Chapter 10
DYLAN
I was stoked that Max had agreed to come with me to Jared’s villa.
Despite the earlier tension, he was good company, and I was comfortable with him like I rarely was with new people. And Jared’s place was as safe as the yacht. I could attempt to go incognito for a while, but Jared had an entourage of bodyguards. The man drew attention no matter what.
Speaking of attention, Max had all of mine when he almost fell getting out of the tender.
Luckily, I caught him before he face-planted on the dock.
Just like our flight over here, I didn’t hesitate to hold onto him, probably a good ten seconds longer than I should have.
That breathless feeling took hold of me again, so I reluctantly let him go once he looked stable enough to walk a straight line.
We wandered over to the parking lot which was all but deserted save for a few cars. I recognized Jared’s driver, Nate, standing beside a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. I gave a quick wave.
“Good evening, Mr. Aylmer. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too, Nate. Thanks for picking us up.”
After a ten-minute drive along the coast, we pulled off the main road to a gated laneway.
An enormous house came into view—a three-story stone mansion, a fortress—at the edge of a cliff overlooking the water.
The house and the scenery was all undeniably dramatic, and the location fit Jared’s personality to a T.
We pulled into the narrow driveway, and Nate quickly exited and opened the door for us. I stepped out of the car but stopped short when faced with a giant of a man with a grim expression.
“I’m Alex Sheffield, Jared’s security lead. Phones, please.”
The man and the protocol were new to me. But between the fierce look in his eyes and the booming snap of his British accent, I wasn’t about to question him. I started to hand over my phone when Max spoke up.
“I need to have my phone with me at all times. In case my daughter tries to reach me,” Max pushed back.
“I’ll let you know if it rings, Mr. Lowell,” Alex responded and held his hand out expectantly.
“Stop being a hard ass, Alex. They’re not tabloid spies. They’re my verified guests. Let them keep their phones.”
I recognized Jared’s deep voice as he sauntered up beside his security lead.
He was the same height as Alex but slim, with long, dark hair that fell to his shoulders and facial scruff that was just shy of a full beard.
In bare feet and sporting white linen pants and a plain blue t-shirt, he looked more like a surfer dude than a Hollywood movie mogul.
The lack of shoes made me crack a smile.
I’d forgotten about his aversion to footwear.
The last film I’d shot with him took place in North Dakota, in January, and he grumbled about having to wear boots throughout the entire filming.
“Dylan, it’s so great to see you. You look well.
” Jared leaned over and pulled me into a hug.
I was shocked at first, then patted him gently on the back in return.
I would never get used to it, despite all my years living in California.
In my family, hugs are only for times when you love or lose—big events either way.
“I’m feeling well. Jared, this is Max Lowell. He’s the writer who’s working with me on my project.”
“Nice to meet you, Max, and welcome to my home away from home. Let’s head out to the back patio and enjoy what’s left of the sun. Alex, we don’t need you anymore, so at ease.” Jared mockingly saluted him and got an icy glare in return.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Alex bit out, and I caught the stare down between the two men. Jared was a rule breaker by nature, so I wasn’t surprised that he was challenging his new detail.
“This place is impressive, is it a medieval castle?” I asked, as Jared finally tore his gaze away from Alex and motioned to the walkway. Alex stalked off into the house without a backwards glance.
“It was built in 1815 by a French soldier turned businessman. But he must have been fond of the Middle Ages, given the number of gargoyles all over the place and the elaborate dungeon in the basement,” Jared replied.
“Dungeon?” Max asked, his eyes about to pop out of his head.
“Kidding. Well, I don’t really know. I haven’t had time to fully explore the house. Apparently, it’s haunted by the soldier’s first wife. She died under suspicious circumstances,” Jared offered.
“Only you would want to stay at a place that has a ghost,” I joked.
Jared’s propensity for anything out of the ordinary was well known in Hollywood circles.
He was never one to shy away from topics that pushed the envelope.
An interesting man for sure, even though I didn’t know much about his personal life.
Never saw him at an event with a date and he wasn’t married.
Just married to his job. Workaholism: it’s the American way.
Jared smiled and cocked his head. “I don’t believe in all that stuff, but it does makes for interesting stories. And stories are the business.”
He turned and led us around to the back of the house, where a large patio and a rectangular infinity pool blended seamlessly with the landscape. A woman with a red pixie cut and a friendly smile was setting down plates on a long dining table.
“This is Harriet Rose, my invaluable assistant. Harriet, this is Dylan Aylmer and Max Lowell.”
“Nice to meet you both. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
“There are plenty of non-alcoholic options,” Jared added.
“Iced tea if you have it, thanks,” I replied, my throat dry and my hands suddenly clammy.
My usual urge to have a drink—several—to calm my social anxiety reared up.
I glanced over at Max and his worried stare surprised me.
He held out a chair for me and brushed a hand over my shoulder as I sat down.
I’m sure the touch was accidental, but the physical contact grounded me.
“I’ll have the same,” Max replied as he sat down beside me. White pillar candles and blue vases full of fresh lavender dotted the rustic farmhouse table. The perfume was heady but calming.
“Are you excited to start filming? I’ve barely slept lately with so many plans in my head,” Jared confessed as Harriet returned with a pitcher of tea and several glasses. She passed drinks around and went back inside.
“More nervous than excited, but I’m ready. I think. I haven’t filmed in so long, so you’ll need to be patient with me,” I replied, taking a sip of my tea to quench the dryness in my throat.
Jared nodded. “You’ll be fine. Is this the only gig you’ve got in the queue?”
“Yeah. Warren has tried to line up auditions over the past six months, but nada. And I can’t really blame them, given my past behavior.” I paused and shook my head. “Right now, I’m focused on helping Max get the book done. And preparing for our shoot. Then I’ll think about what comes next.”
Jared sat with his hands steepled in front of him, his golden eyes assessing me.
“It’s okay if you don’t know what your next move is, Dylan. Sometimes we need to let go and see what opportunities flow towards us. And sometimes it’s worthwhile to take a risk,” he paused. “Did you know that I’m funding Field of Blood entirely by myself?”
“No. I thought you had studio backing?” I commented as I leaned forward.
“They pulled out a few weeks ago.” Jared shook his head. “I knew that taking on a true crime story was high risk. Especially a case that’s never been solved and one that’s still rampant with speculation. But I thought the film business was finally evolving.”
The film we were shooting was about the 1995 murder of Larry Fields, a legendary casting agent. He died in Europe on a scouting trip and the case had never been solved. There was a long suspect list, including several celebrity heavyweights.
“What do you mean? Why did they back out?”
“It’s no secret in entertainment circles that Larry was a sexual predator, but nothing was ever done to bring him to task.
A few of those players are still in the biz today.
” Jared leaned back and sighed. “So yeah, the studio got nervous and backed out. Gotta admit, I was scared shitless for a second, but I really like having full creative control over the entire process. Now I’m taking another script I’ve written and planning a second independent film.
I might have a role for you. Would that interest you? ”
“I’d have to run it by Warren first, but yeah. Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean, I appreciate the opportunity, but maybe you should wait and see how filming goes over the next few weeks.”
Jared had plenty of talented actors to choose from. Reliable ones with no history of showing up drunk and forgetting lines or passing out. I hadn’t even proved that I could get through filming this one yet. The offer was welcome, no doubt, but it also scared me.
Jared shook his head. “You’re a great actor, Dylan, and I know what you’re capable of.
If something happens and it doesn’t work out, I replace you.
And let’s be honest, if I turned away every actor, videographer, producer, assistant, you name it, who had an issue with drugs or alcohol, I’d never get any fucking movies made. Hell, I’m an alcoholic myself.”
I looked at Max, who was frowning. “What do you think?”
“Me? I’m the last person you should ask.” Max ran a hand through his hair. “But if you really want my opinion, you should look at the script.”
I nodded and turned to Jared. “I’ll look it over. Thanks for thinking of me. I still don’t understand it, but I appreciate it.”
Someone, somewhere, was looking out for me.
“You were always too humble, Dylan. That needs to stop,” Jared quipped.
Harriet came back outside with a large bowl piled high with seafood, and with it the smells of garlic and spices perfumed the air.
“I hope you both enjoy bouillabaisse. I had my chef create it special for tonight. It’s my favorite dish.”