Hollywood Hit (25 page)

Heat flamed through Nikki’s belly and breached her face. Not the bad guy? Her uncle had hired a man to fuck her—okay, maybe not fuck her—but to become her supposed boyfriend so that he and her aunt could keep tabs on her. That was pretty bad.

“Did you know?” Nikki eyed Aunt Cici. She couldn’t hide the anger and pain that seared through her. Aunt Cici dropped her eyes for an instant, then met Nikki’s gaze.

“I just found out Rush’s real identity.”

While the actual words might be true, Nikki realized Aunt Cici had known Ted was doing things he thought would protect Nikki. Things that Nikki had adamantly refused and told both Ted and Cici she didn’t want.

Ted sat at his desk. His long, lean fingers pressed into a pyramid under his chin. “Your protection is paramount to your aunt and to me.”

He didn’t raise his voice, and it was the lack of emotion, the utter matter-of-fact tone that cracked at Nikki’s heart. Her value, according to Ted, was in relation to her impact on her aunt. Her entire value seemed to always be in direct relation to her aunt. Her value to the studio, her value to her aunt’s friends, her value to Ted and now... She turned her head and looked at Rush, and now even her value to Rush. Her jaw tightened. She really didn’t have any value aside from being Cici Solange’s niece.

“You didn’t tell us about the break-in.” Cici’s voice quivered. “I had to hear about it from Lydia.”

Nikki’s heart palpitated and she closed her eyes. She filled her chest with a deep breath of air and then released it and let her gaze land on Aunt Cici.

“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want—”

“You didn’t want us to do what you knew we would do,” Ted interrupted.

Anger and shame bubbled in her chest. She wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman.

“I didn’t want you following me. Tailing me. Hiring some goon.” Nikki jerked her head toward Rush without looking at him. Nikki fought to control the quiver in her lip and the hint of pain in her voice. “No, I didn’t want any of it, and I still don’t.” Nikki let her eyes lock onto Rush. “And I especially don’t want him.”

Her words were a lie. A blatant lie that needed to be told. She did want Rush. Even in this moment with anger raging through her chest—anger directed at Aunt Cici, anger directed at Ted, anger directed at Rush—she still wanted him. Nikki wanted that hard male body pressed against her. She wanted those lips tracing across her neck and her body. She wanted his hands pushing and pulling and pressing into every inch of her skin.

Rush’s eyes remained emotionless. He didn’t move. He looked at her, but when she looked into his eyes, now, so far away from Ojai, it was as if she looked into an empty black hole, void of emotion, void of feeling, void of connection. Nikki swallowed. Their night together had been a sham. Rush’s feelings for her, all of the moments, the sex, the words, merely an act to get close to her, to do Ted’s bidding, for Rush to do his job. He wasn’t much better than Adam really—Adam had used her to get publicity for Sick Puppy, Rush had used her to keep his job.

Nikki’s throat tightened and pinpricks of heat danced behind her eyes. She tore her gaze from Rush. She wouldn’t let any of them see her cry. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. Even her aunt had betrayed her. She guessed Christina was right—you really couldn’t trust anyone in Hollywood.

“How did you find out about the apartment?” Nikki asked.

“Lydia stopped by the town house and the cleaning crew was there.”

“And we got a bill from the Chateau,” Ted added.

She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head. She would take no handouts, no more help from Ted or her aunt. She’d had enough of their help. Rush’s gaze dusted over her.

“I’ll pay it back,” Nikki said.

 “Nikki,” Cici said softly, “this isn’t about money. This is about taking care of you—”

“I can take care of myself,” Nikki shot out. “I took care of Mom. We took care of ourselves for two decades, or have you forgotten?”

Cici recoiled. She balled her fists in her hand. From the look on Aunt Cici’s face—no, Aunt Cici hadn’t forgotten. Hadn’t forgotten how she left her sister and niece to fend for themselves, nearly forgetting she had any family at all. Never visiting, never calling, never sending one dime to her sister and niece.

“Aunt Cici, you didn’t owe me anything then, and you don’t owe me anything now.”

Cici flinched with Nikki’s words. Cici didn’t control the world; at the very least she didn’t control Nikki.

“Nikki,” Ted said, “you will accept security. At least on set. It’s part of making a film. I can’t force you to allow me to place a security detail with you, but there is something that’s happened, something that I think may change your mind.”

Nikki’s heart hammered in her chest. This couldn’t be good. This would be bad. Very very bad. Nikki’s eyes flitted from Rush, to Ted, and then finally to Aunt Cici.

Cici looked up and met Nikki’s gaze. “Nikki, darling,” Aunt Cici said, “Adam is dead.”

“What kind of a mess have you managed to get yourself into?”

Nikki turned to Rush. For more than two weeks, since Adam’s death, Rush had been glued to her side. He was hired help, and she didn’t want to share any more of herself with him; she wouldn’t share her past, her body, her bed, and definitely not her future. He already knew way more about her, her family, and her twisted background than he’d ever let on when he was playing the boy-toy producer with a limitless bank account. He wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be working for Ted if he were stupid.

“I’d think you’d have figured all that out by now,” Nikki said. She kept her tone cold. She peered out the passenger window of his car. She was now an unwilling, yet active, participant in the Rush Nelson charade.

“I’ve figured out a lot,” Rush said. Rush’s eyes slipped across her body. They left hot marks on her skin. “But the one thing I can’t quite understand is why a girl like you would get involved with a dirtbag like Adam.”

There were no more courteous inquiries between them, no more façade, no more pretense that theirs was anything more than a business relationship. She was to be protected and he was the protector. Forget that her heart still cracked with each dark glance, that her skin thrilled with his near-touch, that her toes curled with the throaty growl of his voice.

Nikki flipped her hair over her shoulder. He couldn’t see the expression in her eyes because of her shades. Call it a weakness for musicians, a weakness for bad boys, chalk it up to loneliness upon moving to LA, but whatever the reason she’d allowed herself to be in Adam’s rotation, she didn’t need to be judged by a guy who used subterfuge and lies to insinuate himself into people’s lives so he might collect a paycheck from one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

No, Nikki didn’t need to be judged by someone like Rush Nelson.

“The reason as to why is irrelevant to your purposes,” Nikki said. She turned her gaze toward the windshield.

Her skin tingled with his nearness in the car. She nearly jumped each time he moved. The heat that circulated in her belly and caused the hairs on her neck to rise was more than annoying. Even her anger at his lies and deceit couldn’t squelch that fire. Yeah—she wasn’t good at controlling her attraction to men. The wrong men. She seemed to always want the guys that were absolutely the worst for her.

“I like men that I have no ability to control. Call it a character flaw, call it a sexual quirk, call it whatever the hell you want, but whatever you decide to call it, why don’t you keep it to yourself,” Nikki said.

“Then pretending to be with me shouldn’t be much of stretch for you.” He turned his eyes to her. The uptilted quirk of his mouth insinuated that this game of pretend she’d agreed to after Adam’s death, after she realized who Rush really was, after Aunt Cici and Ted laid out all the threats to her safety, was something Rush thought she couldn’t achieve.

“It’s Hollywood,” Nikki said. “I’m a producer. I can pretend to like anyone.”

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. When she looked at Rush, she didn’t feel nearly as strong or angry. The Worldwide gates pulled into view and Rush blew past the guard booth with a wave.

They didn’t even stop him, his cover was so deeply sealed by Ted. Rush could do nearly anything at Worldwide and have no questions asked. Rush needn’t ever get a movie into production and yet his deal would be maintained as long as Ted had security interests to maintain. In the circles Rush flew and the information he gained and the dirt he kept, Rush might have more golden nuggets of information than Kiki Dee.

“How many films are on your slate?” Nikki asked as Rush pulled down Solange Lane and took a left on Burt Reynolds drive.

“Right now?” Rush tilted his head. “Twenty-five. Seven thrillers, four rom coms, two dramas, a teen comedy, and three horror films. A couple of comic books under option and some best sellers.”

“That’s not twenty-five,” Nikki said.

“Right.” Rush pulled into his parking space in front of his bungalow on the Worldwide lot. “I recently picked up another drama that’s certain to be an award winner.”

Cold slithered through Nikki’s gut like a hard, solid blade. He didn’t have to say the name. She swallowed and sucked in her cheeks. The bastard. Ted. Mike Fox. Rush. The bastards. Handing out credits for her film like hundred-dollar bills to whores.

“Is this all part of your employment contract with Ted? You pretend to produce and then take a credit for any project you want?”

“Let’s just say it’s an added perk.” Rush pushed open his car door. “Besides, you really think I’d waste my time babysitting a brat like you if there wasn’t some backend involved?”

Nikki opened her door and the endless LA sun hit her face. She hoped Rush liked the backend deal he’d negotiated with Ted, because that would be the only backend he was going to get.

*

Rush regretted calling Nikki a brat, but she got to him. She pulled and kicked and tore at his insides. She sliced under his skin and spit salt into the wound as she spoke. He couldn’t fault her. She was hurt. She was angry. She was a raging woman unwilling to yield. With what he’d pulled on her, he was lucky to be alive. Nikki sauntered up to the side door of the soundstage, all false bravado, and yanked open the door. He didn’t care about the producer credit that Worldwide was doling out to him. The whole damn thing had been Ted’s idea as a way to explain why Rush was on set every day. Sure, they were maintaining the cover that Nikki and Rush were a thing, but that could blow up—the press liked to dig. Even if she couldn’t stand to pretend to be with him anymore, or if she did start seeing someone—blood thundered through his veins with the thought—as a producer on
Boundless Bound
he would still have access to her and the film. Ted had set his limits with Nikki when Adam bit the dust. Nikki would have security.

With Adam’s dead body found swinging from the shower rod of his hotel room, the threat had finally sunk in. Nikki was the only connection. The obvious connection. Perhaps the reason why, now, two people were dead. They had a link, now they needed the sicko who was whacking off people close to Nikki. Ted was worried. Celeste Solange could be next. She was the closest person Nikki had in her life.

They’d all breathe easier if some other reason for the demise of either man bubbled to the surface or if they caught the guy who’d knocked them off. So far nothing had come out of the sludge.

Rush yanked on the soundstage door and a blast of cold air hit him full in the face. JP Anderson would shoot the office scene today. The office scene that contained ropes and duct tape and some hard-core sex play between Celeste and Jackson Nichols. The scene that was rough and hard and not easy for any actress.

JP sauntered up to Rush. “We’ve got a closed set today.” He had short-man’s disease. This guy got his rocks off by ordering people around, especially tall men. Rush knew about JP. He was great behind the camera, but in front of it—in real life—the guy was a total asshole.

Rush slid his sunglasses into his jacket pocket. He looked over the end of his nose at JP. This had the effect of shortening JP even more.

“I’ve been cleared by Ted,” Rush said. His tone was soft and low. There was no need to throw any weight around when the entire desire of the studio was behind you.

“Ted? Ted who?” JP asked. The guy obviously wasn’t privy to who ultimately called the shots at Worldwide. “Thea!” JP yelled to his assistant. “Get me security.” He looked back at Rush, his arms crossed over his chest. This was a pissing contest JP would not win.

Rush leaned forward. “JP, before you call security,” Rush said, his voice still soft and with a tone that indicated he was trying to do the director a favor, “give Mike Fox a call and ask him about Rush Nelson.”

JP squinted. And then he blinked. Thea, with her disheveled ponytail, stood beside JP with her iPhone poised to make whichever call JP wanted.

“Really,” Rush said. “Call Mike. Get started on time today.”

JP’s brow furrowed and he turned to Thea. “Make the call.” He waited, arms crossed. Heat traipsed across JP’s face. There was so little anyone could control in Hollywood that some people latched onto any little bit of power.

Thea dialed and handed the phone to JP. He turned away from Rush, one arm still crossed over his chest. Muffled tones. A rise in pitch.
What the fuck
escaped JP’s mouth. His head turned and he glanced over his shoulder toward Rush. He couldn’t hide the hint of surprise, the whisper of shock that hovered about his lips. His shoulders rose and fell with a quick admission of defeat, acquiescence to the studio, the power that sat high in the Worldwide glass tower. The power by which a director lived and died.

JP handed the phone to Thea. A false smile, one that shadowed the anger in JP’s eyes at having this guy—this guy barely known to him—shoved down his throat.

“You must have some fucking powerful friends,” JP said. Now his tone was low, his head cocked to the side, appraising Rush. Smart director. JP was surmising how he might use Rush and Rush’s powerful friends to his advantage.