A STELLAR AFFAIR (A Hollywood Bad Boy Romance) (7 page)

“Where to, Av?”

“Drop me at my house first then take Mr. Stoner wherever he wants to go.”

The paparazzi were still surrounding the vehicle to get more shots of them. Her other two bodyguards were warding them off or they’d have clambered inside the limo, too. Thank God for one-way tint, they couldn’t possibly see through the interior.

The limo slowly rolled away from the theater. She looked back and saw mania. The paparazzi were frantically running after them.

“I want an explanation.”

She turned back in her seat to face Wes again. “I’m not obligated to explain anything to you. You’ll be compensated accordingly for your little acting effort tonight. Reena will settle your fee with your manager.”

His eyes turned darker. The searing intensity in his gaze felt like he was stripping her naked. The urge to cross her arms in front of her chest was strong but that would be a defensive stance and she didn’t want him to think he was affecting her greatly. So she kept her hands at her sides as casually as she could, pretending she was in full control, mentally counting until she could get off of this vehicle and put distance between them.
 

“So, this is your MO.”

She raised a haughty brow. “My MO?”

“Yeah. Hiring actors to play your lovers to sell an album.”

 
“What planet are you from? It’s not an MO. It’s called marketing. I’m sure your naked butt in those rags are helping sell your movies.”
 

“Except I wasn’t acting. Those were private moments stolen from me,” he countered. “They all happily came, too,” he added with a shit-eating grin.
 

Really?! Do I have time to listen to this macho BS?
She rolled her eyes, tempted to do the gag gesture but she was in a Karl Lagerfeld and she respected her favorite designer too much not to act like a freakin’ tramp in this one of a kind creation he’d designed for her on short notice.
 

“For free, you dirty mind. Unlike you, I don’t pay my lovers to be with me.”

“My, my, my, now I know why you won an AA and a bunch of GGs. You really have a penchant for drama, Stoner.”

He smirked. “At least I haven’t won any Razzies.”

She seethed at the dig. Her one and only foray into film, a teeny-bopper flick she’d starred in with Tyrone six years ago resulted in a couple of those pesky awards for the worst in films. Even she conceded that acting wasn’t for her.

“I didn’t know badass Darko could be a whining, condescending, snooty bitch. Who knew?” she dissed back.

To her surprise, he chuckled. His countenance changed again. He was now looking at her lazily, studying her. Her muscles relaxed too, as if they were attuned to his temperament. She wasn’t liking it one bit. He was playing her emotions as if he held the remote control.

“Oh, he could be dumb, too, totally missing the point. I didn’t say that to be funny.”

“Now I know.”

“What?”

“Why you’re so successful.”

That really rubbed her the wrong way. She squared her shoulders and gave him a piece of her mind. “There are a lot of gray areas in this business but I don’t owe you anything to be compelled to define my business ethics to you. But on second thought, I will. I built my career from sheer hard work and determination and I won’t allow anybody to talk about it like it’s some sleazy job I should be ashamed of. Maybe the difference between us is I’m not too full of myself to think that I can break new grounds by relying on my vocal prowess alone. The entertainment business is a shark-tank full of ambitious pop stars trying to outdo and outshine one another at every turn and I have to compete or be rendered irrelevant and obsolete faster than a shooting star. Yes, I may have a clean reputation in the industry but I haven’t stayed on top of the game by playing too safe and straight. I have to hustle, just like everyone else. The last thing I need is a Wesley Stoner thumbing me down from his moral high horse. And frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think.”

That certainly rendered the snob speechless. She felt a huge satisfaction from seeing the stupefied expression on his face.

“I was actually giving you a compliment,” he said quietly.

“Oh yeah?” She doubted it.

“You’re so successful because you give as good as you get, Ava. No. You give more. You deserve all your success.”

Now she was speechless.

Oh snap! He just melted your panties off of you, 90-million dollar girl.

“My manager said I’m quite naive in Hollywood dealings. I guess he’s right.”

She raised a brow. “You, naive?”

“I told him I can land the role I want by simply letting my body of work speak for myself. He said not until I become your pretend boyfriend.”

“Ouch.”
 

“Yeah.” He looked outside the window and didn’t speak for some time.
 

She didn’t mean to be flippant. She had the chance to study him as he sat there pensively. Was she actually seeing some vulnerability there? She sensed it was a genuine issue for him. Maybe there was more to Wesley Stoner than meets the eye? Could he be one of those few good men in Hollywood who were not slaves to their ambition?
 

“Managers, agents and especially PR people can be really cutthroat.”

“But they’re right, of course,” he said in a subdued tone. “I’m sad it has all come to this but that’s how it is. Play or fold.”

Almost a decade at the top had made her quite jaded. She’d learned how to play the game early on. Wesley seemed to be an idealist despite his reputation as a devil-may-care, and for the life of her, she wanted to preserve his ideals. “In the end, it all depends on how badly we want something.”

“You tell me, Ava. How much do you want this? ” There was no judgment in his eyes.

In that moment, she felt a strange affinity with him, as if they’d connected at a dimension they both understood perfectly.
 

He wanted that movie. She wanted him, too, for her album, except that she didn’t think she could work with him in her current disposition. OR in his current disposition. Regardless of the fact that they wanted the same thing for their careers, they were not on the same page.

Wes Stoner was just too… unpredictable…uncontrollable, a quicksilver she couldn’t contain in her palm. She didn’t want anything or anybody she couldn’t control. She’d always calculated the risks to her advantage. Yes, he was perfect as her Heartbreaker but he’d be a pyrrhic
victory. The damage he’d incur after helping her win would be incalculable. She didn’t need that shit right now.
 

“I’m sorry, Wes, but no. The deal is really off.”

He was not a man
who took kindly to rejection of any kind, especially from a woman. He couldn’t remember the last time he got blown off. No, he wasn’t an arrogant SOB who thought he was god’s gift to women either (though he mostly was, according to his ex-lovers and the Stoners in general), but there was something about Ava Ryder telling him ‘no’ that set off the Neanderthal in him. The woman was used to playing her games her way and most likely expected everyone to cater to her every whim, but she chose the wrong one to play over this time. He wasn’t one of those actors and models she just picked out from obscurity to play like a puppet in her spoiled rotten hands then discarded in her next breath. No way was he leaving her tonight without her knowing who called the fucking shots here.
 

She wanted him. She got him.

And he would have her. In all ways and some.
 

The Empress finally met her match and guess what, she’d lose her clothes.

Tonight.
 

Shit just got real.

Ava was relieved she was finally home.

 
“Well, it has certainly been an interesting night, Wes. Just tell my chauffeur where you wanna be dropped off and he’ll take you there.”

Wes gazed at the imposing facade of her three-storey mansion in Beverly Hills. “I wanna stay for a bit.”

“What…?”

“Since you called the deal off, you cost me an important job. I have no desire to party or anything the rest of the night. But you owe me a drink or two.”

“I do…?”

“As a commiseration. It’s common courtesy.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. He stood there, imposing and self-assured as he demanded to be invited in for a drink. The man was really something.

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, just one drink.”

“I’m not in a habit of inviting men to drink in my house past midnight.”

He grinned. “What am I, Candyman? I assure you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
 

She didn’t trust that grin one bit. “I don’t know what you are. The answer is no.”

“You’re forming this bad habit of saying no to me. I don’t like it.”

The devil was back in business, for sure. “Well, newsflash, Stoner, deal with it.”

He stared at her with this all-knowing look. She willed herself not to back down from this stare-fest. She stared back harder.

God, will you leave already?!
 

“You’re afraid of me.”
 

“You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?” she scoffed.

“Prove it.”

“I don’t need to prove anything to you.”

“Then invite me for a drink.”

Their eyes clashed. She knew he was playing a game with her and she should just call this bullshit to his face but the cocksure look in his eyes made her hackles rise. Why was she running away from him anyway? She was already in her territory, within the secure walls of her mansion. She’d sic her bodyguards on him if he started behaving like a bad boy for real.

“Alright. One drink.”

Ava started to regret inviting him in.

He was lounging in her
den like he owned it. He’d divested his long, black coat and draped it on the sofa’s arm. The metal-studded vest made of soft leather, molded on the contours of his powerful torso like second skin. His muscled arms were in full display under the soft lights. She’d often gawked and drooled at those ripped biceps in his testosterone-driven films and provocative photos gracing countless websites, gossip blogs and Tumblr accounts. Up close and personal though, oh my lord, she wanted those arms wrapped around her.

Bad thoughts, Ava. Bad!

“What would you like to drink?” she asked him.

“Whiskey.”

“You’re not getting drunk in my house.”

“I have your chauffeur to take me home.”

Her eyebrows drew together in disapproval.
 

“I don’t get easily drunk, c’mon. One shot.”

She went to the bar dominating one corner of her huge den. This was where she usually entertained her guests. Everything looked laid back and relaxing here but Wes filled the room with tension when he entered it. He joined her and went through the extensive selection of bottles lining the glass shelves, mostly given to her as gifts by her friends and fans. He picked up a bottle of bourbon whiskey.
 

He poured himself a glass. “What would you have?” he asked her.

“Not drinking.”

“Will you loosen up? You’re so uptight.”