by Lynn, Janice
“I know it sucks to be you these days.”
“Thanks,” Colin smirked. “My life is just fine as it is. Better than ever,” he lied. “Why don’t you worry about your own life and leave mine alone?”
Maxwell’s forehead furrowed, giving him a menacing appearance. “My life is the stuff dreams are made of. Now, I’m going to introduce your new boss, and you’re going to be nice.”
Maxwell took hold of his arm and practically dragged Colin to where a man with bushy white hair chatted with two women.
As he’d thought on previous occasions, J.P. Scott reminded him of Einstein. On a bad hair day.
Colin felt like a fretful child being made to face a new school teacher. Not a comfortable feeling for a man who once crossed battle lines and faced powerful political adversaries intentionally and fearlessly.
A man who’d faced the bottle and won.
He faced that particular battle every single day of his life. But not without fear. Not without regrets.
“J.P., there’s someone I want you to meet. Colin Crandall.” Maxwell greeted the older man with a good-natured smile that belied the tension he’d just shared with Colin. Acting skills abounded at Wolf. “Although he says your paths have crossed.”
“A time or two.” J.P. agreed, sticking out his hand. “Crandall.”
Colin nodded and shook the producer’s hand. It wasn’t J.P.’s fault he didn’t want or need a new producer. Nonetheless sarcasm bit his words. “Maxwell says you’re my new producer. Reality television finally dying down?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” J.P.’s gaze shifted to Maxwell and silent messages passed. What was Maxwell up to? And why would an old-timer like J.P. Scott get involved with the Colin Crandall show? World news wasn’t J.P.’s style. “But I look forward to doing a long-overdue extreme make-over to your show.”
Score one for Einstein.
“My show doesn’t need a make-over.” Just ask any one of his ten fans.
“Neither did Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters.”
Score two for Einstein.
Colin opened his mouth to put the has-been who was trying to hang on to the glitter too long in his place. Better to serve the bitter truth to the few who would hear than to reach millions with nonsense. Instead, he bit his tongue, reminding himself that perhaps Scott didn’t want this producer job any more than Colin wanted him in the position. Perhaps he wouldn’t be any more hands on than the current producer. After all, Rob Lancaster co-produced Jane Millionaire. Scott had to be near retiring age. If nothing else, living in Hollywood for all these years had to have used up at least eight of the old man’s reported nine lives. Nothing was to be gained by antagonizing him.
Maxwell chuckled at J.P.’s comeback, then looked expectantly around the crowded ballroom. “Is she here?”
“She who?” Colin asked. Maxwell was a player despite his chic wife whose father owned a hefty portion of Wolf.
“She’s here.” J.P. beamed like a proud father, making Colin’s nervousness double. “Like I said, she’s perfect for the spot, but she hasn’t agreed.”
“Why not?” Maxwell sounded displeased and this time not because of anything Colin had done.
J.P. shrugged, both men ignoring that Colin listened to their conversation. “She likes to cause a commotion. Things would be too simple if she agreed to begin with. What would be the fun in that?”
“Where is she?” Maxwell searched the room.
J.P. glanced around and smiled when his eyes lit on three men, one of whom Colin recognized from an action film he’d watched on late night HBO last week. One of the men shifted and Colin realized they huddled around a perfectly-shaped blonde. His breath caught. A blonde who flirted outrageously and held all three men captive. His heart quickened, forcing blood through his suddenly alive body. Something feral swirled low in his gut. A blonde who, probably sensing she had more male interest within her greedy grasp, looked up.
No way.
“Where?” Maxwell asked, still searching the crowd, but Colin knew J.P. referred to the blonde. The Karlton Regal. It’s where she’d told the taxi driver and here she was. He should have known.
“The blonde in the red silky number.” J.P. confirmed Colin’s suspicions. “The one who looks as if she fell straight out of every man’s dream.”
“Where? I don’t see–-her.” Maxwell’s last word came out as a sigh. Maxwell saw. And liked. “Wow, J.P., she’s gorgeous. You sure she’ll work as a co-host? She looks more like Barbie-come-to-life.”
“Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s brilliant despite her liking the world to believe otherwise,” J.P. praised.
Maxwell’s words sank in. Co-host. The sassy, foot-stomping blonde from the taxi was who they wanted to co-host his show. He’d been set up.
“Hell no!”
Several guests turned at his outburst. Colin ignored them. However, ignoring the blonde who’d shifted her sultry green gaze to his was impossible.
Continuing to listen to the men surrounding her, she lowered her eyelids, sweeping her cheeks a bit coyly with the thick lashes framing her eyes. Her lips parted, her full lower lip as ripe as a big, juicy strawberry, pouted in Angelina Jolie fashion. Her eyes were made up more dramatically than this afternoon, highlighted and powdered and whatever else women did to make themselves look mysterious and beautiful. Whatever it was, it worked for the blonde. She looked hot and exotic and like something straight from a fantasy. J.P. was right about that. The smile playing on her lips said she knew it, too.
She also knew he was watching her and the sexy pout of her lips was for him.
He’d convinced himself he’d imagined his reaction to her in the taxi. That his whole body hadn’t really hummed from just looking at her. He hadn’t imagined a thing.
Unfortunately.
The last thing he needed was a meddling female on his show, but one who turned his skin inside out with the merest of glances spelled nothing but constant headache. Had she known who he was this afternoon?
The taxi had to have been a set-up. Lord only knew it was the kind of thing Maxwell would pull. It had been a meeting with Maxwell that sent him rushing across the city to begin with. Of course he’d been set up.
“She’s smart, witty, beautiful, and has enough energy to add some life to the Colin Crandall Show,” J.P. extolled her virtues.
How about adding treacherous and deceitful to the list? Colin mentally asked. And foot-stomping. She’d probably gotten a bonus for maiming him.
“We’ll rename the show,” Maxwell announced, pulling Colin’s attention off the blonde. “A woman like that shouldn’t be stuck co-hosting a show that doesn’t cater to her needs.”
“I am not co-hosting my show with that woman.”
“I think we’ve already established that you will and the show needs a new name anyway. Something hip and attention-catching.”
Colin’s mouth tightened into a firm line.
Blondie watched him with the intensity of a cat toying with a crippled mouse. He was the crippled mouse. A position he hadn’t been in for years. Mainly because he’d been playing it safe, refusing to put himself on the line. Not for anything or anyone.
The last time he had he’d awakened in a room with a dead actress.
Colin shivered and refused to allow his mind to go there. The past was in the past, and he needed to deal with the present.
Did Blondie know she had him by the balls? Was that her intention? To maim him with her killer shoes and then walk all over him by taking over his show? Was she hell come to make him pay penance for every sin he’d ever committed?
He’d already paid. Paid dearly.
“She said no?” This came from Maxwell, who managed to roll his tongue back into his mouth. Barely. “Why?”
“Said she doesn’t want to be on a stuffy talk show.” J.P. seemed amused by Maxwell’s reaction. As if he expected such male foolishness when he pointed out the woman. “She’s right. She’d bore to tears if she had to
sit through one episode of the Colin Crandall Show.”
“Her brain would probably melt,” Colin muttered half under his breath.
“You weren’t paying attention,” J.P. scolded. “The dumb blonde routine is just that. A ruse. She’s one of the brightest women I’ve ever met. You’d be wise to never underestimate her intelligence.”
“If she’s so fabulous, I’m surprised you haven’t married her.” Once again sarcasm dripped from his words and perhaps he shouldn’t provoke, but, hell, he couldn’t seem to help himself.
J.P. shrugged. “I asked, she told me to go jack off.”
Maxwell burst out laughing, and although several yards separated them, the blonde arched a perfectly shaped brow. At Colin.
She dallied with him, summoning him to play besotted male in her already full court. Hadn’t she taken the hint earlier in the day? He rarely dated, but he never dated actresses. Not since…well, not ever again.
He turned away as he’d done in the taxi cab. Looking at her tempted a man to forget sanity and dive-in. Colin wouldn’t. Not with an actress and not with this woman invading his show in particular.
Forget that she’d stolen his breath earlier in the day when she’d attempted to steal the cab they’d ended up sharing, stolen his breath tonight. She was the enemy, pure and simple. A hired enemy, but an enemy all the same.
Maxwell slapped J.P.’s back. “Sounds as if you’ve picked a winner. Talk her into coming down to the network and we’ll see how she handles herself in front of the camera.”
“What you see is what you get,” J.P. assured. “She’s dynamite in a sexy red dress. Explosive reactions are her specialty.”
Maxwell and J.P. spoke for a few more minutes, but their words blurred in Colin’s mind. Blurred because he could feel a green gaze touching his back, assessing his stance and tuxedo-covered assets. Apparently she had no qualms about staring at him. Just as she’d had no qualms about calling him on his bluntness in the taxi. Brazen as all hell.
He shifted his weight and swore when he reflexively tightened his glutes.
He winced. He didn’t care what she thought of his rear-end.
Nor would he look to see what she was doing. Not that he didn’t know.
She played with him.
His life.
His career.
His mind.
He wouldn’t stand for it.
Then again, if she refused the job perhaps Maxwell would forget this stupid idea.
Colin smiled. He’d been going about this all wrong.
Planning to take control of the situation before it got any more out of hand, he formulated a strategy. One that would put his life back into some semblance of order.
And keep the blonde off his show.
He turned, met Blondie’s gaze and flashed her his most charming smile.
One meant to turn her pantyhose inside out and reverse this cat and mouse game to his liking.
Chapter Three
Jessie’s breath jammed in her throat and she forgot what she’d been about to say to Eric Ewing, an actor she’d worked with earlier in the year. He’d been in a leading role and she in a minor walk-on part. Shake her boobs and scream. The story of her life.
But why was Colin smiling at her as if he’d like to lick her all over? Why was he walking over here? Wow, but he had a sexy swagger.
Why was she thinking that she’d like him to lick her from head-to-toe?
And shake her boobs and make her scream.
He’d established quite clearly that he wasn’t interested while in the taxi cab. She refused to lie down at his feet and beg for his attention. Although, she wouldn’t mind making him hot beneath the collar.
She shot him a sassy glare, then turned her attention to the three musketeers. Two could play the cold shoulder, not interested game.
“Tell me about the new action film you just finished.” She rushed out to the man who eyed her as if he thought he had a chance of being the lead man in her bedroom tonight. He didn’t.
During the film they worked on together, they’d been an item and ended on friendly terms. He’d been the hero of the piece, Jessie a small role. She wasn’t the slightest attracted to the media heartthrob.
But she had the hardest time keeping her gaze from looking toward Colin.
Colin. A nice, strong name. Just like the man.
He’d been attracted to her right up until she’d said she was an actress. Why had he freaked out on her because she was an actress? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t in the Hollywood humdrum, too.
He had his own talk show, for goodness sake.
Of course, maybe he was only interested in women he thought might help his career. She’d met men like that. Ones who wanted to use her physically and then move on since she couldn’t help anyone’s career. Which she couldn’t. Especially not her own career.
Co-hosting a show with sex-in-a-suit.
How ridiculous.
She didn’t know anything about talk shows.
Except for Dr. Phil. And Ellen. And Jerry Springer. And Ophelia Winters. And...Oh. My. God.
She did know a lot about talk shows.
Or at least more than she’d given herself credit for.
She knew which shows she liked. Which ones made her want to totally gag. Which ones made her channel surf.
She closed her eyes and tried to envision herself on a talk show where she interviewed Hollywood’s finest. She saw herself as a young, hip Barbara Walters. Only with a Marilyn Monroe slash Madonna attitude.
“Yes, Mr. Depp, this is Jessie Davidson and yes, if you insist, I’ll interview you up close and personal.” It could happen.
“You owe me a dance,” a deep baritone spoke from right next to her ear.
Jessie jumped. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realized Colin crossed the space separating them and stood next to her. Forgetting all about Johnny and steadying her nerves, she flashed a sultry smile. A smile that denied he’d caught her off guard or that she even cared that he’d deigned to jump off his high horse to speak to a mere actress.
“Why on earth would I owe you a dance?” Why on earth did the thought of being in his arms appeal more than anything she could imagine?
Although his face remained unreadable, his eyes sparkled with mischief. Reminding her of how attracted she’d been to him in the taxi cab. Prior to the Ice Age.
Oh, who was she kidding? His attitude hadn’t dampened the attraction, only intrigued her more, if anything.
“I deserve the opportunity to repay your parting shot.”
“Huh?”
“I’m a horrible dancer.” His eyes twinkled with mischief and magnetism. “I figure I’ll step on your toes at least a hundred times before the song ends. If your feet are black and blue in the morning,” no man should look as delicious as he did at that moment, “it would make use even, don’t you think?”
What she thought was that when he turned on the charm, women everywhere should run for cover. The man was lethal.
Here she stood next to one of Hollywood’s hottest hunks flirting with her and all she could do was think how awesome Colin the Cold looked in his tux. How tempting his perfectly groomed hair looked–-she’d really like to run her fingers through those thick dark locks and tousle him good. And, at the moment, Colin didn’t look cold. He looked hot and enticing and all too tousle-able.
“I’m Eric Ewing, and you’re Colin Crandall.” Hunk boy held out his hand. “I’ve seen your show.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t have thought it your style.” Colin shook his hand with a politician’s smoothness. Apparently his aversion to actors only extended to her. Or perhaps, females in general. Maybe he was gay.
No, recalling how his gaze initially ate her up in the taxi, how he’d looked at her tonight, she knew he liked women.
“Hey, man, you tell it like it is.” The dimples that had won female hearts around the world dug deep. “I’m from Texas so I can appreciate that. My oldest sister is your
biggest fan. She sets her watch by your show. Says you are the man and should run for president or something.”
“Just what’s your show about?” Somehow she couldn’t see him doing shows on “Grandma’s a hooker and wants you to join the family business” or “Why your best friend slept with your man”.
“You’ve never seen the Colin Crandall show?” one of the other men–-she could never recall his name, but always thought of him as “Boob-gazer” because his eyes never raised above her cleavage–-asked, his eyes currently aimed at her chest.
“Never,” she breathed in an exaggerated stage whisper. In truth, she’d never heard of it. Which was odd since she’d already discerned that she was an expert on talk shows. Perhaps he came on early mornings. That would explain it.
“This guy doesn’t pull any punches.” Eric slapped Colin’s arm. “I especially liked it when you put that senator on the spot about his lobbying funds. What was his name?”
Jessie watched in fascination as the temperatures plunged. Apparently senators fell in the same category as actresses because just looking at Colin threatened frostbite.
He apparently couldn’t act at all or else he just didn’t care if the world knew he disliked the senator. His mouth drew into a tight line, his blue eyes darkened to almost navy, and his shoulders stretched the midnight material of his tuxedo jacket.
“Bill Thomas.” The name growled low and menacing from Colin, but Jessie guessed she was the only one who noticed. Eric drooled over Colin. Boobgazer and the other man who’d been chatting her up still stared at her cleavage rather than pay much attention to Colin, conversation, or anything else.
“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Eric exclaimed. “I liked how you pointed out how he’d bent the rules to line his campaign coffers a couple of years ago. You were awesome, man. Too bad he got off the hook because of some technicality.”
