You Don't Know Me (26 page)

Then his lips were all over her neck. His hands swarming her body; her own traveling over him just as eagerly. They fell to the grass as one, writhing and touching and gasping for air.

Dinah had no control over the person he brought out in her, but common sense wasn’t completely lost. They were outside, and anyone who chose to drive through the open gates would find them in a tangle of arms and legs, as horny and oblivious as mongrel dogs.

“Oh, God, John! This is crazy!” Dinah shivered, in half-ecstasy, half-humiliation.

His fingers dug at the band of her denim skirt, pulling it over slim hips, revealing a lacy thong and long, shapely tanned thighs. He groaned, burying his face low against her in a move that shocked Dinah to her ultimate core.

“Stop!” she cried, genuinely scared. With more strength than she would have credited herself, she suddenly flung John away from her, jumped to her feet, and ran for the house.

Inside, she glanced this way and that, feral and panicked. A bell chimed and she shrieked aloud until she slowly realized it was the grandfather clock in the living room.

She heard John behind her. He staggered into the entryway, leaned against the wall, and stared at her, raking a hand through his hair.

“You’re so screwed up, there’s no hope,” he told her, adding, “And so am I. Now get out,” he ordered as he continued on his journey to the kitchen where she heard him pouring himself another drink.

“John . . .”

“GET OUT!”

She ran for the door, nearly tripped over Bobo whom she scooped up, remembered her dead Corolla, stutter-stepped for a moment until she recalled her purse, with her cell, was in the car and she could call for assistance.

Bastard. Asshole. Damn male.

She wished she could really hate him.

 

Callahan’s production offices were bare bones in the opulence department. Industrial grade carpet, scrupulously clean, fake leather chairs with chrome arms, a smattering of desks and lamps in the reception area. If Hayley didn’t know Hollywood, she might have been concerned, but one of the few items she’d learned over her years here was that pricey exteriors didn’t necessarily mean a damn thing.

The receptionist lifted one haughty brow. “Yes?”

“I’m a friend of Tonja Terkell’s,” Hayley alerted her, her tone matching that discriminating eyebrow.

Without another word, the receptionist turned to the desk phone, pressed a button, and called Tonja over an intercom. She received no response and therefore simply pretended Hayley wasn’t standing in front of her.

Hayley remained on her feet. Backbone. She had plenty of it. More than most people possessed. She wanted this part and she was determined to get it—or damn near die trying.

What had come over her at Callahan’s house? Thinking back, she shook her head in wonderment. It was as if she’d fallen under some secret spell, which John Callahan had spun. A few words about Denise, a step inside her own past, and Hayley had been out of there. Zippo.

Now she couldn’t believe it. For years she’d been traveling with the speed and determination of a freight train toward her destination: stardom. And then she’d been derailed so easily—and the station had been within view. She didn’t understand how it could happen. It was like stepping into a nightmare and finding you couldn’t move your feet because they were planted in some thick, gooey substance that held you down.

She’d let Jason fire her, gone home in a daze, and run smack into Connor Jackley who was waiting with relentless questions she couldn’t answer.

And later, after he’d left, she’d been restless and disturbed, her sleep fitful and haunted by images she faintly recognized from her own past. Some real, some imagined, she felt burned by the heat of some evil core within her, a place Connor kept urging her to visit.

Well, she simply wasn’t going to. After waking from a miserable night, head aching and soul anxious, she determined she was not going to think about Connor Jackley or her sisters or her past in Wagon Wheel. She was going to focus on her ambition.

So here she was, raring to go. Except this damn blockade of disinterest had been thrown up in front of her.

“Is Tonja in?” she demanded of the receptionist.

“She’s not answering.”

“Would you mind trying again?”

This time both brows lifted and the woman went mum. Ice cold. The big freeze.

“She left this at my place,” Hayley explained, pulling out her audition DVD. “I called her and told her I’d bring it to her.”

“Leave it on the desk, I’ll make sure—”

“Sorry. I deliver this one myself.”

A poison look. Hayley glanced toward the hall and debated making a run for it. Sure, the woman would call security, but at least she’d have some time before she was booted out. She knew Callahan was here; she’d seen his Land Rover. If she could just get to him, she’d be home free.

And then opportunity knocked: Mr. Producer himself strode from the inner offices on his way out and brushed within inches of Hayley. The receptionist straightened as if someone had shoved a rod up her back and Hayley threw on her best smile and said, “Hello again.”

The look he gave her nearly singed off her skin. Phew! The man was furious. At her? No way. But a niggling memory invaded her mind, and remembering a similar look on her stepfather’s face, Hayley shrank back.

For a moment she thought Callahan would shoot right past without a word, but he stopped short and turned her way. She had the impression he was holding in some very nasty emotions with a very manly effort.

“You want to see me?” he clipped out.

“Well . . . um . . . yeah.”

“Then, come on. I’ve got half an hour before my next meeting.”

Hayley didn’t need to be asked twice. She jumped forward as the receptionist gasped in annoyance and frustration. Hah! Score one for the good guys. She had her chance now and she wasn’t going to blow it again.

At his Land Rover Callahan ordered, “Climb in, talk fast, and don’t lie. I’m not in the best of moods, so you’ve got twenty minutes to convince me you’re not some conniving look-alike.” He swiveled her way, pinning her with steely blue eyes. “And for the record, I detest my ex-wife, so don’t count on any favors.”

 

As a test, it was one of the most grueling of her life. Hayley was many things, but a revealer of truths wasn’t one of them. But that, it turned out, was all Callahan wanted. Truths. Hurtful, soul-delving truths.

“Did you ask Denise about me?” she questioned once they were under way.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t get a chance.” His words were bitten off, as if they tasted bad. Whatever had happened between him and Denise was something she probably didn’t want to know. “So go on,” he commanded. “Tell me all about yourself and your sister.”

The worst possible subject, but the only one anyone cared to listen to. Why couldn’t
someone
talk about
something
else? “I’d rather hear about
Blackbird,
” she said as the freeway zipped past.

The sideways slant of his eyes in her direction eloquently spoke his feelings on that matter. He believed she was lying. Lying in order to weasel her way into his film.

Well, hell. She
did
want a part. But she could see the only way to get one was to tell the unvarnished truth.

Swallowing her misgivings, she launched into her tale. “Denise is older than I am, by two years. We kind of moved all over as kids. I never knew my father and when I was about eleven, my mother remarried.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t take his eyes off the road.

Hesitantly Hayley continued, “We moved to a little town in central Oregon called Wagon Wheel.”

“This doesn’t match any of the fables Denise told me.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“Go on.”

“We lived together until my mother died and then we tried to stay with my stepfather but it didn’t work, so Denise left and I followed her. We bummed around L.A. awhile and kind of split up.”

Hayley swallowed, remembering. It had been too difficult staying together. Denise had split with her boyfriend and was going through some really weird stuff. Crying all night. Nightmares that scared the liver out of Hayley. Dinah had been there too, and she would shake Denise awake and demand that she “get a grip!” They all relied on Dinah—until Denise found another guy, a good-looking Hollywood hustler, who introduced her to a life that looked beautiful and good and like everything she’d ever wanted.

Dinah wouldn’t let Hayley follow, but after Denise flitted off, Dinah had found Glen Bosworth. When she moved in with Glen, Hayley left. More bad choices. Now, years later, Hayley had taken acting classes until she knew more than the combined knowledge of all her instructors, Denise was—well—unstable as ever, and Dinah had run off to “Somewhere in the Great Southwest” after leaving Glen.

Hayley gave Callahan an abbreviated account—sans Dinah—and then wondered if the time was right to get back to
Blackbird.

“Denise never even intimated she had a sister,” Callahan said coolly.

Apparently, the time wasn’t right yet. With a sigh, Hayley asked, “What did she tell you?”

“Lots of things. The Indiana story was first. Then there was talk of a love gone wrong and a baby.”

Hayley stared. “She said she’d had a baby?”

“No . . . a pregnancy,” he corrected himself. “The tabloids were on some hot story about her and some guy she went to school with. The guy said they’d had a relationship and she was pregnant. I questioned Denise. First, she said it was a pack of lies, then she kind of waffled and finally admitted she’d had a pregnancy scare. Then she said she’d miscarried.” He snorted. “I stopped caring what the truth was after a while.” Inhaling through his teeth, he added dryly, “And now you want me to believe you’re her sister.”

“If you’d just ask her, she’d tell you.”

“Would she?” Irony deepened the lines beside his mouth.

Hayley managed a faint smile, realizing she honestly didn’t know.

She found herself comparing him to Connor. As handsome as he was, Callahan couldn’t quite match that smoldering something that Connor Jackley possessed. At least not for her. Callahan was direct and tough and moved with that slow-walkin’, slow-talkin’ cowboy way, but Hayley was more seduced by Connor Jackley’s laconic comments and quiet intensity.

She shivered involuntarily. But you couldn’t trust men. Not any of them. “You might have to apply some pressure, but she’d tell you the truth eventually.”

“Denise isn’t good with the truth.” His hands tightened on the wheel, and his jaw muscles tautened reflexively. Hayley realized he was under some severe emotion where Denise was concerned. So what else was new?

“She’s so screwed up, she’ll never be right,” he went on, as if she’d asked. “I don’t give a damn about her childhood. It’s too popular these days to blame everything on events from your past. Lots of people have been abused.”

“I hate thinking about Thomas Daniels,” she admitted tautly.

That got a look from him. His brows drew together and she thought he was going to ask her something else, but he changed his mind.

And then they were at their destination. Titan Studios.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded, nearly jumping from her skin.

“I’ve got a meeting with the head of the studio, Rodney Walburn.”

Rod?
The color emptied from Hayley’s cheeks.
Oh, God, no!

“I can call you a cab. This might take a while.” He smiled as the guard waved him through the gates. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t really in the mood.”

Hayley’s pulse jumped erratically. She was inside the studio lot. “No, I’ll wait.” She was safe unless Rodney decided to leave his air-conditioned environs to walk John to his car. No chance of that . . . was there?

Thirty minutes later she got her answer. Walburn himself waddled John back to the Land Rover. Alarmed, Hayley glanced around frantically wondering where to hide. If he recognized her from his private party . . .

John introduced them. “Hayley Scott, Rodney Walburn.”

Walburn managed to pull his lips into a smile. His hair was as neatly gelled as before. Hayley inwardly shuddered as she shook his hand. Her own was ice cold.

His mean, little eyes swept over her. “You remind me of someone.”

Hayley gazed at him with wide-eyed innocence. Time to act, and give an award-winning performance. Her heart hammered. “Oh?”

John snorted. “She looks like Denise,” he clipped out.

“Oh, yes.” He glanced past her, back to John. Hayley’s slamming heart slowed down. “Good to be working together, John,” he said. “I like the deal. Fuck, it’s the best in town. You know it, I know it. You’re such a son of a bitch, you don’t deserve it!” He laughed with forced heartiness. “Any other problems you’ve got, bring ’em to me. I’ll take care of them for you, you know that. Who’ve you got for the lead? You know who comes to mind, don’t you?”

“Denise,” John offered flatly.

“Yeah, she’s a fuckin’ bitch, but you know she’s big box office. I don’t have to tell you.”

His language hadn’t improved much, Hayley silently observed.

Callahan responded with a terse good-bye as he climbed in the driver’s seat of the Land Rover. If she’d thought he looked severe before, she hadn’t known what the word meant. He didn’t bother to wave as he tore away from Walburn.

“Nice guy,” she observed.

“I got what I wanted.”

“Really? How do you look when you lose?”

“I don’t lose,” he told her flatly. “Not to Titan.”

With that they wheeled out of the lot and headed back to his production offices. “What is it exactly that you want?” he asked her.

Time for the big plunge. “A part in
Blackbird.
”

“Uh-huh.” He was surprised only by her candor, not her request. “And if I don’t give you one?”

“What do you mean?”

“You tell me a tale about being Denise’s sister, then you ask for a part. Which tabloid will you call first and what wild story can I expect to see if I don’t take you seriously?”

“You think I’d blackmail you for a part?”

“Yep.”

“All I want you to do is look at this audition.” Feeling deflated, she pulled the DVD from her purse.

“I have a casting director,” he replied.

“Then give it to them,” Hayley said with a return of spunk. “I’m good at what I do. Damn good. All I want is a chance, whether you believe I’m Denise’s sister or not.”