by MK Meredith
Finishing this movie was beyond a professional accomplishment. It was a sort of closing on the project he’d shared with his mother what seemed like so long ago. If all the work he’d been doing, all the hours that had kept him from being with those who loved him were going to be worth it, then he needed to finish this film.
And if he didn’t figure out how the hell to fix this, it would be a long time before anyone would let him be in charge of putting one foot in front of the other.
Closing his eyes against it, he swung the beer bottle over the edge of the hammock and let it fly toward the stone.
Crash.
The violence of shattering glass spraying up at the hammock and out toward the yard centered his thoughts.
He swung his legs over the edge of the hammock and pulled himself up to a seated position, staring up at the sky. A thump from inside the kitchen made him snap to attention. “What the fuck.” Straining to see in the darkness, he rubbed his eyes and focused again. He stood and walked quietly toward the opened French doors.
He reached his hand around the corner and flipped on the light. The kitchen was bathed in an immediate soft glow. Empty. Of course. He almost laughed, but his throat remained tight and wouldn’t let the sound out.
He scanned the room. Everything seemed to be in place, all but the paper towel holder which now lay on its side. Or was it like that from earlier? Shaking his head, he rummaged through the kitchen pantry until he located the broom and dustpan. He flooded the backyard with the outdoor lights and cleaned up the glass.
Crouched down on the balls of his feet, he picked up one large shard. It had once been so smooth, part of a whole, had purpose. Now it was sharp, almost deadly—an insidious shadow of its former self.
Just like him. He was a shadow, a shard, a sharp edge of high expectations and very little tolerance. The only thing he was really good for was hard work and long hours.
And even that wasn’t panning out at the moment.
“Roque.” Addi’s whisper bounced off her bedroom window, fogging up the glass, as Roque’s taillights retreated down her driveway. Tears burned behind her lids as she leaned in against the glass, trying to see farther down the road.
She hadn’t expected to see this Roque again. Vulnerable Roque. To be honest, he probably hadn’t expected her to see it, either.
Breaking into a cold sweat, she stepped back from the window. With the sleeve of her robe, she wiped away the mess left on the glass, going over it twice to make sure no marks were left behind. Resting a hand over her stomach, she willed it to stop twisting and turning.
She’d caught him in a private moment. As soon as she’d seen him, she should have snuck out the front door to give him privacy, to make sure she wasn’t caught. But she’d been immobilized by the pain on his face. All she wanted to do was go to him.
Addi pressed her hands into her belly as she walked back to the attic stairs and climbed up. Her head ached from the late hour, her heart ached for Roque, her conscience ached from her secrets, and her elbow, damn it. Adrenaline had camouflaged the pain when she’d lost her balance and smacked the wall of the shower, but now, oh my God. She needed ibuprofen and a long night’s rest.
It wasn’t until she settled on her side on her makeshift bed that she realized she’d just walked around her house and now lay in the attic—in the dark—without a flashlight. Talk about distraction. Roque personified it.
She glanced at her phone for the time. Five a.m. Sonofabitch. She wanted to cry. Self-pity welled in her chest. Even if the crew didn’t show early, she never knew when Roque would.
No one’s fault but your own, baby.
On a sigh, she pulled herself off the floor to get dressed.
Someday, she’d be waking up to an alarm clock, from her bed, with writing deadlines to stick to. The wanting of it all was painful.
And she hadn’t gotten over the shock of hearing her words played out on the big screen. She could remember every second from that day. From the moment it slowly dawned on her that the actors were saying her words to the very closing scene she’d dreamed up years ago, she’d been in physical pain. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory.
She’d get there someday, but first, she had some growing up to do. Especially since her last boyfriend regarded her as a child instead of a woman, a partner.
She could only handle arrogant, overbearing, I-know-everything-and-you’re-lucky-I’m-here-to-take-care-of-you for so long. When she’d complained one day to her mom, and her mom’s answer was, “I don’t particularly like him, but, honey, he has a point.” Addi knew she had to make some changes. She had something to prove, to the guy, to her family, to herself.
First things first—the guy had to go.
That had felt good.
Now she had to save her home. And Karma was helping her.
She made her way back to the bathroom and looked around the scene of the crime from the night before and grimaced.
The white textured walls popped clean and fresh against the Mediterranean mosaic tile of the tub and shower walls. Bamboo window blinds left open let in just enough early morning light for her to see her reflection in the mirror over the sink. She stared at herself. The night’s events were written all over her face in the hollow appearance of her large eyes and dehydrated skin. Ugh.
Hoping her makeup would cover the worst of a night with no sleep, Addi arranged her hair down, a deep side part leaving her long bangs to obscure a good portion of one eye and part of her face.
“Tricks of the trade.” What trade? Fraud? This was ridiculous.
Her temples pounded with a headache. Seeing how stressed Roque was made it very difficult to stick to her plan. Sure, the money she pocketed was barely a pair of shoes in a Hollywood studio wardrobe closet, but knowing she took from the film when it was in trouble made her clever idea feel not so clever.
One thing was for sure. She needed the money, but that included her job as his assistant. The film shutting down would hurt her worse than Roque or anyone else on the crew. They could sign on with the next project, most probably already had another gig lined up, but she needed this until she heard back with something positive from her latest submissions.
If her job got cut or the film collapsed, she’d be heading back to another full-time, overtime job, and erasing years of progress toward her goal.
What she wouldn’t give for hours on end spent writing again, carafes of coffee bookended with cups of herbal tea. Getting lost in her stories, her characters, the knowledge their happily-ever-after was coming in the end. Not like her current situation where any second it might end in tragedy. But to do that, she needed this job, and she needed her home.
Time to put on her thinking cap. Her ideas and schemes might not have always ended successfully, but they always ended up causing something. And at this point, something was better than nothing.
By his mood last night, Roque had most likely hit the bottom of a dry well where his own resources were concerned. He wouldn’t ask his dad or uncle, and the director he had was out. They needed to find a director and an investor, immediately. As soon as the time was respectable, she had a few phone calls to make.
This was Hollywood. She swore on her next book she could find both.
Chapter 14
Roque walked in the front door, no longer surprised to find Addi ready to go. He threw her a brilliant smile meant to blind her from his personal hell. He exuded Hollywood elite in the fine cut of his trousers and the crisp fit of his tailored button-up. He looked refreshed, energized—happy—even though he felt like he’d played chicken with a fucking semi. And lost.
He wasn’t about to put off her coffee any longer. He took a tentative sip. “Perfect way to start the morning. I could get used to this. “
He heard what he’d said as soon as he said it, and before Addi could retort in her usual feisty manner, he put his other hand around her waist and pulled her in, silencing her open mouth with his own.
The pun
ch to the gut was immediate and stronger, bolder, than any cup of coffee—even Addi’s.
Pulling back, he settled his forehead against hers. “Thanks for the coffee.”
He released her, then made his way back to the kitchen. Grabbing his laptop from the sideboard, he settled at the table. Pulling up the submission forms for the festival circuit, especially Sundance, Telluride, and Toronto, he took notes on requirements and deadlines. He’d gather the information he needed moving forward as if the film was already complete. After going through the circuit list, he pulled up his file of possible musicians to contact for three different pre-recordings they’d need for the lead actor to lip-synch to. They were using her singing as beats of her character arc throughout the film. Symbols of growth and acceptance of herself. Then he needed to work out the order of scenes for later in the week. It was easier to do a grouping of inside shots one after the other than moving the equipment back and forth.
A full morning at the computer would help him catch up and give him time to let his brain wake up. At least that had been his original thought. No such luck. Sleep was not his friend, and he felt dead on his feet.
After leaving the bungalow last night, he’d driven home, showered, shaved, and juiced up with a protein energy drink. He refused to let anyone see him lagging, especially when he didn’t know how the hell he was going to pull himself out of this one. But he would. If he didn’t, and soon, his film was done, and the funds he’d invested would be gone.
He couldn’t afford to fail.
The thought eased him a bit, and his lip pulled up at one corner.
“Why the smug smile? Don’t be too cocky about that kiss. I’ve had better.”
He glanced up to see Addi walking in, sipping from her own cup. She’d had better? Little brat. He ignored the sharp dig of possession that gouged into his gut at the thought of her being with anyone else.
Pushing back from the table, he approached her.
Eyes wide, she looked left then right as if for an escape. Before she could make a move, he cornered her against the counter top, one hand on either side of her hips. “Is that a challenge?”
“No, nor was it an invitation.” She shoved, without much determination, against his chest. “Roque,” she hissed. “The crew is coming in.”
“So. What.”
Grabbing her hips, he set her atop the counter with ease and stepped between her thighs. His new favorite place to be—almost. The heat of her immediately demanded his body pay attention. He pulled her tight against him, then dragged his palms up the slick sides of her silk top, letting his thumbs rub up and over the swell of her breasts, dragging against her nipples until he cupped her face in his hands. “Good morning.”
He nibbled at her lower lip, releasing a shuddering breath from between the pair. Taking advantage of the easy access, he attacked with persistent, tender attention, biting again at her lower lip then soothing with his tongue.
Her arms snaked up around his neck, and her legs wrapped tightly about his hips, bringing him closer. He’d give anything for their clothing to disappear so he could lose himself in her. Right here, right now. Crew be damned.
He swore into her mouth. “Fuck.”
“Yes, now.”
A ragged chuckle escaped him. “God, you’re torturing me.”
Molding a hand to her breast, he kneaded her with a slow, firm motion. Desperation, a burning urgency, filled him to painful lengths.
She groaned. “Roque.”
He pulled back, easing out of the kiss, a nip, a suck. “Now. Tell me you’ve had better.”
She peeked up at him through long lashes, a look he feared might kill him.
Running her tongue along her bottom lip, then her top, a torture all womankind had used for ages to tempt and tease, she said, “Well done, Mr. Gallagher. You keep that up, maybe a little more practice, and we’ll see where you stand.”
He stared at her for a beat, then narrowed his eyes with a gravelly chuckle. “You are a little brat.”
“Ha.” She moved him back and slid from the counter top. “There is nothing little about me.” Straightening her slacks and smoothing her top, she winked at him.
She was right, there was nothing little about her. She was a big personality, had a big heart and legs that went on and on and on.
He shook his head. Snap out of it, Gallagher.
Addi crossed the room and opened the French doors. She paused, gazing across the space at the hammock.
He quickly glanced out to the space, checking for any signs he’d been there. Had he missed some broken glass? No, nothing.
“What.”
She started and quickly shot him a look. “What?”
“You’re staring.”
With a scowl, she swept out a hand, palm up. “Why aren’t you? Look at this place. It’s just beautiful.” She leaned her head against the frame of the door. “So many memories.” Sadness filled her eyes.
“Do you miss her?”
She cut her eyes to his. “Yes. She believed in me.”
He nodded, a heaviness filling his chest. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
Fingertips itching to feel her skin, he gave in to the urge and slid them from her shoulder down her arm, reveling in her silky warmth. As he glided his fingers over the point of her elbow, she winced and sucked in a breath.
He stilled, gently lifting her arm, investigated the area around her elbow. “Addi, what the hell did you do?”
The flesh around her elbow was swollen and purple.
She stepped back from his touch and quickly hid the injury with her other hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. I-I tripped.”
“You tripped?” He couldn’t help the doubt in his voice. The stricken look on her face told a different story. What, he didn’t know. He pushed away his unease.
“Yeah, I tripped. Last night. I haven’t unpacked everything at my place and didn’t see a box in the dark.”
“You need to put ice on that.” He moved toward the freezer.
Shooting her hand out, she stopped him. “No, it happened last night. I’ll be fine. We have more important things to do.”
Stopping in the middle of the kitchen, he walked back to stand in front of her. He didn’t like her being hurt, but he didn’t like not knowing what she was hiding even more. “Be careful. I have a vested interest in your well-being.” He followed the sentiment with a kiss to her forehead. “You look tired.”
“Any headway?”
Raking his hand through his hair, he took a seat at the table. “Not yet, but I’ll figure it out. I have to, it’s my project.”
She winked at him. “Sure, but Hollywood has barrels of money just waiting for you to spend. You just haven’t found the right one yet.”
He laughed. “If only this were a Hollywood production. Our saving grace is I’ll work round the clock until I figure it out. One thing I’m good at is working.”
Her little grin disappeared, and she stilled. Shaking her head slowly, she said, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” he said.
“What do you mean it isn’t a Hollywood production?” She gripped the chair, her knuckles white.
“The film’s my pet project. Indie, not Hollywood. I’ve busted my ass to develop the script, put a crew together, find backing, including my own hefty investment.”
“No.”
“Why is this so hard for you to believe?” He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to figure out what was behind her shock. Maybe it was the Gallagher name or even the known wealth. Maybe she couldn’t believe he’d put his own money behind his first film. But that was exactly the point.
She put her hands to her stomach. “That’s—it’s amazing, is all. Most people wouldn’t take that kind of risk.”
Something flashed in his chest. A risk. It was, and he fed off it. He loved the challenge, and he was determined to take this last connection with his mother to fruition. Like a dedication to all she had been to
him.
He cleared his throat as he grabbed his cell. The morning had started, and he didn’t want to have to sprint to catch up. Even another energy drink wouldn’t help him with that. Walking toward the French doors, he waved his phone and left her with a wink.
“I’m not most people.”
The panic that seized Addi’s lungs as she’d hid her elbow from Roque was bad enough, but the bomb he’d dropped about the film blasted through the front of her skull. Her chin quivered, and she clenched her teeth to stop it. One lie turned into another with each conversation. She wanted to spill her guts no less than twenty times that morning alone, but losing her aunt’s bungalow kept her lips sealed. And now he said his film wasn’t a Gallagher Studios production? A pet project and not just anyone’s.
His.
Her stomach churned.
She couldn’t be stealing from the man she was sleeping with. She couldn’t have sunk that low.
Winding through the equipment, she forced a good morning to the crew as they set up for the next scene sequence. The star of the film was a new face to Hollywood. A young woman just out of the New York Film Academy, the same place Gage Cutler had attended.
Addi watched as the young lady read through her lines. What was her name? Stella Larkin, that’s it. Vibrant and innocent. Two words that described the actress to perfection—and one of those words would never describe herself.
The cooler autumn air mixed with the salty ocean breeze did little to soothe her as she made her way to her car. If what he said meant what she thought it did, she had some errands to run.
Her car. Oh shit. She forgot to pull it back into the driveway this morning. She seriously needed to be more careful. Now the anxiety of discovery churned in her guts. If I survive this, it’s going to be a miracle.
