MOVIE STAR Read online

  “It’s a weekday and there’s no A list special events.” Nikki makes a quick left onto a residential street. “Traffic’s a freaking nightmare during weekends, spring break, and award season.”

  “Which leaves what kind of window?”.

  “Tonight.”

  I laugh. The car’s engine purrs as we climb a hill passing houses anchored on stilts deep into steep mountainsides. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, my gaze alternating between the imposing mansions and the twinkling lights of the Sunset Strip below.

  “If you like your dose of beautiful with bling, bright lights and hoopla.”

  “On occasion, I do.” I wonder if the people on the Strip need to take a break. Go to their own version of a Wisconsin lake house, dip their toes in gunky green lake water. Reboot. That’s what I should be doing right now. Taking a vacation at a little cabin at the end of a dirt lane surrounded by woods, backed up onto a lake. I’m lucky that the lodge’s proprietor kept my down payment, and graciously bumped the date because they were able to fill the slot. If only Mom was that forgiving.

  I’m bummed I have to delay my vacation but I don’t regret it. I open my bag and pull out the packet on Jake Keller. There is something about his picture that calls to me. Something haunted in his face, his eyes that makes me want to be his guardian. His warrior princess. I already wonder about his core wound. What shut him down.

  Movie Star Jake Keller is the reason I am here in L.A. He’s thirty-seven years old, a successful A list actor, banked ten million on his last starring role. He’s starring in a new movie and getting early Oscar buzz. But he’s shut down. He’s not taking meetings. He’s not campaigning for the award that could cement his career. His support team is freaking out.

  I flip through a few of his photos. He’s ridiculously handsome in that doesn’t- work-too-hard-for-it way. A slow burn simmers in his brown eyes and a grin plays at the corner of his upper lip. His body is hot. Ripped shoulders. Defined muscles. Narrow waist. Washboard abs. Tight ass.

  ‘Oh, come on, Evie,’ my negative voice, Queasy says, rolling over in my stomach with a disturbing thunk that makes me wince. ‘Pictures of actors are photo-shopped. No one’s that ridiculously hot.’

  He is that hot, I silently insist.

  ‘In your dreams,’ Queasy says.

  “Any questions I can answer before we get to Jake’s place?” Nikki asks.

  “If you’re offering I’m not about to say no.” I rifle through more documents. “What did they tell you about me?”

  “Pinkie Stein said you’re some kind of consultant brought in to help Jake with his anxiety.”

  “That sounds about right,” I say. “Pinkie was quoted in a tabloid as saying he wasn’t attending events because he was ‘floating.’ What does she mean by that?”

  “She’s his PR person,” Nikki says. “She distracts. She’s an expert at smoke and mirrors.”

  “Got it,” I say. In the picture clipped to her page on the document she sports shimmery champagne blonde hair with pink, blue, and green highlights, plump collagen enhanced lips, and a heart as big as Kansas sunshine. She looks about ten years older than Jake. “Do you like Pinkie?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Nikki says. “She was with Jake before he hit the big leagues. She’ll probably be with him in forty years after he disappears from it.”

  “A weird question.” I say. If Nikki’s honest with me it’ll save me time and I’ll feel it in my gut.

  “Shoot.”

  “Friend or foe?”

  “Friend.”

  Queasy’s silent for a change meaning her answer rings true in my gut. I’ve got a friend in Nikki and probably one in Pinkie Stein. “Pinkie’s in love with Jake, right?”

  “Def,” Nikki says. “But she has no illusions. No problems ‘sharing’ her imaginary ‘husband’ with you if she likes you. Just don’t get drunk with her at a party. You’ll hop a red-eye on a dare and end up in Cabo sipping Bloody Mary’s lying next to an infinity pool overlooking the ocean while muscular men massage you.”

  “Heaven. What about Adam Bachman?”

  “Jake’s producing partner?”

  “Yup.”

  “High strung.” Nikki turns the car left onto a side street, the engine kicking into a different gear as we climb a steeper road.

  I’ve already researched Adam Bachman and so far, Nikki’s two for two.

  “Drama follows Adam around like baby flies nursing on a tit of shit,” she says.

  “The polar opposite of Pinkie.”

  “Understatement,” Nikki says, her voice rising to a falsetto. “‘Jake! Hollywood Reporter called! Jake! Vanity Fair wants an interview and a photoshoot. Jacob! Why are you doing this to me?’”

  I stifle giggles. “Are you an actress?”

  “Kind of. Well, I used to be, but not anymore.”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “Loved it. Just wasn’t in the cards.”

  “You’d be surprised what’s in the cards,” I say.

  “The cards are over-rated.”

  ‘The kid’s sweet, but she’s not your client.’ Queasy rumbles. ‘Pick your battles.’

  “What about Jake’s agent, Ray Stark?”

  “Mr. I Don’t Give A Fuck, Make it Happen Ray Stark?”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m one of the little people,” she says. “I don’t even blip on Ray Stark’s radar.”

  The Santa Monica mountains stretch in front of us as she turns another corner. We wind up a thinner lane filled with short driveways ending in large, but discrete garages, the houses built behind them perched on canyon hills on stilts that anchor them into the bedrock. My ears pop.

  Nikki three point turns the black Jeep and parks adjacent to a Spanish styled house, its driveway already filled with a collection of Ferraris, Porsches and a few clunkers. Benzes and Land Rovers line the street. “Home sweet, home,” she says opening my door.

  “In the future? You don’t need to wait on me.” I slip her a hundred.

  “Oh, but I do,” she says. “The one time I didn’t I never heard the end of it.”

  “Jake gave you a rough time?” I love helping troubled souls. I’m not all that keen, however, on spending a month max, let alone a night, with a dick. “Is Jake Keller an asshole to you?”

  “Good God, no.” Nikki pops the trunk and pulls out my bags. “He’s a great guy. Total yumsicle.” She carts my bags to a door within the garage. She punches in a code into a keypad and a lock clicks open.

  “Okay.” I follow her into the tidy three car garage, two motorcycles, a couple of dirt bikes, and a golf cart parked on the far end. Muffled pop music throbs through the walls. “Jake golfs?”

  “I think he does it to please his friends,” she says, leading me to a door. Hot dance tunes hit us, blasting from a high-end sound system. Camillo Cabello wails from the loudspeakers as we enter through the laundry room and suddenly find ourselves in the middle of a party.

  Nikki’s wheeling both my bags, navigating around stacked cases of water and beer. One of my bags smacks into a laundry basket on the floor and she struggles to yank it free.

  “Let me help,” I say and take one from her. We make our way into the kitchen It’s suddenly noisier and a lot more crowded because we’re smack dab in the middle of a party.

  “Hey,” a man says. “I’ll carry those.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But we’ve got this.”

  “It’s my house,” he says. “At the end of the day I decide who carries what in my house.”

  I turn and see the reason why I am here.

  Jake Keller.

  4

  Magic Touch

  MAGIC TOUCH

  I’ve been in the room with my fair share of powerful, dynamic tycoons. But star power sizzles off Jake Keller like sparklers on the 4th of July and suddenly the floor feels a little shaky under my feet. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “That’s awfully bossy of you,” Nikki says.

 
“That’s awfully normal of me,” Jake says.

  “Since when have you been normal, dork?” Nikki asks.

  “Since always, dorkette.”

  If these two aren’t siblings they should be.

  I search for sensations, clues, empathic reactions to my latest client, but my stomach is not clenching in guilt, my heart not racing in fear. Except for the excitement from the pretty sparklers I’m getting nothing and it throws me.

  Is there something wrong with me? Am I damaged from last night’s violation?

  ‘Don’t go down the ‘There must be something wrong with Me’ road,’ Hope says.

  ‘You just got here. Shake this shit off,’ Queasy says. ‘Focus on something positive.’

  I center myself because Hope and Queasy are right. I focus on the positive, which is right in front of me. Jake’s just as handsome in person as he is in his pictures. He sports dimples a girl longs to run a finger over. His slow burn eyes linger with curiosity on my face. His lips quirk into his signature million dollar smile but this time that smile’s directed at me. God help me, now my body’s reacting like a teenager’s.

  “You must be Evelyn,” he says.

  “I am.” I extend my hand. His grip is firm, his palm warm. “Call me Evie.”

  “Jake Keller. Good to meet you. Thanks for traveling from Chicago.” He commandeers my bags. “Follow me.”

  “Sure thing,” I say and can’t help but notice how his jeans fit his ass – all snug and deliriously happy to be close to him.

  Nikki shoves back a grin. “Busted!”

  “Sorry!” I say. “I’ve always wondered – real? Or photo-shopped?”

  “He works out a lot.” She whispers behind a raised hand as Jake makes his way through the kitchen, skirting around the beautiful people who pretend that they are minding their own business when it’s pretty obvious that the only business they are minding is Jake’s. “I bet that’s all his. No ass implants.”

  “Stop talking about my ass with everyone you meet, Nikki,” he says without turning around. “You’re going to give Evie the wrong impression. You’re off the clock.”

  She frowns. “Oh, come on –”

  “I mean it. Go. Brandt keeps asking about you. Something about a ‘friendly’ game of pool. He’s telling the guys that he’s going to kick your itty-bitty girl ass.”

  “Brandt likes to brag,” she says. “Bragging makes up for his itty-bitty boy dick.”

  I cough and slap a hand over my mouth.

  “Ha,” Jake says. “Be gone, Nikki.”

  “If you need anything, text,” Nikki says to me. “I not only work for Casa Keller, I hang here too.”

  “Will do,” I say. “Thanks.”

  Jake beckons me to follow him. “Tell me about your trip.”

  “Uneventful,” I say.

  “Don’t you love when that happens?”

  “I do.”

  We make our way through the kitchen past a gaggle of scantily-attired, overly made up women probably my age, even though they act a million years younger. They pose, smile, and take selfies next to a built in shelf loaded with gilded statues, plaques, and awards.

  “You probably already know how this works,” he says.

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Why don’t you explain it to me?” I follow him through a hallway, past a large family room filled with leather furniture, a billiards table, a few TVs high on the walls, and a carved wooden bar in the corner next to a jukebox.

  “There’s a party going on tonight. Nothing big. Nothing fancy. I’m pulling suitcases with raspberry stripes on the top. Definitely not my luggage. You’re pretty, a new face at Casa Keller and that makes you mysterious. I’ll guarantee you rumors are already spreading faster than a video of a fat cat grooming a litter of baby raccoons.”

  “Got it,” I say.

  “People will ask you questions that seem innocent but they’re about as harmless as Odysseus gifting the Trojan horse.”

  “I should be careful?”

  “Yup.”

  His eyes are soft. Curious. They hold a certain sweetness.

  “One more thing,” he says.

  “Yes?” I stare up into his eyes. The same eyes that looked down at that girl in the rain on the big screen before he kissed her, and for a few heartbeats I totally get how she must have felt. Wanted. Needed. Special.

  “My ass is one hundred percent real.”

  I bust out laughing, and snort before I recover. “Good to know.”

  He grins back at me. “Come on.” He leads me through back corridors, passing people tossing back shots, laughing, nibbling from small plates of food, and schmoozing.

  “Don’t you need to hang out with them?” I ask.

  “Nope.” He leads me past a living room with vaulted ceilings and a brilliant chandelier.

  “Hey Jake,” a familiar looking metro guy calls out from across the room. “Someone here I want you to meet.”

  “In a bit Adam,” he hollers over the music. “You’re my perfect excuse to not be with them. I’m busy because I have a VIP in from out of town.”

  “That’s sweet.” My cheeks grow warm. “Please don’t stop yourself from work or play because of me.”

  “If you weren’t here I’d be in hiding.”

  “Do you always hide during parties?”

  “For the most part – yes. I don’t throw the parties. Adam, or one of the guys throws them. It’s a never-ending arsenal of ideas to cheer me up.”

  He walks in the direction of a gaggle of pretty girls in a mirrored hallway who frantically preen while pretending to ignore him. “You and I never talked before my agent hired you.”

  “Is that awkward for you?”

  “Not really,” he says.

  Out of nowhere it feels like a knife rips into my stomach. I trip over my own feet, catch myself, and recover all in a breath, but Jake notices.

  “Tired?”

  “A little,” I say. I identify the sensation. Jealousy’s stabbing me and it’s coming from the cluster of girls we’re approaching. I try to ignore the sensations. A petite blond juts her hip, a curvy redhead thrusts out her boobs. They’re too busy preening to give a rat’s ass about me.

  The stabbing envy’s coming from the brunette in the black miniskirt who tosses her hair and glares at me like I kidnapped her puppy. If looks could kill I’d be laid out on the floor bleeding out right now.

  ‘She’s not a bad girl,’ Hope says, ‘Just thirsty. Say a prayer that she finds happiness.’

  ‘Will do.’ The thirsty brunette doesn’t know I’m only here for a few weeks. Hanging out with Jake is work for me.

  ‘Perhaps Thirsty can inch her mini-skirt a little higher during the next party,’ Queasy says. ‘Maybe that’ll grab Jake’s attention. Get rid of her negativity.’

  I take a breath, push the brunette’s petty viciousness out of my body, and lob it back in her direction. She slaps her neck like a mosquito bit her.

  “Let’s cover the basics,” Jake says.

  “Okay.”

  “How long are you staying for?”

  “Mr. Stark retained my services for a month.”

  “You going to help me heal?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “They all say that.”

  “They?”

  “The experts that Ray hires.”

  “I’m not your one and only?” I bat my eyelashes theatrically, curious about the others.

  “Sadly, no Bambi. You might however be the cutest. You ever get retained for a month but then finish the job early?”

  “All the time. You on a tight schedule?”

  “I don’t know what I’m on anymore. Everything got turned around about six months ago.”

  “What happened six months ago?”

  He ignores my question. “What if the job goes longer?”

  “Mr. Stark can contact Madame Marchand at Ma Maison.”

  “Did Nikki give you the house rules?”

&nb
sp; “No,” I say, hoping it’s the basics. Shower daily. Get dressed. Eat. Sleep. Let him buy me something expensive and pretty. Show me off to his friends. Most likely sleep with him at some point in time to help him heal. Hey – he’s Jake Keller. I’d be a fool to complain.

  “You need anything, ask,” Jake says.

  “Got it.”

  “You want to go anywhere,” Jake says. “Nikki or one of the guys will drive you.”

  “Got it. Did Mr. Stark tell you anything about me? Like what I do? How I do it?”

  “Nope. Just said he was bringing in another specialist. I’m starting to feel like an alien on the dissection table behind the triple locked door at the secret government facility.”

  “Your house is warm. Comfy,” I say. “Not exactly a secret government facility.”

  “You just got here. You’ve never been to the basement.”

  “Besides alien dissection, what kind of government things go down in your basement?”

  “Meetings,” he says and keeps walking.

  “What kind of meetings?”

  “The usual. Diplomacy. Foreign affairs. Who’s coming to town. The Chinese, the Koreans. A man walks past carrying a paint bucket and a few brushes. He waves to Jake. “The painters,” Jake adds. “Food’s in the kitchen, Jose. Help yourself.”

  “Gracias, Señor Keller.”

  “De nada,” he says.

  “The Painters?” I ask

  “Yup. Don’t let his simple attire deceive you. He’s an important liaison.”

  “I see. The government’s thinking about painting the secret facility a different color?”

  “Nikki suggested a rainbow.”

  “Nikki’s sweet. Are you two…”

  “Friends,” Jake says. “She’s the little sister I never had. She needs to get a life. I keep throwing guys in front of her but none stick. She needs to find a nice guy, get married, and get out of this business.”

  “The business of… working for you?”

  “Hollywood,” he says.

  “She said the acting thing didn’t work out.”

  “It hardly ever does. What exactly is it that you do?”

  I almost trip again from the expert misdirect. I recover. “That depends on the client. Everyone’s a little different.”