Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
LANDON
“ C ut! Goddamn it!”
Landon Ford ran a hand down his face, then got to his feet and approached the female lead of the latest film he was directing, located halfway between Albuquerque and Roswell, New Mexico. She hadn’t been his choice for the part, but the producers had insisted the twenty-two-year-old ditzy blonde would be a hit with fans of the book the movie was based on. Unfortunately for him, even though this was her first significant role after a few cameos in other films, she already had the “I’m right and you’re wrong” attitude. Before making her way to Hollywood, she’d been one of those TikTok influencers who’d gotten a large following for some ridiculous reason, and it had nothing to do with good acting.
It was only a little after 10:00 in the morning, and Landon was already aggravated with her. In fact, he was only several blood pressure points away from walking off the set and not coming back.
She threw her hands up in the air with a disgusted snort. “Now what? That was perfect!”
“No, it wasn’t, Vanessa. You screwed the line up again, and you pointed in the wrong direction again.” He gestured toward where a veteran actress, playing her grandmother, sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, knitting and ignoring the most recent interruption since she had no lines for another two and a half pages in the script. If they ever got to that point, it’d be a miracle.
Vanessa Hart glanced over her shoulder at the farmhouse that was rented for the film and then to the far end of the porch, where she’d indicated moments earlier during her eighteenth attempt to get the scene right. “Why can’t we just move the chair over there?” she whined in the tone of a petulant toddler, which caused Landon’s blood pressure to spike almost to his breaking point.
He put his hands on his hips and leaned toward her, ensuring she saw the anger blazing across his face. “Because then we’d have to re-shoot five other scenes, and there’s not a chance in hell that will happen! And even if we did move the goddamn chair, you keep flubbing the fucking line!”
Her eyes filled with what he knew were fake tears—he’d been around enough actresses to know when they were real. “Why do you have to yell at me? I’m trying my best!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of!” He spun on his heel and stormed off the set. “Everyone, take fifteen and not one fucking minute more!”
There was a flurry of movement behind him as he stalked away from the set, heading to his personal trailer, needing a few moments alone to calm down. One glower at his assistant told her not to follow him. She knew his annoyance wasn’t directed at her, having worked for him for years.
He was sick of working with people who couldn’t act their way out of a paper bag, unlike Clarissa James. The starlet was phenomenal, with numerous Academy, Emmy, and Tony awards to prove it. She reminded Landon of a younger Sophia Loren in looks and rivaled Katherine Hepburn, Ingrid Bergman, Bette Davis, and Meryl Streep as one of the greatest actresses of all time. But she was more than that to him. She was the love of his life, and he’d lost her over something out of his control. Just recently, he’d gotten what he needed to prove she was wrong about him. He looked forward to the chance to win her back, once and for all, at the upcoming Slot Scene Spectacular next week at The Covenant, a private, elite BDSM club in Tampa that they both belonged to. He had his fingers crossed that the hands of Fate would take pity on him and match them up again.
CLARISSA
Curled up under a blanket on the couch in the living room of her Culbreath Isles mansion in South Tampa, Clarissa tried to read the latest script her agent had sent over. It was a good one—something she’d be interested in—but she couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of her tonight. It was the middle of January, and the outside temperature had dropped to forty-eight degrees—lower than average for that time of the year. The gas fireplace and a glass of wine helped ward off the chill she’d felt earlier after having dinner with two friends. Luna Blake was another actress she’d become close to over the past few years. Ironically, the first time they’d met hadn’t been in Hollywood, but while getting their kink on at The Covenant. Her other guest had been Abigail Mann, another member of the club and the wife of record producers Remington and Grayson Mann. The twin brothers finally tied the knot with their personal assistant at a beautiful and extravagant menage wedding last year, after breaking their rule about dating one of their employees. Clarissa had been one of the guests and thanked her lucky stars that Landon hadn’t been able to attend due to the wedding of a childhood friend on the same day in Michigan. She couldn’t always avoid being at the same events as him, but she did her best to ignore him whenever they ran into each other.
Even though there was at least about a thirteen-year age difference between Clarissa and the two younger women, they enjoyed getting together a few times a month outside of the club for a meal, drinks, or shopping—or a combination of all three. Depending on what the women had planned for an outing, they usually each had a bodyguard accompanying them. Luna and Clarissa sometimes wore disguises in public since they were so recognizable, while the Mann brothers insisted their wife also be protected since their combined net worth was in the billions.
Clarissa was happy to see Luna still eating well after battling an eating disorder before meeting the Dom whom she’d fallen in love with. The handsome silver fox, Ryan Thatcher, was perfect for Luna and had changed her life for the better. Clarissa couldn’t be happier for the couple. They tried to keep their relationship out of the public eye, though, because he was a senior FBI agent out of the Tampa office, with one more year to go before he planned to retire. The paparazzi would have a field day if the two were connected, which could cause issues for Ryan’s work.
While she was happy for her friends, Clarissa just wished her own love life hadn’t spiraled out of control. Two days before their fourth wedding anniversary, she’d caught husband #1, an actor, in their bed with another man. While it’d stung at the time, she could later admit their marriage had been doomed from the start. They hadn’t been truly in love, but the media and public had adored them as a couple. Instead of listening to their own hearts, Clarissa and Brent Miller had been young and stupid, agreeing with their agents and managers, who’d all said a wedding would boost both their careers. Brent also hid his bisexuality from everyone, including his wife, because he was afraid of the media and public backlash and possible loss of leading roles. In the end, though, their divorce had been amicable, and she occasionally met up with Brent and his life partner for dinner and drinks now that the actor was out and proud.
Ten years later, however, history repeated itself—at least this time, she hadn’t walked in on it. Husband #2, Landon Ford, one of the most sought-after directors in Hollywood, had cheated on her with a B-list actress, Ivy Green—yup, that was the stage name she'd chosen. In Clarissa’s head, she was “poison” Ivy. She claimed that Landon had gotten her pregnant, but then she supposedly had a miscarriage. But still, the affair had taken place, even though he’d vehemently denied it over and over. Clarissa had desperately wanted to believe him, but there’d been scandalous photos in the tabloids and online to validate it. That’d been devastating to Clarissa, who honestly thought Landon was her soulmate. Obviously, he hadn’t felt the same.
They’d met when he directed a movie she starred in, which had earned both of them Academy Awards—Best Actress, Best Director, and Best Picture. Their whirlwind romance resulted in them eloping right after filming had wrapped up. They’d been Hollywood’s power couple for five years before her world came crumbling down.
Since her second divorce was finalized a little over two years ago, Clarissa had sworn off marriage. She now only dated men for short periods of time, dumping them when they wanted more from her—like her latest fling. Twelve years her junior, he became an A-Lister with the release of his first major motion picture, which had been a blockbuster, just before they met at a producer’s party. It was lust at first sight, and the evening had ended in a swanky hotel room. They’d been dating and fucking for a few months when he suddenly suggested he move in with her. Instead of agreeing, she’d shown him the door, determined not to be fooled again when her lover inevitably cheated on her.
Clarissa had no problem letting men use her to improve their own celebrity status since she used them as well. However, that was only to combat the loneliness she felt at times and to have her hand on the arm of a handsome man for ceremonies and parties. When she needed more than that, she would go to The Covenant or any of the other BDSM clubs she was a member of, find a Dom to take the reins, one who wasn’t her ex-husband, and let them send her into subspace. No matter what, though, whether it was hooking up with a man inside the club or outside in the vanilla world, she always made sure she woke up alone in the morning. No awkwardness. No false professions of love. No expectations of a long life together. Just emptiness in the space beside her on the king-sized bed. If only she could convince herself that was enough.