Chapter Eight
Roman had genuine business in the city the next morning, so finally he called Kate at nine. “It would be easier if I picked you up. I’m already in Van Iuys.”
“I’m already downtown.”
“I’ll meet you there at eleven-thirty if the suits don’t bore me to death first. Who invented accounting, anyway?”
She giggled as she disconnected, and the sound made him smile. It was another layer to the woman. An unexpected one. Who’d have thought she had the ability to be childlike? Except making movies was one big exercise in daydreaming, so she had the capacity.
He turned back to face the panel of executives staring disapprovingly at him and realized they hadn’t liked his conversation. He hadn’t used volume modulation at all. He shrugged. “Any chance we can wrap this up in thirty minutes?”
The head suit tugged at the knot of his precisely arranged tie. “These are complex financial matters you’ve presented us, Mr. Xerus. We would be doing you a disservice if we didn’t ensure you fully grasped the complete array.” And the man’s gaze flickered over Roman’s jeans and tee-shirt, and lingered for a moment on his earring, before settling on his face once more.
Ahh... Roman hid his smile and cracked his knuckles with obvious relish. “I have a Masters in finance from Caltech, and a doctorate in economic theory from Harvard. Accounting was a minor degree for me. I think I can keep up with you.” He tapped the portfolio in front of him. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep the lady waiting.”
* * * * *
“This place shouldn’t look exactly the same as it did two weeks ago,” Kate murmured, looking around the lounge bar.
Roman let his gaze settle briefly on every occupant in the sprawling room, and spotted five vampires and two males he wouldn’t classify until he got closer and could sniff them. There were too many bodies in the room for their aromas – if they had them – to differentiate from this distance.
“He’s here,” he said.
“Where?” Kate asked. “I don’t see him.”
“He’s not in the bar himself, but his people are. The man at the bar nursing the beer, the one with the bad taste in ties. He’s one. So is the one with the long hair over by the pool table, also holding a beer.”
Kate looked at her watch and then glanced around, frowning, like she was looking for someone. It was a sweeping glance of the room that didn’t linger on anyone in particular. She glanced up at Roman. “The one with the black hair, bad haircut?”
“Very good,” he murmured. “What tipped you off?”
“The beer. It’s the same distance down the glass as the other two.”
“I’m impressed.”
“How do you know they’re Garrett’s people?”
“They’re by themselves, they’re drinking by themselves, not waiting for friends, and ever since we stepped in the door, they’ve been watching us. They’re security. Garrett’s or someone else’s, but the on-point stare makes it more likely they’re Garrett’s.” He held out a hand toward the bar. “Garrett is going to want to pick his own table. Petty power play. So let’s not bother with giving him the luxury of pulling us away from ours. We’ll sit at the bar to wait for him, instead.”
She nodded and headed for the bar, walking confidently down the wide aisle between the tiny tables and cerise red lounges, her chin up. Roman stayed even with her, and realized that he wasn’t shortening his pace all that much to do so.
Really long legs.
His body tried to tighten as images from yesterday in the trailer flickered through his subconscious, almost too deep to register as full thoughts. Her thighs spread before him as he drove into her. The length of her legs as she bent over the desk.
Her throaty, used scream as she came.
He deliberately forced his mind away from yesterday, focusing on the coming confrontation. He couldn’t help Kate if he was caught up in daydreams about her body and what he wanted to do with it.
She pulled out a stool and hitched one hip onto the edge of it. “Virgin daiquiri,” she told the waiter, who instantly appeared in front of her. “Hold the fruit.”
“Johnny Walker Blue,” Roman ordered.
The barman lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t serve that in single shots. You’re welcome to purchase a bottle, which I would be happy to serve for you.”
Roman snorted. “Not at your mark up, thanks. I’ll pass.” He leaned against the bar with his elbow and turned to face Kate. “Anything less is an offense to the palate,” he told her.
“Scotch?” She was smiling. “I’ll take your word for it. I’m not a whiskey drinker at all.”
He glanced over her shoulder. “Garrett must have got word we’ve arrived. He’s here. Don’t turn around. Keep your back to him so he has to force the acknowledgement.”
Kate nodded to the barman as he placed her daiquiri in front of her and Roman turned his shoulder slightly inward, so his gaze was devoted to Kate. She picked up her drink. “You’ve done this before,” she accused him.
“Once or twice. That’s the reason I don’t advertise my personal resources. I’d spend even more time defending them, if I did.”
She sipped and winced. “As sweet as before. Daiquiris seem to be a lost art. Oh well.”
“You need to learn to appreciate martinis,” Roman told her.
“Not until they start making them with rum,” she replied.
“Kate,” Garrett said, from behind.
His approach had been noted by almost everyone in the bar. There wasn’t a single A-list face in the place, and Kate was the heaviest Hollywood name here. Garrett was a recognizable name on anyone’s list. Heads were turning as he picked out Kate at the bar. Saturn had approached tiny Mars.
And Saturn had brought satellites. There were two people standing behind him, one of them the lawyer that Roman had already begun to think of as odious. MacDonald. He was carrying a briefcase. Of course.
The other was a woman in a chic business suit. Short, pitch black hair, black eyes, flawless pale skin. She clutched a portfolio and a computer tablet. The executive assistant, Roman catalogued.
Kate straightened up, examining Garrett in his immaculate suit, and his array of people. “I see you felt the need for reinforcements.”
Roman grinned.
Garrett’s gaze flickered toward him. It was the first time he had acknowledged his presence.
“So did you.”
“Adrian?” Kate clarified. “That was your suggestion. Besides, he’s a friend, not professional back-up.” She waved toward the tables. “Shall we do this?”
Garrett stepped out of the way. “By all means. Would you like to pick your table?”
Kate pursed her lips together. “I really don’t give a damn, Garrett. I’m not that petty. Just pick one and let’s go.”
Roman let himself grin again. She was staying on the attack. Making herself sound pissed and angry. Building up the impression of a strong woman forced to a position of defeat. His admiration of her lifted. So far, she was playing it perfectly.
Garrett didn’t react to the anger. He glanced at the assistant. “Annette?”
“I’ll find a table that will seat all of us,” she said and hurried away, her sensible shoes squeaking on the tiles a little.
“Does ‘all of us’ include your four bruisers casing the bar?” Roman asked.
Garrett glanced at him. “No, but it does include you, as Kate brought you along.” He thrust out his hand. “Calum Garrett. I’m sure you’ve figured that out. You are?”
Roman let Garrett’s hand hang in mid-air for a minute. Then he took it.
Damn, but the feel of his hand brought back memories. The long fingers, the big palm. The familiarity of it.
He tamped down the memories. Beat them back. Now wasn’t the time. “Adrian,” he said.
Garrett smiled and let his hand go. “You know I will be able to figure out the rest of your name, later, don’t you?”
Roman smiled back. “Just because you’ve got connections and can dig stuff up on people...I don’t see that as a reason to just hand myself over on a plate for you.”
“A man of principles.”
“Some.”
The assistant, Annette, hurried back. “By the pool table. I’ve joined two tables together.”
Kate picked up her drink. “We’re not going to be bothered by drunken players swinging cues about, are we?” She sounded peeved.
The brunette smiled a little. “I made it worth their while not to play, today. We’ll be completely undisturbed.”
Kate’s face took on the smooth neutral expression Roman had learned was the mask for when she was surprised, or shocked, and was hiding it from public view.
Roman raised his assessment of the assistant a reluctant notch higher. Garrett knew how to pick his people well.
Garrett was already heading for the pool table, where the stairwell created a natural open area and the stairs themselves gave it some privacy at the same time.
Two of Garrett’s security people were already sitting at the joined tables. Protecting them. One of them was one of the men Roman hadn’t been sure was Garrett’s or not.
Roman managed to step within a metre of the man’s radius as they traded places and settled around the squared up tables. Human and from his odour, on a powerful mix of steroids and cocaine. Roman wondered if Garrett had picked up the drugs in the man’s scent.
The pool table area was a neat rectangle, tucked in behind the stairs. The pool table was over to the side closest to the restaurant, where half-glass walls gave the diners on the other side an unexpected view of the green baize and the balls. Buffet seating ranged down one side of the rectangle, and three of the tables ranged alongside the seating. Two of them were pushed together now. A handful of the spidery, chic chairs serviced each table.
On the wall opposite the stairs, two big LCD screens were playing in silence, their vocal text streaming along the bottom of each screen. One was showing a sports channel. The other was showing a Hollywood new/entertainment show, which was probably of more interest to the people who sat in this bar than the sports channel.
Roman fully expected Garrett to take the symbolically powerful seat at either end of the elongated table arrangement, but Garrett settled himself on one of the chairs next to the end.
Kate sat on the buffet opposite him.
Roman looked around as the rest of the chairs were taken by the lackeys, leaving him with the chair at the end. He shrugged, and sat in it, between Kate and Garrett. Symbols didn’t frighten him. Besides, it put his back to the TV screens.
Garrett’s assistant was watching him, her gaze frank and assessing. As Roman stared back at her, she shifted her focus down to the computer tablet in front of her.
Roman wondered if Garrett was fucking her. It wasn’t like Garrett to get involved with his hired help and she wasn’t his type, but the on-point stare and the direct way she had cleared out the pool area spoke of a woman with backbone. That would appeal to Garrett. It might explain why, after so many decades, he’d unbent enough to take his hands off the controls and let someone help him.
Trust didn’t come easily to Calum, not anymore.
That’s your fault, a tiny voice whispered in Roman’s mind.
Roman shifted on the chair, mentally changing the subject along with his physical adjustment. He looked at Kate. She had a grim, hard-mouthed expression on her face as she stared at Garrett.
Garrett leaned back in his chair. “The lien against your studio building was lifted this morning.”
She sat for a second longer. Then, “You want a ‘thank you’ from me, Garrett? You picked on the wrong person if you’re looking for gratitude out of this. I said I’d come to the table. You lift the lien in response. Let’s talk deal. That’s the next step. Don’t try to get cute with me.”
Garrett smiled. “Very well. You were having labour problems, I heard.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not the next step. Next step is you tell me what you’re bringing to the table.”
“I am telling you what I’m bringing to the table.” He leaned forward. “I understand you’re angry, Kate. I understand you’re pissed at me. But bear with me while I explain—”
“No.” She slapped her hand on the table. “That’s what you don’t get to do, Garrett. You don’t get the luxury of explanations, or justifications, or long winded stories about how you were forced to wear a dress when you were a kid, and that’s why you get to do asshole things now like the shitty crap you’ve pulled on me. That’s not part of this deal.”
“I didn’t—”
“You didn’t listen to me, because you don’t think you have to listen to me. But this is my picture, Garrett, and I own the goddam copyright on the screenplay, and that, asshole, you cannot take away from me no matter how many lawyers you stand in front of you. I will bury this picture before I let you take it away from me, so get that straight right now. Got it?”
Garrett took a breath. Let it out. “No one is trying to take your movie from you.” His tone was reasonable.
“You did a fucking good imitation of just that this week.”
“That’s different. That was...” He hesitated.
Roman was enjoying himself immensely. Kate might not have any financial muscle in the room, but she was tying Garrett up in knots anyway. She had found his one point of vulnerability, and was using it ruthlessly to make her point. She did have the ability to shut down this show and make sure it was never resurrected again. It was her screenplay. She could take her ball and go home, if she really wanted to, and there was nothing Garrett could do about it.
“What, you did it just for fun, Garrett? Or to demonstrate a point?” Kate asked, her voice dangerously soft.
Garrett straightened in his seat, facing her squarely. He raised a brow. “It was leverage, to bring you to this table. And it worked, didn’t it?” He held out his hand, and the assistant smoothly inserted a thick wad of bound paper into it.
He placed the paper on the table in front of Kate. “I thought we might as well get this over with in one meeting.”
She looked down at the neatly drawn-up agreement, her eyes widening, and anger building in her features. If Roman hadn’t warned her that Garrett would do this, he would have thought her genuinely furious. It was a stunning performance.
Kate appeared to contain her anger. Her jaw clenched. Only her eyes showed the furnace of fury inside her. “My standard terms are one percent of net US profits, first theatre release only.”
“Net? And have your accountants inflate expenses to the point where there’s no profits left to be had?” Garrett shook his head. “Gross, world profits, for theatrical and DVD and Blu-ray releases.”
Kate’s mouth opened. “You’re fucking kidding me! Sauvage isn’t worth that, even at his normal price tag! You’re only putting in five million, Garrett.—”
“And babysitting expenses.”
“Even so, that’s chickenfeed compared to my up-front investment. Asking for a cut on the gross on the DVD and Blu-ray is just plain rude. It’s not like you’ll be pulling anything close to your share of the weight to justify it.”
“I can help in more ways than just bringing Sauvage on board,” Garrett replied. His tone was calm. She was barely lifting his pulse.
Why not? Roman stared at him, wondering what aces Garrett had up his sleeve.
“I don’t want your help.” Kate’s voice was low and hard.
“You need it,” Garrett said flatly. His face was neutral. He wasn’t reacting to her at all. He’d said it at the start: He knew she was pissed. He placed his hand on the table, just like Kate’s, but his was calming, soft. “Most of your labour has disappeared because of Labour Relations. They either aren’t allowed to work anymore, or they’ll be too scared to come back to the lot. You’ll get a fraction of your regular crews back, and you’re supposed to start principle photography in a week.”
“That’s what agencies are for,” Kate shot back.
“You think they haven’t heard about your troubles by now?” Garrett replied. “You’re marked, Kate. They’ll have trouble finding people for you, too. But I can help smooth that over. I’ll be able to get you the skills and bodies you need.”
“You don’t know one end of a lens from another. How the fuck do you figure you’re going to find me skilled labour?”
“I know people who do know lens. And costumes and lighting. And more. It’s all about who you know. And I know a lot of people.” His smile was warm. Reassuring.
Damn, but he was good.
Kate shook her head disbelievingly. “You know people? You’ve been in this town for three weeks, Garrett. Even I don’t know that many people.”
“I know people,” he assured her. He glanced at his watch, then at the assistant. Annette waved at one of the men that Roman had picked out earlier. This one was sitting close by the fire exit. The man got up and opened the door.
Patrick Sauvage stepped through, and the security guard stepped up alongside him as they headed for the tables. Heads began to turn. Elbows nudged. This was laid-back, seen-it-all Los Angeles, but it was Patrick Sauvage walking through the bar. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at Patrick Sauvage go by.
Kate, hyper-sensitive to the arrival of any star, turned her head, her radar alerted.
“Fuck,” she said, and glared at Garrett.
“I know people,” Garrett replied, with a small smile.
Everyone at the table was watching Sauvage’s approach now.
Roman had to admire Garrett’s sense of drama and timing. If he had meant to make an impression, he had achieved it. Even he was having a hard time not being impressed by the glittering star heading their way.
Patrick Sauvage was six foot three, broad shouldered, and although the public had speculated for years, no one had officially pinned down his age. Roman figured he was in his early or mid-forties, but blessed with a youthful appearance. His real age gave him a maturity, though, that lent gravitas to roles in which younger actors would have a hard time making audiences take them seriously.
Dark hair, dark eyes and a chiselled jaw, along with the famous eight pack physique and more infamous ass cheeks that had appeared inside woman’s magazines across the globe whenever he went swimming on a public beach...Patrick Sauvage was made for the physical roles. But he was also classically good looking, so he could pull off historical roles, contemporary roles...whatever he was wanted for.
He tended to piss off most of the A-list actors, because he could also act, so they couldn’t laugh at his performances and dismiss him that way. He had trained in London, and he had been honing his skills through the years with private coaching. He was a master at accents.
Kate was right. Sauvage was perfect for Murad, except that he was flaky.
His personal life was not just a shipwreck; it was a museum in ode to marine time disasters. Four wives and at least three serious relationships had broken up publically and loudly. And then there was the fact that Sauvage liked to inhale or drink a lot of his spare income and the resultant disasters from that.
Sauvage had an annual booking at Betty Ford.
All the sordid details and media headlines flickered through Roman’s memory as Sauvage sailed across the bar, smiling and nodding at various people as he passed. He even stopped once or twice to sign autographs. His smile was at full wattage, and he looked like he’d just spent forty days at a health spa. He was tanned, fit and glowing with good health.
The security guy gently shepherded him over to the pool area.
Everyone at their table was turned to watch the superstar descend upon them, now. His arrival had stopped the conversation and yanked their attention around to the centre of the lounge.
Everyone except Garrett’s assistant. Hers was the one head not facing toward Sauvage. She was watching the TV screens behind Roman, utterly disinterested in Sauvage’s entrance. Then she looked down at her computer tablet, absorbed in the text on the screen.
Curioser and curioser. Roman catalogued her for future study.
Sauvage spotted Garrett and his smile turned into a genuine one, full of warmth and dazzling good cheer.
“I’ll be damned,” Roman murmured, as Garrett got to his feet.
Kate shot him a look.
Garrett and Sauvage hugged, and it was not French airy thing. It was a solid expression of friendship.
Roman leaned toward Kate. “That’s how he’s getting him for five,” he murmured. “He knows Sauvage well enough to either pull in a favour...or something bigger.”
“What could be bigger?” she murmured back.
Roman raised his brow.
“Oh...” she breathed, her eyes widening as she turned back to look at Sauvage. Roman knew she was trying to instantly reassess Sauvage in light of the possibility that he and Garrett were now or were once lovers.
Garrett gave up his seat, putting Sauvage directly opposite Kate. It was a strategic move, Roman realized. Sauvage had charm and magnetism to spare, and he would pour it all on Kate, his future director and producer.
Garrett took the chair next to Sauvage and everyone else shuffled around and settled back down.
“Kate, do you know Patrick?”
Patrick held out his hand. “We’ve never had the fortune to formally work together, although we’ve rubbed elbows at awards here and there. Hi, Kate.” He didn’t beam at her. “I hear you’ve got concerns about casting me.”
Roman sat forward, as Kate’s studiously blank expression slid into place. She cleared her throat. “I do,” she said after a few seconds. “I’m not a producer with an endless pocket. You’re currently outside my economic reach. Garrett seems to feel differently.”
Sauvage nodded. “He showed me your script. I want the part, Kate. It’s perfect for me, and I’m perfect for your movie.” Again, he wasn’t smiling. No charm. Just business. Roman could feel tendrils of admiration curling up inside him again, despite his need to despise what Garrett was doing to Kate. Sauvage was playing it straight. And he had exposed his cards for everyone to see. No bullshit. No hype. Down to business. Kate would find that hard to resist. It was her style of doing things.
Kate drew in a breath and let it out before she responded. “I’ve been talking to someone else.”
“I heard you were considering Greg Evershot,” Sauvage replied. His lips thinned. “He’s a fine actor,” he said flatly. “He’ll do a wonderful job.”
Even Roman was familiar with the standard Hollywood euphemism for saying an actor was full of shit, and couldn’t act for peanuts. He winced.
Kate smiled briefly. “I can’t afford you, Patrick.”
“You can if I come in at five.”
She licked her lips, glancing at Garrett. “Why on earth would you take a pay cut like that?”
Sauvage considered for a moment. “Between us, let’s just call it personal reasons. When you write the press release, you can tell them I believe so strongly in your movie, I wanted in badly enough to take the cut.”
Roman glanced at Garrett and found he was watching him. Roman sat back in his chair. There was something more at work here. It wasn’t just a favour, or even a very personal favour.
Kate’s breath was more rapid now, and Roman could detect the coppery smell of adrenaline in her aroma. She was excited, or afraid, or aroused. Or all three. But she was containing it. Hiding it...except she didn’t know that Garrett would be able to sense it, too.
Roman reached under the table, and squeezed her denim-clad knee, as a warning. He kept his hand in place, soothing her thigh with long strokes.
He saw her draw in long, steady breaths. Calming herself. She had received the message, then.
She sipped at her drink, and then laced her fingers together, staring at Sauvage. “It’s not just the money, Patrick. You know that.”
A fine furrow appeared between his brows. “Calum told me. I’ve been clean for six months. Clean of everything. Even booze.”
“You’ve gone longer than that before. And you have a tendency to fall off in the middle of filming, when the stress gets to you.” She shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s the facts, Patrick. And again, I don’t have the budget to have the set stand around idle while you go off on a binge, then spend forty days drying out, before you wander back to work.”
“Calum told me about this babysitting thing. You’re not serious, are you?”
“I am,” Kate replied serenely.
Sauvage pushed back in his seat. “That’s insulting.”
“You’ve proved you can’t be trusted, Patrick. And I can’t afford to take you at your word. You want the part, you say.” She shrugged. “That’s the price.”
He put his hands on the edge of the table, and Roman realized he was going to push himself up, and walk away.
But Garrett’s hand curled over his shoulder. “Suck it up, Pat. Just one movie. Prove you’re really clean. Then you’ll have roles coming in from all directions, and no more nervous insurance clauses and a revolving door of agents.”
Sauvage sat motionless in his chair. Considering.
“One movie and this is all over,” Garrett added softly.
Now, what did that mean? Roman wondered.
Sauvage breathed heavily through his nose. Then he nodded shortly. “Okay,” he said. He dropped his hands away from the table edge.
“It’s the role of the century,” Garrett added. “You know that.”
Sauvage grimaced. “Yeah.”
Roman glanced at Kate. She was absorbing every inch of this by-play with a writer’s and director’s keen sense of observation of character and interaction. Good. He wanted to talk to her about it later, when they were alone. He wanted to know if she was picking up the same wild and unexpected layers of sub-text that he was.
Garrett wasn’t hiding anything. What game was he playing here? What was the ace in his pocket if he was playing his cards face up?