by Maggie Marr
“How did you find out about the apartment?” Nikki asked.
“Lydia stopped by the town house and the cleaning crew was there.”
“And we got a bill from the Chateau,” Ted added.
She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head. She would take no handouts, no more help from Ted or her aunt. She’d had enough of their help. Rush’s gaze dusted over her.
“I’ll pay it back,” Nikki said.
“Nikki,” Cici said softly, “this isn’t about money. This is about taking care of you—”
“I can take care of myself,” Nikki shot out. “I took care of Mom. We took care of ourselves for two decades, or have you forgotten?”
Cici recoiled. She balled her fists in her hand. From the look on Aunt Cici’s face—no, Aunt Cici hadn’t forgotten. Hadn’t forgotten how she left her sister and niece to fend for themselves, nearly forgetting she had any family at all. Never visiting, never calling, never sending one dime to her sister and niece.
“Aunt Cici, you didn’t owe me anything then, and you don’t owe me anything now.”
Cici flinched with Nikki’s words. Cici didn’t control the world; at the very least she didn’t control Nikki.
“Nikki,” Ted said, “you will accept security. At least on set. It’s part of making a film. I can’t force you to allow me to place a security detail with you, but there is something that’s happened, something that I think may change your mind.”
Nikki’s heart hammered in her chest. This couldn’t be good. This would be bad. Very very bad. Nikki’s eyes flitted from Rush, to Ted, and then finally to Aunt Cici.
Cici looked up and met Nikki’s gaze. “Nikki, darling,” Aunt Cici said, “Adam is dead.”
Chapter 38
On Set
“What kind of a mess have you managed to get yourself into?”
Nikki turned to Rush. For more than two weeks, since Adam’s death, Rush had been glued to her side. He was hired help, and she didn’t want to share any more of herself with him; she wouldn’t share her past, her body, her bed, and definitely not her future. He already knew way more about her, her family, and her twisted background than he’d ever let on when he was playing the boy-toy producer with a limitless bank account. He wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be working for Ted if he were stupid.
“I’d think you’d have figured all that out by now,” Nikki said. She kept her tone cold. She peered out the passenger window of his car. She was now an unwilling, yet active, participant in the Rush Nelson charade.
“I’ve figured out a lot,” Rush said. Rush’s eyes slipped across her body. They left hot marks on her skin. “But the one thing I can’t quite understand is why a girl like you would get involved with a dirtbag like Adam.”
There were no more courteous inquiries between them, no more façade, no more pretense that theirs was anything more than a business relationship. She was to be protected and he was the protector. Forget that her heart still cracked with each dark glance, that her skin thrilled with his near-touch, that her toes curled with the throaty growl of his voice.
Nikki flipped her hair over her shoulder. He couldn’t see the expression in her eyes because of her shades. Call it a weakness for musicians, a weakness for bad boys, chalk it up to loneliness upon moving to LA, but whatever the reason she’d allowed herself to be in Adam’s rotation, she didn’t need to be judged by a guy who used subterfuge and lies to insinuate himself into people’s lives so he might collect a paycheck from one of the wealthiest men on the planet.
No, Nikki didn’t need to be judged by someone like Rush Nelson.
“The reason as to why is irrelevant to your purposes,” Nikki said. She turned her gaze toward the windshield.
Her skin tingled with his nearness in the car. She nearly jumped each time he moved. The heat that circulated in her belly and caused the hairs on her neck to rise was more than annoying. Even her anger at his lies and deceit couldn’t squelch that fire. Yeah—she wasn’t good at controlling her attraction to men. The wrong men. She seemed to always want the guys that were absolutely the worst for her.
“I like men that I have no ability to control. Call it a character flaw, call it a sexual quirk, call it whatever the hell you want, but whatever you decide to call it, why don’t you keep it to yourself,” Nikki said.
“Then pretending to be with me shouldn’t be much of stretch for you.” He turned his eyes to her. The uptilted quirk of his mouth insinuated that this game of pretend she’d agreed to after Adam’s death, after she realized who Rush really was, after Aunt Cici and Ted laid out all the threats to her safety, was something Rush thought she couldn’t achieve.
“It’s Hollywood,” Nikki said. “I’m a producer. I can pretend to like anyone.”
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. When she looked at Rush, she didn’t feel nearly as strong or angry. The Worldwide gates pulled into view and Rush blew past the guard booth with a wave.
They didn’t even stop him, his cover was so deeply sealed by Ted. Rush could do nearly anything at Worldwide and have no questions asked. Rush needn’t ever get a movie into production and yet his deal would be maintained as long as Ted had security interests to maintain. In the circles Rush flew and the information he gained and the dirt he kept, Rush might have more golden nuggets of information than Kiki Dee.
“How many films are on your slate?” Nikki asked as Rush pulled down Solange Lane and took a left on Burt Reynolds drive.
“Right now?” Rush tilted his head. “Twenty-five. Seven thrillers, four rom coms, two dramas, a teen comedy, and three horror films. A couple of comic books under option and some best sellers.”
“That’s not twenty-five,” Nikki said.
“Right.” Rush pulled into his parking space in front of his bungalow on the Worldwide lot. “I recently picked up another drama that’s certain to be an award winner.”
Cold slithered through Nikki’s gut like a hard, solid blade. He didn’t have to say the name. She swallowed and sucked in her cheeks. The bastard. Ted. Mike Fox. Rush. The bastards. Handing out credits for her film like hundred-dollar bills to whores.
“Is this all part of your employment contract with Ted? You pretend to produce and then take a credit for any project you want?”
“Let’s just say it’s an added perk.” Rush pushed open his car door. “Besides, you really think I’d waste my time babysitting a brat like you if there wasn’t some backend involved?”
Nikki opened her door and the endless LA sun hit her face. She hoped Rush liked the backend deal he’d negotiated with Ted, because that would be the only backend he was going to get.
*
Rush regretted calling Nikki a brat, but she got to him. She pulled and kicked and tore at his insides. She sliced under his skin and spit salt into the wound as she spoke. He couldn’t fault her. She was hurt. She was angry. She was a raging woman unwilling to yield. With what he’d pulled on her, he was lucky to be alive. Nikki sauntered up to the side door of the soundstage, all false bravado, and yanked open the door. He didn’t care about the producer credit that Worldwide was doling out to him. The whole damn thing had been Ted’s idea as a way to explain why Rush was on set every day. Sure, they were maintaining the cover that Nikki and Rush were a thing, but that could blow up—the press liked to dig. Even if she couldn’t stand to pretend to be with him anymore, or if she did start seeing someone—blood thundered through his veins with the thought—as a producer on Boundless Bound he would still have access to her and the film. Ted had set his limits with Nikki when Adam bit the dust. Nikki would have security.
With Adam’s dead body found swinging from the shower rod of his hotel room, the threat had finally sunk in. Nikki was the only connection. The obvious connection. Perhaps the reason why, now, two people were dead. They had a link, now they needed the sicko who was whacking off people close to Nikki. Ted was worried. Celeste Solange could be next. She was the closest person Nikki had in her life.
They’d all breathe easier if some other reason for the demise of either man bubbled to the surface or if they caught the guy who’d knocked them off. So far nothing had come out of the sludge.
Rush yanked on the soundstage door and a blast of cold air hit him full in the face. JP Anderson would shoot the office scene today. The office scene that contained ropes and duct tape and some hard-core sex play between Celeste and Jackson Nichols. The scene that was rough and hard and not easy for any actress.
JP sauntered up to Rush. “We’ve got a closed set today.” He had short-man’s disease. This guy got his rocks off by ordering people around, especially tall men. Rush knew about JP. He was great behind the camera, but in front of it—in real life—the guy was a total asshole.
Rush slid his sunglasses into his jacket pocket. He looked over the end of his nose at JP. This had the effect of shortening JP even more.
“I’ve been cleared by Ted,” Rush said. His tone was soft and low. There was no need to throw any weight around when the entire desire of the studio was behind you.
“Ted? Ted who?” JP asked. The guy obviously wasn’t privy to who ultimately called the shots at Worldwide. “Thea!” JP yelled to his assistant. “Get me security.” He looked back at Rush, his arms crossed over his chest. This was a pissing contest JP would not win.
Rush leaned forward. “JP, before you call security,” Rush said, his voice still soft and with a tone that indicated he was trying to do the director a favor, “give Mike Fox a call and ask him about Rush Nelson.”
JP squinted. And then he blinked. Thea, with her disheveled ponytail, stood beside JP with her iPhone poised to make whichever call JP wanted.
“Really,” Rush said. “Call Mike. Get started on time today.”
JP’s brow furrowed and he turned to Thea. “Make the call.” He waited, arms crossed. Heat traipsed across JP’s face. There was so little anyone could control in Hollywood that some people latched onto any little bit of power.
Thea dialed and handed the phone to JP. He turned away from Rush, one arm still crossed over his chest. Muffled tones. A rise in pitch. What the fuck escaped JP’s mouth. His head turned and he glanced over his shoulder toward Rush. He couldn’t hide the hint of surprise, the whisper of shock that hovered about his lips. His shoulders rose and fell with a quick admission of defeat, acquiescence to the studio, the power that sat high in the Worldwide glass tower. The power by which a director lived and died.
JP handed the phone to Thea. A false smile, one that shadowed the anger in JP’s eyes at having this guy—this guy barely known to him—shoved down his throat.
“You must have some fucking powerful friends,” JP said. Now his tone was low, his head cocked to the side, appraising Rush. Smart director. JP was surmising how he might use Rush and Rush’s powerful friends to his advantage.
“Just want to make a film,” Rush said. He let a smile simmer on his lips, a smile that he hoped would knock JP off his guard. A nonthreatening, I-am-your-best-buddy smile. A lie of a smile. Because Rush Nelson didn’t give a good goddamn about JP or JP’s ego. All Rush cared about was watching Nikki and Celeste Solange and making certain no more dead bodies piled up anywhere near either of them.
Chapter 39
Making the Leap
“When does it shoot?” Bradford turned his fork in his eggs while he stared into space. His eyes flicked from the near distance to Christina. “How many days?” His lips pursed out as he considered the news his agent was conveying.
Christina looked away from him and back to the screenplay on her iPad. Bradford settled his phone beside the plate of half-eaten eggs.
“Did you know about this?”
Christina glanced up through her lashes toward Bradford. His face was placid, without much emotion except for a crease between his brows.
Christina shook her head from side to side. “Know about what?”
Bradford bit his bottom lip and settled back in the chair. He’d been at Christina’s nearly every night for a month. With each passing day his color grew better, his smile was quicker, his wit faster. Aside from his twelve-step meetings and her work, they spent nearly all their time together.
“I got offered a role.”
“That’s great,” Christina said. She’d wondered when he might start working again. News of his stint in rehab had filtered through the Industry. He still got offers for parts—not the caliber of roles he’d once inhabited, but there was still work for him.
He ran his palm over his jaw. “It’s for Boundless Bound.”
Christina’s heart fluttered. Lydia hadn’t told her about wanting to offer one of the remaining roles to Bradford.
“Lydia made the offer this morning,” Bradford said.
Christina knew which male part was still available, and she wasn’t certain the role would be attractive to Bradford.
“I’m being typecast,” he said and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I take it, I guess I can knock it out of the park.”
“She offered you Jackson Nichols’s son?”
Bradford nodded. “The addict.”
The role was actor-candy. They’d received multiple inquiries from hungry agents who represented brilliant actors. The opportunity to play opposite Jackson and Celeste could make an actor’s career. Lydia had been holding out, not issuing any offers, waiting for something or someone that Christina hadn’t been privy to. Now Christina understood why.
“I’ve got the shortcut into the headspace for that character,” Bradford said. The muscle in his jaw flinched and his gaze darted from his plate to the ceiling. “But I’m not sure I want to inhabit that place for the next sixty days.” His gaze locked on Christina.
The place Bradford would have to inhabit was a place he’d just exited. The role of Michael was the story of a down-on-his-luck, strung-out addict on the cusp of dying or getting clean.
A shiver raced up Christina’s spine. The character was so close to real life for Bradford, and she wasn’t certain that his new grasp on his sobriety was strong enough to go back and forth between an addict and his new reality each day for two months.
“I’d probably get nominated,” Bradford said with a whoosh of air.
He probably would. Bradford was Hollywood royalty from a multigenerational family of actors the Industry loved. If he inhabited the role like he could and incorporated all he knew about being an addict, with reality so close to the part? With a solid performance, Academy voters would eat that story up when it came time to cast their votes.
“Lydia knows that too,” Christina said. Actors were marketing tools, and Lydia was offering Bradford a role that would put him back on top, and in return, her film would get a ton of press and goodwill, but the price might be too high for Bradford to pay.
“I’m doing it,” Bradford said. His lips were in a tight line. He would be stepping back into the shoes of a character who still fought the demons Bradford had spent months trying to cage. He reached his hand across the table and took Christina’s fingers, his gaze piercing through her.
“I can do this, Christina,” Bradford said. “I can do this, if you’ll do it with me.”
*
Rush wasn’t waiting for another dead body. He was going on the offensive. Nikki was safe on set with a slew of security that Ted had peppered throughout the crew. She was better protected than most heads of state. Ted said he had security guys looking, searching, trying to find the guy who was after Nikki, but those guys weren’t working fast enough. Rush could work faster. He was smarter. He was stealthier. But he needed intel, he needed to know what he was looking for, and there was one guy who might know.
“Hey, Jay, how you feeling?” Rush said. The wounds on Jay’s face had healed, but tiny red marks across his skin gave testament to the beating he’d received.
“What’s up, Rush?” Jay reached out his hands, which still had bandages around his palms. Rush gently grasped them and Jay flinched with the touch.
“When you getti
n’ out of this place?” Rush asked.
“They say two more days.” Jay wore street clothes. He settled back against the headboard of his bed. “Can’t wait.”
Rush nodded. He’d been injured, he’d done his physical therapy, and he understood the stir-craziness that inhabited you once you were nearly well.
“You look good.”
“Damn good for somebody who wasn’t supposed to be here,” Jay said.
Rush didn’t have an answer for that comment. Yes, Jay had barely made it, barely survived.
“That’s why I’m here,” Rush said.
Jay nodded. He’d known why Rush was here the moment he entered the door. “They still haven’t caught the bastard yet,” Jay said. “You know I didn’t get the best look, but the guy was big. He was alone, and he was fast.”
“Anything else?”
“He barely spoke, jumped me from behind, came out of nowhere.” Jay shook his head. “How he got to me without me seeing him coming, I will never understand.”
“It happens.”
“Yeah, but hopefully not twice. You got ideas on identity?” Jay asked.
Rush nodded. “Yeah, I got a few, but nothing solid. Wanted to check with you, see if there was anything that popped into your mind, you know, since it happened.”
Jay slowly shook his head. He closed his eyes as though he was flashing through the memory of that night. His cheeks sucked in. To relive a beating wasn’t pleasant for any man. Jay’s eyes popped open. “You know, I think the bastard had a mark on his right arm. Like a tattoo, but I couldn’t describe it for you. It was dark, but I remember seeing something as that fist slammed into my face.”
Rush swallowed. A fist in the face. He’d like to find this nutjob and give him an exponential number of those. “Thanks, man. If it comes to you, or anything else, you know how to find me.”
