Chapter One
After eight years as a Hollywood producer/director, with one B-grade forgettable, three solidly respectable money-earners and four great movies to her name, Kate figured she’d seen it all. She was utterly cured and would never be star-struck again — until she stood six inches from the great Calum Micheil Garrett himself, he looked down into her soul with his sharp, crystal blue eyes, smiled his famous smile...and she was in star-struck fan mode with a vengeance.
Kate disguised her high-school-girl reaction with cool professionalism. She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Garrett. I don’t know how I can help a global industrial entrepreneur like yourself. Our worlds don’t exactly cross.” She glanced around the bustling main lounge of The Standard. This was a thriving network hot spot for Hollywood types. What was Garrett doing here? He lived on the east coast, and mixed it with politicians and power-hungry New York business types. This wasn’t his scene at all.
At the same time, she was cautiously pleased that half-a-dozen A-List names were watching her shake hands and chat with Calum Garrett. Her reputation would definitely rise after this.
Garrett gave another brief smile that made his eyes dance. “Just Garrett will do. You’d be surprised how far my business interests spread, Ms. Lindenstream.” His voice was even better in person than on television. Up close she could hear the timbre of his voice. It reverberated in his chest in a way that made her want to keep on listening.
“Just Kate, please. Try me.” She waved a hand at the table behind her. “Would you like to sit down?”
“You’re not expecting company?” He glanced around the bar casually, taking in everyone with a single sweep of his gaze. The movement made the groomed and burnished copper highlights in his hair gleam.
“I am,” she replied, “but his plane was late landing at L.A.X., so I have a moment.”
Garrett weighed the matter seriously, then appeared to agree by settling himself not on the buffet seating behind the art deco table where Kate was sitting, but on one of the chic but uncomfortable chairs crouched opposite. He unbuttoned the jacket of his business suit that gleamed with the dull glint of expense, and crossed his legs. Then he settled back like he was sitting in a two thousand dollar business chair. “Can I buy you a drink, Kate?”
“Are you trying to soften me up for a business proposition, or hit me up for a date, Mr. Garrett?” The words were out before she had time to edit them. They were an instinctive response to the question. People were always looking for something in Hollywood. So she kept her gaze steady, refusing to apologize for the reaction.
Garrett had been looking for a waiter to order her a drink. Now he turned to study her, his eyes narrowing. “Do you have a preference?”
Ooohhh, she thought. Now there was a take-down. Ball smashed straight back at her, for her to deal with. And Kate deserved the comeback for her direct parry.
But Garrett was smiling, the corner of his mouth lifted. Even he agreed it was a fair trade. Yet there was a light in his eyes that said he was genuinely interested in her answer, if she chose to give it.
And for a moment Kate wondered what her answer might be. She picked up her virgin daiquiri. “I already have a drink, thank you.”
“Ah.” Garrett swivelled to face her, the waiter forgotten. His gaze travelled over her face once more. “May I be frank?”
“My time is short, Mr. Garrett. This isn’t a board meeting. Frank is all you can afford.”
Again, the small smile. His head tilted to one side. He was measuring her. “You’re defensive, yet I haven’t said a word that could be considered anything but good mannered. You can hardly object to my notoriety when your own fame is just as well reported. Our names appear on different mastheads, but yours shows up as frequently as mine. Is it my money you object to, then?”
Kate bit her lip. Damn. She had overcompensated. Time to come clean. She took a deep breath and could feel her cheeks heating. “Can I be frank, then?”
Garrett lifted a single brow. “You have been, so far.”
Ouch. She spread her hands on the cool top of the table. “I really hate babbling star-stuck fans, Mr. Garrett. I—”
“Don’t fans come built into your line of work?” Garrett interrupted.
“Yes, and when I know I’m going to meet them, I’m fine. You know, rope lines and public stuff, when I’m braced for it.”
Garrett’s eyes narrowed. Not with suspicion, she realized, but deep thought. He was actually listening to her, thinking it through. Wow.
“Braced? That’s an interesting choice of words.” He crossed his arms. “I presume, then, the opposite applies. You dislike being caught flat-footed by fans, especially when you’re not braced, not dressed in your public figure clothes, with your hair and make-up precisely arranged the way you feel the famous Ms. Kathrine Lindenstream should appear in front of fans.”
Kate nodded. “Exactly.” She leaned forward to make her point. “I presumed you would feel the same way.”
Garrett’s folded arms loosened. His gaze seemed to sharpen even more, which she would have said was impossible. His eyes were pinning her down where she sat, making her feel like she couldn’t move. It was uncanny.
Slowly, he turned around on the seat so that he was facing her squarely. He rested one arm on the table and a cufflink clinked softly. That put them almost exactly eye to eye.
“You’re...a fan? Of me?” He spoke the words with what sounded like genuine shock.
Kate’s cheeks were blazing now. She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to make a Federal case out of it, Garrett,” she hissed quietly, so the people at the next table couldn’t hear her. The last thing she wanted was for this to be repeated and passed on! “I have lots of interests that have nothing to do with film. High finance happens to be one of them, and I follow your career. A little.”
The corner of Garrett’s mouth lifted in the same small quirk as before. “If it was such a small interest, Kate, why do you blush so prettily?” There was a lilt to his voice that hinted at the Scottish roots his family tree claimed.
Kate closed her eyes. “Fuck...” she breathed. There was no way she was going to confess to Garrett how much she admired him, and his business acumen. That she had read all three of his biographies, both official and muck-raking. She knew every major career step he had taken, analysed every major public business decision he had ever made. She owned shares in his umbrella corporation.
The world rated Garrett to be one of the top ten most successful business men of the decade. Kate considered Calum Garrett to be one of the top five business strategists of all times. These days, when she was trying to think through a financial problem with one of her movies, subconsciously she had developed the habit of asking herself “What would Garrett do?” More often than not, a solution to her immediate problem would occur to her.
There was no way she was going to tell Garrett any of that. Not now.
“Kate,” Garrett said softly.
She opened her eyes again.
Garrett shook his head a little. “I think I can save you some embarrassment here.” He was reaching inside his jacket as he spoke. Straightening up. It felt like she had been let off the hook.
Kate sighed. “I doubt it. I’ve pretty much beggared myself.”
Garrett smiled, showing white, even teeth. He pulled out a perfectly ordinary business card and a gold pen. “I know that you’re interested in etymology. It shows in your movies. Do you know what my full name is?”
“Everyone does,” she said dryly.
Garrett smiled. It didn’t seem to bother him that everyone knew his second name, while he had no idea who was approaching him across the street. But then, he could afford millions in Presidential-style security. While she had to stay “accessible” and “ordinary.”
“You’ve probably figured out, then,” he told her, “that with a name like Calum Micheil Garrett, I’ve got some Scots blood in me, somewhere back in my family tree.”
Kate held up her phone. “Two minutes.”
He shook his head. “It’s still fashionable to be late, in Hollywood. The one who shows up last thinks they’re the one holding the power card.” He grimaced. “Childish idiocy, but it gives me at least nine more minutes with you.”
Kate forced herself to not sigh even mentally, or otherwise react, in case it showed on the surface. She didn’t like that she agreed with him on the stupidity of the biggest star or executive arriving last. So many meetings and business events got delayed and postponed because actors and executives tried to outwait each other to prove who was the biggest and the best.
Ten minutes ago, she would have agreed with Garrett wholeheartedly and out loud. Now, with her pride blown to hell, she had to cling to something. Garrett was not playing by Hollywood rules, or any rules she understood. She had to use her own rules, then.
“Wrong,” she said flatly. “You have two minutes. Then I’m getting up and walking out of here.”
“Why two?” he asked curiously, his pen paused over the card. “If you’re so worried, why not just walk away now? Why aren’t you calling for security and telling them I’m bothering you?”
“You get the two because of your name, and...” She bit her lip. “Never mind.”
She was bathed in the full wattage of his gaze as he sized her up. “It can only be something I did,” he murmured. “But we’ve never met in person until just now. A public appearance then.” He smiled a little. “Did I do something you liked, Kate?”
Wow. Kate shook her head. “Serves me right for thinking too loud around you.”
His smile broadened. “Flattering, but inaccurate.” He studied her. “You’re not going to give it up because you think it makes you vulnerable. Very well. I’ll trade you vulnerability for vulnerability.” He leaned forward. “I saw Slave Hunt nine times at the cinema. It’s what first got me interested in your mind.” He sat back, watching her.
Measuring her reaction.
Kate barely overrode the need to lick her lips in tell-tale nervousness. Did she have a stalker on her hands? A very rich, very powerful stalker?
“You...you’ve been following me?” she asked.
Garrett’s laugh sounded relaxed and showed even, white teeth. “I’m not stalking you. Relax. I’ve been following your work since Slave Hunt, and anything else the media have reported about you. The more I learnt, the more intrigued I became. You interest me, Kate.” He picked up the gold pen again. “Etymology, for example. Off the top of your head, do you know what ‘Calum’ means?”
She reached for her drink as a way to calm her screeching nerves. She sipped and shook her head. “It’s Gaelic. Because of the movies I’ve made, I’ve ended up studying ancient Persian and Latin, Greek and more, but Gaelic wasn’t one of them.”
Garrett nodded. He didn’t seem disappointed. “I guarantee you know the originals of ‘Micheil’ - even the way my ancestors spell it.”
“The original archangel?” Kate hazarded.
Garret nodded, scribbling on the back of the card. He turned it around to face her. “Bet you can tell me what Calum means now.”
He pushed the card toward her.
The writing was perfectly clear.
@ angel
“Dove,” she whispered. Her heart was thundering in her ears. Her breath whistling in and out of her.
Garrett was DoveAngel. Jesus Christ on a pony.
She looked up at him, trying to fit it together in her mind. She had been talking to Garrett all this time on Twitter and hadn’t known it.
“It was you,” she said. “Even last night.”
“Yes.”
She pulled her scattered wits together. “They’re public conversations on Twitter. Prove you’re really DoveAngel.”
“The entomology doesn’t do it for you?” Garrett replied. “I suppose I would be suspicious, too.” He wrote something else on the card and flipped it around for her to read. “That would have been how I would have ended our private chat last night, except that I had to catch a very early plane for Los Angeles.”
She dropped her gaze to the card.
@Lind’stream #Warlord. I can get you Sauvage.
The hand she was using to hold her drink jerked, spilling icy drops of fake tequila and lime over her wrist. She barely noticed. She looked up into Garrett’s eyes. “You son of a bitch,” she breathed.
Kate had been chatting with DoveAngel on and off for nearly a year. There were a huge number of people who followed her tweets on Twitter. Thousands of them. Most of them were fans and industry followers. Huge numbers of them talked back to her, returning her Tweets, and sending their own. Most of them Kate was forced to ignore because the sheer volume meant she couldn’t personally answer everyone who twitted at her.
DoveAngel had started in that category. He had been a voice among the thousands. But she had noticed one of his comments, which had been particularly astute. She had replied publicly and promptly forgotten about him. That had been it for a few weeks until she had seen another of his comments go through — another insightful zinger. She had replied again, still publicly.
Gradually, she had started to look for his comments and found she enjoyed it when he clearly approved of something she had done.
Kate couldn’t remember when the first private exchange had taken place. But it had been low key and non-threatening. And the next one hadn’t happened for weeks after that.
But soon they had begun to exchange private notes more and more frequently. DoveAngel became a convenient sounding board and sometimes a wailing wall on Kate’s bleaker days.
There had never been any hint of expectation from DoveAngel beyond those quick chats. No demands. She had never been entirely sure what sex they were — except in her mind she had decided long ago DoveAngel was male despite the moniker. There was just something in the direct, no quarters given comments that told her he was a guy.
DoveAngel had never asked to meet in person. He could have been anywhere on the planet and she liked it that way. He was the one single relationship in her life that didn’t ask a damn thing of her.
Last night he had popped up as she had been surfing the ‘net in a sleepless daze. This time he was responding to her latest public tweet about Murad, the warrior emperor and subject of her next film.
@Lind’stream #Warlord Biopics on Ottoman emp... derivative excuse for fantasy?
“Ha!” Kate breathed softly. “Fantasy, my ass.” Was this guy just trying to piss her off? But she had to admire anyone who could use the word “derivative” in a tweet and not come off sounding lame.
She fired off a public reply, working it until it was politically correct and massaged for maximum PR impact.
@DoveAngel #Warlord. Murad’s victories, prowess, lack of magic = no fantasy. Guy was real warrior emperor.
Let him chew over that one, along with the thousands of silent, lurking fans and followers who were reading their tweets.
The private, direct message tweet hit her Twitter in-box almost instantly.
You’re awake. Good. Tell me you’re not thinking of casting Greg Evershot as Murad.
Kate sucked in an unsteady breath. Wow...now there was a leading question, in all senses of the word. How the hell could she answer that one?
But DoveAngel didn’t wait for an answer. Another private message popped up straight away.
You must have considered Patrick Sauvage by now. He’s perfect.
Patrick Sauvage. She sighed. Casting him was a day’s worth of rollicking debate. DoveAngel was right. Sauvage was only perfect for the role, from a strictly character actor point of view. He had the touch of maturity, and more than the right amount of talent. Fans stripped naked in order to throw their lingerie up onto his hotel balconies or stuff bras and thongs into his pockets. He had the adoration of the public, so box office was there, too. He had the right looks for the part, and he looked physically the right shape, height and colour.
She could see why DoveAngel had leapt on the idea. There were already public polls on Facebook, IMDB and other social sites that kept up with advanced casting, calling for Patrick Sauvage to be given the role.
Kate bit her lip and tapped out a direct return tweet to DoveAngel.
Millions of reasons for yes. Dozen bigs for no. Would love to, but it’s out of the question.
She had heard nothing but silence in response. Eventually, knowing she had a marathon session of meetings and lunches today, she had forced herself to bed to try and get some sort of sleep before the sun rose, but instead she had tossed and turned over the impossible casting of her Murad.
Kate stared at the back of Garrett’s business card again. I can help you get Sauvage.
Her heart kept leaping at the words, but she forced herself to focus on the real issue. She looked up at Garrett. “You lied to me.”
“It wasn’t something I could reveal easily. Think about it,” he said gently. “Would you have believed me even if I could have found a secure way to tell you who I was?”
Would she have believed someone randomly contacting her via the Internet, if they had claimed they were Calum Garrett?
“No,” she answered him truthfully. “I would have cut contact with you. I would have classified you as either a whack job, or someone trying to con me.”
Garrett nodded.
“But you could have called,” Kate insisted. “Everyone and his dog knows my number, or can get it. This is Hollywood. People want to be called, here.”
“I would never have made it through your secretaries and P.A.s.”
“Are you kidding? A call from Calum Garrett? They would have...” She trailed off, thinking it through. Just like everyone else in Hollywood, Kate had professional layers protecting her from the public at large randomly contacting her. There were filters and channels and buffers, and after years of abuse and some rabid fans and nut jobs, those filters were industrial strength. The humans involved in filtering her contacts had long ago developed what Ernest Hemingway called “an in-built shock-proof shit-detector.” They wouldn’t have believed little Kathrine Lindenstream, producer, would be getting a call from the great Calum Garrett any more than she would have believed it. They would have put him off. Derailed him.
Kate sipped her drink, an answer to his question eluding her.
“Besides, what possible pretext could I give for calling?” Garrett added.
She looked up, feeling her eyes widen in surprise.
Garrett gave a small smile and his shoulders lifted under the jacket. “Telling anyone I liked you and just wanted to get to know you better would have got me bounced quicker than your average stalker.”
“You’re right, it would have,” she agreed. “But you could try the truth, instead. That always goes down better with me.”
Garrett leaned forward, resting both forearms on the table. “Alright then. Truth. I’ve been following your work for the last eight years, since Slave Hunt. I even read that biography they did on you.” He grimaced. “Horrible, by the way.”
“Yes,” she agreed flatly.
“I’ve come to appreciate the way your mind works. The way you work. I wanted to get to know you better.”
Kate found herself on her feet, although she couldn’t remember standing up. “Bullshit,” she told him.
Garrett stayed in his seat. He didn’t stand and try to intimidate her with his height. He calmly looked up at her as she collected her notebook and cell phone and stuffed them into her satchel.
“You asked for truth,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t get it.” She threw the satchel strap over her shoulder. “Everyone in this town has an agenda, Garrett. Everyone. That includes you.”
“And your lunch date?” he replied coolly.
Her anger rose. “I don’t buy a pure, positive motive like yours for a nanosecond.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“Then why try it?” she demanded, her anger bubbling over. “You’re not that stupid, Garrett. I watched you on Face Off last night, and you slaughtered the chair, you had the audience eating out of your hand...political strategy is hardwired into you, so why the rookie screw up?”
He stood up and finally she got a measure of how tall he was. She stood five eight in bare feet and she wore four inch heels, which put her at six feet. Garrett still looked down into her eyes.
“So it was Face Off that got me the two minutes, then,” he said. His voice was soft and just for a minute she thought, or maybe even imagined a touch of Scottish brogue. “You were at the SAG gala last night, so you must have watched Face Off later, when you got home. And we were on-line at three a.m., so you had a sleepless night. Were you alone, Kate? Or did you stand up your date while you and I danced electronically?”
If it had been anyone else speaking this way, or standing this close to her, she would have yelled for security. All sorts of personal space proximity alarms were going off in her head. But they were muted and dulled.
This was Calum Garrett. She could practically feel his power roiling off him like radiant heat.
“You have some downsides that only show up in person.” She gasped, wishing she could tear her gaze away from his eyes.
“I can get you Patrick Sauvage.” His voice was low, flat. Sincere.
Kate gasped. “You can’t. No one can. He wants thirty million, that’s practically my whole budget, and he’s got problems that would suck up the rest just to deal with—”
“I can get him for five and I’ll cover the rest of his babysitting bill,” Garrett replied.
Was he actually standing closer to her? Moving closer? Her heart wouldn’t stop hammering. It was actually starting to hurt. Five million for a major Hollywood A-List player like Sauvage was chicken feed. It was a bargain discount price. “You’ll pay his maintenance?” Kate tacked on, while her mind whirled.
“It’s like you said last night.” Garrett’s voice was soft, designed not to carry to the next table. “He’s only perfect. And I have leverage you don’t.”
“And what do you want for that leverage?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.”
She laughed.
“A percentage, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” she replied, still smiling.
“Given how much I would be putting into the production, that would make me a contributing producer. So I’d get credit. And I should oversee the production, as my profits would be at risk.”
Kate stepped back from him, her mirth congealing. “Gotcha,” she told him.
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Your agenda. I’ve got it now.” She resettled her satchel and glanced at her watch. Five minutes late. “You’re a movie freak.”
Garrett shook his head. “I’m a Lindenstream freak. Big difference.”
She took another step backward. “It just makes you a little bit more selective than the other movieland fans out there. You’re star struck, Garrett, and you have money enough to deal yourself into the game so you can play in all that glamour.” She could feel her lip trying to curl up in disgust. “You’re all the same, with or without money, though.”
Garrett thrust his hand into his pocket. “You’re wrong.”
“I’ve had nearly a decade of learning how to recognize one of you coming at me. I don’t think so. Find yourself another patsy, Garrett. I’m not playing your game for you. I don’t care how many millions you have, or what you can do for my movie. It would make me sick to use your leverage. The price is too high for my tastes.” She turned away from him, strode across the foyer and into the restaurant, deeply relieved to be away from Garrett, his radiate heat and power and flawed agenda.
Everyone has an agenda. Even your lunch date.
She gripped the strap of her satchel harder, making the edges curl inward and bite into her palm. She was going into the game with Adrian with her eyes open. That was the difference. Garrett had tried to blind-side her. Not the same animal at all.
She saw Adrian sitting at one of the ghastly yellow semi-circular buffets, his arms spread along the back of the rounded cushions, and waved as she made her way toward him.
At least he was on time.