by MK Meredith
But then the Addi he’d met at her bungalow had been doing everything she could to hide her fear and sadness behind a facade of attitude. He’d wanted to help her. The need was immediate upon seeing the tears in her eyes, and he’d genuinely thought she’d jump at the chance to rent to him, especially considering her predicament. She’d only have a limited time to save her home. The information on her public records had been his Hail Mary—for him and her, really. But she’d thrown him out.
He rounded his desk and, tugging his pants leg up a bit, sat on the edge. “I just need a little more time to get her to agree.”
The laugh from his longtime friend grated on his nerves.
“You mean your usual Roque Gallagher charm didn’t work? That’s a first for you, isn’t it?”
He lifted his hand and slowly raised his middle finger.
“You need a woman. The stress of this whole thing is making you grumpy.”
“Fuck.” He hadn’t seriously dated in two years. Not since his mother’s death. His workaholic ways had ruined too many relationships, and he’d vowed he was done letting it hurt other people. “The last thing I need is a relationship.”
Jimmy smirked. “Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about getting laid.” He tapped the folder that rested next to Roque’s leg. “The papers you requested. I’ll make some calls. See what’s going on.”
Roque watched him leave. He needed Addi’s bungalow. It was perfect for the intimate tone of the film and met his tight budget needs, and at this point, it was his only chance.
His phone rang, and he swiped at the face of it, then stared at the caller ID.
Addison Dekker. Now wasn’t that interesting?
“Ms. Dekker. How can I help you?”
“Actually, I think I’m the one helping you.”
He pushed up from the desk, then made his way back around to his chair. Picking up the folder Jimmy left, he flipped it around and opened the cover, pausing a moment to admire his location manager’s talent behind the camera. The photo of her bungalow was inspired. “By signing the papers?”
Her movements came through muffled from the other end. He imagined her pacing her kitchen. It was a small space, but with it opening right into the front of the house, they’d get the shots they needed. The effect would be perfect for the intimacy he aimed for. With the view through the window over the sink nothing but blue ocean waters, it was a bungalow paradise. “Your place is great. Give me your terms.”
She paused, then said, “It is, isn’t it?” He could hear the smile in her voice. Why was she stalling? “My aunt lived here and made it a home. I’ve added a bit here and there, but we shared similar taste, so I didn’t need to do much.”
“She passed? I’m sorry.” And he meant it. The pain from losing someone was inexplicable. He knew only too well. And worse was not having the time for a proper goodbye.
“She lived into her nineties. My grandma’s sister on my mom’s side.” Addi sighed, the wistful note carrying over the line. “She was something. And the reason, as you know,” she said with a soft voice, “I can’t lose my home.”
Roque preferred her sass to the sad tone in her voice; the latter just didn’t fit.
He studied the contract in front of him. “I assume you received the digital copy?”
“A bit sure of yourself, sending it when I’d already told you I wasn’t interested.”
“I hoped seeing the opportunity in writing would help change your mind.”
“You know I’m in foreclosure. Something I’d like to keep private, by the way.”
Her business was her business unless it affected his. But he respected her desire for privacy beyond that. “Of course. Everything is outlined clearly. You can have your lawyer look it over.” He waited, not moving a muscle. At this point, his whole film depended on renting her place.
“I’ve sent it to my brother, Luca.”
“Luca, of course.” Sharing a last name was the only clue that Luca and Addi were related. Roque had worked with Luca a few times, and of course they’d all met at Sam and Gage’s wedding. Luca was a studio attorney, sharp, intense, and Roque couldn’t remember ever seeing the man crack a smile. He thought of Addi’s bright eyes and the dimples that teased each cheek; she was nothing but smiles.
Unless she was on the verge of tears. Which he’d learned he couldn’t stand.
Or annoyed with him. Which he could stand. He tightened his grip on the phone.
Silence followed.
“Ms. Dekker?” Unease settled in his gut. What was she up to?
“I have two conditions.”
Of course she did. “What?” The tension in the back of his neck fired back up.
“First, I want a job on the set. I’ve already emailed over my resume.”
“No.” That felt good. He’d wanted to reciprocate since the night of the wedding. A flat, resounding no. He hadn’t thought it bothered him, but come on. No didn’t sit well with anybody.
“Then no deal, Mr. Man.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
Roque grimaced.
Addi laughed. “I’m guessing your silence is from the terrible cliché and not the job request. You producer types are so predictable. Hmmm…let me think.”
He imagined her tapping the end of her little square chin with a manicured finger.
Having her on set, underfoot, day and night would be chaos. This project was his one chance to break out on his own merit. Fuck. He didn’t have time to train or worry about someone else. Opening the file she sent, he scanned over her experience. He was impressed, and that didn’t happen often. She had extensive knowledge in PR and had worked as a liaison before. His eyes fell on the word organized, and he had to stifle a laugh. Now that he had to see.
Her voice teased across the line. “How about ‘serious as a Roger Ebert review.’ Better?”
Roque rubbed the back of his neck. She was a pain in the ass. “Why?”
“It’s my house. I need the extra money.”
“The condition of your house is covered.”
Addi tsked. “Not good enough. Take it or leave it, Mr. Gallagher.”
Mr. Gallagher his ass. Her tone held less respect than if she’d called him Rocky—God forbid. He shuddered. He’d have to do everything in his power to keep her from hearing that nickname. She’d never let him live it down—of that he was sure.
Roque blew out a breath, extending the exhale, biding his time. If her resume was any indication, she was brilliant, and he could use brilliant.
“Look, you want the house, I need the money. I’m a good worker.”
He could count the reasons to say no on both of his hands and hers, but he was a sucker for a good worker and for someone in need. The emotion in her voice now was earnest and a bit scared. But his budget was tight. Maybe if he modified his security expense and only had the director on set when the cast was being filmed. If he shifted a few things around, he should be able to make room for her.
He sighed.
She giggled softly. “You know you want me.”
His brow shot up.
“To work for you, I mean,” she blurted out.
He laughed. “Of course.” Why did he get the feeling she’d somehow won?
He ignored her gibe and closed the file on his desk. No doubt he was going to regret this. “Deal. What’s your second condition?” He hated asking questions he didn’t want the answer to.
“You need to put me up at Huntington Place.”
“Are you kidding me?” He gripped his hand into a tight fist. To put her up in the five-star hotel would cost close to twenty grand, twice as much as he’d originally planned for, and leaving him to tighten the belt on his already too tight budget.
Her voice interrupted his panic. “Look, I need a safe place to stay. A home away from home. You can’t expect me to hole up in some dive for three months. I know the Huntington. I’m comfortable there. How badly
do you want my place?”
He wanted to tell her to go to hell. But the next affordable property wasn’t available for months, and the options available now were more than the increased hotel fee. Fuck.
He couldn’t really blame her though he wanted to. Sacrificing for his project himself was one thing, asking someone else to was unrealistic.
“Deal.”
So much for keeping his distance.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes with the new contract,” he said.
Exactly thirty minutes later, Roque slid out of his SUV running through his mental list of checks and balances. Jimmy and a few of his team members followed suit, deep in a conversation about who made the better Bond. Their voices carried on like white noise against his thoughts.
They needed to take measurements, get a good scope of the space, check power resources, storage, and check out the security system, if Addi even had one in the first place. He was the producer, but with his savings footing part of the bill, he’d save what he could, where he could.
Glancing up at the bungalow, he shifted the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder and pulled in a deep breath. He’d question the real reason his heart pounded in his chest later, but for now, he’d chalk it up to stress. He just needed to do what any normal man would do.
Remove the stress.
So, first things first. Get Addi to sign the contract, then figure out how to keep her busy and out of his way.
The bungalow door swung open and a willowy Betty Boop greeted him with a steady smile and a serious stare. “Morning, love.”
The grin stretched across his face without any help from him. He cocked his head and looked at the woman out of the corner of his eye, not sure who she was or what she was doing there. “Good afternoon?”
She laughed and stepped back to let him in. “It’s almost noon, isn’t it? I’m Chase Huntington, Addi’s best friend.”
Oh, that’s why she was here. Women always called in reinforcements whether to visit the ladies room or, apparently, sign contracts. He shook her outstretched hand. “Roque Gallagher.”
“Oh, I know who you are.”
He could only imagine the glowing report she’d received from Addi.
Speaking of Addi, she bounded in from the kitchen with the energy he witnessed at the wedding and a smile that filled the room, one of the reasons he’d spoken to her in the first place—her energy was infectious. It spread through a room like a physical entity, and he couldn’t help but absorb it. A big change from when he’d seen her earlier that morning. He swore the smile was genuine, which either meant she was much happier about their deal than she let on, or it was something else. She hadn’t yet said what had changed her mind.
He smiled at the two women.
“Oh, don’t do that,” Addi said.
He raised a brow. “Do what, exactly?”
“Smile like that. Chase won’t be able to handle it, and we have things to do.”
Chase laughed. “Very true.” She turned to Roque. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Indicating his team following behind him, he said, “These guys are going to take some measurements. Okay with them poking about the place?”
Addi looked each over, then gave a curt nod. She turned to follow Chase and gave him a wink over her shoulder. “Come on into the kitchen; we’ll go over the contract at the table.”
He followed. Who wouldn’t? They presented a great view with two upside-down hearts swaying in unison and leading the way.
Running his gaze up the length of Addi, he took in her confident stride. Head up, back straight. She wore dress shorts and a button-up blouse, untucked. At the base of her neck, barely visible with her hair down, was a quarter-sized sunburst birthmark. He didn’t know why, but he wanted a closer look.
A warning went off like a fucking siren in his head. No closer looks. He didn’t have room for a distraction like that. Besides, he was great at producing films but sucked at maintaining any kind of relationship. He’d let those he cared about down too many times to count. From rescheduling date nights out to forgetting special events, staying on top of the important things took too much bandwidth. One night, he’d had to work late, and his ex had made a special meal for some month anniversary. Coming home to an empty flat and a cold dinner on the table had left him alone in a way he hadn’t felt before.
Loneliness didn’t grab on quite so tight when he chose it before it chose him.
He shoved his thoughts as deep down as possible and took a seat at the table, then slid the contract to her.
She flipped through the pages then eyed him with a narrowed look.
“No games. It’s all there,” he said, shoving away the pinch of offense.
“Of course it is.”
“Good. Then let’s get this over with.”
“Impatient, Mr. Gallagher?” she asked.
Steepling his fingers in front of his face, he focused on how perfect her place was for his film instead of her apparent joy at pushing his buttons.
With a flourish, she dotted the I in Addison and slid the contract back across the table. “There you go, partner.”
Partner? Not in a million years. That might be the first storm he couldn’t manage. “Don’t you mean boss?”
That caught her for a second, and he enjoyed the quick flash of worry in her eyes.
She stuck out her tongue at him. Playful, feisty; he better get used to it now.
Glancing over the document one last time, he studied their signatures on the last page. Her name was big and bold with loops and swoops compared to the tight straight lines of his own.
He shoved away the worry digging between his brows. Everything would be fine. He simply needed to find a way to keep her reined in and out of the way for the next twelve weeks. He’d gotten what he wanted. Kind of. Now all he needed to do was keep her from being a massive distraction. He was good at managing people, and from her resume, so was she.
Studying her from across the table, he shifted in his seat and strengthened his resolve. Managing Addi shouldn’t be too hard. He had everything under control. Including his project and his libido.
He hadn’t gotten this far to lose focus now. Especially over a feisty woman who he’d bet his left nut didn’t like being told what to do.
Well, she was just going to have to get used to it.
He reached his hand across the table and gripped hers in a firm shake. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Dekker.”
Chapter 3
“Your assistant?” Addi tried to hide the panic in her voice but failed as she paced her kitchen. She should be grateful, after all. He didn’t have to agree to give her a position in the first place, whether he realized it or not, and technically she wasn’t being completely honest. She did her best to tuck that guilt away.
But his assistant? How in the hell was she going to handle being so close to him every flipping day? She was the farthest thing from a saint. And the last thing she needed was an entanglement with a too-hot-for-her-own-good, know-it-all man. Been there, done that, not interested in any reruns. Especially not now.
“You get a one week trial. Hiring you is one thing, but it has to work. Is there a problem?” He leaned back in his chair with a smile.
Oh, he was enjoying this.
She shifted from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to change her mind and forget the whole plan. “No, not a problem exactly, but a week trial? I can handle this job. That isn’t a problem, but—”
“But what? You wanted a job. I get to pick said job. The last thing I need is an inexperienced employee running amok on set.”
She snorted. “Did you just say amok? What am I, two?”
His raised eyebrow was answer enough, cutting like a knife. She was competent and capable and did damn good work, no matter what she took on. With her head held high, she looked down her nose at him, glad he was sitting. “I have plenty of experience but not in film. Surely you need someone with a
different set of skills as an assistant producer.”
He stood and pushed in his chair. “Oh, I do. But I don’t have the budget. I’ll need you to figure it out quickly, or I’ll find someone else.” He held her gaze. “You’ll actually be my personal assistant. You know, helping me with whatever needs that may arise.”
Addi swallowed hard. Even if she wasn’t already freaked out about having to learn the industry—and fast—the words “needs” and “arise” raised all sorts of scandalous images in her head. Pulling herself together, she stepped closer to him and tapped her finger on the zipper of his black pullover sweater, letting it linger. “Needs, huh?”
Roque laughed, shaking his head with a quick glance at the ceiling. The deep baritone reverberated inside her chest for an unbalanced moment.
He gently placed her hand back at her side. “Yes, needs, like…coffee.” He ticked items off on his fingers, way too satisfied with his decision and in a too casual manner for her taste. “Dry cleaning, emails, my schedule, odds and ends for the crew. You know, personal assistant stuff.”
“Your dry cleaning?” She almost choked. The idea of handling his clothing was far too intimate to imagine without heating herself up, even if it was a simple drop-off and pickup. “I am not getting you coffee.”
“Oh, but you will.”
And she would. She’d make sure every single task he handed her was handled with more efficiency and competency than he’d ever seen. Then he could swallow his seemingly low opinion of her abilities or choke on it.
Addi had to hand it to him. She’d thrown down the gauntlet, and he’d picked it up. Roque Gallagher was no idiot. She’d have to be careful playing games with him. Funny thing was, she’d never been much of a game player, especially with men. Deep down, she was a hardcore romantic. One reason she loved to write. A book was one of the safest places to put all her fantasies on paper without anyone suspecting too much. She blew out a breath, and her bangs tickled her brow. God, she was going to miss her hours of writing every day. She could already feel time slipping away from her.
