“That dress,” Melinda gave the garment a long, thorough look. “Last year’s Donna Karan?”
Is that your best first shot? You’re slipping, Melinda.
“This year’s Jonas Westgate.”
“Oh, God,” Melinda cackled. “Not one of your projects. Jade, darling; it’s one thing to give a bit of seed money to an up-and-coming designer. Take my advice. Think again before you wear one of his creations. The cut, the color. He obviously didn’t have any clue how to drape your… How shall I put this? Your unfortunate figure.”
A few months ago, those words would have hit their mark. The slightest criticism would crush Jade’s almost non-existent self-esteem. Now? Part of her wanted to run. Or cry. Hide. Pull off the dress and burn it. That wasn’t going to happen. Jade was stronger now. Maybe stronger than she’d ever been. The dress was fabulous. She knew it. The soft green complimented her pale skin, brought out the emerald in her hazel eyes. Her unfortunate figure looked slim and elegant. The flowing material accented rather than detracted. She had few curves. Though her painfully thin form was gradually filling out again, Jade knew she looked her best. Melinda wasn’t going to take that away from her.
“I thought about wearing a sack, Melinda.” Jade paused, looking the other woman up and down. “Where did you get your dress?”
Jade moved away, leaving Melinda to decide if mousy Jade Marlow had just cut her down a few notches. Damn right, I did. Jade did a mental fist pump. It might be time to stop measuring her progress in baby steps. She was up on her feet. Her legs were steady. Soon she would be back to her old self. Then she could work on improving that model. So much work to do. Jade pulled her shoulders back. She was getting there. She would get there.
“Why are you standing here instead of greeting guests?”
Jade felt her confidence slip. There was one person who could pull her down. It was going to take a lot longer to get past a lifetime of thoughtless jabs, barbs, and outright cruelty. You couldn’t overcome twenty-eight years in a few months.
Her shoulders a little less straight, but no less determined, Jade turned. The false smile in place. Not that he would know the difference. Genuine, fake. He never noticed. As long as she was there when he needed her, like tonight, he didn’t care.
That knowledge once crushed her. Now, Jade saw it as an advantage. She was gradually slipping away from his control. Before he could regain his hold on the invisible ropes that bound her to his side, she would be gone. For good.
“Don’t worry, Father. You know I wouldn’t neglect my duties.”
“See that you don’t. And for Christ’s sake, fix your hair. It looks like an abandoned bird’s nest.”
Jade’s footsteps faltered. Maybe her legs weren’t as steady as she thought. Back to baby steps. She wouldn’t let it get her down. She was moving forward, no matter the size of the strides. That was what mattered.
CHAPTER TWO
“WELCOME HOME, GARRETT.”
“Thanks, Sally. Remind me. No more location shoots in the desert. You know what? Let’s cut out location shoots altogether.”
Garrett’s office manager didn’t bother to answer. He said the same thing every time. In a week, he would forget every problem inherent with taking his movie on the road. His enthusiasm for his job and all its pitfalls never waned for long.
“You have a nice tan.”
“Great. Now I have to worry about skin cancer,” Garrett grumbled. When he saw the stack of mail on his desk, he veered right, flopping down on the leather couch.
“Did you use the sunscreen I sent you?”
“You mean the stuff that attracted every bug in a twenty-mile radius?”
Sally shook her head. “I don’t understand it. Everyone I know uses that cream. You’re the only one with a bug problem.”
“Must be my naturally sweet disposition that attracts them.”
“Right,” Sally scoffed. She picked up the mail, depositing it on the table in front of him. “This won’t magically disappear.”
“Isn’t taking care of that crap what I pay you to do?”
“Shoveling crap is not in my job description. I do take care of ninety percent of your correspondence. I leave you with the bare minimum. Personal things.”
“My life is an open book, Sal,” Garrett laughed. “In Hollywood, there are no personal things.”
Except Jade. What he had with her went beyond personal. It was elemental. Essential.
“Buck up, Garrett. Open an envelope. You might enjoy the experience.”
“I never have,” he muttered. “Tell me some good news.”
“You’re stalling.”
“True,” he conceded. “I still want something happy to start my day.”
“Trina is pregnant.”
“That is great news.” Garrett grinned. “I refuse to believe you’re going to be a grandmother.”
Sally Penski was forty-eight years old. She looked fifteen years younger. Efficient, friendly, and organized. She kept him running. Schedules. Meetings. Essential things Garrett had no desire to deal with. She texted him most of the time. Emailed occasionally. In an emergency, she called.
Garrett was not entirely certain how she came to work for him. Nine years ago, he had barely moved into his office when she was there — arranging things. Had his father sent her? Both denied it. She claimed she answered an advertisement in the paper. Since he hadn’t placed any ads, how was that possible? Sally had the office up and running quickly and with little drama.
It was three months before it occurred to Garrett that he had never officially hired her. By then, it didn’t matter. To this day, it was a mystery unlikely to be solved. Sally certainly wasn’t telling.
“Your brother called.”
“So?” Garrett reluctantly began sorting through the mail. “The surprise would be if one of them hadn’t called.”
“Wyatt.”
“Ah.”
“He wants to meet with you at eleven.”
“Did he say why?”
“Money.”
“What else.” Wyatt’s favorite subject.
Sally left the way she did everything — quietly.
Garrett threw the envelope back on the table, promising himself he would get back to it later. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then propped his feet up. He was running on three hours of fitful sleep. Lying down for a nap was a tempting thought. A brief thirty minutes sounded like heaven. Unfortunately, he had a busy day ahead. Squeezing Wyatt in would be a challenge. Then there were script revisions, meetings with the head of costumes. He needed to go over the storyboards for tomorrow’s shoot.
It would be easier now that they were back in L.A. He would be in his own bed, for starters. No matter how he tried, he didn’t sleep when on location. On long shoots, there were nights when he wondered why he bothered. He would eventually give up. His time was better spent working.
It wasn’t the healthiest of lifestyles. Yet he wouldn’t change jobs for anything. He could live with temporary insomnia if that was the price he paid to make his movies. It was in his blood. His father claimed the business was in their DNA. Garrett couldn’t argue.
His parents were the definition of legends. When town’s most powerful producer married its hottest screen siren, they became Hollywood royalty. Their four sons princes. He and his brothers grew up on film sets. They cut their teeth in editing rooms, learned to walk around camera cables and sound equipment.
Garrett remembered the moment he knew directing was his calling. His mother, Callie Flynn, was filming what many considered her greatest movie, The Sun Goes Down. Garrett was seven, running around, getting into everything. He had a nanny, not that it mattered. He was impossible to keep track of. The crew indulged him. If he asked a question, they answered without hesitation. The director, who was missing his own son, took Garrett under his wing.
By the end of the shoot, Garrett was hooked. From then on, he used his envious position to learn everything possible. He
went to film school, always anxious to learn more. By his sophomore year, he knew it was a waste of his time. They taught things he already knew from experience. He quit school, made a low-budget horror flick, and never looked back.
Garrett gave up trying to rest. His mind was too busy. Standing, he stretched his long body, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was his mother’s face — so to speak. A very male version. She was tall by Hollywood standards. He inherited her height, her cheekbones, and dark brown, red-tinged hair. To be honest, Colt shared the same traits. The difference was the eyes. His brothers’ eyes were blue, like their father. Garrett was the only one who had his mother’s changeable pale silver.
The camera loved those eyes. Directors became obsessed with close-ups. The shade deepened depending on her mood. Stormy. Misty. Intense. They shaded from hot gunmetal to chilly slate. Her eyes told the story. The emotions played out in colors. Callie was a master at using this anomaly to draw the audience in. Anger? No problem. Happiness? Piece of cake.
The only one she couldn’t fake — the color no audience ever saw. The deep purple of love. Caleb Landis knew that shade; he saw it every day for the last thirty-six years.
Garrett wondered if his eyes turned that color when he was with Jade? Did he love her? Or was it only a gnawing obsession that would burn itself out? He knew the answer. For the first time, he was glad they had never had sex in the light. Like his mother, if his eyes gave him away, he didn’t want Jade to know. Not now. Not unless there was a drastic change in their twisted relationship. His words would never give him away. He didn’t want his eyes to.
With a sigh, Garrett glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. He hit the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Landis?” Dominic, Wyatt’s assistant, answered a second after the first buzz. He always did. Not even Sally was that good. Super capable or slightly creepy? Garrett could never decide.
“Can we move the meeting up a few minutes?”
Garrett could imagine the calculations running through the man’s head. In Wyatt’s world, half an hour was not a few minutes. He had his time micromanaged down to the second. It should have made him an annoying son of a bitch. It didn’t. His brother was one of Garrett’s favorite people. It had nothing to do with being related. They were siblings and friends.
“He’s on the phone with Dubai.”
“How is old Dubai? I haven’t spoken to him in years.”
Silence. Hell, Garrett swore he could hear crickets. Dominic had no discernible sense of humor. Luckily, Wyatt was fine with that. His assistant wasn’t there to entertain or be entertained. His job was to keep things running smoothly. Most important, keep the boss man free from unnecessary interruptions. Garrett was never sure if Dominic considered him a necessity or an annoyance.
“He wrapped up a bit early. You may see him now.”
“You know I’m his brother.”
Garrett heard Dominic huff.
“Not during office hours.”
GARRETT GREW UP in Beverly Hills. The huge estate his parents purchased in the early eighties was a never-ending playground for four growing boys. Tennis courts, two swimming pools, an endless lawn for games of every kind. Every year since the last of the children moved out, his parents talked about downsizing. Why did they need so much space? Grandchildren? None of their sons seemed in any hurry to provide them with the renewed patter of little feet.
Wyatt received the brunt of that complaint. Garrett and Nate were catching up. Colt was only two years behind, yet he seemed exempt. Why? Movies stars were different. He had years to play the field. Or play with his leading ladies.
For all their less than subtle hints, Caleb Landis and Callie Flynn never tried to change their children. Their decisions, from their professions to their love lives, were their own. They were loving, generous parents. Not all Beverly Hills kids could make the same claim.
Spoiled, pampered, their egos as big as the industry they dominated. Somehow, with all the privileges they were afforded, the Landis boys avoided the clichéd pitfalls associated with too much money and too much fame. Their father would never have permitted it. He ruled with an iron fist in a velvet glove, not afraid to hug his sons when needed or kick some ass when warranted.
Garrett pulled his Lamborghini to a stop next to Wyatt’s Bentley. The wide driveway also contained a classic Porsche and a decked-out Ford F450. It looked like Colt and Nate beat him here too. The way production on Exile was going, it was a surprise he made it at all. A night with good food and family was exactly what he needed.
“Garrett!”
“Nate,” Garrett laughed as his twin lifted him off his feet. “Let me down, you idiot.”
“Getting soft?” Nate sat Garrett on the ground, giving him a quick punch in the stomach.
Well-versed in his brother’s methods, Garrett stepped back. Between his quick reflexes and Nate pulling his punch, he barely felt it. If he’d wanted to, Nate could send a man to the hospital with one fist to the midsection.
Garrett counted himself lucky they were family. Around puberty, Nate’s growth spurt shot him past his twin by almost three inches. As a stuntman, he was nothing but solid, lean muscle. Garrett exercised. Took care of himself. Nate’s body was his business.
“When did you get back from Costa Rica?”
“This afternoon.” Nate draped an arm over Garrett’s shoulder. “Never again. I can’t sleep in those lousy trailers. I need my own bed. After dinner, I’m sacking out for ten hours straight. What’s so funny?”
“Us,” Garrett said. “I think we developed our sleeping quirks in the womb. I can’t sleep on location, neither can you.”
“Blame Mom?” Nate seemed horrified at the thought.
“Never.” Garrett shook his head. “We hit the parental jackpot.”
“And that is one of the many reasons I love my boys.”
Callie Flynn opened her arms. When she had Garrett and Nate in a warm embrace, she sighed. There was nothing better than having all her chicks back in the nest. The fact that they returned on a regular basis — willingly — filled her heart to near bursting. The love and respect she and Caleb received had her counting her blessings. Every day.
“Who is this gorgeous woman?” Keeping an arm around his mother’s trim waist, Garrett stood far enough away to look her up and down. “You get younger every time I see you, Mom.”
“Why thank you, Garrett.” Callie beamed. “A woman can never hear that enough.”
“It would make it easier if you stopped looking like a teenager and started looking like the mother of four grown men,” Nate grinned down at the woman he adored. “I’ve lost track of the times some jerk has told me how hot you are. Put on fifty pounds. Get some wrinkles. It will save me from having to threaten guys with an ass-kicking.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. As your mother, I’m flattered,” Callie smiled. “As an actress who has spent the majority of her life being judged by her looks? I’m thrilled. As a fifty-six-year-old woman? I’m freaking ecstatic.”
“Why is that, my love?”
Caleb Landis came into the room at the end of the conversation. He didn’t care why. He approved of anything that made his darling wife happy.
“Nate seems to think I’m too beautiful.” She winked at Garrett. “Can you imagine?”
“Sacrilege.” The big voice boomed out of a man who in every way was bigger than life. Well over six feet tall, with a shock of thick white hair, his body was strong and straight. At sixty-two, he had the energy of a man half his age. He came to Hollywood hungry for success. Everything he had, the money, the fame, the awards, came from his hard work and the ability to spot a winner. His track record as a movie producer was legendary. A trait he’d passed down to his sons.
The sound of their father’s voice brought Wyatt and Colt from the kitchen.
“You are the most beautiful, desirable, intelligent woman ever put on this Earth. It’s our job, as the men in your life, to worship the ground you walk on. Understood?”
> The last was directed at Nate, not his wife.
“Is this asshole… Sorry, Mom.” Colt winced. “Is Nate being a jerk?”
Callie hid her smile. Her boys didn’t curse in front of their mother. Not because she was a wilting flower whose ears would melt. She was pragmatic enough to understand that she was living with four men — they were going to use salty language. She didn’t want sons who spewed f-bombs at the drop of a hat. Curtailing their use of four letter words around her made them think twice when out in the world. Or so she told herself.
“Hey,” Nate protested. “How did this get turned around on me? I casually mention that having a legendary beauty for a mother can sometimes be problematic and all of a sudden I’m a bad guy?”
“I’ve had to beat other men off with a stick for decades. It’s the very happy price you have to pay when you love a woman so beautiful inside and out.”
Garrett was used to the open, sometimes over-the-top, affection his parents displayed. Everything they did was big. The way they loved, the way they fought. The way they made up. One time after an epic argument, he and his brothers didn’t see them for three days. At thirteen, Garrett had been old enough to know what they were doing behind the closed bedroom doors.
At the time, it was embarrassing. A few years later, when it happened again, he admired their stamina. Now, for the first time, Garrett envied not only loving someone that much; he longed to have it for himself. He found it was easy to give away his heart. The hard part was getting one in return.
“You seem pensive tonight.” Colt handed Garrett an ice-cold longneck beer. “Problems with the new movie?”
“Other than a leading lady who thinks she’s God’s gift?” Garrett took a long draw from the bottle. “Actors.”
“Hey, don’t lump all actors together. Some of us are easy peasy to work with.” Colt laughed, his blues eyes sparkling.
Those eyes, and the handsome face that went with them, graced hundreds of magazine covers over the past few years. Colt was blessed with a face the camera loved. On top of that, he could act. Not just another pretty face, one critic declared after Colt’s last film. Garrett was proud. In public, he let the world know just how proud. In private, this was the baby of the family. Putting him in his place was a mandatory older brother obligation.
Dreaming With A Broken Heart (Hollywood Legends #1) Page 2
