Enough to tide him over until the next time. The next woman.
And to maybe, if he was lucky, chip away at the wall he’d built around his heart.
His thoughts churned wildly, and he imagined the feel of a woman’s soft skin under his fingers. A woman who wouldn’t look at him with Jennifer’s eyes. Who wouldn’t remind him of where he’d run from or what he’d done. A woman who’d give herself to him. Who wouldn’t care about his flaws as he let himself just go, hard and hot and desperate, into the wild, dark bliss of anonymity.
“Mmm, I don’t know, Lyle,” Frannie murmured, her hand pressed firmly against his now rock-hard erection. “Here’s evidence that suggests our onscreen chemistry is real. Give me a chance and I bet we can really raise that flag.”
“I like you fine, Frannie,” he said, taking a step back and cursing himself for giving into fantasy. “But I’m not fucking you.”
From the glint in her eye, he was certain her famous temper was about to flare, but an editor he recognized from Variety walked up, and Frannie downshifted to charming.
Lyle hung around long enough to greet the guy and answer a few questions about the role, then made his escape when the conversation shifted to Frannie’s new endorsement deal.
He grabbed a bourbon from a passing waiter and sipped it as he crossed to the edge of the roof. He didn’t like heights, which was why he sought them out. Hell, it was why his apartment was on the thirtieth floor of a Century City high rise, and the reason he’d spent countless hours getting his pilot’s license. When something bothered him, he conquered it; he didn’t succumb to it.
And that’s part of why this bullshit with Frannie irritated him so much.
“You never struck me as the stupid type.”
Lyle recognized the throaty, feminine voice and turned to face his agent, Evelyn Dodge. An attractive woman in her mid-fifties, Evelyn had been in the industry for ages, knew everyone worth knowing, and was as tough as nails. She also never took shit from anybody.
Lyle studied her face, trying to get a bead on what she was thinking. No luck. His agent was a blank slate. Good when negotiating deals. Not so good when he was trying to gauge a reaction.
“That girl’s got more power than you think,” she continued when he stayed silent. “You want the quick and dirty route to Career-in-the-Toilet Town? Because that path runs straight through your pretty co-star. You piss Frannie off and suddenly Garreth Todd will be playing M and you’ll be lucky if you can get a walk-on in a local commercial for a used car lot.”
“Thanks for giving it to me straight,” he said dryly.
“You think I’m exaggerating? I thought you knew your ass from a hole in the wall. Or have I been misreading you all this time?”
“Christ, Evelyn. I’m not naive. But I’m not sleeping with Frannie just to make things nice on the set. Are you honestly saying I should?”
“Hell no, Iowa,” she said, using his home state as a nickname. “I’m telling you that you need to be smart. As long as you’re single, she’s not going to let it drop.” She sighed. “You’ve worked damn hard to get where you are, and you’re flying high. But let me remind you in case you think that makes you invincible — the higher you are, the more painful it is when you crash back down to earth.”
“I’m not going to screw anything up, Evelyn.”
“You don’t know Frannie the way I do. She’s destroyed careers more established than yours—and that was before she had a hefty gold statue on her mantle.”
Fuck. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“How long have we worked together?” she asked, obviously not expecting an answer. “Two, three years? And never during all that time have I seen you date. A few women on your arm at a party, but you go stag more often than you go with a woman.”
“What the hell, Evelyn?” He knew he sounded defensive, but she was coming dangerously close to pushing buttons he didn’t want pushed, and to peering into dark corners that were better left in the shadows.
“You told me once you weren’t gay, and that’s fine. Thousands of teenage girls across the country sleep easier knowing you’re on the market.”
“Is there a point to this?” He tried—and failed—to keep the irritation out of his voice.
She cast a sharp glance at his face. “I’m just saying that if you have a girlfriend tucked away in an attic somewhere, now’s the time to pull her out and dust her off. Because our girl Frannie is like a dog with a bone. A very pampered, well-groomed dog, who has one hell of a bite when she doesn’t get her own way. But she doesn’t mess with married men.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to trot off to Vegas and make a showgirl my bride?”
“Just be smart. And if you do have a girlfriend hidden away, then bring her to a party or two. And if you don’t, then get one.”
“It’s bullshit,” he said mildly. “But I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Good. Now let’s go mingle.”
With a sigh, he glanced around the set-up. At the free-flowing alcohol and never-ending stream of finger foods offered by waitresses in outfits that were just a little too skimpy to be decent, but which covered a little too much to be obscene. At the napkins and stemware that displayed the series’ logo, and at the band in the corner that was playing a never-ending stream of music from the franchise, while on the opposite side of the roof, clips from the previous movies played in a continuous loop on a giant screen.
It was opulent, ridiculous, and completely over the top.
Jennifer would have loved it.
She would have swept into Hollywood and conquered it, making Francesca Muratti look like an amateur in the process.
Go big or go home. Wasn’t that what she’d always told him? Jennifer? With her innocent eyes and her not-so-innocent mouth?
But she’d never gotten the chance.
And now here he was, thirteen years to the day since that goddamned hellish night. And Jenny was dead, and he was standing in a spotlight wearing Armani and living her dream.
How fucked up was that?
“I lost you somewhere,” Evelyn said. “Let’s head to the bar. I think you could use another drink.”
Damn right he could, but he shook his head. “I was just thinking.” He gestured with his hand, indicating the whole area, including the city beyond the rooftop. “This really is where dreams come true.”
But only an unlucky few—like Lyle—knew how many nightmares hid inside those bright, shiny dreams.
He forced a smile for Evelyn’s sake. “It’s past seven. I’ve been here for almost two hours. I’ve been effusive and charming and a team player. I’ve done everything they’ve asked. Officially, anyway,” he added, thinking of Frannie’s overtures. “That should at least earn me a cookie, don’t you think?”
She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she looked at him. “Depends on what kind of cookie you’re looking for.”
“I’m leaving—”
“Dammit, Lyle.”
“Do I ever cause you problems? Do you have to run interference for me? Do I not live up to my damned golden boy reputation?”