Chapter 5

Gemma

When I get to the coffee shop and slump into a seat opposite Frankie, she almost doesn’t even notice. Her focus is being entirely taken up by the workmen across the street. She raises a finger to ask for a little time.

“One second,” she says, in her nasal voice, “I think that one on the scaffolding is about to take his shirt off.”

I turn to look, and realize that the men she’s looking at are nothing but specks in the distance.

“How the hell can you see that far?”

She turns to me and raises the side of her mouth lasciviously.

“I can’t, but my imagination can do most of the work.”

Frankie’s a set designer, and since my ex fucked my roommate, pretty much my only friend in LA. With her funky tied-up hair, dizzyingly-patterned leggings, and penchant for lurid neon colors, she looks a little like a side character from an eighties comedy – once you experience her glass-shattering laugh and dirty mind in person, however, there’s no way you can think she’s faking.

“My head is about to explode,” I say.

I can see the strain on Frankie’s face as she peels her eyes away from the workmen and relaxes them on me. She frowns her concern and leans forward.

“What’s the matter, sweetie? Besides the cheating ex-boyfriend and the shitty studio apartment? How’s that going, by the way? Any better?”

“Well, the plumbing is still a problem and at night it sounds like the cockroaches are having heavy metal concerts. But aside from that, and the night I just spent having multiple orgasms with Dylan Marlowe – I’ve just found out I’m supposed to…I don’t even know what you’d call it…‘babysit’ aforementioned actor to stop him from going off the rails during this movie shoot that I thought wasn’t even going to happen but it now turns out actually is.”

Frankie’s eyes and mouth open about as wide as they will go.

“Oh…my…God…”

“Frankie, close your mouth. I can see your windpipe.”

She shuts her mouth with an exaggerated pop.

“Ok,” she says, her eyes and smile shining. “Back up. This is new information and you’re going to have to explain. I want to hear every single detail. Go.”

“Ugh. I don’t even know where to start. Do they serve alcohol here?” I try to laugh, but my breath hitches and I blink back a sting in my eyes. Frankie’s face goes sympathetic.

“That bad, huh? I’m sorry. I know you’re having a rough time. Dylan Marlowe, though? This is…insane.”

“It is. And that’s why I’m going out of my mind.”

“Ok. Start from the top.”

I breathe deeply, take a deep sip of latte, and lay my hands on the table.

“Do you know what the BootyCall app is?”

“Do I know what it is? I’m a single woman in the city of LA – I’d be a freak if I didn’t,” she says.

“Well, I don’t know why, maybe it was just all that shit with my ex, and feeling crappy in my apartment, but I tried it.”

“Are you serious?!” Frankie screams, slamming her frappuccino on the table so quickly it spills over. “Haven’t you heard the stories about that thing? You’re the last person I’d have thought would use it.”

I grab a napkin and wipe up the spill of her drink.

“I know. I was just in a very dark place.”

“I get it,” she says, patting my hand. “We’ve all been there. Continue.”

“I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone either. I just wanted to talk to someone… I’d never felt so low. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside this gigantic mansion, ringing the doorbell, and…he answers the door.”

“Was he naked? He was naked, wasn’t he? Oh God I’m gonna need some more ice in this.”

“He wasn’t naked…well, actually he was. Eventually.”

“Oh boy.” Frankie fans herself and I roll my eyes, though I can’t help smiling at her theatrics.

“So then I go home afterward, and I get a call from work. That Christopher West project I told you about, it’s on. And I’m going to be on set for it. Only I’m not gonna be doing production accounting. I’m supposed to be watching Dylan twenty-four seven. Keeping an eye on him so that he doesn’t do anything crazy.”

Frankie sips her drink, places it carefully down on the table, sits upright, and looks at me like she’s conducting an interview. She holds my gaze for a few seconds, weirding me out a little, before blurting out, almost uncontrollably.

“So what’s the problem?!”

“Frankie…”

“I’m serious. Let’s just put this into perspective. So you break up with your cheating asshole boyfriend and move into a shitty studio. And that’s sad. But then you meet up with one of the most gorgeous men in Hollywood, have amazing sex, think you’ll never see him again, and now you’re gonna be working with him. You’re gonna be at his side all day.”

I sigh. “Exactly.”

We sit there staring at each other, waiting for one another to ‘get it.’

“So you’ve got this awesome chance to be with a guy who’s rich, handsome, talented…employed…not cheating on you…I say go for it! You deserve something like this. It’s not every day you meet a guy like Dylan Marlowe.”

I shake my head. “I barely know him. And I’ve heard stories…I mean, they wouldn’t ask me to watch over him if he was so perfect.”

“So it sounds like a perfect combination – you can keep him in line, and he can make you happy.”

“Since when did you care so much about me meeting a nice guy?”

“Since you told me how unhappy Robb made you. I always knew there was something off with that guy.”

I let out another sigh and smile. “Screwing around with Dylan would be the worst thing I ever did. I mean, what about my career? I’m supposed to be watching him and making sure he stays focused on the movie –if I was fucking him then I’d be doing the exact opposite. Plus, they’re already worried he’ll do something stupid. If word got out that the stupid thing he was doing was…well, me…then I’d lose my job, my project, everything. I’ve already lost my relationship and my home in the past week, and I’m running out of things to lose.”

“Hmm,” Frankie murmurs sympathetically. “It’s a tricky one.”

“And then what if it got out? Can you imagine? I’d be known as a ‘starfucker’ – and you know what happens to women like that. They lose everybody’s respect.”

“Or they make a career – if they’re smart enough to record it.”

I laugh and take another sip of coffee.

“There’s something else about Dylan that’s really…strange…” I say, after a few moments.

Frankie lifts an eyebrow and leans forward. “What do you mean? What’s he into?”

“Not like that! I don’t know, though. He seems so full of life and fun most of the time, but every once in a while it’s like there’s a crack, and you see some other side of him.”

“Oooh!” Frankie smiles, licking her lips. “A dark side!”

“Yeah. Kind of. I definitely think there’s something that troubles him.”

“If he’s using BootyCall to meet women, there’s definitely a little kink in him.”

“I suppose. It seemed to me like he spends a lot of time alone.”

“Stop it. I’m going to need to press this frappucino between my thighs if you keep on. So how is this going to work? Are you going to move in with him?”

“No, but I’m pretty much supposed to make sure he gets to the set on time, be with him whenever he is on-set, and then make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble at the end of the day.”

“How are you going to do that?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Mind control? GPS tracker? A dog leash? The more I think about it, the less confident I am that I’ll be able to manage.”

Frankie nods, thinking it over. “It’s like a marriage without all the good parts.”

I laugh, and check my watch.

“Anyway, I should get going. I have to make sure Dylan’s on set in less than an hour.”

“Starting already?”

“We’re just going over the schedule today, setting things up. Shooting doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“Ok. Go, honey. And don’t worry about this so much. Just stay strong and keep your mind focused. If he needs to fuck and you’re still feeling conflicted about it, just give him my number.”

“Maybe I should,” I laugh.

Frankie’s face turns hard and stern.

“Tell him I do anything.”

Things are already in full swing when I arrive on the lot. The crew are busy making their way through, setting up lights and equipment and placing set pieces. It’s a street scene, and everybody is in the delicate process of making it seem as real as possible – though I’ve always felt a strange tingling feeling when I walk on such a set – as if it’s vivid and big enough to be real, but there’s a dream-like quality around the edges, a sense that though it looks normal, it’s a place where only the most amazing and wonderful things happen. Actually, I can think of something – or someone – else that I feel the same about now.

“Have you seen Dylan?” I ask a production assistant that I vaguely know.

“Yeah, he should be in his trailer over there.”

I look over to where the guy is pointing and smile. Maybe Dylan is going to get his shit together and make this easy for me. I make a few adjustments on my tablet and walk towards the trailer, pushing aside the small elements of dread and nervousness that are trying to creep up my legs.

I knock loudly.

“Hey Dylan, are you there? It’s me, your new assistant. Uh…Gemma…”

A second later, the door opens. It’s dark in the trailer, and I can only just make out the striking profile of the man who’s standing aside, inferring I should enter by the angle of his gracefully relaxed body.

I look down at the steps as I try to get up them in my heels, and swear that I’ll wear something more comfortable in the future. I step inside and look up.

The door slams shut behind me. Then I slam up against the door.

Dylan’s unmistakably vicious tongue is in my mouth, pressing against mine. The bristle of his stubble is on my cheeks, the rich aroma of a man overcome by desire wafting into my nostrils. His masculine hands grasp my sides, searching my curves with powerful directness.

Immediately I feel like I’m once again in his mansion. In his hot tub, on his silk sheets. As if the night never ended, and was merely interrupted by all the inconsequential and irrelevant things that happened since. His lips are breathing life into my body again, sending it into raptures of pleasure, like I’m just a puppet being played by the trace of his tongue in my mouth and the fingers that press into my ass.

I grab his face and pull him onto me, clutching the lines of his powerful neck muscles, pulling and pulling for more of his body to invade mine.

Until I hear a shout from outside, and like a stone in a pool reflection, the illusion is shattered. Reality wins against the magic of this moment. My head seizes control from my body. The grasping hands that were pulling on the back of his neck turn into steel palms against his chest as I shove him backwards violently.

“Stop it!” I yell.

A slow, determined smile rises on Dylan’s lips as he rubs the back of his head and I realize I pushed him back against a cabinet.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” I say, straightening my blouse and stroking my hair down, “that is not happening again. Everything between us from now on is strictly professional.”

Dylan snorts a little laugh. “And to think, I nearly turned down this movie when they told me somebody would follow me. If I’d known it was gonna be you, I’d have even taken a pay cut.”

I screw my face up as stern and as formal as it will go, though it seems to only make him take me less seriously.

“You are going to behave on this shoot,” I say, pointing my finger like a mother at the end of her limits. “You are going to focus on the movie, and only the movie.”

Dylan shrugs as he cracks open a beer and offers it to me. I frown, and he smiles as he swigs from it.

“If they wanted me to focus, they shouldn’t have sent such a gorgeous woman to look after me.”

“And you’re not going to talk like that, either. If anyone gets the impression there’s anything between us then we’re both going down. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he says, dropping his face into a mock-serious expression as he steps towards me. “You’re right. We need to be extra careful. I shouldn’t have slammed you up against the wall. Anyone could have heard. Next time I’ll throw you onto the bed.”

I step back from him and pick up the tablet, my pulse rocketing.

“I mean it, Dylan. It’s the movie, and nothing else.”

Dylan shrugs nonchalantly and takes another long swig from the can.

“Look,” I continue, “it’s just an eight week shoot. Let’s just get through this like mature, professional coworkers, without any problems – which there will be if you do things like jump on me in your trailer. Eight weeks, can you manage that?”

“No problem. The question is,” Dylan says, his eyes filled with a dirty glimmer, “can you?”