“Eye drops,” Anjella said, holding her hand out to me without bothering to look my way. She did this a lot, too. One or two words telling me what she wanted and expecting it immediately.
“I don’t have any. Are your eyes dry?”
“Are you serious?” The look on Anjella’s face was familiar. She was about to make a scene. What a great way to start a day.
“Yes.” I knew by now that she was too difficult to talk down every time. When it wasn’t something important, it was best to keep my responses short and hope she ran out of steam soon.
“How can you not have eye drops? Don’t you have the ability to think?” She leaned forward, her eyes narrow. “You couldn’t anticipate that this dry weather would affect my eyes? What good are you?”
She grew louder, and people around us were starting to stare. They all knew not to intervene. That, I had found, also made things worse. It wasn’t worth it.
“I’ll get some,” I said.
“So you can disappear for an hour? It took you forever to get a damn smoothie, something even a monkey could do, by the way.”
“I’ll try to find you some now,” I replied, forcefully keeping my face neutral.
“Don’t try, do,” she sneered.
I walked away, glad that she didn’t drag that out into a full-on tantrum, which wouldn’t be a first. I could hear her talking to one of the onlookers as I walked toward the makeup trailer.
“I swear, I don’t know where they find these people. What does she expect? For me to work with dry eyes? Ridiculous.”
I stepped into the trailer and slammed the door behind me. Leaning against the closed door, I took a moment to close my eyes and count to ten. I wanted to scream. Not every actor was horrible, some were lovely people. But it felt like Anjella was made up of the worst characteristics of every difficult celebrity I’d ever dealt with. I couldn’t wait for this movie to wrap so I could move on to a new client.
“You okay?”
My eyes snapped open to see a small Asian girl standing in front of a large light-up mirror with a makeup brush in her hand. One of the movie’s supporting actors, Hank, was in the seat beside her.
He chuckled. “This poor girl is Anjella’s handler,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The makeup artist frowned, sympathy reflecting in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I agreed grimly. “On that note, do you have any eye drops?”
“Sure,” she answered, opening a drawer and digging around for a moment. She produced a brand-new bottle, with the seal still on, and presented it to me. I could’ve kissed her.
“You’re a life-saver,” I said sincerely, taking the bottle from her hand.
“Eye drops?” Hank asked.
“Yeah, you know, because this coastal town gets so damn dry,” I quipped.
He laughed as I exited the trailer. I made my way back to Anjella’s side, eye drops in one hand and her stupid smoothie in the other.
“Here you go, Anjella,” I said, starting to open them for her. I was sure she’d make me put them in her eyes too.
“Oh, that. I don’t need them anymore.”
“What?” I asked. I heard a rushing sound in my ears, which I was pretty sure was the actual sound of my blood pressure skyrocketing.
“My eyes feel better. Just keep those on you from now on,” she suggested. “Stuff like this just helps you do better. I’m teaching you how to be a great assistant.”
The nerve of her acting like she was doing me a huge favor. Her mood swings always threw me for a loop, but this time I was furious. I turned to a runner walking by.
“Hold this, please. I’ll be right back,” I said, handing him the smoothie. Anjella was absorbed in her phone again and probably wouldn’t even notice that I was gone.
Walking toward the parking lot, I threw the eye drops into a trashcan and heard them ricochet off the side with a satisfying bang. For a moment, I considered getting into my car and just leaving. But I needed a job and walking off would make it much harder to find something else. Instead, I pulled out my phone out and hit my boss’s number on the speed dial. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Will. It’s Lyssa.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked, but I had a feeling that he knew. Anjella went through more assistants than anyone else in Hollywood.
“I need a reassignment. A transfer to a different client. I’ll take anyone.” My voice sounded desperate to my own ears.
“What’s wrong?”
“You have to know she’s a nightmare. I’ve been with her for three weeks and it’s driving me mad. Please, give me someone else.”
There was a moment of silence and I my heart sank.
“I don’t have anyone else right, now. But I made a note here on my desk. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got something.”
I sighed, defeated. A part of me wondered if he was lying because no one else would work with Anjella either.
“Fine. Please let me know.”
I hung up and walked back to the set, grumbling under my breath, saying every cutting word I wanted to hurl at the diva waiting for my return. All of a sudden, New York was starting to look pretty good.
Three
Callen
The sound of seagulls cawing woke me from a heavy sleep. An intense and pounding headache had me feeling like my skull was being crushed and I groaned loudly before I even opened my eyes. The vicious bite of a hangover had taken hold of me and I tried desperately to reclaim the blissful oblivion of sleep. To no avail.
I cracked open one eyelid, only to slam it shut again. Sunlight pierced my brain, making the pain intensify; something I hadn’t thought possible.
Am I outside?
I could smell fresh air and hear waves under the continuing seagull squawks. I covered my face with my hands, trying to shield myself from the bright sun. Slowly, I pulled my hands away toward my temples as if blinders and opened my eyes. I found myself staring at the back of my driver’s seat.
The brown leather interior of my Lamborghini was hot where sunlight streamed in through the open windows, striping the seat and hitting my face. Shifting my stiff body around, I moved my head out of the light and sat up.
Realizing that I was in the backseat of my car, which was parked partially on the beach, I looked around curiously. I couldn’t even remember how I got here, but nevertheless recognized the place. It was the public beach just down the road from my mansion. I could see the massive structure a mile away, looming against a backdrop of clear blue sky.
That answered the question of where. Time to figure out how.
Patting my pockets, I didn’t feel the bulge of my phone. Damn. I hoped I hadn’t lost it. I looked around the seats and saw nothing. Leaning forward, I popped the dash open and let out a sigh of relief when I saw the square device sitting on top of my insurance cards.
I snagged an old water bottle from the cupholder as I sat back in the seat, taking a swig as I unlocked my phone. The water was warm, but at least it helped lessen the disgusting taste in my mouth. If only I had some Ibuprofen for the headache.
Scrolling through my phone, I found myself chuckling at some of the pictures and images there. It looked like it had been one wild night. There were people I didn’t recognize in many of the photos, mostly women. It looked like we had come back here and had a wild party on the beach. There was a video of Mitchell and I singing Bohemian Rhapsody that I had taken in the backseat of my car, which was clearly in motion. At least I hadn’t been stupid enough to drive.
There was another video of me doing body shots off four women as they lined up, and yet another one of Mitchell and Eric laying on their backs as a couple of scantily clad women buried them up to their necks in sand, giving them fake womanly figures. They seemed to be having a contest.
The whole thing looked like a blast. Too bad I couldn’t remember any of it clearly.
Packing the phone away, I stepped out of the car and stretc
hed. My body was sore from being crammed into the backseat. I peered round the beach and saw a huge pile of trash had been left behind, but other than that, there was no one around.
I climbed back into the car, into the front seat this time, and found the keys in the ignition. Putting the car into reverse, I was lucky that the back tires of my rear-wheel-drive vehicle were still on the blacktop provided for parking. The entire front half of the car was in the sand.
Once I was on the road, I headed straight home. I could use another couple hours of sleep. Less than five minutes later, I pulled into my garage, parking my car alongside my two motorcycles.
I kicked off my shoes in the mudroom, sand spilling out all over the floor. I ignored it. The housekeeper was coming this afternoon, anyway.
In the kitchen, my cousin Brett sat at the massive island with his laptop in front of him and thick textbooks open and surrounding him on all sides. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t hear me come in and jumped in surprise when I said his name.
“Oh, hey. Where have you been?”
“I had a wild night. Didn’t make it home,” I said, going straight to the pain medicine I kept on the counter by the sink.
Brett was staying with me while going to school in Santa Barbara. We had both been raised in L.A., and it didn’t make sense for him to drive back and forth from L.A. to Santa Barbara every day for class, not when I owned a mansion that I lived in alone.
“I gathered that much. I’ve been up since seven and you weren’t here then. It was way more likely that you stayed out all night than you waking up before me.”
“I don’t get you. You’re twenty-two and all you do is study and work. What were you even doing up so early?”
“I have finals coming up. I have to study as much as I can.”
“You need to learn how to have fun, man.”
“I think you have enough fun for the both of us,” he said, finally looking away from the computer screen. “You look like hell.”
“It’s nothing a little more sleep won’t fix. At least I have a life.”
“Good for you. I’m working toward a future.”
“Damn. You’re grumpy,” I said, opening the fridge and scrounging for food. My stomach was a bit unsettled, but I needed to eat something to help absorb the alcohol.
“You started it. Don’t judge how I choose to spend my time and I’ll keep my thoughts on your escapades to myself.”
“Deal,” I said, pulling out the ingredients for scrambled eggs, the pinnacle of my culinary expertise. “You want some?”
“It’s a little late for breakfast,” he said.
I glanced at the clock. It was 11:30.
“You’ve never heard of brunch?” I poured whisked eggs into the hot skillet. The doorbell rang, the sound making me flinch. My throbbing head was killing me.
“I’ll get it, it’s Jessica,” Brett said eagerly. He was gone in a flash, hurrying to greet his girlfriend.
“Hey, Callen,” she said easily as she walked in to the room, her backpack over one shoulder.
“What’s up, Jess? You still haven’t wised up and dropped this workaholic, yet?” I asked jokingly.
“Nah, he has ways of keeping me around,” she said, perching herself on the chair beside him. He kissed her cheek.
“Ignore him,” he told her. “He just got home from a night of partying. You know how that puts him in a shitty mood.”
“I can hear you,” I said. He ignored me.
“Okay,” Jess said to Brett, “so I made you flash cards that we can use to study. On one side is a question from your practice test, and on the other is the answer. So I’ll hold a card up like this.”
I had my back to them while cooking, but I imagined she was demonstrating.
“And you tell me the answer,” she said.
“Wow. This is great. You did all this for me? There must be three dozen cards here.”
“Yeah, I want to help you. You’re so close to finishing medical school.”
“You’re the best.” Brett’s voice was full of warmth.
I hurriedly plated my eggs, anxious to leave the kitchen. I didn’t want to stick around for this lovey-dovey stuff. Not because it made me uncomfortable, though it did, but because I was jealous. Memories of being shot down the night before were prominent in my mind as I shuffled out into the living room
I settled on the couch with my steaming hot plate of eggs. I was just bringing the first bite up to my lips when my cell phone rang. My agent’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, Daryl,” I answered on the second ring.
“Can you come in today?” Daryl was always straight to the point. I liked that about him.
“Today’s not good. I’m not feeling well.”
“No, I’m sure you’re not, but that’s what we need to talk about. Why don’t you stop by this afternoon?”
“Come on,” I groaned. “We just finished shooting the pilot for The Brothers California yesterday and I only have two days off until we resume with the rest of the season. Can’t I just relax?”
“Is that what you call it? Relaxing?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your wild night. Do you even know that you posted multiple videos on Twitter?”
“Uh, no. I haven’t seen that yet.”
“Yeah, you’re trending, but not in a good way. I believe the hashtag that has been used the most is #callengonewild. People are saying you have a problem.”
“People love to speculate over anything a celebrity does,” I said dismissively. “It’ll blow over.”
“Maybe, but the producers aren’t happy. Bruce called this morning.”
“He’s an ass,” I grumbled, digging into my eggs while we talked.
“That may be, but he’s not happy. If you want to keep your job, you need to tone it down.”
“Why is everyone on me lately? So I drink sometimes. I don’t do drugs, and my work is great.”
“Your work is good, but it could be better if you weren’t hungover so often.”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion. Everyone is. Trust me, it’s not a real problem.”
Daryl was silent for a moment, and I was sure that he was gathering arguments to hurl at me, but when he finally spoke, it appeared he was dropping it for now.
“This party on the beach, do you remember where it was?”
“Yeah, I woke up there,” I said.
Daryl cursed under his breath. “Text me the address and I’ll send a cleaning crew out there. We can’t just leave a mess behind.”
I nodded, then remembered that he couldn’t see me. This headache was addling my brain.
“Sure thing,” I said out loud.
When we hung up a minute later, I finished my eggs and stretched out on the couch. My eyelids felt heavy, so I pulled a knitted blanket off the back of the couch and put my phone on vibrate. I didn’t want to be disturbed by more people trying to lecture me.
I was fine.
Four
Lyssa
“Are you kidding me right now? You call this a fresh tomato?” Anjella did nothing to lower her voice as she spoke to the poor waiter that had just delivered our lunches.
She had ordered a chickpea and avocado salad off the vegan portion of the menu. The tomatoes looked fine to me, but they were deemed to be lacking by Anjella and whatever criteria she was using to make that judgement. Maybe she was just in the mood to be difficult. It didn’t help that she was on her third glass of wine.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am, let me get you a replacement,” he said, picking the plate back up.
“Don’t bring me the same thing, it’s not at all what I expected.”
I rolled my eyes. What else could she have expected? It was a salad.
“What can I bring you as a substitute meal?”
“I guess I’ll try the Portobello fajitas,” she said, not looking too pleased with the idea. “Try to make sure that they are made with the
best ingredients you have available. You do know who I am, right?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped. The waiter mumbled another apology before scurrying away to the relative safety of the kitchen. Anjella turned to me. “Ma’am, can you believe he called me that? Like I’m some old lady.”
“He didn’t mean it that way. It’s just a way to show respect,” I told her before taking a bite of my pasta dish.
“What are you doing?” she asked heatedly.
I gulped down my mouthful of food, nearly choking.
“How dare you eat your food while I’m still waiting on mine.”
Setting down my fork, I bit back a retort.
The new dish came out in less than ten minutes and the waiter looked petrified as he set it down in front of her. Scrunching her nose, Anjella picked up her knife and fork and started poking the fajitas as if she was trying to dissect them. I sensed trouble.
“I’m starting to think your chef doesn’t know how to cook,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe he should come out here, so I can talk to him directly.”
The waiter stammered and practically ran to the kitchen. I felt heat rush to my face. She was getting louder and now we were pulling the chef from his kitchen. Why did there always have to be a scene?
The doors to the kitchen swung open, and a tall man with sandy blonde hair walked out. He exuded a calm presence, with his small smile and his hands folded in front of him.
“I’m chef Christopher Lawrence. What seems to be the problem here?” he asked mildly.
“These mushrooms don’t look right. I think they’re overdone. And these tortillas are definitely stale,” Anjella said. I looked at her dish. She was crazy, but I had known that before.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Do you want to try something else?” Christopher asked.
“That’s it? What kind of an apology is that?”
“It’s the only one you’ll get, I’m afraid.”
There was a moment of tense silence, during which I admired this man’s ability to stay calm and strike back. Most people cowered before Anjella.
Careless: A Movie Star Accidental Marriage Romance (Santa Barbara Secrets Book 2) Page 2
