by MK Meredith
Rubbing a hand over his face, Roque blew out a breath. The house was blessedly quiet. He’d been at the end of his creative energies and needed space, perspective. “You know how it is. Ups and downs. One day you make magic, the next…shit.”
Martin grabbed his arm. “How are you, really?”
Roque stilled. The week marked two years since his mother had died. On top of everything else, he couldn’t handle the reminder, much less a conversation.
He moved into the kitchen and straight to the refrigerator.
“Want a beer?”
Martin took a seat at the table. “Roque.”
“Not now. Please.” He looked back to soften the tone.
“What’s in stock?”
Roque read off the list, then grabbed two of Martin’s choice.
A quick twist of the wrist, and it wasn’t long before both men took long swallows in the comfortable quiet of twilight.
His uncle raised his bottle in salute. “Quite the collection.”
“All Addison Dekker’s doing. She’s working as my assistant while we’re filming at the bungalow. A sticking point in the contract.”
“Oh, Addi. Good girl. We’ve known her family for years. She’s a good writer.”
Roque almost scoffed at the “good girl” comment. Addi was the furthest thing in his mind from being a girl. A woman, yes, a hot, sexy, too smooth, too tempting woman—yes. Girl? Ha.
Just as quickly, his mind latched onto the “good writer” comment. “Of course, you know her family. And her brother and sister, too, right?”
Martin shrugged.
“You’ve read her stuff? She’s determined to break into the industry.”
Martin nodded. “I believe she will. She writes romantic novels, full of passion. She’s got a knack for placing old world expectations on modern heroes and heroines. Quite good.”
He wasn’t surprised. She exuded confidence even when she wasn’t feeling it. She had a compelling gift of gravitation: everyone wanted to talk with her, help her, and simply be near her.
But what about Addi? Her hopes, dreams—fears? He should know those, too.
Roque pulled up short. Fuck, the last thing he needed to be worried about was Addi’s dreams. Hell, he’d barely had time to remember his own name. What he needed to do was find a fucking investor. Frustration sent a restless energy through his limbs, and he pulled another long swallow from his bottle simply as a reason to move.
“Christ.”
“What’s that?” Martin leaned forward, as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
Roque grunted. “Nothing. How’s Aunt Raquel? Her art exhibit is later this week, isn’t it?”
“I hate missing it, but off on location. She’s great. Energetic as ever. New ideas, new hobbies. I’m exhausted.”
Roque laughed. “She’s keeping you young.”
“She’s keeping me relevant. I need to work in order to back all of her projects.”
Roque’s bark of laughter bounced off the kitchen walls. His aunt had a knack for making money, a savvy business woman if he’d ever known one. Uncle Martin continued to work because he couldn’t not. He loved to direct, to create, and interact with people. The man couldn’t sit still any more than his wife could.
They were perfect together.
Martin emptied his bottle. “Thanks for the drink. So.” He rubbed his hands together. “What will you do, my boy?”
Well, hell. Wasn’t that the question?
He remained noncommittal. “What I do.”
Martin nodded. “Good. I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing. But I must say I hate not getting in on it.”
Roque appreciated the vote of confidence. “Even if you wanted to, you have your shit sunk into your latest project, and you know I know it.”
With a few undecipherable grunts, Martin waved his hand. “Where is Addison anyway? I miss her energy. She makes a room shine.”
“Yes she does.” The innuendo in Roque’s reply didn’t register until Martin’s smile widened. Roque put out a hand. “Nothing—”
His uncle stood up. “Boy, you don’t owe me any explanations. Just make sure you—”
Roque stood up. “Stop, there is nothing—”
Martin raised a brow.
“Shit. Go. Go home and hassle Aunt Raquel. Tell her I love her.”
His uncle’s laugh mocked him until the slamming of the front door cut off the echo.
Throwing the bottles into the recycling, Roque turned out the kitchen lights and made his way into the front room. Where the hell was Addi?
He pulled up short. Fuck, it had been a long day. She must have gone back to her hotel. And why wouldn’t she? It was late, and he’d sent the crew home. She was basically crew, but there was nothing basic about her.
His phone buzzed. With blurry eyes, he read through the list of his appointments for the next two days. “Shit.” He had a meeting with his financial advisor first thing in the morning. If he hoped to figure out how to save his film, he needed a clear head, and that meant some actual sleep. Though he knew better than to think he’d get any.
The next morning found him sitting across from his financial advisor, Gerald, with a head no clearer than the day before. He’d hoped for better news, but the constant movement of the man’s head back and forth in the universal symbol of no made him want to punch something.
“You can’t, Mr. Gallagher. Look. You hired me for a reason. Trying to sink more money into this project will be detrimental. And honestly, there is no way to make the assets you do have available liquid within the timetable you gave me. You need to find another option.”
The tightening between Roque’s shoulders ground down in a biting grip, making him lose the little patience he had left. “I don’t have any other options, Gerald. God damn it.” He dropped his fist to the table.
Immediate regret had him lifting his hands. “I’m sorry. This has been a tough week.”
What the fuck was he going to do? He felt his future slipping out of his grasp. All the sacrificing, the late nights, the missed memories, could not have been for nothing.
The following few days were more of the same. Unfortunate noes but exuberant well-wishes.
If one more person wished him good luck, he was going to fucking lose his shit.
Slipping his phone into his front pocket, he slouched in the antique chair in Addi’s guest room. He was running out of ideas. His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe, so he moved to the day bed and sunk into the heavily pillowed corner, stretching his legs out over the edge.
The door of the guest room swung open, and Addi bustled through, stopping short. “Oh! You’re still here. I’d thought you’d left.”
He flung an arm over his eyes, void of the energy to reply.
“No luck, huh?”
He slit one eye open just enough to glower.
Crossing the room, she lowered onto the bed next to him, and the heat of her soft body warmed his side although he hadn’t realized he’d been cold. The silk of her palm slid over the top of his hand, and he turned it over, letting her fingers entwine with his. Human contact, her touch, was like a salve to the wounds caused by so many days of rejection in a row.
“We’re friends by now, aren’t we?”
He paused, surprised by her question. “Well, yeah. I think so.”
She turned to face him. “Let your family help. Don’t lose your dream because of some misplaced pride or stubbornness.”
No one understood, and trying to explain was beginning to be more work than the film itself. He sunk lower on the bed, exhaustion making his stomach turn. “Addi, I don’t think I have the energy to explain.”
“It’s just…I hate seeing you so stressed. You’re overworked, you don’t sleep. All week you’ve been running from meeting to meeting. We’re holding things together here as well as we can, but I know production is falling behind. I hate to see you lose this after you told me how much it means to you.”
H
e studied the genuine concern on her face and squeezed her fingers before pushing up from the bed. “This film is everything to me; it’s not just the film itself but how I get it made and what I do with it.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he paced the room. “I’ve been trying to distance myself from the family reputation. Trying to be taken seriously for my own talent. Not because I’m not proud of my family or who I am but because I want to know I made it on my own merit. The unique vision I know I bring to the table. Being a Gallagher, using the Gallagher name, the Gallagher money…it all muddies the water. I have to do this my way, with my skill. Independent of the legacy my father and uncle have already created.”
Addi smiled. The kind of smile that lit a face from the inside out. She understood. Relief swamped him, and he leaned against the wall, needing the support.
She stood and stepped in front of him. In her usual teasing manner he was beginning to love, she walked her fingers up the buttons of his shirt and loosened his tie. “Well then, Roque Gallagher, you’re just going to have to figure out how to make it happen.”
He blew out a breath, enjoying the teasing light in her eyes. “I need a miracle.”
She tilted her head. “You’ll find one.”
Pulling his tie from around his neck with a zip, she held his gaze.
He narrowed his gaze. “What are you doing?”
Addi stepped closer. Her heat washed up and over his chest, and he clenched his fists at his sides.
“All work and no play makes a producer a dull, though very attractive, boy.” She ran her finger over one brow than the next.
“Addi.”
“Shhhhhhh…”
He gripped her hips, his fingers flexing at the sensation of warm muscle beneath the silk of her pants.
Smiling, she tilted her head. “You work too hard. You need a little fun.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have time.”
She leaned closer, her honey scent wafting up around his head. Her warmth radiated into him and straight to his dick. God damn it, if she was going to kiss him, she should do it already. He was so tired of resisting her and couldn’t take her teasing any more. And why should he? Wanting her was becoming a larger distraction than her presence. His fingers found their way to her waist and flexed into her flesh.
Wetting her lower lip, she brought her cheek next to his, her warm breath causing a shiver to run down his spine.
He turned his face, his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth from hers, every muscle screaming for her to close the distance.
She whispered, “Your aunt’s jewelry show. Come with me.”
He blinked twice. “My aunt’s show?”
Laughing, she placed her hands on his shoulders and gave a little shake. “Lighten up, Gallagher. You looked like I was going to bite you. You’re working too hard. You need a break, some inspiration, a chance to rub elbows with the industry. Let’s go to your aunt’s show. It’s only one night. A chance to de-stress.”
That was not the kind of de-stressing he’d thought she had in mind.
And thank God because he didn’t think he had it in him tonight to make a smart decision if it had anything to do with kissing and Addi. He had a feeling one wouldn’t be enough.
He let out his pent-up breath in one long exhale, the corner of his mouth curving up on one side. Damn vixen. “De-stress.” Maybe if he went, his aunt wouldn’t send his uncle around to check up on him. No one was fooled by that little visit. “You might be on to something.”
She winked at him. “Oh. I most certainly am…boss.” Tapping him on the end of his nose, she stepped through the door.
He continued to stare long after she’d disappeared down the hall. Either all the stress was making him crazy, or she had something up her sleeve.
Chapter 9
As the Mother of Malibu, Raquel Martin nurtured with a flood of love that entitled her to be obeyed when she requested the presence of her “children.” And as rebellious as Addi sometimes felt, saying no to Raquel never crossed her mind, especially since she’d missed the grand opening. But finding herself on Roque’s arm, dressed in a short sheath of champagne silk—thanks to Chase’s closet—turned attending the already exciting event into an adventure.
Though she hadn’t been able to go a few months ago, thanks to her ex—he’d been very controlling, and she’d let him be that way until she’d finally gotten her head out of her ass—her sister had been there and hadn’t stopped raving about the talent of designer Liv Karsten.
Raquel was throwing a series of galas that told a story through the artist’s jewelry. Quite clever to Addi’s writer brain. She loved beautiful things and had been looking forward to seeing all the pieces firsthand. Having Roque by her side posed a bit of a distraction, though. If her mind wasn’t clouded by the spicy scent of his cologne or the accidental brush of his arm against hers, she was fighting the rising panic of being discovered.
The exhibit followed on the heels of a late shoot, and he’d promised to drop her off at the hotel and pick her up in the morning.
No reason for her to bother with her car.
Yeah, right. No reason. Crap.
A knot twisted in her gut. Determined to enjoy the evening, Addi lifted her chin. Going together was her idea, after all.
“You okay?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t lie well.”
She snapped her eyes back to him. “What? Why would you say that?”
He grabbed her hand. She prayed it wasn’t sweaty but couldn’t think of a smooth way to retrieve it.
“I had a girlfriend once who was a terrible liar. She had a habit of blowing her bangs out of her face every time she tried. Luckily for me, I figured it out pretty quickly.”
Addi casually studied her nails. “So, what did you do? When she lied, I mean.”
He gave a dismissive wave. “We broke up. I can’t stand being lied to. I just can’t get past it. And if I can’t trust someone, there’s no reason to stay. I’ve been burned too many times. You know?”
Quickly pasting a smile on her face, she turned her gaze to his but found she couldn’t hold it. “Absolutely.” She glanced around. “Look. This is fantastic.” At first she was worried about where the hell she was going to sleep tonight, but now she was freaked out that he’d be able to tell when she was lying. With a mental curse, she shook out her free hand. The one he held was surely a sweaty mess by now. Pushing her fears to the far recesses of her brain, she forced herself to focus on the night in front of her.
The gallery, a glistening and glimmering abalone shell paradise, washed patrons in reflections of deep purples and midnight blues. The exhibit itself was a stunning masterpiece, and she hadn’t even glimpsed a piece of the jewelry yet.
Roque pulled her through the crowd of hushed jewelry connoisseurs. Losing her hand in that callused palm of his made her heart race and her mind cloud as if all she could concentrate on was how his skin felt against hers. She clutched her other hand in a tight fist. Keeping her hormones at bay wasn’t going to be easy, but Addi wasn’t a stranger to hard work.
The film was making progress, but Roque was under an immense load of stress. She was quite surprised he hadn’t found another backer by now. Hollywood always seemed to be circling for a bite of the next big thing. And anyone in their right mind could see he was it.
Walking through the tables, she whistled. Raquel had an eye for beauty and how to display it to its best potential.
While Roque studied a pair of cufflinks, Addi studied him. The man was drop-dead gorgeous to start, but suit him up in Armani with a silk tie and pocket square, and she feared she’d get pregnant by simply looking at him. His dark hair fell back in short waves from his chiseled features, and as he considered the artwork in his hand, his eyes took on an intensity that she felt to her very core.
A vision of him focusing that same intensity on her turned said core to liquid, and she stepped away, faking a casual stance with one foot crossed over the o
ther.
Pull yourself together, woman.
“Don’t you think? Addison?”
She snapped to attention at the sound of Raquel’s voice, almost falling over her entwined feet. Roque dropped the cufflinks and grabbed her by the arms before she teetered past no return. Heat shot up her chest and face, stinging her ears as she finally got her feet under control once again.
Raquel gathered the cufflinks from the velvet-covered table. “Darling, please. These are works of art.”
Roque held Addi for a brief second longer before sliding his hands down her arms, running his fingers over her hands to her fingertips.
Heat rose to her hairline. Roque gave her a questioning stare, then turning to Raquel, he nodded. “I don’t disagree, but it was the cufflinks or Addi.”
Raquel looked him over, intrigued. If Addi hadn’t been watching, she’d have missed the subtle switch.
Oh no.
The last thing she needed was for the Mother of Malibu to get any ideas. Controlling her own interest was challenging enough.
She should just jump the man and get it over with. No harm, no foul.
Her eyes perused the table, and her hand drifted to her chest. With sincere delight, she stepped between the two and slid her hands under a necklace of black abalone spread out like a fan. “Ohhh…”
“Exquisite choice, darling. With your height, the piece would be displayed to perfection.”
The price tag hidden respectfully against the underside of the largest shell snuffed out any dream of wearing the beautiful piece, and Addi closed her mouth against the immediate disappointment climbing up her throat. Careful to keep her expression serene, she ran a fingertip one more time over the necklace and returned it to its perch of honor.
“Darling, it was made for you.”
Raquel’s protest almost made her laugh. Even corporate America hadn’t paid her enough to acquire that gem.
“At least let me take a photo of it on you.”
“No, no.”
Keen eyes roved over her face. “I never pegged you as one to turn away from beautiful jewelry, or are you just a little camera shy?” Her eyes glanced from Addi to Roque. “I have a fix for that.”
