Why Resist a Rebel?

by Leah Ashton

  She tangled her fingers into the fabric of her cardigan, suddenly needing to hold onto something.

  Oh, God. What had she done? All he had to do was complain to Paul and...

  Dev was still watching her.

  ‘You’ll what, Ruby?’

  She made herself meet his gaze. ‘I—’ she started. She should apologise, she knew. Grovel, even—do anything to patch up the past few minutes as if they had never, ever happened.

  But she couldn’t do it—it would be like time-travelling ten years into her past.

  ‘I’d appreciate it,’ she said, deliberately mimicking him, ‘if you could carefully consider your future requests, or issues, before contacting myself, or my office. We’re all very busy at the moment.’

  Even that was far from an appropriate request to make of a film’s biggest star, but she just couldn’t concede any less.

  In response, Dev smiled. The sudden lightness in his gaze made Ruby’s heart skip a beat. Alone in a room with Dev Cooper, Ruby would challenge any woman not to do the same—irritated beyond belief or not.

  ‘It wasn’t revenge,’ he said, simply.

  ‘But it was something,’ Ruby prompted. What was all this about?

  ‘I’m sorry that you thought I was trying to make you look bad in front of your boss and colleagues. I can assure you I wasn’t.’

  Even knowing he was a very good actor, Ruby believed him. Those eyes, in real life, were nothing at all like what you saw on celluloid. They revealed so much more—more than Ruby could even begin to interpret.

  ‘It’s much simpler than that. Much less exciting than some dastardly vengeful plan.’

  Ruby crossed her arms, watching him stonily.

  He sighed. ‘Okay, bad joke. Look...’ He looked down at the trailer floor for just a moment. ‘It’s simple, really. I don’t need “looking after”.’

  Ruby narrowed her eyes. ‘And the fact I’m the brunt of this behaviour is an unfortunate coincidence?’

  ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘I just like...’ He studied her face, then focused on her eyes, as if he was trying to work something out. ‘I like seeing you react.’

  She was not deluded enough to think that she stood out amongst all the other women she knew he surrounded himself with. She’d seen the photos of him with Estelle—a supermodel, for crying out loud. This juvenile game had nothing to do with her. Not really.

  This was about his ego, his sense of the way things should be.

  She didn’t come into it at all.

  Ruby spoke very politely. ‘Please carefully consider your future requests, or issues, before contacting myself, or my office,’ she repeated.

  He nodded, and for the first time in long minutes Ruby felt as if she was breathing normally.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.

  Every muscle in her body that had begun to relax re-tightened, ready for battle. Had he not heard a word she’d said? How could he possibly think—?

  ‘No more stunts like this—I get it. I won’t impact the filming schedule.’

  But...

  He grinned, but that brightness she’d seen—just for that moment—had long disappeared. Now there was a heaviness to his gaze, and the lines around his mouth were tight.

  ‘I think I’m having too much fun with you.’

  ‘I’m not interested,’ she said, quick as a flash. But they both heard that she didn’t really believe that.

  Since when had she been this transparent?

  He was so sure he knew where this was headed it made her want to scream. And simultaneously made her question her sanity. There was just something about the man, and the way he looked at her, that had her questioning herself. Had her questioning the rules she’d laid down for herself long ago...

  She shook her head firmly.

  ‘I’m going to tell Hair and Make-up that it was a misunderstanding and you’re happy to go with the haircut as planned.’

  He nodded sharply.

  She turned to go, but paused at the trailer door.

  ‘You do realise that the kid who threw sticks at the girl he liked in primary school never did get the girl?’

  He laughed, the deep sound making her shiver. ‘Not in my experience.’

  Ruby slammed the door behind her as she left.

  FOUR

  ‘Ruby, can I have a minute?’

  Paul spoke from the hallway, barely poking his head into the busy office. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer—as of course it wasn’t a question—and so half a minute later Ruby was closing the door behind her as she stepped into the producer’s office.

  ‘Yes?’

  Paul was rubbing his forehead, which wasn’t a good sign.

  ‘Are the drivers organised for tomorrow night?’ he asked.

  Paul was attending the premiere of his latest film in Sydney. Both Dev and Arizona would also be walking the red carpet—a bit of extra attention for that film, plus some early promo for The Land. ‘Of course. All three cars are sorted.’

  As was contractually necessary. Must travel in own car was a pretty standard condition for most actors. Quite the contrast to Ruby, who had driven up to Lucyville with her hire car packed full with everything she owned, Rohan and one of the girls from Accounts. Plus some miscellaneous lighting equipment.

  Paul nodded sharply. ‘Good, good.’

  Then he went silent, allowing Ruby to start dreaming up all the potential reasons why he’d really needed to talk to her.

  Right at the top of that list was Dev.

  ‘So. I hear you had some luck talking Dev around, yesterday.’

  Got it in one.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, far more calmly than she felt. ‘He just needed a little time to understand what was required.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Paul said. ‘As unfortunately neither his agent or I are having much luck making him understand that he signed a contract that specified he walk the red carpet at this premiere. He’s refusing to go.’

  Of course he was.

  Ruby bit back a sigh. ‘I don’t think I’d have any more chance of talking him around than you would.’

  ‘I have faith in you.’

  Which meant: Go fix this, Ruby.

  Paul had already reached for his phone, casually moving on to his next production crisis, now that—in his mind at least—this particular issue was sorted.

  So Ruby walked out of his office, down the hallway, outside onto the dusty grass, then all the way across Unit Base to where the opulent, shiny black actors’ trailers that housed Arizona and Dev were situated.

  And knocked, very loudly, on Dev’s door.

  He was, Dev decided, becoming quite accustomed to people being annoyed with him.

  There was Veronica, of course, all but breathing fire across the cellular network whenever she called. Her multiple-times-a-day tirades were exclusively for the benefit of his voicemail, however, as Dev considered Graeme a sufficient conduit for anything that Veronica really needed to know. He figured his agent could hardly complain. She’d planted her security guy/minder/driver/spy—she might as well get her money’s worth.

  Or, more accurately, his money’s worth. As of course that was what all this was about—Veronica’s much-stated concern for him was all about the money. He was her biggest star, and now she was panicking.

  But he felt no guilt. He’d made Veronica very, very rich. He owed her nothing.

  Then there was Graeme. The director. The producer. The rest of the crew. He gave them all just exactly what was needed—whether it be his acting skills, the answer to a question, or simple conversation. But not one skerrick more.

  Then his mother had started calling. In her first voice message, she explained she’d heard on the news that he was in Australia, and was hoping they could catch up.

  He’d meant to call her, but then didn’t. Couldn’t.

  And she’d kept calling, kept leaving polite, friendly messages, that always ended with a soft love you.

  Each call made him feel
like something you’d scrape off your boot, but, as he’d been doing lately, he just shoved that problem aside. To worry about later. Eventually...

  Most likely at three in the morning, when he was so overwhelmed with exhaustion that he could no longer ignore the thoughts that caused him pain.

  He clenched his jaw. No.

  The woman on the other side of his trailer door, she was who he needed to be thinking about. Somehow, randomly, she’d grabbed his attention. With her, he forgot all the other rubbish that was cluttering up his head.

  And she was, unquestionably, very, very annoyed with him.

  He smiled, and walked to the door.

  He opened the door mid-knock, triggering a surprised, ‘Oh!’ and she stumbled a step inside.

  He didn’t step back himself, forcing her to squeeze past him. Not quite close enough for their bodies to touch, but close enough that her clothes brushed against his.

  Yes, he was being far from a gentleman, but no—he didn’t care.

  He found himself craving that flare in Ruby’s gaze, that look she worked so hard to disguise.

  But it was there—this heat between them. He knew it, she knew it—she just needed to get over whatever ridiculous imagined rules she’d created in her head and let the inevitable happen.

  He let the trailer door swing shut behind him and turned to face her. She walked right into the middle of his trailer, in the ‘living’ section of the luxury motorhome. The trailer was practically soundproof, so now they both stood, looking at each other, in silence.

  That didn’t last long.

  ‘I thought I made myself clear,’ she said, frustration flooding her voice, ‘how important my career is to me, and how you have no right to mess with it. To mess with my life.’

  ‘But I haven’t.’

  She blinked. ‘What would you call this? Refusing to attend a premiere that’s in your contract?’

  ‘Have I held up filming? Have I embarrassed you professionally?’

  ‘You will if you don’t go,’ she said simply.

  He smiled. ‘Then you just need to get me to go.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

  ‘Dinner.’

  He hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t planned anything beyond saying no to Paul and seeing what happened next.

  With Ruby there wasn’t a script—things just happened.

  But dinner, suddenly, was the perfectly obvious solution.

  ‘That’s blackmail,’ she said, with bite.

  He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  No, he most definitely was not a gentleman.

  She sighed loudly and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. ‘So if I agree to dinner, you’ll attend the premiere.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘And make you look like a miracle-worker in front of your producer.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I’d rather you’d just gone to the premiere and never brought me into this at all.’ She paused, meeting his gaze.

  Her expression was sharp and assessing. ‘Dinner at that French bistro on Saturday night—you booked that for...whatever this is.’

  Maybe he had? At the time it’d been about riling her up, teasing her, irritating her with the idea he had a date with another woman. Childish, but he hadn’t had a plan. Not consciously, anyway.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, because he knew she’d hate that answer.

  ‘God, you’re so, so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

  He didn’t bother replying. Instead he walked past her, then settled himself onto one of the small navy-blue couches. ‘Why don’t you take a seat? We can work out the details of our date.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said, very crisply. ‘I need to get back to the office. I don’t have time during my workday to waste on this. Call me later. Or even better, email me. More efficient.’

  Lord, he liked her. So direct. So to the point.

  She spun on her booted heel, then paused mid-spin.

  ‘So this is your way of maintaining your one-hundred-per-cent never-rejected perfect score or something?’

  ‘You can think of it that way if you like.’

  She groaned. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’

  Considering he’d just achieved exactly what he wanted, he didn’t consider it necessary to reply to this question either.

  She continued her exit, but at the door she, just as he expected, had to deliver a final parting shot. Just as she had yesterday.

  ‘You know what, Mr Cooper? Everything I’d heard about you before this week was good. Glowing even. Everyone likes you. Everyone loves to work with you. So, I reckon you must really be a great actor. Because, quite frankly, I don’t think you’re a very nice person.’

  This time he had no pithy retort, so he just let her go.

  After all, she was partly right. Right now he didn’t feel like the Dev that everyone liked, as she said. The Dev that loved his job and that was beloved of many a film crew. The Dev with a million friends and a lifestyle that most could only dream of.

  Right now he didn’t know what type of person he was at all.

  Ruby had laid out every single item of clothing she owned on her motel-room bed. Not just the clothing she’d brought with her for this film—everything she owned.

  Years ago she’d got into the routine of selling her clothes before departing for a job overseas—eBay was brilliant for that purpose—rather than lugging it with her across the world.

  She’d always thought it rather a flawless plan. She had a keen eye for an online shopping bargain, so she was rarely out of pocket, and, more importantly, she had the perfect excuse to buy an entirely new, season-appropriate wardrobe every six months or so.

  The rare occasions she did date, it was always between films, so having a favourite, guaranteed-to-feel-awesome-in outfit was not really all that essential. She knew well in advance if she had a premiere to attend, so she could plan ahead—and besides, the full-length formal gowns were really only for the talent at those events, not the crew.

  So. Consequently here she was, hands on hips—and not far from putting her head in her hands—with absolutely nothing to wear on her date with Dev.

  It was tempting, really, really tempting, to rock up for her date in jeans and a ratty old T-shirt. So her clothing choice would make a very obvious statement about how she felt about the whole situation.

  But, unfortunately, she just couldn’t.

  Turned out she was—much to her despair—incapable of being truly cool, and strong, and defiant. In this way, at least. Nope. Just as she’d been agonising over her clothing choices for work each day, she wanted to look her best on Saturday night.

  Yes, it was pathetic. Yes, it didn’t say a lot for her that, despite Dev’s ridiculous manipulating of her and their situation, she still felt her body react at even the thought of him. And when they were together...well.

  But then, he was basically the sexiest man on earth. She shouldn’t be too hard on herself. Surely she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t wonder...

  It was just a little galling to realise that she—who did know better—could still be distracted by looks over personality. As, really, there wasn’t a whole lot about Devlin Cooper for her to like right now.

  A long time ago, the Devlin Coopers of the world had been her type. Not that she had a life populated with movie stars, but at high school she’d gone for the captain of the footy team. And the captain of the tennis team. And the very charismatic head boy who every girl had been in love with. Then once she left school, it was the sexy bartender. Or the hot lawyer who ordered a latte every morning at the café where she worked. Or the son of the owner of the café. And...and, and, and...

  She’d search out the hottest guy, the most popular guy, the guy who was the absolute least attainable for a girl like her—the rebellious foster child, abandoned by her teenage mother, with a reputation a mile long.

  And then she would make it her mission to get him.

  It was all about her goal, her goal to
get the guy, to have him want her—her—Ruby Bell, who was nobody. Not popular, not unpopular. Not the prettiest, not the least attractive. And when she got him—and she nearly always did—she had that night, or nights, or maybe only a few hours, where she got to feel beautiful and desirable and valued and wanted.

  But of course that feeling didn’t last. She—and her temporary value—was inevitably dropped. She’d hurt and cry and feel just as worthless as she had before that perfect, gorgeous guy had kissed her.

  Then the cycle would start again.

  Ruby’s eyes stung, and she realised she was on the verge of tears. Another memory—one that came later—was threatening, right at the edges of her subconscious.

  But she wasn’t going there—not tonight, and not because of Dev.

  What was important was that she’d turned her life around. Never again would she need a man to make her feel alive—to feel worthy. Never again would she be sweet, and obliging and void of any opinion purely for the attention and approval of another person.

  And never again would she be the girl that was whispered about. Who walked into a room only to have the men study her with questions in their eyes—and the women with daggers in theirs.

  She’d grown up in a swirl of gossip and speculation, and her adult life had begun that way too—and way too early.

  The sad thing was, at first she’d actually liked the attention. She wasn’t the shy girl at the back of the classroom, she was a girl who people talked about, who people noticed. Suddenly everyone knew her name.

  Maybe at first she’d fuelled the gossip. She’d been increasingly outrageous, telling herself she was in control, inwardly laughing at the people who looked at her with such disdain.

  But at some point the power had shifted.

  Or maybe she’d just never had any power at all.

  Now she was all grown up. She was twenty-nine years old. She no longer needed anyone to validate her. She no longer harboured a fear it had taken her years to acknowledge—that if her mother hadn’t wanted her, then maybe no one ever would. In men and their fleeting attention she’d received the attention and the wanting she’d so badly craved.