Love Letters Volume 5: Exposed

by Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale, Maggie Wells

  *

  Lyle? Greg found himself disappointed at the mention of a male acquaintance, though judging by the dread in her voice, it wasn’t good to be hearing from Lyle.

  She stabbed at the screen on her phone before resting it on her shoulder and beginning to rummage in her purse.

  Probably for something else to kill me with. Maybe she’ll ask Lyle to meet us with a better weapon.

  “Hello?” she clipped into the mouthpiece. Sam heard a very agitated male voice on the other side begin to shriek, and his passenger shot him a look so purely violent that it would have scared the chest hair off a man of lesser fortitude.

  “I know, Lyle, I’m on my way. I got a little sidetracked.”

  The voice sounded less pleased than when the conversation had started. Shriller. Greg was the one who winced this time.

  “What do you mean you don’t like any of them? I thought we had twenty actors.”

  The voice went nuts again, but, oddly, the brunette’s face relaxed and she leaned back in her seat. The tense expression of stress that had been there was replaced by a sudden, sharp look of concentration. Her eyes flitted up and met Greg’s in the rearview mirror. He felt the low stir of lust again at the blatant intensity that held his gaze.

  One of her eyebrows rose. She had caught him staring, but she didn’t look away. He found himself holding the stare. He kind of liked the idea that she knew he was watching her.

  A smile curled her lips. “I’m headed in, don’t worry. I’ll be there.” The voice grew quieter. She put a finger to her free ear to block out the horn that blared as Greg barely missed sideswiping a car. He jerked his eyes back to the road.

  “Lyle, you know I’m committed to this job.” Then, an eye roll. “Yes, I realize that we are all obligated to the screen tests until you find a leading man. As long as it takes.”

  Ouch. Lyle wasn’t a boyfriend, then, he was an angry boss. Seems like those were going around today. Silence, and then more murmuring from the other end.

  “I have an idea. Just trust me.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and dropped it onto the seat.

  “Greg, I have a proposition for you.”

  *

  The cab screeched around a corner so fast she didn’t get to finish. Mack was thrown forward, and she cursed, her hand scrabbling for the handle molded into the frame above the cab’s window. They didn’t call those things “oh shit” handles for nothing.

  Oh, shit.

  She had a wonderful idea. An idea that would smooth over her being late, get her out of picking a leading man.

  “Can I have your name, at least, before you proposition me?” He met her eyes in the rearview again, and she felt herself flush—this guy was good at eye contact. And he didn’t seem to care that she knew he was looking.

  Ever since Mack had come to California, fresh-faced and harboring dreams of Hollywood, she’d met only disappointment when it came to men. They were all on the make, all had scripts or demo reels in their proverbial back pockets, along with a few condoms. This man drove a cab. He didn’t want anything from her except for her to ride along quietly while he stopped at his cab depot. That, and not call the cops. Still, leverage.

  “Mackenzie. My name is Mackenzie. You ever act, Mr. Redding?”

  His derisive snort was followed by a shake of his head. “No, ma’am. I’m not an actor.”

  “I’m working on a film, and I will make you a deal. You can continue on to your depot and I won’t make a fuss about it, if—”

  “You’re an actress? I should have known, face like that.” He smiled at her.

  She warmed at his compliment, though being mistaken for an actress would usually have irked her. “I’m the cinematographer. I prefer to be behind the camera, not in front of it.”

  “So you like to watch.” There was a glint of mischief in his eyes when hers flew up to the rearview mirror.

  He was disarming her.

  “Focus, Greg.” She fumbled for her words. “I won’t make a fuss if you come to the studio with me after you switch cabs.”

  “Said I’d drop you there, darlin’.”

  “No, no, not just drop me there. I want you to come inside and audition.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “This is the first film that I have a major position in. The director is being a complete diva about casting the male lead. We have qualified actors at the studio right now, none of which he wants.”

  “I’m failin’ to see how I can help with any of that.”

  “Come to the studio, audition for the role. It’ll give Lyle some perspective. He’ll see that the guys we have are way better, and I can stop worrying about casting, which is not my job.”

  “I’m not sure any of that was a compliment.”

  “I could still call the police.”

  He studied her for a moment. A long moment. One that made her shift in her seat, wondering what those lush green eyes would look like half-closed, if he was quiet or loud when he…

  “Does everyone call you Mackenzie?” he asked, and the abrupt segue startled her slightly.

  “No, I mostly go by Mack.”

  “You’re asking me to be a ringer, Mack. That seems kind of underhanded.”

  She could tell he was interested. The glint in his eyes was still there. To avoid gawking at him like some hormonal teenager, she turned to look out the window and frowned. She mentally quashed her hot little thoughts. “Welcome to L.A., Greg. How far are we from your depot?”

  “About three minutes away.”

  “I’d like an answer.” She heard him take a deep breath as they slowed and stopped at another light. Long seconds passed. “Look, I’m not going to call the cops on you. I’m just having a bad morning and I could really use some help. Please.”

  The light turned green. Greg eased them through the light and after another length of silence, he nodded. “Okay, I’ll be your ringer. One condition.”

  “What’s that?” She had assumed that not having him arrested was enough to garner favor.

  “Go to dinner with me.”

  Mack was taken aback. She felt her face heat and was afraid she might be blushing. “We barely know each other.”

  “And yet you’re askin’ me to lie for you.” Damn it, why did he have to be so rakishly attractive when he smiled?

  “Fine. Dinner tonight after you get the boot from the studio, but after that, we’re even.”

  “Deal.” He clicked on his blinker and pulled into an industrial-looking complex with rows of cabs parked behind it. Mack grabbed her purse as they rolled to a stop, checked her watch and hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake.

  *

  “So, tell me you have a headshot stashed somewhere in a glove box.”

  Greg was sure the joke was meant to ease the awkwardness that filled the space between them as they neared the depot office. What had possessed him to ask her out? Dumbass.

  They reached the brick-fronted building. Greg opened the door and held it for Mack, taking the opportunity to check out her legs as she passed in front of him. Those alone were a compelling reason for the dinner invitation.

  He wondered what her story was, why she’d chosen such a technical career when other women might have spent their years vying for a spot in front of a lens. Mack hit the bell at the front desk and leaned against the counter. Greg’s wayward gaze wandered to her ass, then quickly away as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

  Thankfully, Manny chose just that moment to finally make an appearance from the garage. He was wiping his hands on a shop cloth, and he grinned when he caught sight of Mack. The expression turned stormy when he spotted Greg behind her. “Redding, I told you this morning to take the older model. Give me your damned keys.”

  Greg gritted his teeth and handed them over.

  Manny snatched them and shook them in Greg’s face. “You think you can just take whatever cab you want? You take the one assigned to you.”

  “That unit’s a piece of junk
and you know it.” Greg kept his voice even, though Manny’s continued to rise.

  “You don’t tell me that my equipment is junk. You don’t like it, go drive for someone else. I took a chance on you, telling your sad story, my father’s sick, blah, blah, blah…” The man gestured toward Mack. “What’s this, eh? Riding your girlfriend around in my new cab?”

  Greg’s temperature started to rise. He could feel his face heating. He watched Mack cross her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line. He met her eyes and gave her an apologetic smile.

  “Yes, and I appreciate it. But, Manny, that car is—”

  “No, wait, don’t tell me. I got this one’s number. A hooker.” Manny eyed Mack with a sneer.

  Two seconds after Manny had spit the insult, he lay sprawled on the linoleum, wailing and clutching his jaw. Greg cursed and shook his right hand, the knuckles stinging.

  Mack gasped and pushed off the counter, stumbling around Manny to Greg. “Oh my God, you hit him!”

  “Yep.” Bending down, Greg scooped up the keys to the cab and dropped them on Manny’s chest. “That car is shit and I quit.”

  Greg took advantage of Mack’s slack-jawed moment of surprise, grabbing her hand and tugging her with him toward the door.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Mack said as she trotted along beside him on her heeled boots.

  “Don’t lecture me, you’re not my girlfriend, remember?” He grinned and held the door for her as Manny started to recover, yelling from behind them.

  “You can’t quit, Redding! You are fired!”

  They half ran out into the parking lot, making it to the sidewalk before Greg realized that they were still holding hands. Mack brought him up short, and he felt all the adrenaline rush out of him when she spoke.

  “Umm, Greg? Can I ask you—I mean, if it’s not too personal—”

  He looked over at her and answered the unasked question. “I came to L.A. because my father has Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her hand squeezed his. He found himself squeezing back.

  “Thanks.”

  “And, umm, not to add any stress, but how are we supposed to get to my studio?”

  Shit. He’d just walked away from their ride. After a few minutes of watching traffic, he nearly laughed at the solution.

  “Mack, darlin’, let’s get a cab.”

  *

  Their taxi pulled up outside her studio about half an hour later. Greg was impressed—the place had wide-silled windows and a long span of art deco fronting that led to a set of glass doors trimmed in bright, sharp silver. She paid the taxi driver, despite Greg’s offer.

  As he swung open the door to the Pano Films office, he found himself wishing he could be somewhere, anywhere else. His earlier anger at Manny’s drama had faded during the cab ride, along with most of his bravado. Her idea seemed like it had a thin chance of working, if any.

  They made their way to the suite of offices hidden behind the lavishly furnished lobby.

  Contrasted with the pristine, slick look of the entrance, the back offices of Pano were messy, chaotic and sparsely furnished. Mack had explained that they’d only recently moved into the building, and like a lot of things in the movie business, it was so far only pretty on the surface.

  “This way.” Mack gestured down the long hall of offices to a room at the end of the corridor. The door was half open. “Okay,” she continued, “you’re a local actor I met on an audition you were doing for another project—let’s say a reality show.”

  Greg nodded.

  Mack stopped outside the door, then flipped her head over and mussed her hair. Straightening, she adjusted her bra straps and straightened her skirt. “How do I look?”

  “Great. Uh, really great.” His heart tripped a bit. Okay, maybe not his heart, but definitely his groin.

  “Okay. Showtime. Thank you for doing this.” She put a hand on his arm, leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m really sorry about your job.”

  If anything could kill the lust-laden thoughts that were running around his head, it would be the panic he felt at knowing he was now jobless. Though his father’s care facility was paid out of a trust, Greg’s own living expenses weren’t.

  They went into the room beyond the door, and several sets of eyes turned to them. They garnered a particularly sour look from a tall, thin man with a pencil moustache and a severely asymmetrical haircut.

  “Thank you for joining us, Miss Alexander.”

  “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late.” Mack set her purse down and went to a nearby table to pour some coffee. “How did the auditions go?” Her voice was deceptively light. Greg could see the tension in her face.

  The thin man sighed. “Terrible. I can’t find my Victor anywhere. All the men we’ve seen so far are hacks.”

  Mack made a noise of sympathy.

  “We had to recast the best-friend role two months ago. It was hell getting that filled then,” the man lamented, “and now with the male lead, we’re working with what, a two-week time frame?”

  “One week,” a woman next to him corrected.

  The man put his head down on the tabletop. “So we’ll all have to be here daily until this gets sorted out.”

  Greg stood awkwardly at the door, smiling stupidly. He had no clue how he was going to pull this off. Mack came to stand next to him, handing him a coffee cup. He sipped it gratefully, glad to have something to do.

  “Well,” Mack said cheerfully, “this is my friend Greg. He’s an actor. Greg, this is Lyle, our director—” she waved toward the man with the moustache, “—and Maria, from casting, Shelly and David, producers.”

  Everyone nodded silently.

  Mack smiled, a big, cheesy, fake-as-L.A. smile. “Any chance he could audition?”

  Lyle raised his head, and, to Greg’s complete and utter amusement, took a monocle out of his pocket and put it over one eye.

  “Hmm. Cute. I don’t see why not. The cameraman’s gone for the day, so you’ll have to run tape on this one.”

  Mack looked triumphantly at Greg over the rim of her coffee cup. “I can do that. I can do that very well.”

  *

  Twenty minutes later, Greg was seated in an empty room on a folding metal chair and Mack, with the entourage of movie people behind her, was staring through the eyecup of a camera. They had given him a very poignant scene—the one where the hero first professes his love for the heroine. Mack was nervous, but she couldn’t quite say why.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” she prompted.

  Mack adjusted her focus slightly. Damned if the man didn’t look incredible on camera. He shuffled the script pages and then set them aside. What the hell was he doing? There was no way he could have mem—

  Greg rested his hands on his jeans-clad knees. “Katherine, I came all the way from New York to see you, to explain. After I left, after that night where we—where I kissed you and you ran, I was hurt. I wanted to hurt you back, I wanted you to choose between him and me.”

  Greg’s eyes had been closed, but he opened them, stared straight into the camera. The snap of hurt, the deeper-seated warmth of lust—his eyes drew her in, held her. It was as if the camera wasn’t even between them.

  “But you didn’t pick me. I never heard from you, and then I get this damned invitation in the mail. A wedding invitation. You are cordially invited…” He broke off, laughed bitterly. It made Mack’s heart twist.

  “You can’t lie and say that we never meant anything. You’re marrying him because it’s what everyone else expects you to do, not because it’s what you want.”

  Mack was startled when Maria read the counter line out loud behind her. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this. You can’t just barge in here and presume to tell me what I should want. You never gave me that courtesy—you never told me what you wanted.”

  Greg’s jaw flexed as he swallowed, and his eyes actually misted slightly. “Oh, darlin’, I have been a fool. All I ever, ever wanted was you.”


  Mack was breathless. He was staring so intensely into the camera that it made her pulse race. There was silence behind her. Greg leaned back, looked expectantly, his eyes darting as he scanned the people behind her. She stopped recording.

  Mack had scarcely regained her breath when Lyle stepped around the camera and extended a hand to Greg.

  “Marvelous! Marvelous. Oh, strong handshake. I like that. When can you start?”

  Holy shit, what just happened?

  *

  After a round of handshakes and congratulations and some pats on the back for Mack for finding Going For Broke’s leading man, the group dispersed—Lyle jubilantly and the rest gratefully. They left only Greg and Mack.

  As they walked down the hall toward the lobby, the silence between them was deafening. Mack apparently decided enough was enough. She stopped short and Greg could tell that she was trying to control the annoyance in her voice.

  “What the hell is going on? I thought you weren’t an actor.”

  There was a peal of laughter—apparently Mack and Greg weren’t the only ones left in the studio. Mack looked up and down the hall in a panic, spinning to tug Greg into a nearby rehearsal room. He stood in the center of the plush carpeting while she sprinted to the doorway and rechecked the hall before closing the door with a soft snick.

  She turned the lock. Click. She looked disoriented, agitated and still pretty damned hot. And she was alone in a room with him. She stalked toward him and he backed up, bumping against one of the only two pieces of furniture in the room, a large dark wood desk.

  “Am I the hostage now?” he said, mock-concern lifting his voice.

  “You’d better start talking.” She sounded ominous.

  “I’m not an actor. My dad is.”

  She glowered at him. Even that sour expression couldn’t mar the exquisiteness of her face. She was standing just a tad too close for his oversexed comfort.

  Down, boy.

  “I needed a body, but I wasn’t planning on it being yours.”

  Greg’s eyebrows hit somewhere in the region of his hairline. Ignoring the double entendre, which he was afraid was only warming in his own teen-libido mind, he said, “It doesn’t help you that I got the job? I did just lose mine.”