L.A. Fire

by Sarah Bailey

  “So, Jason,” Paul began once we had all settled in. “That’s quite a script you wrote.”

  Jason glanced at Paul, his expression unsure at first, but then it became confident. “Thank you,” he said forcefully. “I kinda killed myself putting it together.”

  Both Paul and Julian chuckled. “The writer’s curse,” Paul finally said. “But the final product is absolutely brilliant.” Paul leaned forward and looked at Jason intently. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that we want to sign you. To say the least, we’re impressed with your talent. But we also both need to figure out whether we’re a good fit.”

  Jason nodded, took a sip of his coffee, and looked deep in thought for a moment. “The thing for me is, it’s not all about the money. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to do this for a living. If I could give up bartending and take this up as a full time gig, well, man, I’d be stoked.” He drummed his fingers on his coffee mug, then grabbed it between both hands and leaned forward. His expression became intense, earnest. “The thing is, artistic integrity is also important to me. I want the right director for the script. Someone who believes in the project, and won’t just buy it up and leave it sitting in development indefinitely while he goes on to do other projects.”

  Paul nodded decisively. “Okay. I’m with you. I have three directors in mind right now who I think would be thrilled to take your script all the way to the finish line. But I can’t promise anything. I have to check in with them and see what they’re working on now, and whether they have time to invest in something new.”

  Jason’s brow scrunched up, and his expression became slightly pained. “I get that you can’t give me a guarantee, but before I sign on with you, I’d like you to contact those directors you have in mind. You know, to see if they’re likely to be serious.”

  Paul frowned slightly, and sat back in his chair. “We usually only seek out script sales for people who are already our clients.” Jason’s face closed off, but Paul caught his eye with an honest, earnest look, and Jason’s face opened up again. “You have to understand our position,” Paul continued. “If we get a director sold on a project that we don’t even have the right to represent, we’ll look like fools if you turn around and decide to go with someone else.”

  Jason nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he let out a long sigh, and locked eyes again with Paul. “What made my script stand out?” he asked. “I mean, what is it that grabbed you? I need to see where you’re coming from, you know? To know that you see the same thing in it that I see.”

  Paul grabbed his pen, and started tapping it against the boardroom table. He glanced over at me, caught my eye, and then looked back at Jason. “Sarah here discovered your script. She can tell you exactly what about it stood out.”

  I inhaled sharply, and squirmed slightly in my seat. Paul looked at me expectantly. He was trusting me with this. I couldn’t blow it. I cleared my throat, and looked over at Jason, who was staring at me in awe.

  “You discovered my script?”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice firm, yet excited. “The thing that first drew me in was your writing style. Your crisp, clean images. And not a word wasted. And then there were those unforgettable characters. The fierce dialogue. Overall, I loved that even though it’s a blockbuster concept with a unique twist, it’s also very artistic. Few people can combine all those elements successfully, but you more than pulled it off. Really, it’s pure genius.” I beamed at him, and his eyes lit up.

  “You totally got it,” he said, looking at me with admiration. “You totally got what I was trying to do.”

  Jason drained his cup, and placed it back on the table with decisive force. “I’ll be honest. I have another agent interested in the script, and I’m going to a meeting with him tomorrow. But I really like what I’ve heard here today,” he said, shooting me a warm smile. “Just give me a couple of days, and I’ll let you know my decision.”

  Paul shot Julian a look, and he gave him an almost imperceptible nod. “Sounds good to me,” Paul said, getting up. “Sarah will see you out of the office. I trust you have her contact information.”

  Jason eyed me flirtatiously. “Lucky for me, I do,” he said, following the sexy look up with a sly smile. I laughed softly under my breath, but felt Julian’s eyes on me. I turned to look at him, and his eyes had narrowed slightly, and turned icy, angry, even possessive. Like he had a claim on me. Well he didn’t. I tore my eyes away from him and made my way over to Jason. “I’ll see you to the lobby,” I said.

  He shot me another sexy grin. “Ladies first.” I marched ahead of him, still feeling Julian’s icy gaze on the back of my neck. I could feel him willing me to look at him again, but instead I pushed through the boardroom doors, and never once looked back.

  Chapter 4

  The rest of the morning was hectic. Paul had several clients coming in this week, and he needed me to type up a whole bunch of contracts. By noon, I was starving and beat. I decided hitting the taco stand just down the street was a great idea. Just as I grabbed my purse, the phone rang. I groaned internally, and then picked it up.

  “Sarah.” I inhaled sharply, and felt a surge of hot tingles spread through my body. It was Julian. I’d know that smooth, powerful voice anywhere. “Meet me in the lobby right now. I’m taking you to lunch.”

  Before I could even answer, he hung up the phone. I stood there for a moment, frozen, holding the phone in my hand. Lunch with Julian? Just the thought of it was enough to make me weak in the knees. As I walked toward the lobby, I felt myself becoming strangely aroused by the fact that he had ordered me to join him, without even waiting for my answer. The man was clearly used to getting his way.

  When I entered reception, I found him standing by the front desk, making conversation with Annabel. For a moment before he turned his attention to me, I was able to admire his profile. I noticed his strong, aquiline nose, and the chiseled perfection of his jaw. His skin was tan, and he had the slightest bit of stubble on his cheeks, just a hint of it, which made for a sexy contrast with his otherwise smooth appearance. He looked both cultured and a little rough, a combination that drove me absolutely wild.

  “Sarah,” he said, turning his attention to me. “Come,” he added, gesturing toward the elevators.

  When the doors finally opened at our floor, there was no one in the elevator, which was surprising considering it was lunch. Julian put his hand in the small of my back, and ushered me in. Even after he removed his hand, I could still feel my skin tingling where he’d touched me.

  For the whole ride to the lobby, I couldn’t look at him. But I could feel his eyes running hungrily along my profile, then the curve of my neck, making me feel vulnerable, aroused and exposed. By the time we hit the main floor, I was a wreck. My insides were coiled so tight with tension, and my breathing was uneven. The worst part is it was so silent, I knew he could hear the change in my breathing, and probably even sense the quickening of my pulse. He exuded such overwhelming sexual magnetism, that if he had made one move toward me, I would have been gasping and moaning and so eager to surrender to him right then and there. When the doors opened, he once again placed that strong, self-assured hand in the small of my back, and guided me toward the revolving doors leading to the street. He didn’t remove it until we were standing out on the sidewalk, in front of a sleek, black Porsche.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor,” said a man in a blue uniform, coming around the car and placing a set of keys in Julian’s hand.

  “Thank you, Steve,” he said, giving him a quick nod, then reaching for the passenger door and opening it.

  “Please get in, Sarah” he said, a subtle demand in the slight gruffness of his otherwise smooth and polite tone. I settled into the car, and was overwhelmed by the fresh leather smell of the interior. I sunk into the plush, soft seat, and stretched out my legs. A moment later, Julian slid into the driver’s seat beside me.

  “Quite the set of wheels,” I said, teasingly. “Sleek and high
tech. And according to the speedometer, you can go 180 miles per hour. Are you sure you’re not some kind of superhero? I’m mean, who else would need all that speed?”

  Julian chuckled softly, and turned the ignition. “Not a superhero, but I do love going to the race track. This is my second favorite car in my collection.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re collection? You mean you have a whole fleet of these things?” I asked, disbelief in my voice.

  His eyes began to twinkle, and he gave me a sly little smile. “There are fifteen sports cars in my collection. I have a great appreciation for quality design and speed.”

  I gave him a teasing look. “No kidding. Which car is your favorite?”

  “My Lamborghini Aventador. On the race track, I can take it to 217 miles per hour.”

  “Wow, you must love to live dangerously.”

  When he met my gaze, his eyes were scorching hot, like two flickering blue flames. His eyes burned right through me, and I felt my sex tighten with a pleasurable ache. Whenever he pinned me with that gaze, I was lost, helpless, a quivering mess. “You don’t know the half of it, Ms. Stevens.”

  I cleared my throat, and shifted in my seat, desperate to regain some composure. “When did you learn how to race?”

  “My father started taking me to the track when I was sixteen,” he said, pulling into traffic. We glided smoothly past palm trees, flaming orange blossoms hanging from iron-scrolled black lampposts, and all the hustle and bustle of Westside Los Angeles in noontime traffic. The sun was glaring down at us through the windshield, but the air conditioning saved us from feeling the oppressive heat. “He loved cars. Still does, but he’s a little too old now to race. I inherited five cars from his original collection, and have been building my collection ever since.”

  “What does your dad do?”

  “You mean, did do. He’s retired now. He was a famous movie producer.”

  Recognition dawned on me. “You’re Sam McGregor’s son.”

  Julian looked impressed. “Quite right. It seems you know your movie history.”

  “So you grew up in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, born and raised. You’re from Manhattan. What made you want to live in L.A?”

  “I came here to be a famous movie star,” I deadpanned. “It didn’t work out. Instead I spent the last five years stripping on the Sunset Strip. It’s good money, you know? Pays the bills and all that.”

  Julian laughed hard, and gave me a wicked look. “With your breathtaking beauty, you’ll be spotted sometime soon, no doubt. But if not, I’ll set up a stripper pole in my beach house, and you can dance for me and only me, whenever I please.” His expression became very serious. “You see, I don’t like to share, Sarah. I like to know what’s mine is only mine.”

  Holy crap. My stomach started fluttering like crazy, and I let out a long ragged breath. I started restlessly squirming in my seat, trying to break through the almost unbearable sexual tension. “I was joking,” I said in a small voice, shifting my attention to the view from my window.

  “Well I wasn’t,” he said, his voice deep, dark, and hungry. I glanced at him quickly, and could tell by the searing look he gave me that he was in fact deadly serious. He broke my gaze once it was clear he’d made his point, and pulled over to the curb, right beside a restaurant called Melinda’s. The name was scrawled in an elegant cursive on a black awning overhanging a chic looking patio.

  Julian swiftly jumped out of the car, and came over to the passenger side to open the door for me. As soon as he was out on the street, I noticed that all eyes on the bustling patio shifted to him. One girl in burgundy skinny pants, a transparent nylon top with swirled velvet appliqué, and three inch strappy stilettos stared at Julian with her mouth hanging open, practically panting. When I got to my feet, he held out his arm as a link for mine and guided me toward the restaurant entrance. Skinny pants girl flicked back her thick mane of blonde hair and gave me the death stare. Other people were eyeing me with extreme curiosity. I suddenly felt self-conscious under all that scrutiny, and pulled my arm out of Julian’s. I didn’t want everyone to get the wrong idea.

  A tall, blond, lanky hostess greeted us with a big smile. She had on an eye catching orange Mulberry dress with a fitted top, tiny silver buckle belt, and flaring skirt. She looked chic, but not outrageous. She quickly glanced at my silk slouchy trousers, matching tank top, and Jimmy Choo suede navy heels, and gave me a wider smile and subtle nod of approval.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. McGregor,” she said, in an exuberant, but professional tone. “We have your usual table reserved for you. Please follow me.”

  The décor in Melinda’s was sleek and sophisticated. The seats were imitation Regency, with purple velvet upholstery. A large Venetian-style chandelier hung from the ceiling, adding sparkle to the otherwise dark décor, and reflecting pearls of light on the Moroccan carpeting.

  The hostess glided ahead of us, walking with easy elegance in a pair of very high Malono Blanik heels.

  “Here we are,” she said, gesturing to a mahogany table by a large window. Without missing a beat, Julian swept over to my chair and pulled it out for me. “Ladies first,” he said, caressing my face with his eyes. I think I visibly shivered, and my pulse definitely leaped. I had to hand it to him. The man was suave. And totally unnerving.

  He quickly settled into his seat, and then leaned toward me across the table, his breathtaking eyes taking in every inch of me, caressing my lips, my hair, and briefly, my breasts. I could feel my nipples hardening under my silk tank top, and heat rush to my cheeks. I needed to do something, before I turned into a sexually charged, quivering mess. I quickly poured myself a glass of water from the rustic mason jar, took a large gulp, and then grabbed the menu. “We should order,” I said.

  “What’s the hurry, Sarah? I was luxuriating in the spectacular view.”

  I put on the sternest face I could muster, then cleared my throat, hoping that by doing so I would keep my voice from catching when I spoke. “I only have an hour for lunch. Paul will have a fit if I’m late.”

  Julian chuckled, poured himself a glass of water as well, and took a sip, while eyeing me carefully over the rim of his glass. Finally he removed the glass from his sensuous lips, and gave me a half-smile. “Paul won’t care what time you come back. I’m willing to bet the client we had in today is as good as ours. And all thanks to you. And don’t think Paul doesn’t know it as well. So sit back and relax. You deserve at least a small celebration.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him, leaned forward, and cupped my hands around my glass. “Is that what this is? A victory lunch?”

  “Victory? No. I’m not quite that cocky. But I’m cautiously optimistic that this one is in the sac.”

  I tensed up slightly, and narrowed my eyes at him. “This one? In the sac? We are still talking about the client, right?”

  Julian’s expression became teasing, then he gave me a little shrug. “What else could I be referring to, Sarah?” I felt my cheeks flush again. I shifted slightly in my seat, and grabbed the menu. I held it up, once again putting a pathetic shield between me and Julian, and used the breathing space to regroup and figure out what I was going to eat. When I looked up again, he was still staring me, his keenly intelligent eyes both caressing me and assessing me. Just at that moment the sun flared brightly through the window, lighting up the natural honey highlights in his wavy dark hair, and making his eyes look a vivid, crystal clear blue. With the sun lighting him up like that, he looked so striking it was almost shocking.

  Just then the waiter came by to take our order. “Do you prefer red or white, Sarah?” Julian asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t drink. I have a whole afternoon of work ahead of me.”

  Julian asked the waiter to give us another minute. The waiter nodded, and discreetly slipped away.

  Julian shot me a no-nonsense look. “Red or white, Sarah? Those are the options.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “I can’t dec
ide for myself if I want to drink or not?”

  He started rubbing his finger along the rim of his water glass, then let out a long sigh. “I’ve been watching you carefully since we left the office. You’re a nervous wreck. And judging by how hazy your eyes looked this morning when you first came into the boardroom, I’m willing to bet you had a bit too much to drink last night. So I know you’re not averse to alcohol. Now which will it be, Sarah? Red or white? I don’t yet know enough about you to not have to ask.”

  I think my mouth dropped open in shock. Julian didn’t miss a thing. What I said, what I did, the way I looked: he seemed to be so carefully attentive to all of it. I sighed deeply. “The hangover was that obvious? And here I thought I had such a good poker face.”

  Julian’s expression darkened, and his eyes became intent. “I’ve never lost a game of poker in my life, Sarah. So don’t even try to bluff me. I already know all of your tells.”