Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason (11 page)

I
t’s
late afternoon when Link and I startle the receptionist at the Trident Studios headquarters. Well, not me so much as Link. It’s not every day you see a six-five, three-hundred-pound boulder of a man with a freshly shaved head, dressed like he’s a Secret Service agent. I’m also in suit and tie, but then again I usually am when I’m working, and it looks great on me because I’m not as big as a truck.

“Can I help you?” she asks, addressing me rather than Link.

“We have a meeting with Jackie Hightower. Mason Stark — she’s expecting us.”

She makes a call, and less than a minute later Jackie’s assistant shows up to escort us. She recognizes me from the previous meeting, but is obviously surprised to see Link.

“Hello, Mr. Stark. Who’s your friend?”

I introduce Link as my business manager.

“Jackie didn’t mention two people,” she says.

“She doesn’t know,” I say with a conspiratorial grin. “It’s a secret.”

“We both know Jackie doesn’t like secrets.”

She walks us back regardless, and as we reach Jackie’s office, my stomach tightens. This is it, sink or swim. If Jackie doesn’t buy my idea, I will be royally fucked.

The assistant opens the door and leans in. I hear her say, “Mr. Stark brought a guest.” It sounds almost like a question. I guess she gets the response she needed, because she opens the door wide. “Come on in, gentlemen. Can I get either of you something to drink? Coffee? San Pellegrino?”

We decline as we enter Jackie’s gorgeous office. I’ve been here several times before, but am always surprised at her incredible executive chick-cave.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Jackie,” I say. “I’d like you to meet my friend Lincoln Ramirez.”

Jackie looks him over, then extends a hand. When Link accepts the gesture, his huge paw dwarfs her much tinier one and I see her quickly scan his body. Everyone marvels at Link’s frame – even Drake, who’s fucking
nickname
is The Body.

“I was under the impression this would be just the two of us,” Jackie says while gesturing for us to take the two plush seats facing her desk. “No offense, Mr. Ramirez.”

“None taken,” he says in his trademark rumble.

“Lincoln is here because he’ll be involved in our
Texas Flood
negotiations,” I say.

“Is that so?” She raises an eyebrow. “Well, let’s get to it then, shall we?”

I’m relieved Jackie didn’t ask Link to leave the room. I was afraid she might be uncomfortable with his presence, but that presence is exactly why I had him come. I need Jackie to be distracted just enough to put her out of her comfort zone, and Link will do the trick just by making that huge dark blue leather chair look small. He has a way of getting people uneasy until they get to know him, which can take a while.

First things first. I try to look as sincere and contrite as possible and say, “Before we get started, Jackie, I want to apologize for my comment the last time we saw each other. Things got heated and I took a cheap shot. I hope you know how much respect I have for you, and how I know you earned your position here the right way, by being a tremendous studio executive.”

She’s not surprised by the apology, because we both knew my snarky comment would have been hanging over us like a dark cloud until I addressed it. When she smiles wanly and glances at Link, I sense that she’s wondering if he knows what was said, as well as the rumors about her.

“I understand,” she says. Not exactly a gracious acceptance, but who can blame her? She doesn’t realize that even if she actually did use sex to get ahead, I’d respect her for that. This business we’re in is eat or be eaten, and if the menu included dick and she partook heartily of that particular entrée, who am I to judge? I’ve done things I’m not exactly proud of myself along the way.

“Good. Can we move on?” I ask.

“We have no choice, do we? I’m anxious to hear this big idea of yours, Mason. I figured the Variety article would bring you back to the bargaining table.”

“Was that article you’re doing?” Jackie’s half-smile is all the confirmation I need. “Nice. You really know how to put a guy behind the eight-ball. I suppose casting T.J. as the lead in
The
Phantom Peril
was Claire’s idea, since you would have come to me otherwise, seeing as how he was my client?”

“You can’t deny that T.J. is the perfect choice to play the Phantom. You should have suggested it to me before.” That’s far from a denial of Claire’s involvement.

“Is it actually going to happen, then? You’re going to make
Phantom
?” I ask.

“Trident was committed to the reboot regardless. So, yes, it will get made. I gave T.J. my word.”

And Claire as well, I assume. I decide I’ll just have to try to ignore the fact that the woman on the other side of this impressively expensive desk was instrumental in robbing me of a big client. No matter how badly I’d love to rake her over the coals for that breach of ethics, I need her right now.

“So here’s our problem as I see it,” I say, “and to be certain, it is
our
problem – mine, yours, Cheyenne’s, Drakes, Claire’s and Mona’s, with hundreds of other people’s jobs riding on us finding a workable solution.”

Jackie isn’t convinced. She knows at this moment it’s more my problem than anyone else’s.

“Ideally, that solution must be dynamic enough to resolve several issues and keep everyone involved happy. Furthermore, nobody should come out of this looking like they lost a battle. And lastly,
Texas Flood
needs to be made with no changes to the top-billed cast. Can we agree on those points?”

“Sure,” she says. “And you have this magic solution?” She looks over at Link and smiles. It seems she doesn’t want to look too snarky in front of this quiet stranger.

“I do. And it’s perfect, if I must say so myself.”

Jackie leans back in her chair and interlaces the fingers of both hands in front of her, her expression reflecting deep skepticism.

“Dazzle me with your brilliance, Mason.”

I
’ve just finished
my evening workout and shower when Jackie calls. I haven’t heard from her yet today and assume she’s calling to discuss this morning’s Variety article and the future of
Texas Flood
. I wrap a towel around my dripping body as I answer the call.

“I hope you’re sitting down, Claire.” She pauses dramatically, then says, “We won.”

What?

I’m stunned that anything has been resolved this quickly. It’s so far removed from the realm of possibility that I can’t wrap my brain around it.

“How?” is all I can muster.

“Mason Stark just left my office. Drake Manning has agreed to come down seven million dollars on his salary. That money will go to Cheyenne.”

Impossible.

“How did Stark…?” I can’t complete the question. This makes absolutely no sense.

“There were negotiations involved, but it boils down to Manning wanting to be known as the actor who took less money to make this equal-pay thing a reality. His female fans will love him even more for it.”

Wow. That’s brilliant on Stark’s part, positioning Drake Manning of all people as a champion of women’s rights. It’s also breathtaking in its audacity. That’s like Colonel Sanders being awarded a medal by chickens.

“So just like that, Manning agrees to give away seven million so he won’t look like a Neanderthal?” I ask. “Color me skeptical, Jackie. They’re bluffing. He’ll never do it.”

“It’s already done,” Jackie says, trying her best to get it through to me. “Stark signed the new contact a couple of hours ago. You can call Cheyenne and Mona and tell them the good news: She and Manning will each be paid exactly twenty-three million for
Texas Flood
. I’ll have Cheyenne’s new contract sent to you first thing in the morning.”

“So this is really happening? It doesn’t seem possible.”

“Believe it. We’re keeping a lid on it for now, so tell Cheyenne and Mona not to say anything just yet. I already got in touch with Samuel English so Variety can break the story first thing Friday morning. He’ll be calling tomorrow to get quotes from you, Cheyenne and Mona.”

Neither one of us says anything for a few seconds while I try to process the news.

Jackie breaks the silence. “This is huge, Claire. It won’t change Hollywood overnight, but it’s an important first step. We made a small bit of history today, and generations of actresses will be better off for it.”

After the call, I finish toweling off. I plan to get dressed before calling Cheyenne, but only get as far as my panties before deciding I can’t wait. She’s ecstatic, and why wouldn’t she be? Not only is she seven million bucks richer, she’s also established herself as a pioneer of women’s rights in the film industry. Not bad for a twenty-five-year old who got her first big break wearing a topless bikini in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue while still in her teens. It seems only fitting that I placed that call wearing nothing but panties.

Cheyenne’s not the only one who made out on this deal; between her sudden raise and T.J. Holland’s casting in
The Phantom Peril
, I’ve made over two million dollars in just two days.

The only ones taking a financial hit are Stark and Manning. They’ll get their public images re-polished a mere forty-eight hours after the Variety article took their shine off. The more I think about it, though, the more I sense something’s not right about this. There’s no way those two guys walk away from seven million dollars of guaranteed money to make an altruistic feminist statement.

I smell a rat – a rodent named Mason Stark.

I quickly relay the news to Mona, then throw on some jeans and a little tank top. As I grab a hoodie and head for the door, I dial T.J.’s number.

“Hey, it’s Claire. This won’t be made public until Friday, but I wanted to let you know that the
Texas Flood
salary issue has been settled.”

“What happened?” he asks.

“I’m not exactly sure,” I say. “I’m in the middle of something and can’t talk right now. I’ll call tomorrow with more details, but it’s official.”

“That’s awesome news.”

“I need a favor, though: Do you have Mason Stark’s home address?”

* * *

D
ammit
. Stark’s house has a gated driveway. I consider climbing the gate, but come to my senses. There’s no reason he wouldn’t just let me in.

I’m anxious as hell as I push the intercom button and look up at the nearby security camera. A moment later the iron gate swings open.

When I pull up to the house, Stark is standing in the front doorway with that smug smile on his face. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who just lost a lot of money.

“Claire! Lovely of you to drop by.”

“Cut the shit,” I say as I climb out of the car. “How did you do it?”

He steps aside and gestures for me to enter. “Come on, let’s have a drink and I’ll tell you everything.”

I’m really not in the mood to drink with Stark, but I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t know the truth behind this.

He stops me in the foyer and says simply, “Shoes.” I have no idea what he means and scrunch up my nose at him. “Just had the hardwood floors re-done,” he says, gesturing to his own pair of sneakers sitting neatly against the wall. It seems like he’s always trying to exert control on me. I reluctantly slide off my shoes and leave them there as we continue inside.

Stark’s house is even nicer than I expected, likely because his decorator’s taste is tasteful and expensive. I know he likes to invite current and prospective clients to his home, and this is a convincing testament to his success.

I take a seat on a couch while he makes the drinks. “Bourbon on the rocks okay?” he asks.

“Sure.” I’m really more of a martini chick, but whatever. The couch is gorgeous, the design distinctly Italian.

“Like the place?” he asks as he brings the tumblers.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, wondering if this is the only time I’ll ever see it.

Stark sits on a nearby chair so he can face me. He holds his glass towards me, and I touch mine to it.

“To
Texas Flood
,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

He takes a sip of his bourbon. I stare him in the eye and down mine all at once, fighting back the urge to cough. I needed that drink to steady my frayed nerves, but it’s more than that; it feels like everything between me and Stark has become a test of wills.

He smiles, then takes my glass and walks back to the wet bar. “I’m guessing you want to know how I convinced Drake to take less money.”

“I do,” I say. “Assuming you actually did.”

Stark hands me a fresh drink. “You know me too well, Claire.”

I knew something was fishy.

“Drake won’t be earning less money than Cheyenne for
Texas Flood
,” he says. “In all likelihood, he’ll earn a whole lot more.”

He’s toying with me, wanting me to beg for details. At this point, I’m ready to beat them out of him. I’m also feeling quite warm. The warm air in the house, the bourbon working its way into my bloodstream, and my anger at Stark are all conspiring to raise my body temperature. I unzip my hoodie and remove it, setting it on the couch next to me. The sudden rush of air makes my braless nipples harden. When I turn back to Stark, his eyes dart away from my tits and back to my face, making me blush despite myself.

“Jackie said you signed a new contract for Mason at twenty-three million, and she promised the same amount for Cheyenne.”

“True,” Stark says as he takes a self-satisfied drink.

My mind reels as I look into the eyes of my rival, and it doesn’t help that he’s distractingly sexy in his dark jeans, pullover sweater and bare feet. Goddamn, I wish he weren’t so devastatingly handsome.

“Just tell me what the fuck you did!” It leaps out of me before I can stop it. I’m rattled, pissed off, and emotionally drained from being sexually attracted to someone I’m trying my best to despise.

Stark tilts his head slightly and gives me a condescending smile. I know instinctively that he’s implying I should already know the answer.

When I see that smile and feel the arrogance behind it, my brain finally kicks into gear and serves up the only plausible explanation.

Of course. I really should have seen this.

“You got him points,” I say, already certain I’m right. In addition to his salary, Manning will also get a percentage of the box office take for
Texas Flood
.

“I did,” Stark brags. “Ten percent of the worldwide gross, in return for him allowing Trident to move seven million to Cheyenne and match their salaries.”

“Ten percent of the gross could be twenty million or more. On top of the twenty-three he’s already getting.” The words float from my mouth on a cloud of disbelief. Stark has pulled off the ultimate scam.

“If the film is as good as it should be, it could much more than that,” he says. “But even if it bombs, he’ll still get close to his original agreed-upon salary.”

“And Jackie signed off on this?”

“Sure. She gets to make a political statement. Apparently, Jackie was more interested in the appearance of equal pay than the reality of it. Giving points to Drake was a good investment, because Trident now has a commitment for two additional films starring the most successful actor in the world. And Jackie’s pet project doesn’t get derailed.”

“But the accounting…” I say. “People will know Manning is earning more than Cheyenne. You can’t keep that quiet – it’ll leak out and the resulting scandal will ruin the credibility of everyone involved.”

“Technically, Drake Manning won’t be getting the points. Lincoln Ramirez will.”

My already-taxed brain comes up with nothing. “Who the fuck is Lincoln Ramirez?”

Stark grins. “Link is a friend of mine. You should meet him. Nice guy, though he’s emotionally unavailable.”

“So this Ramirez guy is a proxy? He gets the checks and turns them over to Manning?” I’m still confused.

“Actually, the checks will come to me at MAU, since I’m Link’s manager,” he says. “He’ll get a cut, but the bulk will be paid to Drake by MAU, not Trident. Of course, I get ten percent of that. And in return for being our proxy, Link will get half of my cut, as well as his very first producer credit.”

He lets it sink in for a moment, then says, “Everyone looks good here, Claire. No villains, only heroes.”

Stark is right. It’s unquestionably brilliant, and I’m in awe that he got it accomplished in a day’s time.

“I can’t believe you did this,” I say. “And so quickly. I have to admit I’m impressed.” The praise brings an honest smile to his face. I hold out my drink and we clink glasses again. “Here’s to finding a way.”

I want to kiss him. The desire rises out of nowhere and consumes me. My sexy rival actually cared more about finding a solution in which everybody wins than he did about losing the bet with me. He has no idea I don’t plan to hold him to the wager we made, making it an even bigger sacrifice. I finish my drink and set the glass on the coffee table in order to throw my arms around Stark and give him a truly memorable kiss.

Until he opens his mouth and ruins the moment.

“And the icing on the cake is that I win the bet, you conniving little twat.”

My heart is slammed by the callousness of his words. Apart from being a dick, he’s also deluded.

“You’re either mistaken or crazy, or probably both,” I say, looking at the lips I was about to kiss. “I won that bet, fair and square.”

“How the fuck did you win? Drake is probably going to earn twice what Cheyenne Parris will for that movie.”

“That wasn’t the bet.” I stand up and put a finger in his face. “The bet was that I would be able to get Cheyenne a salary equal to Manning’s. Not points on the back end or total compensation –
salary
.”

“You’re splitting hairs,” he says as he pushes my hand out of his face. He rises from the chair and the volume of his voice rises as well. “You know you lost the bet and you’re trying to weasel out of what you legitimately owe me. I won’t let you do that.”

“I
won
the damn bet!” I’m starting to lose my temper with this obstinate jerk. “You owe me a million bucks and a pedicure! Don’t wimp out on me just when I was starting to respect you.”

Both of us are pissed off now. My blood is boiling and I feel my chest rising and falling with every angry breath I take.

Stark is doing his best to appear calm. “I don’t need your fucking respect. I need you to service me in this house for a week.”

“You’re insane if you think I’ll do that,” I say. “You’re the one who lost the bet, not me.”

“I’m going to tie you to this coffee table naked and leave you there for a while.”

I make the mistake of actually looking at the coffee table, which is right next to us, and my mind instantly imagines being tied naked there, my breasts and belly against the cool wood surface and my ass hanging off the edge.

“That’ll never happen. Be a man and honor your bet.”

Stark ignores me. “And every time I walk through the room, I’ll take my cock out and fuck you for a few minutes.”

I flash back to the feeling of his hard-on deep inside of me on my desk and my pussy involuntarily clenches at the thought. He’s a foot taller than I am, but I thrust my face toward his and say, “You’re deranged!” Pushing an index finger into his chest, I add, “Now be a man and honor the goddamn bet.”