Why Resist a Rebel? (2 page)

She smoothed her hands down her shirt and its collection of dust, coffee and grass stains for further effect.

There. All sorted, the perfect explanation for why she wasn’t in Paul’s office five minutes ago.

Out of the corner of her eye, the man grinned. He’d propped himself up against the trailer, ankles crossed—as casual as you like. A normal person would surely size up the situation, realise something was up and—she didn’t know—do anything
but
act as if all he were missing were a box of popcorn and a choc-top.

‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, vaguely in his direction. For the first time she noticed the matching coffee-coloured marks all over the man’s grey T-shirt, but she couldn’t make herself apologise. He was just too frustratingly calm and oblivious. He could keep his smug smile and newly stained T-shirt.

She walked up to Paul, assuming they’d now go back to his office. ‘So, what do you need me to do?’

Paul blinked, his gaze flicking over her shoulder to the man that
still
stood so nonchalantly behind her.

‘You left in a hurry,’ he said—not to Ruby, but to the man.

Ruby turned on her heel, looking from Paul to the man and back again—completely confused.

The man shrugged. ‘I had things to do.’

Paul’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, as if he was on the verge of one of his explosions.

But then—instead—he cleared his throat, and turned to Ruby. A horrible sense of foreboding settled in her stomach.

‘So you’ve met our new leading man.’

She spoke without thinking. ‘Who?’

There was a barely muffled laugh behind her.

The man. His knowing smile. The charisma that oozed from every pore.

Finally,
finally,
she connected the dots.

This
was Paul’s latest drama.
This
was why she’d been rushing back to the office.

They had a new leading man.

She’d just met him.

She’d just covered him in dirt and coffee.

Worst of all—she’d just nearly
kissed
him.

And he didn’t just have a passing resemblance to Devlin Cooper. A passing resemblance to a man who commanded double-digit multimillion-dollar salaries and provided continuous tabloid fodder to the world’s magazines and salacious television entertainment reports. A man who’d long ago left Australia and now was mentioned in the same breath as Brad, and George, and Leo...

‘You can call me Dev,’ he said, his voice deep and oh-so intimate.

Oh.

My.

God.

Dev Cooper smiled as the slender blonde raked her fingers desperately through her short-cropped hair.

Ruby.

It suited her. She was striking: with big, velvety brown eyes beneath dark blonde brows, sharp-edged cheekbones and a lush mouth. Maybe her elegant nose was a little too long, and her chin a little too stubborn—if she were a model his agent had picked out for him to be photographed with at some premiere or opening or whatever.

But, thankfully, she wasn’t. It would seem she was a member of the crew of this film he was stuck working on for the next six weeks. And—if the way she’d been looking at him a few minutes earlier was anything to go by—she was going to make the next few days, maybe longer, a heck of a lot more interesting.

Ruby crossed her arms as she spoke to the producer—Phil? No,
Paul.
The man who’d owed his agent Veronica a favour. A really
big
favour, it turned out, given his agent had bundled him onto the plane to Sydney
before
she’d sorted out the pesky little detail of whether or not he had the role.

Dev guessed, knowing Veronica, that Paul had discovered he was replacing his leading man just before Dev had turned up in his shiny black hire car. Chauffeur driven, of course—his agent was taking no chances this time.

He shifted his weight a little, easing the pressure on his left leg, which throbbed steadily. Had it really only been a week?

The pancake-flat countryside where he now stood couldn’t be further away from his driveway in Beverly Hills—the site of ‘the last straw’ as his agent had put it. Even Dev had to admit that forgetting to put his car into reverse wasn’t his best moment. Ditto to driving into his living room, and writing off his Jag.

On the plus side, he hadn’t been injured, beyond some temporary muscle damage, and, thanks to the fortress-style wall that surrounded his house, no one beyond his agent and long-suffering housekeeper even knew it had happened.

And, despite what Veronica believed, he hadn’t been drunk.

Exhausted after not sleeping for four nights—yes. But driving, or attempting to drive, drunk? No, he hadn’t slid that low.

Yet?

Dev scrubbed at his eyes, uninterested in pursuing the direction his thoughts had taken him. Instead, he refocused on Ruby and Paul, who had stopped talking and were now looking at him.

Ruby’s gaze was direct, despite the hint of colour at her cheeks. She was embarrassed, no doubt. But she was brazening it out.

He liked that.

‘I’m Ruby Bell,’ she said, ‘Production Co-ordinator for
The Land.
’

Her arm moved slightly, as though she was going to shake his hand before thinking better of it.

A shame. He was impatient to touch her again.

Maybe she saw some of what he was thinking, as her eyes narrowed. But her tone revealed nothing. ‘Paul will give me your details, and I’ll send through tomorrow’s call sheet once I’ve spoken to the assistant director.’

He nodded.

Then Paul started talking, putting lots of emphasis on
tight timelines
and
stop dates
and
getting up to speed as quickly as possible—
all things he’d said in their abruptly truncated meeting earlier.

Lord,
anyone would think he made a habit of missing his call...

He smiled tightly at his private joke, eliciting a glare from Paul.

Dev tensed. This film might have a decent budget for an Australian production, but it was no Hollywood blockbuster. He was replacing a
soapie star
as the lead, for heaven’s sake.

No way was he going to take a thinly veiled lecture from some nobody producer.

‘I get it,’ he said, cutting him off mid-stream, the action not dissimilar to what had happened in Paul’s office when he’d had enough of his blustering. ‘I’ll see you both,’ he said, pausing to catch Ruby’s gaze, ‘tomorrow.’

And with that, he was off.

Six weeks of filming. Six weeks to placate his agent.

Six weeks working in a town out beyond the middle of nowhere. Where—he knew his agent hoped—even Dev Cooper couldn’t get into any trouble.

A heated memory of chocolate eyes that sparkled and urgent fingers threaded through his hair made him smile.

Well, he hadn’t made any promises.

TWO

It took all of Ruby’s strength to follow Paul up the small flight of brick steps to the production office. She literally had to remind herself to place one foot in front of the other, as her body really, really wanted to carry her in the opposite direction. Away from the scene of unquestionably one of the most humiliating moments of her career. Her life, even.

How could she not have recognised him?

Only the possibility that any attempted escape could lead her back to Devlin Cooper stopped her. Oh—and the fact she kind of loved her career.

As they walked down the narrow hallway of the dilapidated cottage/temporary production office, Paul explained in twenty-five words or less that Mr Cooper was replacing Todd, effective immediately. That was it—no further explanation.

By now they’d made it to Paul’s makeshift kitchen-cum-office at the rear of the cottage. Inside stood Sal, the line producer, and Andy, the production manager. They both wore matching, serious expressions.

It was enough to force Ruby to pull herself together. She needed to focus on the job at hand—i.e. coordinating this movie with a completely new star.

‘I have to ask,’ asked Andy, his fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. ‘How the hell did you get Devlin Cooper to take this role?’

Ruby thought Paul might have rolled his eyes, but couldn’t be sure. ‘Let’s just say that the opportunity arose. So I took it.’

Despite the catastrophic impact on their immovable filming schedule, Ruby could hardly blame him. With Devlin’s star power,
The Land
would reach a whole new audience. Why Devlin
took
the role was another question entirely—did he want to spend time back in Australia? Did he feel a need to give back to the Australian film industry? A chance to take on a role well outside his vanilla action-hero stereotype?

It didn’t really matter.

Filming had started, and Dev’s character Seth was in nearly every scene. Tomorrow’s call sheet had Todd’s name all over it—the guy who Dev had replaced. Unquestionably, they’d lost tomorrow. Which was not good, as Arizona had to be at Pinewood Studios in London for her next film in just six weeks and one day’s time. They didn’t have
any
time up their sleeves.

‘Does Dev know the script?’

Paul just looked at her.
What do you think?

Okay. So they’d lost more than just tomorrow. Dev would need to rehearse. Ruby’s mind scrambled about trying to figure out how the first assistant director could possibly rearrange the filming schedule that she’d so painstakingly put together...and she’d need to organise to get Dev’s costumes sorted. And his hair cut. And...

‘Should I sort out a medical appointment?’ she asked. A doctor’s report for each actor was required for the film’s insurance—everything from a propensity for cold sores through to a rampant base-jumping hobby had an impact on how much it cost.

‘No,’ Paul said, very quickly.

Ruby tilted her head, studying him. But before she could ask the obvious question, Paul explained. ‘He saw a doctor in Sydney when he landed. It’s all sorted.’

Okay. She supposed that made sense.

‘Accommodation?’

God knew where she’d put him. The cast and crew had already overrun every bed and breakfast plus the local—rather cosy—motel.

‘He’s taking over Todd’s place.’

Ouch.
Poor Todd. He must be devastated—this role was widely considered his big break. He was being touted as the
next big thing.

Only to be trumped by the current big thing.

She felt for him, but, unfortunately, the brutality of this industry never failed to surprise her.

This was not a career for the faint-hearted, or anyone who needed the reassurance of a job associated with words like
stable,
or
reliable.

Fortunately, that was exactly why Ruby loved it.

Ten minutes later, the four of them had a plan of sorts for the next few days, and she was closing Paul’s office door behind her as Sal and Andy rushed back to their desks.

For a moment she stood, alone, in the cottage’s narrow old hallway. Noise spilled from the two rooms that flanked it: music, clattering keyboards, multiple conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. A familiar hum peppered with familiar voices.

To her left was Sal and Andy’s office. Ruby didn’t need to glance through their open doorway to know they’d already be busily working away on the trestle-tables that served as their temporary desks. The office would also be perfectly organised—notepads and pens all lined up, that kind of thing—because it always was. They were in charge of the film’s budget—so such meticulous organisation was definitely a plus.

In theory, given her own role, she should be just as meticulous.

Instead, to her right was the room that, amongst other things, housed her own trestle-table desk, many huge prone-to-collapsing mountains of paper and only the vaguest sense of order. Or so it appeared, anyway. She had to be ruthlessly organised—but she didn’t need to be tidy to be effective.

The room was also the home of the three members of the production crew who reported to her—Cath, Rohan and Selena. Unsurprisingly, it was this room where the majority of noise was coming from, as this was the happening part of the production office where all day every day they managed actors and scripts and agents and vendors and anything or anyone else needed to keep the film going. It was crazy, demanding, noisy work—and with a deep breath, she walked straight into it.

As expected, three heads popped up as she stepped through the door.

‘I guess you all heard the news?’

As one, they nodded.

‘Was kind of awesome when he walked out on Paul,’ said Rohan, leaning back in his chair. ‘Paul came in here and ranted for a bit before charging out the door in pursuit. Guess he couldn’t find him.’

Ruby didn’t bother to correct him.

Instead, she spent a few minutes further explaining the situation, and assigning them all additional tasks. No one complained—quite the opposite, actually. No one saw the unexpected addition of a major star to
The Land
as anything but a very good thing. It meant they were all instantly working on a film far bigger than they’d signed up for. It was a fantastic opportunity.

She needed to remember that.

Ruby settled herself calmly into her chair, dropping her phone onto her desk—fortunately no worse for wear after hitting the dirt for the second time today. She tapped the mouse track pad on her laptop, and it instantly came to life, displaying the twenty-odd new emails that had arrived since she’d last had a chance to check her phone. Not too bad given it seemed like a lifetime since she’d been busily redistributing those last-minute script revisions to the actors.

She had a million and one things to do, and she really needed to get straight back to it. Instead, her attention skidded about the room—away from her glowing laptop screen and out of the window. There wasn’t much of a view—just bare, flat countryside all the way to the ridge of mountains—but she wasn’t really looking at it. Instead, her brain was still desperately trying to process the events of the past half-hour.

It didn’t seem possible that she’d so recently been wrapped around one of the sexiest men in the world.

While covered in dirt.

And had had absolutely no idea.

Inwardly, she cringed for about the thousandth time.

Work.
She reminded herself. She just needed to focus on work. Who cared if she’d accidentally flung herself into Devlin Cooper’s arms? It was an accident, and it would never happen again—after all, she wasn’t exactly anywhere near Dev Cooper’s percentile on the drop-dead-gorgeousness spectrum. And he’d hardly had the opportunity to be attracted to her sparkling personality.

Despite everything, that thought made her smile.

No. This wasn’t funny. This was serious. What if someone had seen them?

She stood up, as sitting still had become impossible. On the window sill sat the antenna of their oversized wireless Internet router, and she fiddled with it, just so it looked as if she were doing something constructive. On a location this remote, they’d had to bring their own broadband. And their own electricity, actually—provided by a large truck that’s sole purpose was to power Unit Base, the name of this collection of trucks and people that were the beating heart of any feature film.

Her job was everything to her, and a spotless professional reputation was non-negotiable. She didn’t get each job by circling ads in the paper, or subscribing to some online jobs database. In film, it was
all
about word of mouth.

And getting it on with an actor on set... Yeah. Not a good look.

On the plus side, Dev would have forgotten all about the slightly mussed-up, damp and dusty woman who’d gang-tackled him by now.

Now she just needed to forget about how he’d made her feel.

I think some time away would do you good. Help you...move on.

Well. Dev guessed this place was exactly what Veronica had been hoping for. A painstakingly restored century-old cottage, complete with tasteful rear extension, was where he’d be calling home for the immediate future. It offered uninterrupted views to the surrounding mountains and everything!

It was also a kilometre or so out of town, had no immediate neighbours, and, thanks to his agent, a live-in minder.

Security.
Officially.

Right.

He needed a drink. He’d walked off a trans-Pacific flight less than eight hours ago. Even travelling first class couldn’t make a flight from LA to Sydney pleasant. Add a four-hour road trip with Graeme-the-security-guy and was it surprising he’d had a short fuse today?

Please play nice with Paul.

This in his latest email from his agent.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that the producer had already started updating Veronica on his behaviour. He’d even learnt exactly what she’d held over the prickly producer—knowledge of an on-set indiscretion with an aspiring actress ten years previously.

What a cliché.

And how like his agent to file that little titbit away for future use.

Good for her. Although he didn’t let himself consider how exactly he’d got to this point—to where landing roles depended on tactics and calling in favours.

Dev had dragged an overstuffed armchair onto the rear decking. On his lap was the script for
The Land,
not that he could read it now the sun had long set.

Beside him, on one of the chairs from the wooden outdoor setting he’d decided looked too uncomfortable, was his dinner. Cold, barely touched salmon with fancy-looking vegetables. God knew where Veronica had sourced his fridge and freezer full of food from—he’d long ago got used to her magic touch.

Although the lack of alcohol hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Subtle, Veronica.

But she was wrong. Booze wasn’t his problem.

He’d have to send good old Graeme down to the local bottle shop tomorrow or something.

But for now, he needed a drink.

Leaving the script on the chair, he walked through the house, and then straight out of the front door. Graeme was staying in a separate, smaller worker’s cottage closer to the road, but Dev didn’t bother to stop and let him know where he was going.

He’d been micro-managed quite enough. He could damn well walk into town and get a drink without having to ask anyone’s approval.

So he did.

Walking felt good. For once he wasn’t on the lookout for the paparazzi, as, for now, no one knew he was here. His unexpected arrival in Australia would have been noticed, of course, and it wouldn’t take long before the photographers descended. But they hadn’t, not just yet.

He had no idea what time it was, just that it was dark. Really dark—there were certainly no streetlights, and the moon was little more than a sliver.

His boots were loud on the bitumen, loud enough to disturb a group of sheep that scattered abruptly behind their barbed-wire fence. Further from the road nestled the occasional house, their windows glowing squares of bright amid the darkness.

Soon he’d hit the main street, a short stretch of shops, a petrol station, a library. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d arrived—a mix of jet lag and general lack of interest—but now he took the time to look, slowing his walk down to something approaching an amble.

Most of the town was silent—blinds were drawn, shops were certainly closed this late. But the one obvious exception was the pub, which, like much of the town, was old and stately—perched two storeys high on a corner, complete with a wide wooden balcony overlooking the street. Tonight the balcony was empty, but noise and music spilled from the open double doors. He quickened his pace, suddenly over all this peace and quiet.

It was packed. Completely—people were crammed at the bar, around the scattered tall tables and also the lower coffee tables with their surrounding couches and ottomans. It was the cast and crew, obviously, who’d taken the pub over. He’d seen for himself that Lucyville didn’t exactly have a happening restaurant strip. This was the only place to drink—and eat—so here they all were.

The pub didn’t go quiet or anything at his arrival, but he noticed that he’d been noticed.

It was a sensation that had once been a novelty, had later annoyed him to the verge of anger—and now that he just accepted. He could hardly complain...he was living his dream and all that.

Right.

He found a narrow gap at the bar, resting an arm on the polished surface. The local bartender caught his eye and did a double take, but played it cool. In his experience, most people did, with the occasional crazy person the exception rather than the rule. The paparazzi were far more an issue than Joe Public—no question.

He ordered his drink, although he wasn’t quick to raise the glass to his lips once it was placed in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t the drink he’d needed, but the walk, the bite of the crisp night air in his lungs?

Mentally he shook his head. Veronica would love that, be all smug and sure she was right to send him to Australia—while Dev wasn’t so certain.