“We can’t keep saying we’re friends, then go back to kissing.”
She was right. But whatwasthis weird allure between them?
Out of the car, Jesse escorted her up the stone steps that led to a portico. He rang the bell, exchanging one more glance with Chloe.
“Whatever happens, Chloe, I got your back. I don’t know what power I can wield in there. Don’t know what’s about to go down, but you will finish this movie, Chris or no Chris, as Esther Kingsley, yourlivingheroine. I promise.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Thank you. But don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jess.”
Chris answered the door shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. “Hey! Come on in. We’re in the back,” he said as he walked off, running his hand through his long hair.
Jesse crossed the foyer and entered a large, square living space with windows facing the lake and the kitchen on the opposite side. The air was chilly and gray, the lifeless fireplace a black hole.
Chris sat, falling over the arm of a chair, his feet in the air, jamming a cigarette in his mouth. A man Jesse didn’t recognize sat in the chair next to him, and a petite blonde stood in between, holding a leather attaché.
“Want to do the introductions, Jeremiah?” the man said.
Jer leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, his expression boney and sober. “This is Greg Zarzour, new head of Premier Studios. Greg, Jesse Gates.”
Jesse shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure.” Time to play nice. His career was in the man’s hands.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Zarzour remained seated, barely shaking Jesse’s hand. He wore the typical uniform of the nouveau riche—an Armani suit. His dark hair was clipped and gelled. “Please, have a seat.”
But Jesse couldn’t sit. He was too ramped.
“Do you know Chloe Daschle, Greg?” Jer asked.
Zarzour stood this time and moved toward Chloe. “Your dad is a hero of mine, and your mother was my first Hollywood crush.”
What a creep. Who says that to a woman’s daughter?
“I’m sure she’d be flattered.” Chloe, a model of graciousness. “So, what’s going on? Jer?” She remained standing next to Jesse.
“I like the way she cuts to the chase.” Chris tapped out his cigarette into a crystal bowl. Not an ashtray. The owners probably had a no-smoking policy, but he was Chris Painter. The rules didn’t apply. “Greg here wants me for another part.”
“What?” Panic flared in Chloe’s wide eyes. “We’re in the middle of shooting.”
“Chloe, sit please.” Zarzour motioned to the same chair he’d indicated for Jesse, but she remained on her feet, the edge of her arm lightly brushing his.
“An action-adventure,” Jeremiah said as he walked toward the window. Beyond the frame, the lake inlet curved toward the clipped lawn. “Sea Dragon.The lead actor is all wrong for the part.” He glanced at Zarzour. “I told your predecessor not to hire Sherwood. He’s a thespian. He plays the parody and farcical elements of an action-adventure too literally. You can’t believe him.”
“Well, we’re six months late and ten million over budget, and the crew is about to mutiny. Something has to change.” Zarzour took a seat in a tall, winged chair, a king holding court. “Bookman can’t manage him. I need a director who can. The board fired Holloman because he couldn’t fix it. They hired me because I could. My first fix is these two. Painter and Gonda. I need you in New Zealand next week.”
Chloe blanched. “They want you too, Jer?”
Jeremiah’s stone expression was her answer. “I told you I never abandon a project, Zarzour.”
“Just turn it over to someone else. Who’s your AD?”
“Sharon Lee.”
“Perfect. I’ve no problem with her. She can take command.”
“But it’s my... I put this project...” He couldn’t even speak plain. “Look, Painter’s the heart and soul of the film.” Jeremiah nodded toward Chloe. “Along with Daschle here.”
Chloe leaned against Jesse, muttering, “I knew it... I knew it...”
“Find a new heart, then. We’ve hired a script consultant to—”
