the zillionth time, I do apologize, but I couldn’t hit that dog.”
Rhett waved the apology away. “Don’t worry, Cassie. You won’t have to sign your life away to me. I’m sure insurance will pay for all this.”
“My rates will go sky-high, especially after that last ticket I got. I’d give them my firstborn, but I don’t have any kids and no prospects since I haven’t had a date in six months. No, it’s been seven now. How pathetic is that?”
“An attractive woman like you? No dates?”
Cassie flushed at his intent stare. He thought no one in Hollywood blushed anymore. Funny, but Rhett found it charming. He found this unfiltered woman charming.
She laughed. “Yeah, right. My suit’s torn. I’ve cried off most of my makeup except for the mascara that I’m sure is streaking down my cheeks. I never even got my tights on for the interview. And now I’ve got to go upstairs to Merri
man Smith and tell them why I’m ninety minutes late—looking like this.” She shrugged. “My entire life is a walking disaster.”
Rhett smiled sympathetically. “I can go upstairs with you and put in a good word.”
Cassie snorted. “I would hit the car of America’s Favorite Movie Star in front of his agent’s office. I remember you saying that now. Of course, you’re a Merriman Smith client.”
Rhett could see Cassie working herself up. “You think I would get a second chance at an interview, much less be hired by Merriman Smith, after I totaled your car? It won’t matter that I type a hundred words a minute and am a whiz at anything dealing with technology. Or that I’ve worked for a supposedly reputable agent for two years now. Who, by the way, is usually drunk or coked out of his mind since his third wife left him, so I basically run his office for him. Will Merriman Smith care? No—because I bashed Mr. Superstar’s car.”
Cassie expelled a loud breath. “It doesn’t matter.” She opened her purse, popped a Tic Tac, and faced him with fire in her eyes. “I am not a quitter. I haven’t got any choice. I always follow through. It’s something I’ve always done. I can’t think about putting on new lipstick even if it’s my favorite shade because that would mean looking in a mirror. That alone would make me run from the building screaming.”
She stood and shook his hand. “You have been extremely patient and understanding, despite the fact that I have sounded and acted like a crazy woman during our brief time together. I’m sorry we met under such circumstances, but I’ve got an appointment to keep.”
Rhett watched her begin to limp away. “Wait.”
Cassie turned, frowning at him. “Don’t stop my momentum, Corrigan, or else I might chicken out.”
He flashed her a grin. “I’ll ride up with you.”
They walked to the bank of elevators. Rhett pushed the up button, and it dinged immediately. He let Cassie step in first and followed behind.
“So, who’s your interview with?”
