You're Not Broken

by Hart, Gemma

  “You look like you’re in a good mood,” Rowan commented as our black SUV took off. Normally, I liked to drive myself around but during such a chaotic week with all the press I was scheduled to do, it was just easier to have a driver take me.

  “I am in a good mood,” I said smiling. I could see Rowan raise a brow curiously at me. No doubt it was a sudden change from my attitude last night when I had been more than a little put out at discovering that I would essentially be living with this strange man.

  I was more than a little pissed at the FBI agents for not warning me of this added caveat when they had assigned this new bodyguard. All my previous bodyguards had always stayed outside with my security team. Once or twice they had tried to come inside claiming it was for security purposes but usually a strongly worded reprimand was all they had needed to bounce them back out.

  But Rowan had been different.

  Unlike the previous bodyguards, he didn’t have that slimy aura of trying to leech something from me. I never caught his gaze grazing down my body in a lewd fashion or lusting after me hungrily, wondering what he could possibly wring out of me.

  Well, I thought to myself. I did catch him looking at me once. I had seen his eyes slowly look over me, sliding over my cleavage to my waist then down to my hips. But instead of a leer, his eyes had grown warm and heated. They looked at me not lewdly but…appreciatively. As if, he could admire what he saw without trying to paw at it.

  It was a new experience. I hadn’t had a man look at me like that in quite possibly years. It was…refreshing.

  And of course, the way he had pushed his way into my suite, into my life, last night.

  I squeezed my thighs surreptitiously, hoping Rowan didn’t see the gesture. I could still feel his touch against my chin as he pulled my gaze up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

  “I’m your protection. I’m your guard. I stay with you.”

  A thrill shivered down my spine as I recalled those words, spoken so lowly but so forcefully. I knew he meant every single word. He spoke as if repeating an oath. It was remarkable how in an instant, I felt completely safe within his arms.

  Who was this man exactly? Who was Rowan Matthews? In less than 48 hours, he had managed to worm his way under my skin and make me feel both heated and raw in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  As someone who was used to cavalier male actors and egotistical directors, it took quite a lot of work to get me feeling exposed and raw. And yet, this Rowan walks into my life, grabs me, and plunges me headlong into a spiral of pure sensation.

  I stared at the man sitting next to me. Dressed in a loose black shirt and dark jeans, he looked like a lion in repose. He looked like a jaguar before the hunt. His body seemed relax but I could see the definition of every muscle ready to leap into action when called.

  God, the man just oozed sex.

  I shook my head.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  “Are you okay?”

  I looked up and saw Rowan staring at me with concern. I hoped to god my face wasn’t blushing. I had never been one to easily blush but right now I felt like I was sitting on a furnace.

  “Yeah,” I said a little too quickly, making Rowan’s brow rise a little higher in concern. “I’m fine. Just got excited.”

  “Oh?” he asked. “What’s so exciting today?”

  Taking the opportunity to regain my composure and to focus on today’s goal, I smiled vivaciously and said, “My big break!”

  Rowan looked confused. “What big break? I thought you were a big enough star where you don’t need breaks anymore.”

  I gave him a grave shake of my head. “See, now that’s how people lose their careers before they’re thirty,” I said. “Everyone needs big breaks. And this one is mine! I’m having lunch with David Francetti.”

  I could hardly contain the nervous excitement that buzzed through me as I even said the name aloud.

  Recognition lit up Rowan’s stormy gray eyes. “Isn’t that some director? A famous one, right?” he said vaguely.

  I gave him a mock look of offense. “‘Some director’? David Francetti has had the last five of his films nominated for Oscars. Three of them won! He’s a movie magician. He is the king of storytelling.” I sighed, taken away by my own excitement. “And he’s my big break!”

  “Is he putting you in a new movie?”

  “He will be,” I said, grinning confidently. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” I smoothed down my very demure nude colored skirt. I had carefully picked out an outfit today that was very understated yet womanly. With my nude skirt and my silk cream blouse, I hoped I looked elegant with just a touch of sex appeal. It was very different from my press junket look where I wore very vibrant colors in fun and girlish silhouettes.

  “Why do you want to be in a David Francetti movie?” Rowan asked. “Doesn’t sound like your bag.” He gave me a puzzled frown.

  I frowned back. “That’s exactly why I want to be in a David Francetti movie,” I lectured. “Everyone knows me as this girl-next-door sweetheart. They think I’m all good for is to smile at a boy and to cry when he breaks my heart. They don’t take me seriously as an actor.”

  And it was true. No matter how often I had asked my agent or studios for a chance at another type of role, they kept reminding me how ‘likable’ I was as the romantic comedy lead. “Likability is more stable than artistry or drama,” my agent would always say. “Why risk a career on a chance drama when you’re the Queen of RomComs? Stick with likability.”

  It came to be that I began to develop a strong hatred for the word, ‘likability.’

  “You don’t like being a sweetheart?” Rowan asked. There was a dryness in his voice that made me look up sharply to see if he was teasing. But his steely eyes were solemn and serious.

  “No,” I said bluntly. “That paints a flat picture of me. I can be a sweetheart. But I can also be a monster. I can be nice. But I can also be vengeful. I can cry over a boy but I can also grab a man and kiss him.”

  I saw a heated burst of fire blaze across Rowan’s eyes that made my cheeks burn. I felt the same heat bloom within my belly although I hadn’t intended my words to be so inflammatory.

  “I-In movies, I mean,” I amended lamely. “I’m saying I don’t like being labeled or stigmatized for just one thing.”

  A sudden shift came over Rowan’s face. A hint of cool understanding yet detachment flitted over his hard and chiseled face. “Neither do I,” he said softly.

  I suddenly wanted very much to ask him about his background—where he was from, what his training was like, who he bodyguarded before me—but I felt an odd nervousness in asking him. I could tell he was a quiet man who held his history close to his sleeves.

  But there was a genuineness and a sincerity in the way he spoke that made him different from any bodyguard I had ever had. In fact, he was different from most people I interacted with on a daily basis. I was used to people lying or bluffing or exaggerating all for the sake of their own egos.

  But not Rowan.

  He had a quiet confidence in himself that spoke volumes. There was an ease in his manner because he knew he didn’t have to prove himself. I could think of at least a dozen famous male actors who still spoke brashly and acted rudely to show just how tough and manly they really were. But Rowan put on no kind of show like that. He knew himself.

  “I have to show people that I’m much more than a silly romantic lead,” I said, plucking at the ends of my skirt. “There’s a time limit on this kind of narrow niche. Nobody wants to see a forty year old woman giggle and flirt with the boy next door. If I want to have a career in twenty years, I need to get better roles. That’s why I want to be in a David Francetti movie.”

  A beat of silence fell between us as the SUV drove smoothly down the congested streets of LA.

  “So that’s why you’re having lunch with David Francetti?” Rowan asked, breaking the silence. “So you can break out of your ‘narrow niche’?”

&
nbsp; I nodded.

  “Hopefully,” I said quietly, suddenly feeling like I could reveal more to Rowan than I could to anyone else, “he’ll see that there’s more to me than just ‘likability.’”

  Another moment swelled with silence. I could hear the angry honking of cars outside our tinted windows.

  “If he’s any kind of person with half a brain, he will,” Rowan assured quietly.

  I looked up and was met with a pair of hooded yet understanding gray eyes. And I believed him instantly. He had a way of speaking that left no room for bullshit. He didn’t try to preen my ego or fawn over me. He spoke truthfully of what he saw. And for that, I felt touched and thankful.

  I felt seen for the first time.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  And we rode in companionable silence until we reached the restaurant.

  “We’re here,” my driver announced.

  Chapter Six

  Jessa

  As I stepped out of the car, there was an immediate flood of camera flashes from the paparazzi that had followed me from my hotel. I luckily had my large sunglasses on that covered most of my face. I saw from the corner of my eye Rowan pushing his way through the crowd to make room for me to enter the restaurant.

  Once in the lobby of the restaurant, the sounds hushed to a refined murmur of diners enjoying a very expensive lunch. Rowan and my security team stood by the front door. I knew that they would stand by, making sure no paparazzi sneaked in to grab a shot of me while dining.

  I didn’t think they would sneak in anyway since there were other celebrities at the restaurant who would very much be upset at the intrusion but I wanted to be particularly careful. I didn’t want my meeting with David Francetti to be too well publicized. I was afraid any added public speculation on our meeting might scare off the famous director from hiring me.

  I caught Rowan’s eye before the hostess took me away to my table and waiting guest. I saw him give me a quick wink. It was so fast I could’ve imagined it. But I had seen it.

  A calming warmth blanketed me. I smiled. I knew what he was saying. Go knock ‘em dead, kid.

  I took in a deep breath. Well I would. I would give it all I had.

  I followed the beautiful hostess to the back of the restaurant where there were more private booths. All the hostesses in LA were beautiful. Every hostess, waitress, or bartender was as beautiful as any model strutting down the catwalk. And they were just as ambitious as they were beautiful.

  As I saw David rising from his seat in greeting, the hostess casually slipped menus down on the table, affording the director a healthy glimpse at her exposed cleavage.

  But David was an old pro in the business and had no time for such silly games. He didn’t even spare a glance. The hostess pouted and stomped away.

  “Jessa,” he said smiling. More like twitching. The man always had an odd nervousness about him that made nearly all his gestures seem like twitches or tics. “I’m so glad to see you. I didn’t think you’d make it with all the press you have this week.”

  Maybe because of how badly I wanted this meeting with David, my sensitivity was on high alert. What did it mean he didn’t think I would make it? Had he hoped I wouldn’t make it?

  I smiled brightly at the man and took his hand. “Anything for you David,” I said as we took our seats.

  David was in his late forties but looked much older. He had been working in the film industry since he was eighteen. He had started as an intern at a studio and had worked in every capacity possible on a film set. By the time he made his first movie, he knew how to do everyone’s job, including his own. Because of this, he became famous for running tight ships. He never hired two people when one would suffice. On his sets, you came to work and work only.

  But despite his obsessiveness and his stinginess, David was soon recognized as a creative genius. His films were instantly hailed as classics and icons of their genres.

  Not only was he artistically gifted, he also somehow possessed the magic touch for careers. Whether you were just starting out or on the waning end of your career, if you were in a Francetti film, you just got a second life.

  Archie Moss had been the lead in his last movie. Fifty six years old, the old actor had been out of steady work for nearly a decade. He had been a young heart throb thirty years ago but after a battle with drugs, he had mangled his good looks and charms and his reputation as well.

  Forty pounds overweight and with his handsome features now thickened into a more rough and manly look, many people only saw reality TV shows and D list blogs for Archie’s future.

  But David had taken a chance. He had given Archie an audition and once he had liked what he had seen, he had pushed the studio to give Archie the lead. David had even insured Archie with his own money in case the actor went off on another bender, wrecking the production schedule.

  But Archie hadn’t gone on another bender.

  Instead he had played Walt Holman, an alcoholic father who finds out his estranged daughter is dying. He played the character with such raw emotion, such purity, that it had blown every doubtful critic out of the water.

  Archie had been showered in awards the following year. And six months after winning the Oscar, he had lost thirty pounds and was looking better than ever. He was on every red carpet, constantly busy with new projects. His career had taken on an unbelievable second wind.

  That’s what I wanted.

  That’s what I needed.

  “So about the new project….” David started. David was never one for small chitchat when there was business at hand.

  And I was ready. I nodded enthusiastically. “I read the script, David,” I said. The tentative title so far was, Spring’s Nature. It was about a girl named Spring who went in search of her long lost mother who was also named Spring. “It’s absolutely beautiful. I couldn’t think of a better director for such a project.”

  David just waved a hand at the compliment. “Well I know we were talking about the role of Spring,” he said, drawing shapes with his finger against the tablecloth.

  I nodded. “I’d really like to audition for her,” I said, trying to keep my voice eager but not desperate. “I have such a connection to her character and I think I can do her justice.”

  David flicked his eyes up at me before quickly looking down again. “I’m sure,” he murmured. “But of course, the studio is interested in auditioning several people.”

  I knew that. “Of course,” I said. “The studio should see every actress they think is appropriate for the film. I’m just hoping to get the chance to show you what I could bring to Spring.”

  The waitress came by and asked if we were ready. David was a notoriously poor eater. He drank more than he ate. He asked for a straight whiskey with a side salad.

  Not very interested in food either for the moment, I asked for a glass of white wine and the tuna tartare appetizer.

  Once the waitress left, I could see David floundering awkwardly to pick the thread of the conversation back up again.

  “What do you think, David?” I asked softly.

  David gave an awkward half shrug. “You’re obviously a fantastic actress,” he started, not meeting my eyes. “Anyone would kill to have you in their project.” I felt my stomach tighten as I braced for his next words. “But I just don’t know if Spring’s Nature is the right kind of project for you.”

  “Why?” I asked, softly again. Remember, I reminded myself, you had expected resistance. You had expected doubt. But it didn’t make it sting any less.

  Again the awkward half shrug. “Jessa, you’re great at what you do. There’s no denying that. You’re a fierce talent. But Spring is a very different type of vehicle that I don’t think would carry your talents very well. You’re strengths wouldn’t be shown to the best of its abilities.”

  “My strengths are more than a joke and a kiss, David,” I said calmly. “There’s a lot of me that hasn’t been explored yet on screen and I know I can do it as Spring. I’m just aski
ng for a chance, David.”

  But before David could reply, the waitress returned with our drinks and food. David took a good healthy swallow of his whiskey. I took a polite sip out of my wine, too on edge to really taste what I was swallowing.

  Picking up his fork, David pushed about the salad leaves on his plate, clearly not in the mood for anything besides alcohol. My tuna tartare sat untouched.

  “An audition is all I’m really looking for,” I said, taking the bull by the horns. “No promises, no guarantees. Just a chance to show you what I can do.”

  David sighed. “The studio is already leaning towards Mara Winston,” he finally admitted. “And I have to say, for the first time in a long time, I agree with the studio. I think Mara could do Spring justice.”