by Colet Abedi
Asshole.
“Wylder?”
I stop but don’t turn around.
“If you have to sit there for five hours waiting, you sit there,” he warns, exerting the only power he has. “You wait.”
He must be overly compensating for a lower extremity.
“Wonderful.” I smile at him, completely unaffected.
Five hours of daydreaming about my mystery man sounds like the perfect way to spend my afternoon, considering there are so many questions floating around my head, like how old he is, where he’s from, what he does for a living. My guess is either struggling actor, trainer (because his body is to die for), or doctor. I’m throwing in the wild card of doctor because I like to mix things up. I know there’s no way that’s the case because they never look that good. If they did, I’d have a doctor’s appointment every day.
But it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that I get to see him one more time.
Cause I got out of the room fast when he fell asleep, pretending I had to use the restroom. I gave him a teasing kiss before I left, promising I would come back. I didn’t. I ran the hell out of that club because I was so overcome by it all.
When and if I see him at the club, I won’t make that mistake again.
––––––––––
I drive down PCH and take in the hot, sunny California weather, and I am not mad at my assignment for the day. There could be worse things in life. I pat the worn pleather steering wheel of my ten-year-old, green Mitsubishi Montero in joy. I love my car. It’s the only thing in life I completely own and earned myself. It’s all mine. And it’s the best feeling in the world.
Before I found out I got the internship at the studio, Kerri had convinced me to come out to Los Angeles and stay with her at her parents’ house. I didn’t have to really think that hard about the invitation because I always knew I wanted to end up in LA, and that was the perfect way. I could live with my friend until I found a job and wouldn’t have to worry about rent. I couldn’t be luckier. So I packed my car with all my clothes and books from school and drove by myself to Los Angeles to stay with Kerri until I figured things out. My car, which I’ve had since I turned seventeen, comforted me and made me feel safe as I embarked on the new and completely unknown chapter.
So as far as I’m concerned, the Mitsubishi and I are bonded for life.
And luckily, when I got to LA, I didn’t have to wait long. I got a job quickly at the studio, and so did Kerri. We ended up moving out of her parents’ home together and renting a house that belongs to one of her father’s friends. Tony and Kerri had gone to elementary school together, so when he asked to live with us, she said it was cool. Thankfully we all get along really well, so the entire situation kind of worked out perfectly.
Waze alerts me that I’ve reached my destination. I make a left and pull up to an enormous security gate. A tall, white, Cape Cod–style gate bars me from seeing anything. I’m pretty sure the home is going to be absolutely magnificent.
The security officer comes out and asks for my ID. When he’s done clearing me, he fixes me with his stern gaze. “I’ll take your phone now, miss.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask in confusion.
“Mr. Donovan does not allow phones from unknown visitors on the premises,” he tells me as he holds out his hand. “It is the policy.”
A controlling one.
But I keep that comment to myself and begrudgingly hand him my phone. Henry conveniently left this part out because I’m sure he knew I’d try to get out of sitting outside an office twiddling my thumbs for five hours.
Double asshole.
Security opens the gate, and I drive along a long, pebbled drive up to a stunning, white, Cape Cod–styled home. It’s really tastefully done, and it sits perched overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean. It’s kind of perfect. It’s prime Californian real estate, and I can’t even imagine what a place like this would cost.
One thing is for certain, Jamie Donovan does crazy well.
I’m kind of annoyed I don’t know more about him, and now that I don’t have my phone, I can’t even quickly look him up. I’m a nerd like that and like to be prepared. I’m proud of the fact that I know the biography of almost every director and writer our studio likes to work with.
The only thing I know about Jamie Donovan is that most of his projects are in the sci-fi genre. He’s a titan in both television and film, but aliens and spaceships have never really been my thing, so I’ve never really paid any attention to his work. I’m into more character pieces, indie films that not a lot of people really watch but I seem to love.
I get out of my car, grab the script, and make my way up to the giant glass double doors. I can see right through the glass windows on the other side as well, and the view is, quite simply, stunning. It almost looks like the house is sitting on the ocean.
I ring the doorbell.
I don’t have to wait long. A pleasant-faced middle-aged woman answers moments later with a friendly smile.
“Hello, you must be from the studio.” She turns and leads the way through his home. “Mr. Donovan is expecting you in his office.”
I follow her lead and glance around in surprise.
For a guy who’s pretty much considered a sci-fi wizard, his taste is pretty traditional and cozy. The home is masculine but inviting, done in rich browns and blues and whites, but it’s very homey. His art is clean and contemporary, and he seems to love being surrounded by plants because there is beautiful greenery everywhere in the home. I totally dig his taste. And I’m strangely obsessed with plants and happen to have a green thumb, so his home is kind of a dream to me.
The woman brings me to a large room that looks out to an unbelievable view. I stare out at the sea, suddenly not minding I don’t have a phone.
At least I can look out on this.
Things could definitely be worse.
“You can have a seat outside his office,” she tells me. “Mr. Donovan will be right with you.”
I do as I’m told and sit on one of the large brown leather couches. There are trade magazines on the coffee table, and as I reach for one, the door to his office opens, and Jamie Donovan walks out.
The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
With the best body. The best hands. And the best cock ever, like ever. And I don’t have to see another to know it.
Jamie.
Fucking.
Donovan.
Is. My. Mystery. Man.
My one-night stand.
The one I was hoping to turn into a two-night stand.
He looks so hot; I want to cry out in glee. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt. His hair is mussed up, and he’s got a stubble.
God, it’s sexy.
All of him.
He stares right back at me with the same look of shock and incredulity. And almost, excitement? My heart races.
And then his face changes.
He seems angry.
My stomach is in knots when I stand, gripping the package containing the script.
“Goddammit.” He takes the word right out of my mouth.
I think of what to say. Hey? What’s up? So how about the other night? Pretty crazy, huh?
Instead I say, “I have the script from Darren Weiss for you, Mr. Donovan.”
I can’t believe I said that!
Jamie looks at me like I’m crazy. I don’t blame him. “I’m sorry?”
I lift the envelope and show him.
He stands to his full height and crosses his arms. I can’t help but stare at those muscles. They look really good. Oh my God.
His hands.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
I react as though I’ve been doused with water. He caught me. Damn.
I meet his gaze, and the heat that pierces through me is almost unbearable. I’m wet in seconds. God. This is not good.
Why does my mystery man have to be one of the most famous direct
ors in Hollywood? Of all the luck.
This sucks.
“What’s your name?” he finally asks, his voice gruff.
“Wyld.” I cross my arms, trying my best to put my defenses up. It suddenly dawns on me how terrible this situation really is.
“What’s your real name?”
“Wyld.”
“Come on,” he scoffs.
“It’s my name,” I say, annoyed.
“It’s a stripper’s name.”
I gasp.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but that is not my profession.”
“You’d be terrible at it,” he says evenly.
“Excuse me?” Am I really indignant because he just said I wouldn’t be good at pole dancing?
“Surprisingly, you’ve got no rhythm.”
“Surprisingly?” I’m practically gasping in fury. He’s referring to the moment when music came on in the private room, and we both stood and swayed together to the sound. I thought I was kind of good! And sexy.
“Considering how naturally you move in bed,” Jamie says.
Damn.
Just like that, I go from being both mad and mortified to turned on again. Why do the visuals of how well it was with him have to pop in my head?
“I don’t think this is appropriate conversation, Mr. Donovan.” I don’t even know how I was able to get that out.
Jamie lifts a brow. His face is emotionless.
He strides toward me, and my heart thumps so loud I’m pretty sure he can hear it. When he stops a few inches shy of my body and reaches out, I think for a moment he’s going to pull me into his embrace—where I’ll gladly go—but instead he snatches the envelope out of my hand.
“I’ll take that now,” he tells me. “You can go. I’ll give David a call myself.” David is Henry’s boss, a.k.a. President DB.
My heart sinks in dread.
“I can’t do that.” I say, shaking my head in apology.
“I’m sorry?” Jamie’s gaze is frosty.
“I have instructions to stay here until you finish reading the script. I need to wait for an answer. I can’t leave the script,” I say quietly. “No matter what.”
“Leave the script and go,” Jamie bites out.
I shrink back from the anger I see in his eyes. I know why he’s mad—the fact I’m not acknowledging what happened between us. But there’s no way. No freaking way I can. Jamie Donovan is trouble. And after the night we had, I know without a doubt I’d have a hard time not softening up to him if I went down that road in real life, and here stands a man I will not or cannot ever even remotely trust.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan,” I tell him firmly. “But I’m staying.”
His eyes round incredulously. I hear him take a quick inhale and then take a step toward me. I wonder if he wants to punish me. Shit. I kind of want him to.
“Listen, Wild,” Jamie says almost derisively.
I interrupt him. “It’s Wylder.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Wyld is short for Wylder,” I explain, and honestly, I really don’t know why. It’s obviously a bout of nervous verbal diarrhea.
He closes his eyes for a brief second before abruptly turning around and walking into his office, only to slam the door shut behind him.
Awesome.
I move back to the leather couch and sit down.
Holy shit.
I am so dead.
Chapter Four
Jamie
Fucking
Donovan
Are you kidding me?
The beautiful, exotic, sexy-as-hell creature I thought I had conjured in my dreams is sitting outside my office at this very moment?
It’s too perfect.
I spent the entire morning fantasizing about the woman. Who am I kidding? I spent all of yesterday afternoon thinking about her. I was angry at myself for not taking her number. Angry I let her out of my sight. Angry there was a chance I wouldn’t ever see her again.
Wild.
Bullshit.
She’s even got a hot name.
I walk to my desk and take a seat. Years of experience have taught me if a situation seems too good to be true, it usually is.
But still. There’s one thing I know. Wild had no idea who I was at the club. If she had known, I would have seen the flicker of recognition I’ve encountered too many times to count. And in her eyes that night there had been nothing but lust for a perfect stranger.
I’d bet my house on it.
Since you can never be too sure about anything in Hollywood, I sit at my desk and pick up the phone and call my ex-girlfriend, Stacy. She happens to work as vice president of development at the studio Wild interns at, and I want to see what or if she knows anything about her. Stacy is the last person I want to call, considering how clingy she was when I ended our short relationship, but I hear she’s dating a younger actor from a CW show now, so I’m hoping she won’t turn back to the dark side again.
It rings twice before her eager-to-please assistant answers.
“Stacy Tennison’s office.” Her voice is polite.
“Is Stacy in?” I ask briskly. “It’s Jamie Donovan.”
I hear her gasp of excitement.
“Of course, Mr. Donovan.” She sounds like she’s about to come in her pants. “Let me grab her right now!”
I can’t help but roll my eyes.
This is the part of the business that’s ruined me.
No matter what you look like, what you’ve done, or who you are as a person, for some people, the lure of Hollywood is too intoxicating to ignore. It’s like this beautiful but haunting electric energy that everyone wants to flutter around, never afraid there’s more than a good chance you’ll get burned.
That’s the thing with the ladies I’ve encountered since I started directing and attained some level of fame. The women in and out of the business throw themselves at me with no shame.
Married. Dating. Single… You name it, I’ve been solicited by it.
It’s not something I like to brag about or am especially proud of because, for the most part, I know it has to do with the size of my wallet and the power I wield in the business. And that’s the truth. When you find an uninvited supermodel in your bed on more than one occasion, you can pretty much bet it’s not just about your good looks.
A lot of it has to do with your good bank account.
And your considerable fame.
“Jamie.”
I cringe when I hear Stacy’s childish voice purr into the phone. It annoyed me when we dated, and here it is, annoying me now.
Listen, I know I can be an asshole.
I’m honest, and I’m blunt. And I only speak the truth.
The way Stacy talks started getting on my nerves on our second date. She just sounds like a whiny, spoiled little girl, and I swear to God, I’m convinced it’s not even really her true voice because in bed, she doesn’t sound like this at all.
Yes, in bed.
Yes, I slept with her. I might have been a tad bit inebriated. And she might have taken advantage of the situation, considering how willing she was to jump into bed with me from the first time we met.
And I’ll be honest, she’s hot.
You can always work around hot.
Especially in bed.
I keep my voice neutral. “Stace.”
“I love that you’re doing the movie,” she says with a great deal of excitement. “We’ll get to finally work together.”
I don’t think she realizes she’s just given me a big reason to say no.
“I haven’t said yes yet,” I remind her.
“But it’s so great,” she says quickly. “You’re going to love it, Jamie. It’s perfect for you. You’ll kill this. Like, destroy. It can be your Oedipus.”
“My Oedipus?” I repeat in confusion before realization dawns on me. “You mean my magnum opus?”
Stacy giggles in delight, like it’s cute she hasn’t a clue what she’s talking about. I’m slightly horrif
ied. She’s the vice president of a major studio—
“When are you going to read it?” she blurts out, interrupting my thoughts.
“Looks like I have to read the script right now,” I say evenly.
“Now?”
“The intern you guys sent over is a real pain in the ass,” I say, fishing for information on Wild. “I told her to leave it for me and go, that I’d call David myself. But she says she can’t, that she’s under strict instructions. Where do you guys find these guys anyway? I don’t think I was ever so uptight when I was coming up in the business. She’s a bit of a pill.” I say the last part intentionally so Stacy doesn’t feel threatened. If she thinks I’m the slightest bit interested, she’ll keep her mouth shut or feed me a bunch of lies.
My plan works because Stacy laughs in delight. “Who is it?”
“Wild or something or other?” I return nonchalantly.
“Wyld?” Stacy sighs in understanding. “I know her. She’s actually my favorite intern so far. She’s super smart and a go-getter. She’s got great sensibility as well. I think she was dating David’s assistant, so that’s probably why she was sent.”
Dating David’s assistant?
I feel a twinge of annoyance. And something else… jealousy? What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t do jealous. And yet here I am…
It’s a good time for me to drive out to the studio and have a visit. I’ve never met David’s assistant, but now I’m going to make sure I do. I need to get a good look at this guy. I know they couldn’t have dated that long, considering she was a virgin.
God.
Sweet, sexual memories flood my mind.
That walking sex goddess was a virgin.
I have to have her again. And again.
“Wait,” Stacy says quickly. “Was she rude to you? If she was, I can totally have her fired.”
“No,” I say quickly. “She was just doing her job. She’s serious about it. I get it. She’s still fresh-eyed and excited about the business. We’ll just give her a few years, and the shiny diamond will lose its luster.”
“Says the man I hear the Hollywood Reporter just named one of the most influential directors of our time,” Stacy says smartly. “I think the diamond is still sparkling brightly for you.”
