Breaking Hollywood (15 page)

Besides, if she played hardball, he still had the ultimate revenge – he could put her on stage and cut the Auto-Tune halfway through her performance. The whole world would then see that
she couldn’t hold a note in one of her blinged-up boots.

At the door of Princess’s dressing room, his brain was assaulted by the volume of the track blasting from inside. He recognized it immediately. Princess’s latest song, ‘Take Me
Now, Boy’. Nothing like a bit of unsubtle product placement. She’d been bugging him to give her a performance slot for the last three weeks, but he just wasn’t sure the explicit
lyrics and the pelvic thrusts from the song’s video were primetime family viewing. If he’d learned anything last year, it was that there were limits to how far he could go with the
viewing public before their backlash whipped you like the twenty-foot tail on a pissed-off alligator. He didn’t feel like being a casualty this week.

Nevertheless, he was aware of what she brought to the show. The unpredictability and sheer viciousness that enticed the viewers and gave him something to play off. For once, he could be the good
guy.

He knocked on the door. No answer. Hardly a surprise. There was no way anything could be heard over the music. Irritation rose to the top of his emotional pile. He had a show to run and no time
for this shit. He pushed open the door and marched inside, then immediately wished that he hadn’t.

Princess’s dressing room had been designed to her exact specifications. All four walls were mirrored, and in the middle was a circular sofa, purple leather, surrounding a low glass table
that was littered with cigarettes and bottles of Grey Goose.

Along one wall, a dressing area that Pop Bitch Barbie would be proud of, given that it contained every cosmetic, accessory and hair device currently available in the free world.

At the back of the room was a sound system with a mixing desk, and to the right, a day bed, with huge leather arms and purple silk upholstery.

That’s where Princess was now, sitting cross-legged, eyes closed. Davie’s first thought would have been meditation. Then yoga. Perhaps even some other kind of spiritual ritual. Yep,
that would have been his first thought, if she hadn’t been completely naked, except for two chains, which travelled from hoops pierced through her nipples down to a third hoop on the front
lip of her hairless vagina.

Thus Davie’s first thought was that all the blood in his body had just rushed to his instant erection.

In an unusual occurrence, words failed him. Her eyes were still closed, so he realized he had two choices: retreat and pretend he’d never been there or—

He didn’t get to number two. The track ended and she opened her eyes, showing no surprise at all that he was standing there.

She unfurled her legs and then slipped her feet into the ten-inch steel-spike-heeled stilettos on the floor in front of her, rose up and wordlessly crossed the room to the bar in the corner.
There, she poured two shots of Jack Daniel’s, before strutting towards him and handing half of her contraband to him. Davie took the drink, still saying nothing, transfixed by the sight of
her. Standing in heels, her thighs were rock hard, her legs beautifully toned. Her hips were wide, her waist whipped thin, her tits high and full. This girl was all curves and generous proportions
– not the ultra-thin model types of his past, or a naturally slender frame like Sarah. Her peroxide-blonde hair didn’t match her dark skin tone, her hairless body looked odd on such a
voluptuous shape, and yet it all somehow worked to make her about as sexy as it got. And he had absolutely no doubt that she knew it.

Eyeing him with a look that sat somewhere between defiance and supreme confidence, Princess knocked back her drink and then dropped the glass onto the deep pile of the cream carpet.

Still silent, their gazes locked, her hand went to his groin and she traced one long glitter-pink nail along the bulge of his cock. Davie didn’t know if it was pleasure or pain, but he
knew it was excruciating. It was tracing its way back down when she finally spoke.

‘I thought that maybe you needed to see the full range of my talents.’

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This wasn’t good.

Klaxons sounded in Davie’s head. This was a bad move. Repeat:
Bad move
. Yet the button of his trousers appeared suddenly to be undone.

Evacuate the building. Time to go. Do not stop to collect valuables, friends or morals.

Now his zipper had somehow slid to the bottom.

Emergency situation. Risk to life. Evacuate immediately.

An electric shock as a hand slipped inside his crotch.

Evacuate. Evacuate immediately. Get out now, people.

Davie!

Somehow, by some fucked-up osmosis or conscience, he heard that last mental scream in Sarah’s voice.

He took a step backwards, desperate for breathing space. It was far enough to remove the fingers that were snaking round his solid cock.

Move forward. Move back. Move forward knowing that she was the ultimate manipulator who was doing this only for her own professional advancement and to play with his head. Move back knowing that
he was in a relationship with a woman he truly wanted to be with. Move forward because he was so horny right now and so wanted those lips to be round his—

‘Am I interrupting something?’

Man, who sent the cavalry? He spun round to see Mellie, in the doorway, one hand on her hip, looking like she’d just walked in on them doing nothing more startling than chatting about
library books.

‘Nice chains,’ she told Princess. ‘Remind me to yank them one day. Davie, can I have a word?’

‘Erm, yeah, sure.’

‘Excellent. Princess, they need you on set. Much as I like the look you’re going for, I’m not sure it’ll work with our core audience.’

‘Shame,’ Princess jibed back dryly. ‘I think I’m rocking it.’

‘Absolutely. Davie?’

Turning on her heel, she left the room and Davie followed her, ignoring Princess’s satisfied grin. As his erection collapsed and he pulled up his jeans, his thought processes immediately
went to juvenile self-defence. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He hadn’t touched her. There had been no sexual contact on his part. I did not have sexual relations with that
woman.

Would he have?

Fuck, did he almost totally betray Sarah?

Cue self-flagellation and condemnation.

How could he have done that? He’d been faithful to her every moment since they’d met, and OK, so they hadn’t had much time for each other lately, but did that really mean he
couldn’t keep it in his pants even when a naked twenty-one-year-old hot babe was trying to drag it out?

He was pathetic. Pathetic.

But he hadn’t actually done anything, so did it count?

If a dick gets a hard-on in the forest, does the rest of the world have to experience the fallout?

He waited until they were back in the office before he spoke. ‘Mellie, I—’

‘Save it! I don’t want to know. But you might want to do up your pants before Mike gets here. He’s on his way in.’

Davie had just buttoned up the waistband of his custom 501s when his head of security knocked and entered.

Feechan’s face was a mask of gravity as he strode over to the desk and fired up the laptop he’d carried in with him. ‘You need to see this new video on YouTube.’

‘Tell me it’s kittens. Or suicidal goats. Or my ex-wife making out with her girlfriend,’ Davie said, deploying his usual tactic of resorting to humour when things got
tense.

‘I wish it was.’

Feechan pressed ‘play’ and then stood back to give Mellie and Davie full view of the screen.

‘Those are my gates,’ Davie announced to no one in particular.

The image was of the outside of his home, the six-foot-tall perimeter wall punctuated by two huge, solid wooden gates, decorated at the top with black iron spikes to dissuade enthusiastic fans
or paparazzi from entering. He could also see the two cameras, mounted on the gate posts, both trained on the area immediately in front of the gates so they could see any caller who pressed the
buzzer.

Davie already knew that whoever was turning the tables and filming the gates would be too far back for their image to be caught on his security system and made a note to address that pronto.

‘So someone’s got an image of the perimeter of my house. No biggie.’ Davie shrugged. It was barely out of his mouth when the gates began to open. All three of them watched in
silence, transfixed by the movement of the huge wooden barriers, until they were at their widest point, where they stopped to let a car exit the property.

‘Oh fuck,’ Davie murmured, truly chilled for the first time since this whole fiasco began.

As the black GMC came closer to the camera, he could clearly see the driver. He watched as it turned right, then headed down the street. Only when it disappeared out of sight and the focus of
the camera returned to the gates did Davie realize that he’d been holding his breath since the vehicle driven by Zac and carrying his kids appeared on the screen.

A tornado of rage started to form inside him. This was crossing the line. Whatever sad fuck was filming his kids would be tracked down and—

‘Mike, get every man you’ve got on this. I want security on Bella and Bray, I want—’

Mike raised his hand to stop him. ‘There’s more, Davie.’

‘What do you mean?’ He watched as Mike pressed a button on the keyboard that made the image fast-forward. In almost cartoon style, the gates closed, and then the image stayed the
same for a few seconds, before the gates started to open again and his Veyron took centre position on the screen. Davie racked his memory. Yep, he’d gone out straight after the kids. Had he
noticed anything? Anyone strange hanging around? Nope. He’d been too busy thinking about the day ahead to notice some fucked-up freak filming from the other side of the road.

The Veyron came closer, before turning in the same direction as the GMC and heading into the distance. The focus returned to the gates and held the shot as they slowly closed.

‘Christ,’ Mellie said softly. ‘This ain’t good.’

‘It’s still not done,’ Mike warned, just as a cracking noise from the screen made both Mellie and Davie jolt.

If you looked closely, you could just see the end of the barrel from where the noise had originated.

Mike pressed ‘rewind’ and then played it again. ‘Look here. You can see where the bullet hit.’

They watched closely as the barrel came just into shot, then recoiled slightly as the bullet left the chamber. Their eyes immediately went to the spot Mike was pointing at. Small chips of wood
flew off the gate.

‘Some bastard just shot at my house?’ It was phrased as a question thanks to Davie’s tone of stunned disbelief.

Mike nodded solemnly. ‘I think you’re going to have to start taking this seriously, Davie.’

‘Fucking hell. Mellie, what do you think?’ he asked, realizing that Mellie was uncharacteristically quiet.

‘I think you need to catch this prick. Because despite what you said earlier, you ain’t bulletproof.’

‘Killer Queen’ – Queen

Mirren

‘So where are we with the terms?’ Mirren asked calmly. The current situation didn’t faze her. The studio had attempted to make changes to their arrangement
before, but they’d always managed to iron out the differences and come to a resolution that both sides could live with.

Sitting in the seat at the other side of Mirren’s desk, Perry didn’t even need to look down at her notes. ‘We finally reached agreement on everything except the books and
merchandising, but they’re refusing to budge.’

‘What do they want?’

‘Twenty-five per cent. Right now, they’re on ten.’

‘What would the net effect be?’

‘About ten million a year based on this year’s projections.’

Mirren ran the figures through her head. She knew the studio was hurting. Cinema figures were down, and thanks to a seemingly uncontrollable pirating industry, so were DVD and online sales. Her
market had been unaffected, rising by 10 per cent last year, but the studio had taken a couple of big hits on action movies that hadn’t even recouped their costs.

However, just because they were hurting in other areas didn’t mean they were going to take the cream off her pot.

Absolutely no way. That wasn’t the way they did business.

Mirren had the entire franchise to safeguard. Sure, it was riding high at the moment, but who knew what would happen in a year, two years, five years? If the Clansman income dipped for any
reason, she still had wages to pay, jobs to protect. But it was more than that. Twenty per cent of all McLean Productions’ profits were now being diverted to build Chloe’s Care, a
drop-in centre currently under construction in East Hollywood for teenagers with addiction issues. Sometimes it was her only reason for getting out of bed in the morning, the only thing that made
any sense of what had happened. This was Chloe’s legacy – a safe refuge where a messed-up teen could find food, shelter or someone to talk to, no matter what state they were in, no
matter what they’d done to get there.

The centre was going to take over $1 million a year to run – split between Mirren’s personal contribution and a portion of the profits from McLean Productions, so if she let a major
studio like Pictor eat into her earnings, it eroded her ability to sustain any future downturns and therefore jeopardized the centre. That wasn’t going to happen.

‘Don’t budge, Perry. How long have we got until contract deadline?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘OK. Put a call in to Wes Lomax and set up a lunch meeting. Somewhere highly visible. The Ivy. Tell them to put us up front. It’ll be better than a thirty-second slot on
Entertainment Tonight
.’

Perry nodded, grinning, immediately understanding the strategy. ‘I like your style.’

The intercom on Mirren’s desk beeped and she responded to the interruption. ‘Yes?’

‘Your next appointment is here,’ announced her secretary, Devlin, a six-foot import from NYC, who’d been with her since a few months after he stepped off the red-eye in search
of a job behind the scenes in the industry. Mirren knew he had aspirations to move into production, but right now he was happy to learn everything he could from being the constant presence at her
side.