Why Resist a Rebel?

by Leah Ashton

  Juvenile? Yes.

  Fun? He thought so.

  So Paul thought he needed looking after? No problem.

  He’d be that actor, then. The ridiculous type who wanted everything in their trailer periwinkle blue, or who would only drink a particular brand of mineral water—not available locally, of course.

  He’d prove Paul right—and irritate the self-important producer in the process.

  A small win.

  And it would push Ruby’s buttons too—trigger that flare of response he’d already witnessed a handful of times, and was eager to experience again.

  Dev smiled, just as Ruby stopped before a hulking white trailer and turned to face him.

  Her forehead wrinkled as she studied him, as if she knew something was up.

  He just smiled even more broadly.

  Yes, this was an excellent idea.

  Completely focused on the email she was reading—Arizona’s agent, confirming that his client was available to attend an opening in Sydney the following week—Ruby picked up her loudly ringing phone from her overflowing desk without glancing at the screen.

  ‘Ruby Bell.’

  ‘Ruby.’ A pause. ‘Good afternoon.’

  There was no point pretending she didn’t recognise that voice. Her disloyal body practically shivered in recognition.

  ‘How can I help, Mr Cooper?’ she asked with determined brightness, her eyes not wavering from her laptop screen, although the email’s words and sentences had somehow become an indecipherable alphabet jumble.

  Even so, she tapped randomly on her keyboard. For her benefit, mostly, a reminder that she was a busy film professional who received phone calls from famous actors All The Time. She was working. This was her job.

  No need for her mouth to go dry or for her cheeks to warm.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a problem.’

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted, with some trepidation.

  He’d been scrupulously polite this morning. Allowed her to take him from appointment to appointment. He’d chatted inanely about the weather, and charmed every person she introduced him to.

  But...

  Occasionally he’d slant a glance in her direction that meant...she had absolutely no idea.

  It wasn’t about last night any more. She was sure. No question he’d long lost interest in perfectly average Ruby Bell by now.

  Definitely.

  ‘I can’t figure out how to use the wireless Internet in my cottage.’

  Oh. Her skin went hotter. Of course his phone call had nothing to do with her. Of course it didn’t.

  Hadn’t she told him—what, three hours ago?—to call her any time?

  Ruby took a deep breath. She really needed to pull herself together.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Cooper,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get that sorted for you straight away.’

  ‘Appreciate it,’ he said, and then the phone went silent.

  Carefully, she placed her phone back onto her desk, darting her gaze about the room. She half expected everyone to be staring at her, to know exactly how flustered she was, despite all her efforts to not be. To somehow know that Dev had all but propositioned her outside the salubrious Lucyville Motel, even though she’d told her intrigued friends she hadn’t seen Dev after she’d left the pub last night.

  To know that chaperoning Dev around set this morning was stupidly difficult, despite her constant mental reminders that it was so not a big deal, and that she was a professional and they were both adults who could work together professionally despite the running-into-him thing, or the not-recognising-him thing, or saying-no-to-the-most-eligible-bachelor-in-the-world thing.

  But no. Rohan worked quietly at his desk. Cath stood in front of the large whiteboard calendar, studying it with fierce concentration and a marker in her hand. Selena wasn’t even in the room—she was out, busily signing in extras.

  Ruby bit back a sigh. She was being ridiculous.

  So she tilted her head left to right, rolled her shoulders a few times, wriggled her toes—and told herself she was cool, and calm and collected. She was!

  And then she got back to work.

  Less than an hour later, Dev stepped out onto the deck at the back of his cottage, sliding shut the glass door firmly behind him. Inside, one of the more junior members of the production office was busily fixing his ‘broken’ Internet.

  He pressed his phone to his ear.

  ‘Ruby Bell,’ she said when she answered, sounding as brisk and polite as she had earlier.

  ‘Ms Bell,’ he said, ever so politely, ‘thank you. I now have Internet.’

  Well, he would once the guy inside realised the router had been unplugged.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said. There was a beat or two of silence, and then she added, ‘Can I help you with anything else?’

  Dev’s lips curled upwards.

  ‘Yes, actually. I need a new hire car.’

  ‘Is something wrong with your current car?’ she asked.

  No. Assuming you disregarded the fact that he had Graeme-the-warden driving him everywhere. Dev’s suggestion he drive himself to set from now on was not warmly received. If Dev had access to the keys he never would’ve asked at all.

  That would’ve made Veronica happy. About as happy as she’d been in her email this morning, and her many missed calls on his phone.

  Turned out Graeme had passed on his trip to the pub.

  Security—my arse.

  ‘My current car is too...’ he paused, as if in deep contemplation ‘...feminine.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Too feminine,’ he repeated.

  The line remained silent. Was Ruby smiling? Frowning?

  ‘I see,’ she said, after a while. ‘I’m sorry you find your black four-wheel drive so unsuitable. Can you explain to me what it is that you dislike about the car?’

  There was nothing overtly discourteous in her tone—quite the opposite, in fact. Yet Dev heard the subtlest of subtle bites. He liked it.

  ‘It’s the upholstery,’ he said. ‘It has pink thread in it.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, as if this were actually a valid complaint. ‘Fair enough. Don’t worry, I’ll have a new car to you by tonight.’

  ‘At the latest,’ he said, just like one of the many delusionally self-important actors he knew who made these types of requests.

  ‘Not a problem, Mr Cooper.’

  ‘Appreciated, Ms Bell.’

  Then he hung up with a smile on his face.

  Ruby sat alone in her office, the Top 40 show on the radio her only company. It was late—really late, and she’d sent everyone else home fifteen minutes earlier.

  But she had to get everything done—well, an hour ago, really—but Dev had really screwed up her day.

  Losing Rohan for an hour to fix Dev’s wireless had meant she’d had to run the call sheet alone; and unfortunately the runner she’d assigned to sort out the new hire car was young, and new, and seemed to ask Ruby a question every five minutes. Then, of course, there’d been Dev’s email, asking for directions to every amenity in Lucyville. After she’d gritted her teeth and carefully replied to it—and therefore losing another thirty minutes—he’d blithely replied with one word: Thanks.

  Thanks!

  She’d silently screamed.

  She’d had no idea Dev was like this—normally talent of the high-maintenance variety came with clear advance warning via the industry grapevine. Put two people who worked in film together, and guaranteed that stuff like ‘Dev-Cooper-thought-his-car-was-too-girly’ got talked about.

  But—until the last twenty-four hours—she’d never heard a negative word about Devlin Cooper.

  Oohing and ahhing about how he was just as gorgeous in real life—which she now knew to be true—yes, she’d heard that. But unreasonable, prima-donna carryings-on? Not a whisper.

  Her phone rang, vibrating against the pile of sides—the scenes being filmed the next day—it rested upon.

  Of course it
was Dev, and reluctantly Ruby swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call.

  ‘Mr Cooper,’ Ruby said, setting the phone to loudspeaker so she could continue to work on the latest updates to a transport schedule. She was not going to let Dev distract her. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said, not sounding at all apologetic for calling so late, ‘if you could recommend anywhere good to eat in Sydney.’

  Ruby’s jaw clenched. Really?

  ‘Was it for a particular occasion?’

  ‘A date,’ he said. ‘This weekend.’

  Ruby determinedly ignored that irrational, disappointed kick she felt in her belly.

  ‘Sure,’ she managed to squeeze out. ‘I’ll get someone onto that for you tomorrow.’

  ‘But I was hoping you could offer some personal recommendations.’

  Had his voice become slightly deeper? More intimate?

  Don’t be an idiot! She typed the words on screen for good measure; maybe then it would sink in.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you were thinking fine dining, then you probably can’t go wrong with Tetsuya’s, on Kent Street. Or Quay, at The Rocks.’

  ‘Personal favourites?’

  ‘No. I’ve heard the food is amazing, but I generally prefer somewhere a little less formal. Where people talk and laugh loudly and you don’t need to book months in advance. You know?’ Immediately she realised what she’d said. ‘Although I’d imagine you don’t have too many problems with getting a table.’

  ‘Not usually,’ he said, a smile in his voice. ‘So where would you go for dinner this Saturday night in Sydney?’

  She’d grown up in the outer suburbs of Sydney, but as an adult she’d spent little time there—aside from when she was working. And with twelve-to-fourteen-hour days typical on a film set, dining out—fine or otherwise—wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence. Although, she’d crashed in the spare room of a set dresser between jobs last year...

  ‘Some friends took me to a French Bistro right in the CBD when I was last in Sydney. It’s a little fancy, but still relaxed. Plus, the Bombe Alaska is to die for.’

  ‘Perfect. Would you be able to book me a table?’

  Ruby gritted her teeth. So not my job!

  ‘Sure!’ she said, instead, with determined enthusiasm.

  ‘Appreciate it,’ he said, and the words were just as annoying the third time she’d heard them that day.

  Then he hung up.

  Ruby told herself she’d imagined the beginnings of a laugh before the phone went silent. As otherwise she’d need to drive to his place right now. And strangle him.

  The next day was overcast, with rain forecast for the early afternoon.

  Consequently, Asha, the second assistant director, was rather frantic when she rushed into Ruby’s office just after eleven a.m.

  ‘I need your help,’ she said, running a hand through her shiny black bob. ‘We have a situation in Hair and Make-up. Dev won’t let anyone cut his hair, and we need him on set like now. We need to get this scene before the weather hits.’

  Ruby sighed. She’d left him with hair and make-up not even twenty minutes ago...but still—she really shouldn’t be surprised.

  A minute later, both women were striding across Unit Base.

  ‘Dev isn’t at all like what I expected,’ Ruby said. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she walked, the breeze sharp through the thin cotton of her cardigan.

  ‘You mean the whole “haven’t slept or eaten in a month” thing?’ Asha asked. ‘Thank God Make-up and Wardrobe can work miracles is all I can say.’ Then a long pause, and a conspiratorial whisper: ‘I hear that he’s nursing a broken heart. That Estelle van der something? She’s already hooked up with someone new. Poor guy.’

  Poor guy? Right.

  ‘Yeah, that, I guess,’ Ruby said. ‘But I meant all of his demands? It’s driving me nuts.’

  Asha shot her a surprised glance. ‘Really? Honestly, up until just now he’s been a model actor. It’s amazing how quickly he’s learnt his scenes and he just nailed our rehearsals yesterday. His professionalism is the only reason we can shoot anything today.’

  Ruby slowed her pace slightly. ‘No complaints about his costume? Requests for a box of chocolates with all the soft-centred ones removed?’

  Both were the type of requests that the Dev she’d been dealing with over the past day and a half would definitely have asked. Just this morning he’d asked to have new curtains installed in his trailer, as the current set let in too much light when closed. Apparently. Then he’d asked for a very specific selection of organic fruit. Rohan was wasting his time on that, right now. Ugh!

  ‘No,’ Asha said, coming to a halt outside the hair and make-up trailer. ‘This random hair thing is it. But, it’s only been a couple of days. Maybe he’ll reveal his true self to all of us on set soon.’

  ‘Hmm,’ was all that Ruby could say to that. A niggling suspicion that she’d dismissed as ridiculous, impossible, was now niggling, well...louder.

  But surely he wouldn’t...?

  She opened the door to the trailer, taking in the frustrated-looking hair stylist and his assistant—and of course Dev, sprawled ever-so-casually in front of a mirror, complete with two days’ worth of—she had to admit—sexy stubble. As she stepped inside he met her gaze in the glass.

  And winked.

  Ruby dug her fingernails into her palms, then took a deep, calming breath. The action was not soothing in the slightest, but it did help her speak in a fair facsimile of an I’ve-got-everything-under-control production co-ordinator.

  ‘Could I have a few minutes with Mr Cooper?’

  It was a perfectly reasonable request—it was her job to fix exactly these types of hiccups—and so with quick nods and hopeful expressions aimed in Ruby’s direction everyone filed out.

  Ever so slowly—and Ruby now knew he was enjoying this—Dev spun his chair around to face her. His assessing gaze travelled over her, from her flat, knee-high leather boots, up to her fitted navy jeans, cream tank top and oversized, over-long wool cardigan. Then to her face—touching on her lips, her eyes, her hair.

  Ruby wanted to kick herself for being pleased she’d made an effort with her make-up today. She’d done so yesterday too, not letting herself acknowledge until just now that it had—of course—been for Devlin Cooper.

  God, she frustrated herself. She’d been sure she’d long ago got past this—this pathetic need for male attention. The need for anyone else to provide her with validation, other than herself.

  No. That hadn’t changed.

  He opened his mouth, guaranteed to say something teasing and clever. He had that look in his eyes—she’d seen it in his movies, and definitely in person.

  She didn’t give him the chance.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’

  Ruby had the satisfaction of watching his eyes widen in surprise. But he recovered quickly, as smooth as silk. ‘I believe I’m Devlin Cooper.’ He shrugged. ‘You know, the actor?’

  She shook her head. ‘No way. Don’t be smart. I’m onto you.’

  ‘Onto me?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘What exactly are you onto?’

  Ruby bit her lip, trying to hold onto the barest thread of control. Could he be any more deliberately oblivious? Any more arrogant?

  ‘This,’ she said, throwing her arms up to encompass the trailer. ‘And the phone calls, the emails, the hire car, the chocolates, the fruit, the curtains...’ Ruby started to count them off on her fingers. ‘What next? What next trivial, unreasonable task are you going to lob in my direction?’

  ‘You don’t feel my requests are legitimate?’ he asked. If he was at all bothered by her rapidly rising voice, his expression revealed nothing.

  ‘I know they’re not.’ She glared at him when he tried to speak again. ‘And I don’t care why you’ve been doing it: I don’t care if you’re so shocked by the concept of a woman saying no to you that you need to be as irrita
ting as possible in revenge, but—please—just stop.’

  Dev blinked. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’ In contrast to even a moment before, now he looked dumbfounded—his forehead wrinkled in consternation. ‘That’s not it at all.’

  But she was barely listening now.

  ‘In case you’re not aware, when you pull stunts like this, Paul—you know, my boss?—expects me to sort it all immediately. If I don’t—if filming is held up, if we can’t shoot a scene because of you, or if I need to ask Paul to call your agent to kick your butt into gear—it isn’t you who looks like a massive, unprofessional loser. It’s me.’

  Dev pushed himself to his feet. He was in costume: dark brown trousers, a soft tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a heavy leather belt and holster, plus chunky work boots—he was playing an early nineteen hundreds Australian drover after all. Temporarily, her tirade was clogged in her throat as she digested the sight of him approaching her. He was so tall, so broad—and suddenly the trailer felt so small.

  But then her frustration bubbled over again. Hot, famous movie star or not—nobody got away with treating Ruby Bell this way.

  ‘You might have forgotten what it’s like to rely on a regular salary, but trust me—I haven’t. And I’m not having some entitled, full-of-himself actor think it’s okay to stomp all over my reputation, my professionalism, my...’

  With every word her voice became higher and less steady.

  Dev had stopped in front of her. Not close enough to crowd her, not at all, and yet she found that words began to escape her as he studied her, his gaze constant, searching and...what? Not arrogant. Not angry. Not even shocked...

  Sad? No, not that either. But it wasn’t what she expected.

  It had been silent for long seconds, and Ruby swallowed, trying to pull herself together.

  ‘If you don’t stop,’ she began, ‘I’ll...’

  And here her tirade came to its pathetic—and now clearly obvious—end.

  What exactly would she do? What could she do? She’d just told him that she’d get blamed for any problems he caused, and that was pretty much true. And it wasn’t as if she could get him fired.

  Hmm. Let me think: Easily replaceable production co-ordinator versus the man who’s starred in the world’s highest grossing spy franchise?