Hollywood Dirt Read online

  “Did anyone ever teach you manners?” I stood up from the stool. “Or niceties?”

  “Niceties will get you screwed in this business.” She came out from behind the camera and crossed her arms. Stared at me without flinching.

  “Glad to know I’m not the only one she hates.”

  Both of us turned at the voice, a low one, thick and masculine. Cole. Of course. The last thing this equation needed if Brecken wanted me to relax. He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut. Walked up to the monitor and looked at the still image. I did one of the Brecken UnAllowed Actions and chewed on my fingernail. She cleared her throat and he did what I hoped he wouldn’t do. Reached down and pressed a key on the board, my hesitant voice coming through the speakers and I winced as I stumbled through Brecken’s question, my response filled with enough Ums to drown a cat. He hit another button and the carnage stopped. “How long have you been working?”

  “Three hours,” Brecken oh-so-helpfully supplied.

  “Grab some lunch.” He nodded toward the door. Brecken didn’t move. “Go. I’ll work with her for a while.”

  Oh no. No no no nonononono. I pushed off the stool and onto my feet. “I haven’t eaten either.”

  “We’re making some progress,” Brecken jumped in. “You should have seen the first takes.” She didn’t move from her spot and I felt the immature desire to hide behind the woman I’d cursed all morning. Even she was better than him. His eyes laughing at me, a hundred opportunities for him to pick at me later.

  “Not enough progress.” His voice had taken a hard turn, and she yielded, giving a tight nod and walking past the camera, her frame stooping as she reached for her purse. Then the door opened, she walked out, and it was just the two of us.

  “Do you need a sandwich?” His eyes were level and steady on mine, his features quiet, giving no sign to the psyche underneath.

  “No. I’m fine.” Despite my failed attempt to join Brecken for lunch, I couldn’t imagine eating, not right now, with the current state of my stomach—one rolling ball of knots.

  He reached over and flicked off a panel of switches, and half the lights on me went dark. I was still standing, before my stool, and I stepped back a pace, my heel hitting the leg, and I pushed myself back onto the metal seat.

  “I’m going to turn off the camera.” He reached up and pressed a handful of buttons, his hands sure, familiarity showing as he moved aside the cart and then grabbed an extra stool, sitting down in front of me, the front of his jeans tight as his knees spread, his posture relaxed, and his hands hung loose and clasped before him. “What have you guys worked on so far?”

  “Just answering questions and then reviewing it on…” I pointed to the monitors and tried to think of how Brecken had referred to them. “The screen,” I finally said.

  “Did she go over jargon, wordage and abstractions?” His voice was mild and I rubbed my hands on the front of my jeans. I should have washed them prior to wearing them. They were too stiff, too scratchy.

  “Umm ... probably. It’s all starting to run together.”

  “You don’t have to worry about jargon. You’re Southern, that’s okay. We don’t need you to sound like something you’re not.”

  “She said I can’t say y’all.” One rule I could remember, only because I seemed to break it frequently.

  He shrugged. “You can say y’all. Maybe not when you’re promoting a sci-fi thriller, but right now, that’s fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “Wordiness, though, for you, might be a problem.” He leaned forward. “Rambling. Don’t ramble.”

  “Yeah.” I winced. “I do that.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll work on it.”

  “You don’t need to. I mean—you’re busy. I can work with Brecken on it.” I nodded enthusiastically, like she was my new best friend.

  He ignored the comment. “Abstractions are another thing you don’t have to worry about right now. But the verbal fillers, the ‘you knows’ and ‘uhhs’—”

  “I know. And the fidgeting and the touching of my hair and blinking too much—” I stopped talking before my voice showed the thin ledge of hysteria where I sat. I looked away, focusing on a sweater that hung off a lighting rig. It was cold in there, without the additional lights. Maybe I could borrow it. Another layer between Cole and I seemed like a good idea.

  He stood up and reached between his legs, grabbing the stool and dragging it closer. When he sat back down, there were only a few feet between us. “Summer. Look at me.”

  I did. It was hard not to, when he was that close. And God, he was gorgeous. So much so that it hurt, like staring at the sun, the pull of attraction so sharp and dangerous that it physically hurt my heart. It was staring at something you could never have but desperately wanted, despite any sense to the contrary, despite any danger that accompanied the attraction.

  “Forget the rules and ask me a question.”

  That distracted me from his beauty and I lifted my eyes off the perfect curve of his jaw and to his eyes. “A question from the list?” After three hours, I knew Brecken’s twenty questions by heart.

  He shrugged. “Any question. Anything you want.”

  “Are you in pain?” Any question. I had any question in the world and where that one came from, I had no idea. If I’d expected it, I might have looked away, might have given him a chance to react privately. But I wasn’t expecting the words to leave my lips and so I was there, staring at him, when the blow hit. There wasn’t much of an impact. His eyes dimmed a little, green irises going a little dark, his neck contracting as he swallowed. “From her leaving… I mean. I just…” I finally was able to look away. “You don’t seem that upset.”

  “Don’t ramble. Be concise.” He touched the edge of my knee to catch my attention. “And don’t look away. That indicates shame.”

  Shame. No joke. I was ashamed. It was way too personal of a question for me to ask.

  “Nadia and I were together for a long time. Anytime you lose someone who has been a part of your life for that long, it hurts. But I think that this was for the best. She’s happier in her new relationship and that’s what I want. Her to be happy.” He gave a small smile, lifting one shoulder in a shrug of resignation. I felt a sudden urge to comfort him, was about to reach forward when he straightened, his posture changing. “That’s what I would say, if a reporter asked. It puts me on the high road and subtly turns everyone against her.”

  “Is it true?” Another personal question. It was like I had to chase down this dog until it died.

  “No.” Now he looked away. “I feel very… odd about Nadia.” His words came out slowly, as if he was weighing each word and recording its worth. “I feel… stupid. I feel taken advantage of. I feel very, very off balance.” His head lifted, and his eyes returned to me. “I don’t know if pain would be the word I would use.”

  I swallowed. “I like that answer better.”

  His mouth curved. “So would the press. The truth is always more interesting. It’s also much more dangerous.” He didn’t move, but I swear, from just the way he looked at me, that he’d gotten closer. “Did you feel like you are closer to me now? Knowing that?”

  “Yes.”

  “If the public knows you, Summer, they will destroy you. They can’t help themselves. They love our weaknesses so much, it causes them to latch on, to dig deeper, to feast and pillage on our exposures until the moment when we, as people—me as Cole, you as Summer—are gone. And the only thing left is what they want to see.”

  It sounded terrible. I had been worried about looking stupid. Not losing myself. I swallowed, his next words pushing my anxiety even higher.

  “My turn.” He rubbed his bottom lip, his other hand tucked under his elbow and looked at me. His turn. I’d been so personal with my question. What would he ask me? Probably how many men I’d slept with.

  My bra size.

  My favorite sexual position.

  My—

  “Who is your fa
vorite actor?”

  My mind stuttered. “My favorite actor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like… to date? Or who I respect?”

  He shrugged. “Both.”

  Five months ago I’d have rattled off his name without hesitation. Not as the actor I respected the most, that honor would have to go to an older man. But as the actor I found the most attractive… Cole Masten had always held that spot in my mind. Always. He was everyone’s gold standard, the photo first in Google Results when you keyed in ‘heartthrob.’

  “Ummm…” His eyes sharpened and I cleared my throat. “As far as actors I respect…” I swallowed. Brecken had told me, whenever I felt the urge to say a filler word, to swallow. Take a breath. Or a sip of water. “Jake Gyllenhaal. He was really strong in Nightcrawler. And Christoph Waltz. And… Tom Hanks.”

  “Interesting list.” He nodded at me to go on.

  “As far as actors I find attractive… maybe Chris Pratt?” I don’t know why I gave my answer in the form of a question.

  Cole’s brow furrowed. “Chris Pratt?” he repeated.

  “Yes. The guy from Parks and Recreation? He… he was really hot in Jurassic World.”

  Cole’s mouth twitched. “Anyone else?”

  I tried to think of someone, anyone who was as opposite from Cole as possible. “Jonah Hill,” I blurted out.

  Cole tilted his head, my explanation rushing out before his question came. “He’s very talented. And smart. I like that in a man.”

  “And he’s fat,” Cole said flatly. “You have all of Hollywood to choose from, and Jonah Hill is your choice.”

  “He’s not… he’s cuddly.”

  “And that’s what you want? A cuddly guy?”

  I raised my chin. “I answered your question.”

  “Yes, you did.” He got off the stool and walked back to the wall, flipping back on the lights. Halogen and hot, their glare unsettling. “With only one ‘umm.’ Let’s go through a few more with the lights, then we’ll turn the camera back on.”

  “Don’t you have other stuff to do? This doesn’t exactly seem to be something you need to waste your time on.” I needed him out of there. He was too close, too casual. Just the two of us, now brightly lit by lights… it was too much.

  “Is that your next question?” He settled down on the stool and kicked out a leg, resting the sole of his shoe on my stool and just like that, we were connected. I looked up from his leg.

  “No.” I had another question, one waiting in the wings, one that had been pushing at my brain for three weeks and now, in this empty room, with his smart mouth quiet, his eyes on me… now was the only time I might ever be able to ask it. “I have a different question.”

  “So ask it.” His voice had deepened, like he knew what was coming, all humor out of it, and I braced myself for his answer, my hands together, in between my thighs and gripping at the edge of the stool.

  “Were you telling the truth? When you said I was a bad kisser?”

  CHAPTER 53

  Oh, what an innocent, naïve question. Someone shouldn’t put themselves out there like that. Show their insecurities. Show that you cared enough about a man’s opinion to ask a question like that. She had showed up, the morning after that kiss, all bubbly energy and friendliness. He’d been convinced, right then, that she had gotten over his snipe. Had been certain that he’d been the only one to carry that moment around. Dwell on it. Fester on it.

  But here, in the hunch of her shoulders, the gentle drop of her vowels, the hurt was still present, the moment not forgotten.

  “Do you want the industry answer or the truth?” He asked the question to buy time, valuable seconds needed because he had no idea how to answer. No idea what to say that didn’t lay him bare or give her an opening. She couldn’t have an opening. Right now, he needed his heart packaged in bubble wrap and locked behind six feet of steel. Half because it was a condition of DeLuca’s representation. Half because DeLuca’s reasoning was right.

  “The truth.” She said the words simply and he could see her spine when it found its strength, steeling against whatever was to come, her shoulders sliding back, chin coming up. She was such a paradox. In some ways, the strongest woman he’d ever met, her fire and spite and self-sufficiency clear and defined. In other ways, she was the softest, most vulnerable. She put herself too far out there, felt too strongly, would love too fiercely, give too freely, her actions a roadmap to destruction that would one day kill that spirit. His instinct to protect that spirit, to strengthen her defenses… he both wanted to throw her to the wolves and lock her away in a castle, all at the same time. It was an inner struggle that would drive any man mad. It was an inner struggle that, right then, he didn’t need to be dealing with.

  He let his foot drop from her stool, and its impact with the floor was loud but she didn’t jump. Maybe because Brecken had actually taught her something. Or maybe because she’d been expecting it all along. He stood and fought the urge to lean forward, to rest his hands on her thighs and kiss her, right there, in a way that left no doubt as to her effect on him.

  Instead, he picked up the stool and gave her the only thing he could manage. Two letters. “No.”

  “No?” She shot back the word quickly, her brow rising, the word a challenge between them.

  “Don’t ramble. Be concise,” he reminded her.

  “Is be evasive also a rule?” She was on her feet, coming after him, and damn, she wasn’t going to let this go.

  “Actually yes. Anytime you can be evasive, you should.” He set the stool against the wall where he had gotten it and she stared at it, her eyes narrowing when she turned back.

  “You always run when put in the corner, City Boy?”

  “I’m not running. I have other things to do. As you just pointed out.” He flicked off the lights and reached for the handle, her grip tight when it grabbed his forearm.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped, turning to her despite his better judgment, his features masked, any emotion hidden behind two decades of practice. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.” She blushed, her hands pushing into her back pockets. “It sounds really stupid but I needed to know that. It’s just… you know. Been a while.”

  “Since you were kissed?” No, no. She hadn’t meant that. She had been referring to the compliment. Only… the moment his incredulous words fell out, he knew that they were right. It had been a while since she had been kissed.

  How was that possible? Didn’t everyone in these small towns just fuck and farm? How, with her looking like that, with her being like she was, had she not been kissed every day, multiple times, suitors lining up around the block like dominoes waiting to be knocked over? And how long was a while?

  Her eyes flicked up, and there was a moment of petulance in her face before it smoothed over. “Thanks for helping,” she said stiffly.

  “I’ll talk to Casey, Brecken’s boss. See if we can keep you away from the press.”

  “Because I’m terrible.” She said the insult almost cheerfully.

  “Without sugar coating, yes. You’re too rough right now.”

  She nodded, stepping back from him, and he almost followed her. “So… I can go. No more media training?”

  “For now. Have you met with your acting coach?”

  “He comes in next week. I thought it was this week, but—”

  Cole waved off the explanation. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about the acting. It won’t be like the media bits. Those are live, so you only get one shot. The acting we can do over a hundred times. And the lines, your role… you just have to be yourself.”

  “But that’s all media training is. Being myself.” There was a thread of panic in her voice and he looked back over his shoulder, his escape interrupted, this last sentence too valuable to ignore.

  “No Country. In Hollywood, off camera, you can’t be yourself. You can’t be weak, you can’t be honest, and you can’t be genuine. Not if you want to survive.”


  “So what does that make you?”

  Her eyes were on him when she asked the question, her tone quiet, unaccusing, the words hanging in the space between them. Then he turned, stepping into the hall and pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

  He had a million answers to that question, yet even he couldn’t sort the bullshit from the truth.

  CHAPTER 54

  ONE WEEK LATER

  That day, on that driveway, he should’ve gotten Summer the cell phone. Thrown her over his shoulder and then into the passenger seat of his truck. Buckled her in and driven into town. He shouldn’t have let her get him worked up and mad; he shouldn’t have let that moment of possible productivity pass. Now, that error was raising its head, her line ringing busy. Cole stood at his kitchen counter, the cordless phone in hand, and tried the line again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “Did you get her?” Don walked into the kitchen, a pen stuck behind his ear, a stack of pages in hand.

  Cole turned, suddenly reminded of the real reason for his call to her. To get her over there. They needed to go over these script changes, to get her on the same page so that she would be ready to film. “No,” he muttered. “Her line isn’t working.” He hung the phone on its cradle. “I’ll just run over there and grab her.”

  Don glanced at his watch. “Fine. But I’m about to hop on a call with Eileen to go over the latest budget. You want to wait, join us on that call, and then head over there?”

  “No.” Cole bent down and held out a cracker, trying to get Cocky to grab it. “You take the call, I’ll go get her.”

  Cocky ignored him, strutting toward the living room, half the skin on his back exposed, pink showing between the white feathers. Cole had been panicked at first, heading to the local vet before he pulled over and consulted google. Turns out it is normal, the loss of chick fuzz while the real feathers came in. But even half-bald and gangly, he was a beautiful bird, and would be even more so once his plumage came in. According to Google, that would start to happen in the next few weeks.