3. Lex
3
LEX
“S omehow, I have to find a way to make this work,” I concluded, then bolted back the rest of my whiskey. It didn’t do much to ease the resentment that had raged in me ever since I set eyes on Summer Strawbridge earlier.
I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head, no matter how I tried, and I did since the last thing I wanted was to spend my entire day focused on her. I had calls to make, meetings to schedule, permits to obtain. I would need Summer’s list of shooting locations, to say nothing of the whirlwind casting process.
For once, my friends didn’t smirk or bust my balls when I was finished. It was something we made a habit of—the four of us—never taking ourselves or each other too seriously. There were times when they were all that kept me grounded since it was pretty easy in Hollywood to start listening to your own publicity. Good, honest friends like the ones I had managed to find over the years to keep me from making that mistake.
“That fucking sucks.” Travis Knight only shrugged and shook his head. “I wish there was something more to say, really.”
“You have to do it all in six months?” Clayton Manning raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t know anything about the process, but that seems like a tight timeline even to me. I could never open a new restaurant in six months.”
“It’s fucking impossible,” I blurted out, rubbing my temples. “But the whole fucking future of the studio could hang on this. We need something to turn it around.”
“You know, the same shit is going on in so many industries.” Spencer Collins signaled a passing server for more drinks. Her warm, inviting smile was lost on him. He had lived with his girlfriend, Rowan, for the past month after they’d reconnected, and in the process, he had discovered a ten-year-old daughter he never knew he had. The days of him getting his dick wet with some random server were long gone.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, look at my cousin, Connor,” he explained. “Diamond Media is the biggest out there, but they still had to pivot into digital media when print started declining. Other media brands either couldn’t or wouldn’t change their approach, and he wound up buying them out when they failed. You have to be willing to change with the times.”
“The times are changing,” I growled out. “And I get to clean up the mess.”
“You could say no,” Travis pointed out. He was normally the smartass of the group, but now he was serious. “You don’t need to work for the studio. Do your own thing. You have the money, you have connections.”
He was speaking from experience, having built his own shipping business after interning with Spencer’s father years ago. That was where he and Spencer met when their fathers sent them overseas to learn the ropes. Rather than come home and work for his dad, Travis had decided to strike out on his own. Now, he sat at the head of what was rapidly becoming an empire, snowballing faster than even he had ever hoped while somehow raising a kid on his own.
He had a point. Walking away was an option. I had more than enough money to my name, enough to start a studio of my own if I wanted to. But my father’s face floated in front of my mind’s eye, and I wiped that idea away like a marker off a dry-erase board. “I’m not going to walk away,” I decided. “I refuse to let him think I can’t hack it.”
“There’s only one solution, then.” Leaning back in his chair, Clay crossed one ankle over the other knee. “You’ll have to fuck this Summer Strawbridge until she’s too exhausted and sore to put up a fight.”
They burst out into predictable laughter, though I didn’t join them. “Please,” I protested. “Her pussy probably has teeth.”
“Ouch.” Travis winced and made a show of grabbing his crotch, laughing as our fresh drinks arrived. He eyed the server like she was dessert, staring at her tits, eyes glued when she turned away. “Goddamn, that is a glorious ass.”
“You said she’s some artsy, hippie type?” Clay questioned, and I rolled my eyes, starting in on my second drink. “You never know. She could be one of those yoga chicks. Super flexible.”
“That must be how she manages to wedge her head up her ass,” I muttered, making them laugh again. They didn’t get it. They hadn’t met her.
“She’s still a woman,” Spencer insisted. “I’ve seen you melt the panties off a woman at fifty yards. All you have to do is smile.”
“It’s not like that,” I insisted. “She walked in with a chip on her shoulder. The second she set eyes on me, she made up her mind.”
“The way you did?” Spencer cocked an eyebrow.
That was all it took for the fire in my chest to explode into an inferno. “Do me a favor,” I snapped. “Don’t treat me like your kid. Just because you’re getting laid on the regular doesn’t mean you’re an expert all of a sudden.”
“Fuck off.” He laughed. “I’m sorry if the truth hurts, buddy.”
“I’ve got shit to do.” I tossed cash on the table, downing the rest of my drink and slamming the glass back into place. “Good to see you.”
“Come on,” Clay urged. “Don’t be like that.”
It was too late. I was too frustrated and bitter, and the fact that nobody seemed to understand only made it worse. They weren’t there. They hadn’t locked eyes with that woman and realized she was unreachable.
It only hit me once I was behind the wheel of my Maserati that I didn’t feel like going home. It was too early to go home alone, for one thing, but then I didn’t feel like going anywhere to find someone to help me pass a few hours. I wasn’t in the mood. I wouldn’t be good company, either. Granted, there were women who didn’t give a shit about the company so long as the man they were with had enough room on his credit card, but I wasn’t interested in that. Maybe in my younger days, fresh out of school, when I walked around with a perpetual hard-on.
Now, I was the presumed heir to a movie studio. I had an image to uphold.
It seemed like my body had a mind of its own because before I knew it, I was rolling through the gates to Landry International. The studio was quiet, the windows to the offices darkened. A security guard rolled past in a golf cart and lifted a hand, a gesture I returned, pulling into my reserved spot. It wasn’t only Summer I couldn’t get out of my head but the movie itself. The work that had to be done. I had left my laptop in my office and decided now to take it home. If I wasn’t going to spend the night screwing around, I might as well be productive.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with that idea. The small room next to my office was in use, light pouring out from under the closed door. The noise coming from behind the door set the hair at the back of my neck on end. An intruder? What the hell would they be doing in an unused office? They should be in mine or Dad’s.
I marched toward the door, only realizing as I was turning the knob that there could be someone with a weapon on the other side. Too late. I threw the door open, prepared to lay into whoever thought they could sneak around here after hours.
Summer’s sharp gasp pierced the air. She stood bolt upright beside a largemetal desk that now sat in the center of the room. She was flushed, breathless, and her face fell when she noted my presence. “Oh. It’s you. You told me I could have this as my office.”
“How did you think you were going to move this yourself?” I asked, walking over to the opposite end of the desk while she brushed strands of sweat-dampened hair away from her face. “Where do you want it?”
“There.” She pointed to a space in front of the room’s only window, which overlooked the parking lot.
“Right. On my count.” I took firm hold of the desk, and she scrambled to do the same. “One, two, three.” The fucker was heavy. How long had she been trying to inch it across the floor by herself?
“Thank you,” she groaned out once it was in place, wheeling an old office chair behind it and dropping like a rock. “Honestly, I thought I’d never get the thing moved.”
“Do you always have to do everything by yourself?”
“Lately? Yes,” she replied, sighing. “My assistant was going to come over and help me, but she had a family thing to take care of. Her parents live in the Valley,” she explained, running her tanned arm over her forehead to catch the perspiration on her skin.
“Oh. Well, glad I showed up at the right moment.” How awkward was this?
“Why did you come back?” she asked, her brows pinching in confusion.
I had to laugh as I crossed the room, ready to get the hell out of there while we were still getting along. What was it about her that made me so uneasy, unsettled? I only knew I didn’t like it. “A studio boss’ work is never done.”
“But you’re not the boss, are you?” she pointed out. The girl might as well have fired an arrow into my back or a bullet with the power to tear through the goodwill I was trying to foster.
“What is it with you?” I demanded, spinning on my heel in time to watch her mouth fall open. Did she think she could get away with being a smartass indefinitely? That I’d never call her on it? “What’s with the antagonistic attitude?”
“I was joking.”
If anything, the innocent act deepened my rage, heating my blood. “The minute you knew you’d be working with me and not my father, your whole attitude shifted,” I snapped. “I watched it happen, so don’t pretend I don’t know what I’m talking about. What did I do to deserve that? I wanted to start off on the right foot.”
“So did I.” For the first time, there was no argument in her voice. It was soft now, almost regretful. “I didn’t mean to start things off that way. But wouldn’t you be pissed off if you found out there was a bait-and-switch going on? Nobody told me I’d be working with you and not your dad. How would you feel if that was dropped in your lap with no warning?”
“Pretty much the same way I’d feel if a director I wasn’t expecting to work with was dropped in my lap at the last moment,” I admitted, sighing. “We both need this. I wouldn’t normally spill my guts, but it’s the truth, and you deserve to know it.”
She was wary, her eyes narrowed as they looked me up and down. “What do you mean, we both need it? Is this your dad’s way of testing you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s your first movie,” she reminded me with a smirk. “He wants to see if you can pull it off. You have to prove yourself.”
My spine stiffened. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone.”
Her smirk deepened into a grin. “But you want to.”
“It would be nice,” I admitted.
“It would be nice to have your problems. I don’t have the luxury of messing up. I have to prove myself because I’m a woman.”
I was almost too late to stop myself from rolling my eyes. The past few years, I’d been bombarded with stories of how difficult it was for a woman to make it in Hollywood, no matter what career she pursued. I didn’t doubt it, but the song was starting to get a little old after playing on repeat. “It’s more than that, and we both know it,” I reminded her. “You have a reputation. If we’re clearing the air, let’s clear it for good.”
She bristled, and I regretted it, but it was too late to take it back. “Exactly what have you heard about me? Tell me the truth,” she added, like a threat. Like there was anything she could do to retaliate if I lied.
“I heard you’re difficult. I’ve seen that much for myself.” She rolled her eyes, but I continued, “You’re stubborn. You refuse to compromise. When Clyde Harris over at Sunset Pictures asked you to take on an assistant director, you quit the fucking movie. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You know, that is hilarious,” she hissed as color flooded her cheeks. “You honestly believe I’d quit a movie at Sunset because I had to work with an assistant? Do me a favor and give it some serious thought. Does that even make sense?”
I might as well have been standing there without my pants down, completely exposed. How did she manage to make me feel like an ass when I was the one who was supposed to be putting her on the spot? “What are you saying?” I asked, serious now.
She released a shaky breath through her nose, like a bull ready to charge. “I guess good old Clyde forgot to mention the part where he had the conversation with me in his hotel room at the Beverly Hilton. He had asked me up for lunch. It didn’t take long for me to figure out I was on the menu. He wanted to talk about ‘my career.’” She made air quotes with her fingers.
The unimaginative bastard. “What did you do?”
“I quit, obviously,” she snapped. “Not before I had to kick him in the nuts to get him off me.”
My father knew Clyde. They had been friends for years. How many times had I noticed him patting a girl’s ass as she walked past? And there was that Christmas party at Mom and Dad’s when I was a kid, where I watched from the staircase as he emerged from the powder room, followed by a girl who only stared at the floor as she bolted from my parents’ house without saying a word to anyone.
“What?” she challenged. “You don’t want to believe it? I bet the good guy would never do anything like that, right?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” I warned, and something about my tone snapped her mouth shut and wiped the sarcastic sneer from her face. “I believe you. And I’m sorry that happened. Really. You never have to worry about that here, though if anybody pulls any shit with you, I want you to let me know immediately. Do you understand?”
Her eyelids fluttered, and her cheeks went pink, but she nodded slowly.
“I guess that’s where your reputation came from, then?” I asked, regretting that I threw it in her face.
“Not completely. You mentioned wanting to work with Eric Danvers.” For the first time, her gaze darted away from me. It had the strangest effect. It was like being released from some sort of spell that had held me in place. “I’ve worked with Eric Danvers. I also dated Eric Danvers,” she added. “We were supposed to get engaged once Road to Glory was finished. To be honest with you, I knew before final edits that we were never going to have a future together. Professionally or otherwise. Don’t ask me to get into it,” she warned, holding up a hand which she then ran over her hair, still in its bun with loose auburn strands now framing her face from all her exertion.
“I hate him and would dance on his grave if he died tomorrow, but certain things are personal,” she continued. “All I can say is he stole that film from me. He stole the credit. He stole that fucking award at Cannes too. That was mine,” she insisted, her teeth gritted, her eyes glittering with something close to madness. Or was it simply betrayal?
What happened to ambition when it got turned on its head?
“You’re serious?” I asked. Her head bobbed, and I didn’t know if she was going to smash something on the floor or burst into tears. It could have gone either way based on the emotions washing over her face.
“I honestly don’t know why I told you that,” she confessed in a shaking voice. “I’m embarrassed. I trusted him. It wasn’t enough for him to take credit for my work. He had to sabotage any sort of future I might have in this town. He had to get out in front of me, make up a story about how we clashed or something when he was the loser who couldn’t handle his shit,” she concluded, swiveling the chair away until she was staring out the window to her back.
“I’m glad you told me.” Her honesty left me wanting to leave everything out on the table too—the trouble the studio was in, how it was dependent upon this project, having something positive to show the Board when it came time for the annual meeting.
That was different. It wasn’t entirely my story to tell. What if word got out? I didn’t know if this woman was trustworthy enough to keep a secret like that. All she had to do was whisper to one of her friends, and facing a scandal was too risky. It would tank us long before the end of the fiscal year.
“So, now we’ve cleared the air,” she concluded. “What happens next?”
“What happens next is we make the best fucking picture we can. Full steam ahead. Let’s get this thing done.” Something had shifted. We were on the same team now.
It was more than that. Whatever wall was between us crumbled just enough for me to see the person beneath her prickly, antagonistic shell. I didn’t realize it until she turned in the chair to reveal a wide, radiant smile and eyes that now shone with excitement. There was a real, wounded person in there. And if she had been the brains behind Road to Glory , she had a hell of a future in front of her.
A future I wanted to be part of, if only professionally. If we made a movie with the same sort of buzz Road had built without millions behind its publicity, there was no stopping me from ushering the studio into a new era, an era I could stamp my name on the way Dad had stamped his name on the studio after taking over from his father.
“All right,” she agreed. I watched her jaw tighten in determination. “But I’m going to need an apartment. I’m tired of living out of my suitcase.”
“Done. Your job tomorrow is to spend the morning looking for a place. All I need is a copy of the signed lease.”
A pair of delicate eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”
So that was all it took to impress her?
“As a heart attack. So start looking. I’ll expect an answer by noon tomorrow. After that, your job is to scout locations. I want a full list by the time we get together for dinner tomorrow night at my house. I’ll send you the details in the morning.”
“Wait!” she called after me once I was in the hall, but it was too late. I was already moving, more determined than ever to get this done. The fire in my chest was now in my gut, pushing me onward.
“Can’t hear you,” I called out from my office, chuckling at her loud groan while wondering why the hell it smelled like sage in there.