For the First Time (One Strike Away #$)

by Mary J. Williams

  "Welcome to the glamorous world of moviemaking."

  Garrett grinned when he answered his assistant director, Hamish Floyd. This was their fourth collaboration. The first two made a nice profit. Number three broke box office records. Expectations for Exile went through the roof the second Garrett's name became attached. With Wyatt behind the scenes, the movie's success was practically guaranteed.

  Garrett didn't believe in sure things. He worked hard on every project, no matter the size. Bigger budget, more potential headaches. That included a prima donna leading lady who couldn't get her ass on set at the designated hour. Garrett refused to start leaking money on day one.

  "You want me to coax America's sweetheart of the week out of her trailer?"

  "You'd never get past her PA," Garrett told Hamish. "Lynne Cornish thinks one hit movie and a few magazine covers give her the right to make her own rules. She's going to find out on this movie set, there is only one set of rules — mine."

  "She has a contract."

  "Wyatt's standard contract. She signed it. Her mistake if her lawyers didn't read the fine print."

  Contracts were fluid. Before they were finalized. Each actor, depending on their box office leverage, could get their people to make demands, tweak the perks. The basics were non-negotiable. Under no circumstance, barring personal injury, a death in the family, or a genuine nervous breakdown, was an actor allowed to delay production. Once, you were warned. Twice, bye-bye. As far as Garrett's big brother was concerned, potential loss of a lead actor was the reason they paid huge insurance premiums. It hadn't happened to Garrett. Not yet. There was always a first time.

  Tim Bodine, Lynne Cornish's PA, waylaid Garrett before he was halfway to her trailer.

  "Lynne isn't feeling well."

  "She was fine an hour ago."

  When she was flirting with every man on the set. Apparently, Ms. Cornish could drag herself to any early breakfast if adoring men were present. She found out quickly that Garrett wasn't among them. Whether her sudden illness was a result of a hurt ego or plain laziness, he didn't give a damn. Starting right now, Lynne Cornish needed to know who was boss.

  "Does she need a doctor?"

  "Nooo." Tim drew out the word.

  The PA's lack of concern only ratcheted up Garrett's annoyance.

  "Five minutes."

  "What?" Tim yelled at Garrett's retreating figure. When there was no response, the man hurried to catch up. "She can't make it in five minutes. Lynne doesn't think today will work for her. At all."

  Garrett rounded on the smaller man. He topped him by at least eight inches. Tim was slight, Garrett muscular. Yet that wasn't what had the PA stepping back several feet. It was the look in Garrett's steely eyes.

  This man exuded confidence. Strength, both physical and psychological, radiated from his core. You didn't mess with Garrett Landis. Not if you had half a brain.

  "She was looking a little better when I left her trailer," Tim said, clearing his throat. "She wanted to speak with you. Privately."

  Well, shit. Garrett didn't see that coming. Lynne made it clear, early on –she was interested. He made it equally clear he wasn't. End of story. They would have a friendly, professional relationship. Finding out his beautiful leading lady was angling for more didn't hold the thrill it once had. It made Garrett… tired. His personal life was full of enough turmoil — he didn't need the added drama of an on-set romance.

  "I don't have the time, or inclination, Tim."

  To Garrett's surprise, the PA blushed. In Hollywood, that ability was knocked out of a person fast.

  "I can't guarantee anything."

  "Then Lynne will be out of a job. How long do you think you'll last after that?"

  Tim Bodine looked like a smart man. One capable of cajoling his uncooperative employer. Garrett didn't care what it took to get his star in front of the camera as long as it happened. Immediately.

  "Five minutes?" Tim asked, a little panicked.

  "I'll give you ten."

  Garrett wondered if it was too late to get out of feature films. Animation. That sounded good. No location shoots. Voice-over actors happy to skip wardrobe fittings and hours in the makeup chair. A little direction on his part. Mostly setting the scene. One or two takes. Right now, it sounded like heaven.

  "What's the word?" Hamish asked him.

  "Bitch?"

  "Any chance she'll be joining us in the near future?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine."

  Garrett looked around. They were ready to go. Cameras primed, leading man looking as impatient as Garrett felt. At least he'd lucked out with Paul McNally. He was a professional through and through. No power plays. No outlandish demands. There was no propositioning the director. Paul's first job was a small part in a Caleb Landis production. He was a great actor. More importantly, he was a friend. Garrett felt lucky to work with him.

  "Once again, you've lived up to your reputation," Hamish said with admiration. "You really are a miracle worker."

  Garrett looked over his shoulder. Lynne Cornish. In full costume and makeup. A little pouty. He could work with that. It complimented the scene.

  "Tell them five."

  "We're shooting in five minutes, people," Hamish called out Garrett's directions. "Pee now or forever hold it."

  Garrett moved over to camera A, checking the shot. Perfect. This was his world. He knew what he was doing. No one questioned his authority or failed to jump at his command. Unlike his personal life, his professional life stayed on a clear path.

  IF I LOVED YOU

  (Harper Falls Book One)

  PROLOGUE

  IT WAS SOMETHING out of a fairy tale.

  Thousands of flickering lights dazzled her senses, almost as much as the tall, wickedly handsome man who so expertly danced her onto the shadowed balcony. The music that filtered from the nearby ballroom only added to the already magical atmosphere.

  Women dreamed their whole lives of a moment like this — a prelude to a happily-ever-after ending. Ever so briefly, she let herself drift into that fantasy as if she was one of those women. For a moment, she let herself pretend that her childhood had been filled with the kind of whimsicality that allowed those fantasies to carry over into adulthood.

  But no, she wasn't a romantic, hopeless or otherwise. She didn't want a prince to sweep her into his arms and carry her away on his faithful steed. She was more than capable of rescuing herself. She preferred it that way.

  The stars were in the sky, not in her eyes.

  "I'm glad you asked me to dance," her partner whispered, pulling her closer.

  Suddenly, she was nervous. The champagne she downed earlier had completely worn off. No more floating on a cloud of false courage. If she was going to do this, she was going to have to do it on her own.

  "Jack," she said. Damn, it was hard to sound seductive when your voice squeaked. "Jack." That was better, lower, and slightly husky. She'd read somewhere that guys liked husky voices.

  "Rose."

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing, I just thought we were saying each other's names." He put his lips next to her ear. "I like the way you say mine."

  "Jack." Good Lord, she had to stop repeating his name. "I need a favor, Jack. A big one." Or should she say, she hoped he had a big one. Rose groaned to herself. At least she hadn't said that aloud.

  "I'll help if I can."

  "You're the only one who can help." She took another deep breath. "I need you to take me home and screw my brains out."

  FLOWERS FOR ZOE

  HART OF ROCK AND ROLL BOOK FOUR

  PROLOGUE

  FOUR YEARS OLD. Zoe Hart was a big girl now. She could dress herself—mostly. Get her own bowl and cereal from the cupboard—with the help of a chair. And pour her own milk—the few spills that her brother Ryder quickly cleaned up didn't count. She was almost grown up. Unlike Suzy next door who was a whole year older, Zoe didn't need a nightlight, and
she never wet the bed.

  Pre-school was fun. Finger painting was the best because Zoe was allowed to make a mess. Ryder told her they couldn't make messes at home. She did her best—she was a big girl now. But sometimes she forgot. Her big brother would rush to put things right, keeping an eye on the front door. Then he would wipe away her tears—she didn't cry very often because only babies cried—holding her on his lap, telling her everything would be okay.

  Ryder always made things right. He brushed Zoe's hair without pulling too hard and made the best peanut butter sandwiches ever. He knew how to tie her shoes and always held her hand when they left the apartment. He never scolded. She loved Ryder more than anything in the whole world—even her teddy bear.

  It seemed like Zoe's friends were afraid of everything. Spiders. The dark. And something they called the boogeyman. She didn't know who that was, but she knew he wouldn't frighten her. Nothing scared Zoe. Except the Monster.

  The music brought the Monster. Deep asleep, Zoe never heard it, but Ryder always did.

  "Shh," he urged, waking her up with a gentle shake. Before she could complain, he would put a finger to Zoe's lips. "Hear that?"

  Counting flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all.

  The sound was faint, but Zoe could hear the words through the thin apartment walls. When she was a little girl—a whole year ago when she was three—she thought the music sounded happy. Now that she was grown up, she had figured out that the song made Ryder sad. He was sad for a long time after it finally stopped playing. She might not understand the reasons, but Zoe knew one thing. If her big brother didn't like it, neither did she.

  "Do you have your teddy?" Ryder would ask.

  Zoe nodded, she always slept with teddy. Ryder would take her hand. He had her crawl under the bed, way in back to the farthest corner, before tucking a blanket around her.

  "Remember the invisible game?" Ryder whispered. "You have to stay right here, Zoe. Curl up in a little ball, don't make a sound, hold on to teddy, and keep the blanket tight. The Monster can't see you if you follow the rules. He won't know you're here."

  "I remember," Zoe whispered back. She knew it was part of the game. But she didn't like it. She didn't want to play by herself. "Stay with me."

  "Shh." A loud thump from the other room made Ryder hurriedly look over his shoulder. "You know I'll be back."

  "But—"

  The bedroom door slammed open, making Zoe jump, the squeak she let out muffled by Ryder's hand.

  "I need my little boy." The Monster's voice was sing-songy, and though the words were slurred, they were unmistakable.

  "I'll always come back for you, Zoe. Always. Now close your eyes. Please?"

  Reluctantly, Zoe scrunched her eyes tight.

  "There he is." Zoe knew she wasn't supposed to, but she couldn't help peeking. The Monster grabbed Ryder's arm, jerking him from under the bed. "Come keep Daddy company."

  With a silent sob, Zoe shut her eyes. Daddy. She never thought of the Monster that way. He was rarely around. Ryder made certain Zoe had something to eat. They would play games or watch something on the television. After she brushed her teeth, her big brother would tuck her in, reading her a story. Zoe liked it when it was just the two of them.

  On the few occasions when the Monster spent the evening in the apartment, Ryder made her stay in the bedroom, quietly playing by herself.

  The song grew louder. Zoe pressed her hands to her ears, unable to block out the noise or the sound of Ryder crying out. She knew there would be boo boos on his arms in the morning. Dark spots he tried to hide under an old, ripped shirt that was way too big, the sleeves hanging past the ends of his fingers.

  Why won't the Monster stop? Furiously, Zoe wiped the tears from her cheeks, clutching her teddy bear close. Humming a nonsensical tune, in her head she recited Ryder's words over and over, drifting into a deep but troubled sleep.

  You are invisible. I'll always come back for you. You are invisible. I'll always come back for you. You are invisible. I'll always come back for you.