Tillie stepped into her dress and pulled the short sleeves over her shoulders. “I was telling the truth, not trying to be sarcastic. Remember when Lydia Tinkwell was caught sleeping with her director? Linda was positively delighted by all the fires she had to put out that week.”
He zipped her up. “You’re right about that. I think Linda misses the rumors I used to churn up.”
Tillie leaned back into Oren, and he slid his arms around her waist. “I’m glad you’re through with all of that now.”
“Me too.”
Her head tilted to the side when Oren began trailing kisses along her collarbone. Each one left a patch of heat on her skin, making her want to tear off the beautiful gown he’d just zipped her into.
“Oren, please. Oren, no.” She meant for it to be a warning, but her traitorous voice came out breathy and lust-soaked instead. Covering Oren’s roving hands with her own, she tried to pry them off her.
“Don’t make me stop.” He kissed his way up her neck, tickling her as he spoke. “I miss you, Tillie. I miss those New York nights when I could come back to my suite and have my way with you.”
“Things were simpler then. You were the only one working.”
Shortly after their relationship became press fodder, Tillie had been forced to leave her job at Centerstage. Rabid fans of Oren’s had flooded the diner. It would have been good for business if a few of the girls hadn’t been the misguided, jealous types that wanted to harm the woman who’d stolen Oren from them. She decided to hang up her blue uniform the day one of them threw a soda glass at her, missing her head by only a few inches.
“They could be simple now.” Oren nibbled her earlobe. “Until it’s time to leave for the preview, at least.”
Tillie let her head drop back against his chest. “We have to leave in twenty minutes.”
He kissed along her chin. “There’s a lot we can do in twenty minutes.”
“You’re right.” Tillie spun and linked her hands behind his neck, powerless to say no. “You’re right.”
And with that, they collapsed upon the mattress in a heap of sequins and tangled limbs.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa Hahn writes romance novels across multiple sub-genres. She has a fondness for strong-willed heroines, unlikely heroines, and America’s past.
Lisa and her husband live in northern New Jersey with their two dogs (Jonas and Cassie) and their cat (Blueberry). When she’s not writing, Lisa can be found reading, practicing yoga, working out, watching professional wrestling, stitching a piece of embroidery, making/eating vegan food, and rooting for the Seattle Seahawks.
Website: www.bylisahahn.com
Twitter: @bylisahahn
FB: www.facebook.com/bylisahahn
Email: [email protected]
Defending Demma
Melissa Kay Clarke
OTHER BOOKS BY MELISSA KAY CLARKE
Team Cerberus
Protecting Joselyn
Saving Olivia
Defending Demma
The Legacy Reborn
Reclamation
Luna's Children
Shattered Dreams
Broken Melody
Lorestone
Starpower, Incorporated
Copyright © 2017 Melissa Kay Clarke
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
Robert, for slaying my dragons and keeping me safe, even from my own foolishness, I dedicate this story to you.
I love you.
CHAPTER 1
Demma St. John stared at the note she’d found sitting on her dressing table with shock on her face. With a shove, she pushed the stack of scripts to the side and pressed the page flat, smoothing it down with trembling fingers. She flipped on the power to her dressing table and reread the words typed in the middle of the plain piece of paper.
Sleep doesn’t come easy when you hide your demons, wouldn’t you agree, Beatrice? Silence is golden, and gold is expensive. Instructions will be coming. It’ll be in your best interest to follow them.
Demma sat back and stared at the paper for several minutes. Somebody knew her secret. But how? She had left it all behind her many years ago; made a clean break and never looked back.
There was a knock at her trailer door. “Dem! Are you in there?”
Demma snatched up the paper and stuffed it inside the top script. She pushed her fingers through her hair as she glanced in the mirror. Her normally olive complexion was pale and her blue eyes much too large. Taking a few breaths, she tried to settle her nerves and turned toward the door. “Come in, Monty,” she called out and pasted a smile on her face she hoped would be believable.
“It’s about time,” Montgomery Allen chided her as he bounded up the steps. Dropping into one of the oversized chairs, he threw his head back and sighed dramatically. “Dem, darling, why are you still in your makeup? We have reservations at eight.”
Damn. Demma had forgotten about their plans for the night. It wasn’t just the appearance of her past which threw a monkey wrench in the works. Filming had been brutal the last few weeks. Not to mention, the push to land the role of a lifetime playing the lead for the movie adaptation of Joselyn Chamber’s murder mystery had consumed her energy. Tonight, they were supposed to celebrate the contract she’d signed last week with dinner and clubbing at one of the hottest new nightspots in Hollywood.
She let out a long sigh. “Monty...”
Her best friend’s head snapped up. “Oh, no you are NOT about to cancel on me, girlfriend. Do you have any idea how many favors I had to call in to get those reservations? We are going out tonight. We are celebrating this monstrosity’s wrap and your next project. You will enjoy yourself. Tomorrow, you can rest and get over your hangover.” He clapped his hands together. “Get to it, girl. Put on something hot and sexy.” He shook his hands in the air and sang, “I feel like dancing!”
Monty was what Grandmama Adelaide would have called a ‘certified mess’. He was charismatic, funny, and the life of any party. When they met on the set of her first feature film three years ago, she didn’t know what to make of the stylist. He took one look at her and shook his head. “No... we are not putting you in that. It will wash you out. He stormed out of her dressing room muttering about idiot people who didn't understand about color wheels. Ten minutes later, he returned with the wardrobe manager and a stack of approved alternatives for the movie. By the time she walked out of her room for her first day of filming, he had her completely dressed in what he had called – ‘fanfabuloso’; whatever that meant. She had to admit; she looked amazing, and the film got a Costume Designers Guild nomination. Unfortunately, it didn’t win, but it proved Monty knew his stuff. Since then, Demma insisted on his services for every project she undertook. It was her one ‘diva demand.’
“I’m not feeling the whole grove-the-night-away thing,” Demma started.
He threw his fingers up in a stop motion and turned his head to the side. Pursing his lips, he shook a finger at her. “No, Ma’am. You are not canceling on me. Get your skinny little rear-end up off that chair, throw on the teal pantsuit I laid out this morning and the black sling backs. I’ll do your hair and makeup and voila! Instant perfection.” He threw his hands up dramatically.
Maybe I should just go. The night out would probably do me good. Forget about the note.
At the thought, her eyes zoomed in on the script with a corner of the vile threat sticking out. Letting out a heavy sigh, she shook her head. “I won’t be good company tonight.”
Monty cocked his head to the side and studied Demma for a moment. Sitting up, he gently took one of her hands in his. “Alright, sweetie. What’s going on?”
Demma yanked her hand back and clutched it in a fist. Slowly she forced it to relax and attempted to smile. “Nothing. I’m tired, is all. Sixty-four days of filming with only nine days off are enough to wear anyone down.”
The snort coming from Monty was loud in the cramped space. “Girl, I know you better than
you know yourself. If you don’t want to tell me what it is, then tell me to back off, and I’ll respect your wishes.”
“Okay... Monty, back off.”
He wrinkled his brow and studied her a moment. She grew restless under his gaze and couldn’t meet his eyes. He stood and braced his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Fine. I’ve been a part of your life and career for years. After all we’ve been through together, I would hope you could come to me if you had a problem.” He lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. “It hurts, but when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you.” He slid a purple rhinestone covered telephone from his pocket. “You have my number. Just do me a favor, when I drunk call you at three in the morning, don’t get upset. I intend on celebrating your accomplishments even if you don’t. I also intend on not celebrating alone.”
“Wait.”
Monty stopped with his hand on the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder. He lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Yes?”
Demma let out a long sigh and motioned toward the chair. When he settled into the seat again, she rubbed her sweaty palms on the knees of her slacks. “I can’t go into detail, so please don’t ask me. I have a... a problem.”
“That’s obvious, darling. Tell Monty what you can.”
“I have a past.. I can’t tell you anything specific.”
He chuckled and leaned forward. Taking one of Demma’s hands in his, he stopped her from wringing them. “If you are breathing, you have a past, dear. There’s not a single person in this world that doesn’t have one. It goes double for Hollywood and may be a prerequisite for becoming a star.”
“I’m not talking about the normal stuff. I have skeletons in my closet. I thought that door was locked, but it’s not as secure as I would have hoped. Now, someone has opened it and is threatening to expose me.” She threw her head back and closed her eyes. “It’s bad, Monty. Really bad.”
He nodded his head slowly as he chewed on his upper lip. “I see. Blackmail. Is there any chance you know who it is?”
She shook her head.
“Is it going to hurt anyone other than you?”
She hesitated then slowly nodded. “Yes.” She sniffed delicately. “A lot of innocent people could be hurt. No, I can’t call the police about it.”
“Aww, sugar, come here.” Monty pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried softly. With her tears spent, Monty handed her a couple of tissues. “Alright then, leave it to me. I will take care of everything.” He flipped his cell phone out, unlocked it and scrolled through his contacts. Picking one, he placed a call. Demma opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but he lifted one finger to shush her.
“Kathleen Barosa, please. Tell her it’s Monty Allen. Yes, it’s important.”
Demma frowned. “Who is Kathleen Barosa?”
Monty pulled the phone away from his mouth. “She owns a company called Starpower Incorporated, and she’s going to be your second best friend.”
CHAPTER 2
Ryker “Digger” McMillan strolled down the hallway of Starpower Incorporated on his way back to his office from lunch. Murmuring an occasional hello to his co-workers, he stopped at the media center to gather the physical printouts for one of their clients. Tucking the stack into an envelope, he sealed it then checked the time. He had a briefing with Robertson’s team at three, and he wanted to make sure all his ducks were in a row. Digger’s team was made up of some of the world’s best information technicians, and he trusted them completely. However, he always wanted to put his stamp of approval on anything that left their little corner of the world.
“Digger!”
He whirled around at the sound of his nickname. Speaking of one of his top-notch information technicians, Wendy Schuler hurried to catch up with him. At five foot two, she barely came to his collarbone. A mousy little woman with dark skin, brown eyes hidden behind thick, large-lensed glasses, he noticed she was still on her neon pink kick. The ends of her blonde, curly hair were dyed the same shade as her shirt and skirt, and she had one long streak of the same shade framing her pixie face. The high-top sneakers she wore were black with bright pink laces and soles. Technically speaking, Starpower’s dress code stipulated for all employees to wear dark, business office clothing but they cut his team some slack. Normally, they were hidden on the second floor and rarely interacted with the public. Digger was the exception. As the technology manager, he sometimes had to put in appearances. It sucked, but it was what it was.
“Hey, Wendy. What have you got?”
She thrust a laptop into his hands. “I found something interesting on a client’s system. It looks like a tracker, but I can’t get rid of it. Could you take a look at it? Otherwise, I’ll have to do a system wipe, and that’s going to piss off the client.”
He chuckled and slapped the file folder on top. “Yeah, I’ll take a look at it. What else are you working on?”
“I’m helping Juju with net scrub for that television evangelist’s daughter.”
“Oh, yeah. How goes the social media sweeps?”
Wendy frowned. “I swear, if I have to look at one more stinking picture of her poochie, I’m going to hurl. How can one woman take 250 pictures of a Shih-Tzu in one day? Why would anyone need that many pictures of a pampered dog, anyway?”
Honestly, Digger had no idea. There were so many things about the elite and self-centered of Hollywood he didn’t comprehend. He shrugged. It wasn’t his job to understand. They were to take care of their clients and not judge. “I’ve given up trying to figure these people out. It’s less insane that way.”
She snorted. “You’ve got that right. Alright, I guess I need to get back to Punkie’s day. If you don’t hear from me by five, send in the cavalry.”
“Will do.” Digger adjusted the envelope on top of the laptop and tucked both against his hip. Turning, he continued down the hall to his office. Turning the corner next to the conference room, he noticed Kathleen talking to one of the specialty teams employed by the firm. Their job was to provide personalized services for Starpower, Inc.’s exclusive clientele. Sometimes that meant physical bodyguards and entourage support. Other times, it could be publicity and angle spin services. Digger’s team worked almost exclusively in the latter. Many times, the rich and pampered made insensitive or downright stupid comments that had to be rectified and cleaned. Kathleen was flinging her hands around as she spoke. He chuckled. More business meant a steady paycheck. God bless the rich and oblivious.
The door to the ladies restroom flew open, and something smacked him in the middle of the chest. The slight body startled him, and he instinctually reached out to catch the woman when she bounced backward. The file flew from his hand, and he barely managed to juggle the laptop to keep it from crashing to the floor as well. A grunt followed by an ‘ow’ of surprise came from the young woman who had recoiled off him.
“Oh, excuse me,” she murmured then dropped to her knees. Quickly, she began to snatch up the contents of her purse.
Squatting beside her, Digger placed the laptop next to his foot and helped to gather her things. “I am so sorry, Ma’am,” he said contritely. “I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?”
The blonde didn’t glance up as she chased a lipstick across the hallway. “Just my pride,” she responded in a soft voice. Finally, she raised her face. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Hi. I’m Demma.”
Instinctively, he turned his head to the left causing his chin length dark hair to fall over and cover the scars on the side of his face. He was acutely aware of most people’s reactions to the injuries which had ended his career in the Marines. It seemed the prettier the person; the more his disfigurement offended them and Demma St. John was not just pretty but stunning. “I had heard you were coming in today, Ms. St. John. Nice to meet you. I’m Ryker.” He lifted the badge clipped to his shirt. “Information technology,” he said nonchalantly.
She chuckled softly. “Please call me Demma.” She sat back on h
er heels and looked around. “I think that was everything.”
“Almost.” He picked up her cell phone from between his feet and held it out. Just as she was about to take it, he pulled back and looked at the screen. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, Ms. St. John.” He studied the device and turned it around. “But, if I can offer a couple of suggestions? First thing, you need to lock your phone. Don’t make it easy for someone to grab your information. The second thing is this icon.” He pointed to a small kitten in the bottom left corner. “Kutie Kitties? I know it’s supposed to show you kitten memes and videos, but it can mask a pretty wicked bit of spyware. Under the right situation, a hacker can use a backdoor and get into your phone. From there, he or she can turn on your GPS, your camera and even steal emails, contacts and other vital data. The last thing you need is for someone to use your private facts against you. If you let me have it for about ten minutes, I can secure your device for you.”
Her face went pale, and she slowly nodded. “Yes, please, Ryker. I would appreciate it very much. Thank you. Do whatever you think is necessary to ensure nobody can take my information.”
He picked up the laptop and file. Standing, he reached down and helped the starlet to her feet. “My pleasure, Ma’am. All part of the full service of Starpower, Inc.”
“Ms. St. John? Digger? Is everything alright?” Kathleen appeared at the door of the conference room.
“Ryker was helping me.” She turned to face him. “Weren’t you?”
“Hello, Kathleen. Yes, I was telling Ms. St. John about spyware and unsecured data.” He shook the phone gently. “If you will excuse me, I’ll take care of this and return your device to you in a few minutes.” He lowered his chin to Demma with a mumbled, “Ma’am” before turning on his heel and resuming his trek to his office.
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