Breaking Hollywood (37 page)

Maddie had just brought the dress over to the protective white floor sheet when the door burst open.

‘Really? Lunch with Lomax? That’s how we’re going to do this?’ Mark Bock stormed, paying absolutely no regard to the fact that she was standing there wearing less than a
lingerie-store mannequin.

Devlin, her assistant, ran in after him. ‘Sorry, Mirren, I couldn’t—’

Mirren spoke with absolute calm and authority. ‘It’s fine, Devlin. Maddie, can you excuse us? If you leave both dresses, I’ll make my decision and let you know in the
morning.’

Maddie eyed the furious and pacing form of Mark Bock. ‘You sure you want me to go?’ she asked.

Mirren smiled. ‘Positive. And thank you.’

Reluctantly, both Maddie and Devlin left the room and Mirren turned to face Mark, who was standing leaning on the front of her desk, arms folded, face furious, dressed appropriately for the
occasion in a black open-neck shirt and black trousers.

‘Something you wanted to discuss?’ she asked, determined to show no embarrassment whatsoever about the fact that she was near to naked. She would not defer to him, nor would she let
him intimidate her.

In fact, he would have no effect on her at all. Other than . . . Oh God. The tingles of attraction were unavoidable, as was the fact that just looking at his shoulders, his blazing eyes, his
narrow hips, was causing a distinct reaction in every one of her erogenous zones.

‘Lomax? And of course it was as public as it could be, so you’re sending a message. Is that really the kind of game we’re playing here?’

‘I don’t play games,’ Mirren countered calmly. They both knew she was lying. ‘But you seem to forget – I’m not the one who wants to change terms. I’m
not the one jeopardizing the relationship between our companies. That’s all on you. However, if I decide to react to that, then I’ll damn well do it, and I’ll damn well do it in
any way I please.’

She should stop there. She knew she should. But she was just weary, totally pissed off. Zander. Davie. Mark. Jack. What was it with everyone letting her down and acting like assholes? No more.
No bloody more.

‘If you have a problem with that, I really don’t care. Now get out of my office and next time you want to see me, call and make an appointment. I have better things to do with my
time than this.’

Now it was
her
blue eyes that were blazing, as she stood, arms folded, chin high, daring him to disobey her.

He pushed himself off the desk. ‘I won’t be blackmailed – directly or indirectly,’ he said, quietly this time.

‘And neither will I,’ she said, words strong, definite.

He headed towards the door, stopped halfway, turned to face her, stopped, stared.

Several seconds passed. Neither moved; neither spoke, the challenge clear.

His eyes lowered, took in the curves of her breasts, the hard nipples, only half covered by the fine lace of her bra, the pale, beautiful contours of her body. Mirren let him look, didn’t
say a word, until his eyes returned to hers.

This was her game. Her play.

She walked forward, reached up, curled her hands into his hair, pulled his head down until his lips pressed hard against hers.

All bets were off. From defiance to urgency, from fury to frantic, it was suddenly a frenzy of lust and passion.

Her hips were against his now, his hard-on pushing back against her stomach, making a ripple of sexual excitement run up her spine.

Releasing his hair, and with impressive speed, she flipped open the buttons on his shirt one by one and then pulled down each shoulder, exposing his hard, dark chest. The thick batch of hair
proved that there was no male grooming here.

‘God, Mirren. I. Can’t. Get. Enough of you,’ he murmured huskily, setting off yet another wave of exquisite pleasure.

Breath coming in short gasps, heart thudding, she opened his trousers and released his cock, watching as it sprang to life, tall, hard. Subservience wasn’t her thing, especially with him,
especially now, but she wanted him, wanted to taste him. She sank to her knees and took him in her mouth, making him groan, a low, guttural sound.

She ran her tongue round the end of his shaft, teasing, playing with him, while her hand glided slowly back and forth, making him harder with every stroke. Eventually, when his breathing and
begging told her he needed more, she sucked him into her mouth, let him go, sucked him, let him go, tightening her cheek muscles with every movement until she could feel his engorged cock actually
throbbing with the intensity of the action.

She could taste him now, knew he was close to coming, but she wasn’t ready. Letting him go, she rose up to standing, kissing him again, his tongue searching out the places his cock had
already been. Then she pulled him, stepping backwards towards her desk until she could sit on the edge of it. His turn now. Wasn’t that what a negotiation was all about? Give and take. Give
and take.

Stretching round her, he cleared the desk behind her with one sweep of his hand, then back to her, kissing her, murmuring her name. Pulling back, he slipped his hands from the side of her neck,
ran them in one smooth motion past her collarbone, then flipped down the cups of her bra, letting her tits spill out. His mouth followed. Her hands were in his hair again as he licked all the way
down, then took each breast into his mouth in turn, before returning to her mouth, then with one last, hard kiss, he gently forced her back so that her body was on the desk, her hips balanced on
the edge. Now it was his turn to return her favour. He dropped to his knees, head between her legs, and burrowed his face in the soft, creamy skin of her thighs. Slowly, teasing, licking his way
into the centre, but never staying there, before doing the same to the other thigh. Her pussy wanted him. Needed him now. But he kept her waiting until the anticipation was making her scream. Then
finally, his tongue slipped inside her, searched, probed, then pulled out, found her clit, bit, teased until he sensed the electric shocks of an orgasm were beginning to build. Still she held on,
not willing to let go, damned if she’d give him the satisfaction, yet desperate for him. Suddenly, he broke off, stood up, entered her and fucked her until both of them, in a sweating,
frantic, trembling crescendo, gasped as they came.

It took what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds until the tremors stopped, until he pulled her up, held her against his chest, both of them silent until eventually he spoke.

‘I don’t know how to do this,’ he told her. ‘I’m usually a dinner-and-a-movie kinda guy.’

Mirren pulled back so she could look up at him. ‘I like dinner. And movies. But I don’t have room for them right now,’ she said honestly, perhaps a little sharply. Inside, she
was groaning. And not in a good way. Multi-million-dollar deals and presentations to thousands? Not a problem. Intimacy with someone she hadn’t known for at least ten years? Might take her a
while to catch up with that. She’d never had casual sex before. What was she supposed to do after it? To say?

Damn, why couldn’t she pause this to go call Lou, find out what was normal? She resisted a sudden urge to laugh. My God, this was ridiculous. She was a forty-one-year-old woman and she ran
the world, yet she didn’t have a clue what to say or do in this situation. It didn’t help that she was naked.

Another thought. What if he thought she was having sex with him to manipulate him on the deal? She’d never slept with anyone in this town to get anything, and she wasn’t going to let
him think otherwise.

‘Mark, I don’t want you to think this is about the deal, because it’s not.’

A flicker of confusion, before he pulled back. ‘Seriously?’

Oh crap, she’d offended him. He bent down, picked up his trousers, his shirt, pulled both of them on, followed by his shoes, all of it in sharp, angry movements.

She should say something, but everything that formulated in her head came out wrong.

She hadn’t meant that to happen.

It didn’t mean anything.

Could they just forget it?

She’d just been horny.

Right place, right time.

Everything sounded like a cliché, could be taken any one of several different ways, so instead of speaking, she grabbed a robe from the pile of clothes left by Maddie, pulled it on, said
nothing.

For a moment, she thought he was going to leave without another word, but as soon as he was dressed, he stepped towards her. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you. If this is
just a fuck-buddy situation, then fine. I can do that. But don’t blow me off like that. I’m not yours to dismiss. And I didn’t for a moment think it was about the deal. I actually
thought it was because you were into me.’

With that, he turned, walked out, and whether or not the slam of the door was intentional, it still made her jump.

Well, that went well.

The clock over the door chimed and she realized she’d have to worry about it later. Nipping into her en-suite washroom, she had a quick shower, threw on the jeans and navy sweater
she’d left there this morning and pulled her hair back, tying it with a band. No make-up necessary. On the way out, she ignored a loaded glance from Devlin. Oh, the sweet mortification. Three
years and she’d finally given him something to be shocked about.

Later, as she pulled into an empty space on Sunset, directly outside Chloe’s Care, she decided it had been the right decision to avoid a high-profile opening. That wasn’t what the
centre was about. If there were celebrities and press and a whole fanfare of attention, it would alienate the very people who wanted to use it. Instead, Mirren had been working with the other
charities, foundations and street crews that looked out for the teenage homeless, addicts and club casualties, spreading the word that the centre would be opening. Chloe’s fame would do the
rest. By the time she died, she was a regular in the tabloids and on the entertainment shows for all the wrong reasons. Everyone knew who she was. Everyone knew she was a druggie. Now everyone knew
she was dead. Mirren just hoped that message struck home with some of the teens out there, and if it did, they now had somewhere to go for help. She’d been counting on Zander and Davie to
come support her, but that was a blowout now. Logan and Sarah were on tour. Jack was being an arse. So that left Mirren and Lou. And right now, that felt like the story of her life.

Mirren pulled up outside and took her phone from her bag. A text from Lou.

‘Hi, babe. Running few mins late. Blame Brad Pitt. Go in without me. Be there soon.’

Leaving the car and crossing the sidewalk, Mirren’s stomach churned with nerves. It looked quiet. There didn’t seem to be many people milling around. Had she made a bad call building
this? Would the kids she was trying to reach trust her? If not, they’d just have to work harder. Reach out. Her daughter deserved that. And nothing, no one was going to stop her making this
the place it had to be. This was Chloe’s legacy. It was all she had left.

Mirren pushed open the door and entered; the sight in front of her and the wall of sound made her stop dead in her tracks. In the main hall, there were seats for fifty, and from here, it looked
like every one was taken, with another thirty or forty standing around the room in pairs and groups.

There were young, old, every race, both male and female.

It was a sea of people, some talking, some crying, some staring into space, some with their heads on the table, eyes closed. It didn’t matter what they were doing. All that mattered was
that they were here.

Mirren scanned the room, happy, relieved, moved, sad – but most importantly of all, completely unaware that one pair of eyes were watching her every move.

‘Make It Rain’ – Ed Sheeran

Zander

The sweat was dripping down his back, his heart was thudding, his legs weak. He needed this to stop. Really, desperately needed this to stop. Slamming his hand on the button in
front of him, Zander jumped off before the treadmill came to a standstill and placed two hands on the nearest wall, leaning forward, letting his lungs recover and his forehead be soothed by the
cool surface.

How many miles had he run in the last twelve hours? Too many to count. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. The cravings were taking over and he couldn’t block them out. He
just knew he had to keep busy, keep moving, not crack.

The old Zander would be sitting in a bar right now, necking Jack Daniel’s and nipping to the toilets every half-hour to do a line. The old Zander would figure, Fuck it – they thought
he was guilty, so he may as well
be
fucking guilty. The old Zander would wake up tomorrow in a hospital or a cell. Right now, all he could think about, all he wanted to be was the old
Zander.

He headed for the shower, then pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt. Maybe he’d head up to Zuma beach with his board. See who was around. Man, he was going stir-crazy in here.

This had to get better. Had to.

‘Zander?’

Hollie had entered the bungalow without knocking, and as soon as he saw her face, he realized that improvement wasn’t on the cards anytime soon.

‘Holls?’

She stopped, stared at him, eyes wide with something that didn’t look good. Fear? Horror?

‘Holls, you’re freaking me out. What’s up?’

‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Aw, shit, the test?’ He finished towel-drying his hair, then chucked the towel back into the bathroom. ‘Look, Holls, I was clean. I don’t care what it says. I was clean.
I’m still clean. I’ll do any other test they want me to do, and if they don’t believe it, we’ll sue. Either way, we’ll deal with it.’

‘It’s not the test.’

For the first time, he stood still. Had he heard that right?

‘Not the test? So what is it?’

Now he could see her face was pale, drained of colour, her brown hair still wet, her jeans and vest crushed as if she’d pulled them on quickly. This wasn’t how Hollie rolled. This
couldn’t be good.

‘The flight,’ she stammered.