by Renee Rose
Her Hollywood Daddy
By
Renee Rose
Copyright © 2015 by Baronet Press. All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are a work of fiction, intended for adults.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously by the author. Any resemblance to actual places, events, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author's note: All charcters depicted in this work are 18 years of age or older
Smashwords Edition
http://www.baronetpress.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Also By Renee Rose / Darling Adams
Chapter One
Marissa gripped the door handle of her convertible Porsche as her sister Bev screeched onto Ventura Boulevard. The wind whipped her wet hair into an impossible tangle. She shoved it out of her eyes, hunching over her script and reading the same line over and over again.
“Can’t you put the top up?” she snapped when her hair blew in front of her eyes for the twenty-fifth time.
Her sister pressed the button on the dash impatiently, smacking it over and over again. “No, it doesn’t work, remember?”
Oh yeah. Another thing in her life that was broken.
She looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. She was supposed to be on the set by nine sharp. “I told you we didn’t have time to stop at Starbucks,” she said, wanting to blame anyone but herself for the screw-up her day had become.
Bev lifted her eyebrows, then braked hard when she didn’t make the light. “Chill out. It will be fine.”
“It will not be fine. I told you, Antonio is already pissed at me for flubbing my lines yesterday. Showing up late will not improve things.”
“Just improvise. You’re good at that. Don’t forget, Joel Sutherland requested you as his co-star, and he’s one of the producers. It doesn’t matter what Antonio thinks. Besides, everyone knows Antonio is a temperamental bitch.”
She sank lower in her seat. Normally her sister’s optimism buoyed her, but at the moment, Bev didn’t seem to grasp the enormity of Marissa’s problems.
“Oh hey, you know?” her sister said, starting to dig in her purse as she wove in and out of traffic. “I have the perfect thing for you.” She pulled out a plastic baggie of little pills. “I got these from the hot pharmacist at that party at Chateau Marmont this weekend.”
“What are they?” Marissa asked doubtfully.
“Dexedrine. For A.D.D. For you it will be a little bit of an upper, which is good since you only got, what—three hours of sleep last night? They’ll help you focus. Take one. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
She looked dubiously at the pills. Well, she could use all the help she could get at this point. She popped one in her mouth and sucked down the last swig of her venti iced latte just as Bev pulled up at the studio.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Text me when you’re done.”
“Wait—you’re not coming in? You promised to help me with my lines today.”
“Aw, baby, you don’t need me. Mom and I have appointments to see Dr. Perdion, the dermatologist who uses the sheep placenta facials? So I can’t today. But I’ll be there tomorrow, I promise,” she said kissing the air.
Marissa sighed. Her mother and sister spent every dime she earned and then some. Even the advance she’d received for this movie had been tapped for their never-ending exploits. One more stem cell facial and she’d be broke.
She jogged into the studio and onto the set where she met several stony stares, and a disapproving frown from Joel Sutherland, which made her insides swirl.
“There she is,” someone said, and an assistant whisked her off to make-up.
“You look like hell,” Becky, the make-up artist said, looking at her with a critical eye. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Not much,” she mumbled, burying her nose in the script.
“Please tell me it’s because you were up all night memorizing your lines.”
She gave Becky an icy stare and the girl waved her palms. “No offense. I just know you’ve been having a rough time getting them down since we’ve been back in L.A.”
They’d shot the first third of the Canyon del Oro in New Mexico over the summer and she’d been on the top of her game then. This was her dream movie, after all. A psycho-thriller with Joel Sutherland, the iconic Hollywood megastar. Joel had three Oscars and enough sex appeal to melt the wax off her car and he’d personally requested that she—Marissa Sparks—co-star with him.
Filming with him had been smooth. No Hollywood snobbery on his part—he’d been charming and gentlemanly. He’d coached her through some of the more dramatic scenes and calmed her nerves during the stunts. And she’d known all her lines then.
But her life had fallen apart between then and now. Billy Foxx, her rock star boyfriend had publicly cheated on her, leaving her for a supermodel, her mansion was about to be foreclosed on because her mom and sister couldn’t stop hemorrhaging money, and the endless stream of all-night parties were starting to catch up to her.
“Okay, you’re all set. You’d better get out there, they’ve been waiting for you.”
Like she didn’t already know. She bit back her reflexive thanks. She didn’t appreciate being shamed by her make-up girl. Bolting for wardrobe, she slid into her skin-tight ninja catsuit in record time.
“Where. Is. Sparks?” Antonio, the director bellowed.
“I’m right here,” she called out, breathless. The drug her sister had given her was starting to kick in and she felt mega-alert, as if all five senses had been heightened. She felt like the lithe and dangerous spy she played in this movie.
“Sparks, get in the elevator, let’s go,” Antonio, the director, hollered. “Do you realize I’ve had everyone on the clock here since nine a.m.?”
“I’m sorry,” she called out. She searched her mind for an excuse, and not arriving on one, left it at that.
“Do you remember the action sequence?”
“Yep. I’ve got it.”
She stood in the elevator, cameras and lights all trained on her, and got into character.
“Scene 95, Take 7,” the assistant cameraman’s helper called out and hit the slates.
She pushed the fake elevator button and the doors closed. When they opened, Joel stepped on. She sprang into action, giving him one of the high kicks they’d had her training for all summer. The two wrestled in a choreographed sequence that she was proud to say would not be re-shot with stunt people. It ended with him holding a knife to her throat, one arm wrapped around her shoulders from behind.
“Who are you working for?” he hissed.
She inhaled, but no sound came out. Her mind had gone completely blank. She stood there like an absolute idiot, her breath stalled in her throat.
“Cut,” yelled Antonio, throwing down his clipboard and stalking forward. “Have you learned any of your lines?”
“Yes, I know them, I’m just…”
Antonio looked from her, to Joel, who still held her captive despite the fact that cameras were no longer rolling. “I can’t work like this,” he said to Joel. “Somebody get me a fucking coffee before I totally lose my shit.”
> Joel’s muscled arms held her like steel bands, his breath warm on her ear. All summer long she’d fantasized about him—his on-screen character, the real-life actor—everything. He’d been kind and polite but elusive. No invitation to hang out off the set ever came, even though they were stuck out in the middle of nowhere together. Now he probably hated her, too.
He turned her to face him. The day-old stubble on his face defined his picture-perfect jaw and a lock of hair fell down his forehead as he frowned at her. “What’s going on?”
The knot in her gut tightened. She could take Antonio’s fury—the man was known for his fiery temperament—but Joel’s irritation made her want to crawl in a hole and never come out.
“Nothing! I just blanked on my line, that’s all. I can do it now—I’ve got it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What is your line?”
She blinked at him. Her mouth had gone dry and the speed from the pill was making her heart gallop. “It’s We’re on the same side. Jones sent me.”
His lips flattened. “Close,” he said.
Her mind raced. What the hell was her line?
“Listen, Marissa. I personally requested you to audition for this movie. I wanted to work with you. I thought you showed a lot of depth in Green Bayou and you have major box office appeal. But it seems like your personal life is getting in the way of this movie.”
Her eyes burned, but she took a giant gulp of air to stave back the tears. The dexedrine made her feel racy and she bounced on her heels to dissipate the sudden burst of energy threatening to bowl her over. “No, I got this. Really. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
He looked unconvinced. “You already have,” he said, lifting one expressive eyebrow.
She cringed. “I’m sorry. You’re right, my personal life has been a little stressful since we’ve been back in L.A., but I will get it together, okay?”
“Look at me,” he said.
She snapped her gaze to his, startled by the sternness in his tone.
“You have twenty-four hours to show me you’re ready and willing to work on this movie. I want you on time, with your lines memorized and your head in the game when you show up tomorrow, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said in a small voice.
*****
The words yes, sir always went straight to his cock. Particularly when they came from a hot young actress whose nipples protruded through her costume as if she liked being scolded. What he wouldn’t give to see her in a naughty school girl outfit. He’d bet she could rock the pigtails, those full lips of hers pouting when he rolled up his sleeves to spank her.
He shook his head, walking away and pushing all thoughts of violating Marissa Sparks out of his mind. In this industry, getting spanky with a co-star was out of the question. Nobody kept a secret in Hollywood, and the media would turn his kink into some kind of pedaphilia in the blink of an eye. Still, she brought out the dominant, protective side of him. He wanted to pull her away from the excessive partying, shelter her from the gossip and take her over his knee for a long, hard lesson in respecting herself and her profession.
This wasn’t her. Or at least, he’d seen a different Marissa in New Mexico, when she’d been away from her rock-star boyfriend and her wilder-than-Paris Hilton sister. She’d been serious about her work then, and sweet, almost shy around him.
He’d found her staring at one of the gossip rags one day. He had snatched it out of her hand, rolled it up and swatted her ass with it. “Don’t you know the first rule to surviving Hollywood is never to read the gossip about yourself?” But then he’d seen her face. She looked like she’d been kicked in the gut. He unrolled the paper to take in the headline. Bad Boy Billy Foxx Cheats on Actress/Girlfriend Marissa Sparks. “I’m sorry, kid. That sucks,” he’d said with sympathy.
She had shrugged, her jaw tightening. “Good riddance,” she’d said. But the public humiliation of being cheated on seemed to have kicked off her current downward spiral.
He looked over at her now. She sat hunched over her script, her lips moving as if she were whispering her lines.
“Sparks, did you figure out your line?” Antonio called out loud enough for the entire set to hear.
“Yep. I’m ready,” she said, springing to her feet and jogging back to the elevator.
Antonio started the shoot again and Joel entered, wrestling physically with Marissa—one of his favorite parts of the job. He captured her against his body, holding the dull prop blade at her throat, feeling the flutter of her rapid pulse against his knuckles. Her breasts were pushed up by his arm, her nipples hard again. “Who are you working for?”
“Easy, big guy. We’re on the same side. Jones sent me.”
“Cut!” Antonio yelled. “What the hell is wrong with your face, Sparks?”
Her hands flew to her cheeks in terror. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, your lips are twitching, your pupils are tiny and there’s a muscle pulling your left nostril up. Are you on coke?”
“No,” she gasped. “I’m not. I took a prescription—”
“Fuck this,” Antonio said, cutting her off in disgust. “Get out. Get the hell off my set. You go home and get your shit together and if you don’t show up tomorrow ready to roll, you’re fired.”
Technically, Antonio couldn’t fire her. Joel was an associate producer, so he could call the shots. But then he’d run the risk of Antonio quitting.
Marissa’s slender shoulders slumped. No defiance or backtalk from this little starlet—she had submissive written all over her. Another reason he found her so attractive. He’d released her from the hold, but he still stood close enough to feel her body trembling. She licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.
Antonio had already walked away so she turned to Joel, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really am.”
Again, a surge of protectiveness came over him. He wanted to take her in hand and remedy this for her. “Don’t be sorry, just fix it,” he said, leveling her with a stern look.
She nodded. “I will. I promise.” She turned away.
“I liked the yes, sir, you gave me earlier,” he said before he could stop himself.
She turned back to him, her cheeks flushing an enchanting shade of pink. A glint of something—recognition? connection? deviant sexuality? appeared in her eye. Once more, the evidence of her arousal showed in the stiffened peaks of her nipples through the latex catsuit. One corner of her full lips turned up. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, her voice sultry and thick, like honey.
It took all his self-control not to lean forward and smack her ass as she turned away.
*****
She kept it together as she walked out of the studio trying to figure out how she was going to get home. Neither her sister nor her mom answered their phones because, of course, they were getting sheep placenta facials that probably cost one thousand dollars each. They should’ve been helping her here today. It was their fault she’d been up most of the night because no one had wanted to leave the party and take her home.
She started walking. Maybe she could call a cab.
Her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and glowered. Julie, her agent. “Hi Julie,” she said.
“What in the hell is going on?” Julie demanded. “I just got a call from the studio saying you’re in danger of being fired.”
She had planned on playing it cool, but instead she made a ridiculous snorting noise trying to hold back the tears.
Julie softened. “What’s going on? Is this still about Billy Foxx? Do you need to see a therapist or something?”
“No,” she exclaimed, scowling. “I just need to get a good night’s rest and everything will be fine in the morning, I promise.”
“Okay,” Julie said, sounding unconvinced. “So why is your mom calling me asking if I can get you a few commercials for extra cash? Have you run through your advance already?”
“My mom called you?” sh
e asked, stunned. Her mom served as her manager, which had been great when she was still a teenager, but now was a constant source of annoyance.
“Yeah. What’s the deal?”
“So she knows I’m out of money?”
“Marissa, what’s the deal?”
“I don’t know. They spent it all. New car, new house, trip to Europe. It’s gone. My accountant said we can’t pay the mortgage on the house and we’re in danger of getting foreclosed on.”
“Who’s they? Your mom and sister?”
“Yeah,” she said, walking so fast she began to huff.
“Well, who the fuck’s in charge? Is it your money and your life or not? Look, I know you’re young, but you’re an adult. You signed these contracts on your own, and the money is yours. You could get a real manager. You don’t have to let your mom run your career like she did when you were thirteen.”
“Okay, thanks, nice talking to you,” she sang out in a false-friendly tone.
“Listen, Marissa, I’m not trying to piss you off. But you’re a lot harder to represent when you start pulling this temperamental star bullshit. You’re not established enough to act like a diva.”
“I am not a temperamental star!” she snapped, hating that she sounded like a petulant child instead of an accomplished professional. “I’m just...having a rough patch.”
“Well get over it. Immediately. Or we’re both screwed. Because I have no intention of returning my cut of your advance if you get fired. Understand?”
She hung up without acknowledging Julie. Bitch. Her stomach clenched in a tight knot because she knew every word Julie had said was true.
She had walked several blocks now and realized she was near Cafe Desta, the hip lunchtime restaurant for film crew and actors. She could wait here until her sister and mom emerged from their spending spree.
“Good morning, Ms. Sparks,” the maitre d’ said, “Table for one?”
God that sounded so pathetic. But yes, that was her life now.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“Inside or out?”
“The patio would be great. Thanks,” she said, her eyes skittering around to see if she recognized anyone. She saw several execs from other studios, a few agents and a B-list actor. She wondered what they’d heard about her. Damn. Hollywood was worse than middle school in terms of social anxiety. Maybe it was just the dexedrine talking.
