Dreaming With A Broken Heart (Hollywood Legends Book 1) (2 page)

“Don’t worry, Father. You know I wouldn’t neglect my
duties.”

“See that you don’t. And for Christ’s sake, fix your
hair. It looks like an abandoned bird’s nest.”

Jade’s footsteps faltered. Maybe her legs weren’t as steady
as she thought. Back to baby steps. She wouldn’t let it get her down. She was
moving forward, no matter the size of the strides. That was what mattered.

“WELCOME HOME, GARRETT.”

“Thanks, Sally. Remind me. No more location shoots in
the desert. You know what? Let’s cut out location shoots altogether.”

Garrett’s office manager didn’t bother to answer. He said
the same thing every time. In a week, he would forget every problem inherent
with taking his movie on the road. His enthusiasm for his job and all its
pitfalls never waned for long.

“You have a nice tan.”

“Great. Now I have to worry about skin cancer,”
Garrett grumbled. When he saw the stack of mail on his desk, he veered right,
flopping down on the leather couch.

“Did you use the sunscreen I sent you?”

“You mean the stuff that attracted every bug in a
twenty-mile radius?”

Sally shook her head. “I don’t understand it. Everyone
I know uses that cream. You’re the only one with a bug problem.”

“Must be my naturally sweet disposition that attracts
them.”

“Right,” Sally scoffed. She picked up the mail,
depositing it on the table in front of him. “This won’t magically
disappear.”

“Isn’t taking care of that crap what I pay you to
do?”

“Shoveling crap is not in my job description. I
do
take care of ninety percent of your correspondence. I leave you with the bare
minimum. Personal things.”

“My life is an open book, Sal,” Garrett laughed.
“In Hollywood, there are no
personal things
.”

Except Jade
. What he had with her went beyond
personal. It was elemental. Essential.

“Buck up, Garrett. Open an envelope. You might enjoy
the experience.”

“I never have,” he muttered. “Tell me some
good news.”

“You’re stalling.”

“True,” he conceded. “I still want something
happy to start my day.”

“Trina is pregnant.”

“That is great news.” Garrett grinned. “I
refuse to believe you’re going to be a grandmother.”

Sally Penski was forty-eight years old. She looked fifteen years
younger. Efficient, friendly, and organized. She kept him running. Schedules.
Meetings. Essential things Garrett had no desire to deal with. She texted him
most of the time. Emailed occasionally. In an emergency, she called.

Garrett was not entirely certain how she came to work for
him. Nine years ago, he had barely moved into his office when she was there —
arranging things. Had his father sent her? Both denied it. She claimed she
answered an advertisement in the paper. Since he hadn’t placed any ads, how was
that possible? Sally had the office up and running quickly and with little
drama.

It was three months before it occurred to Garrett that he
had never officially hired her. By then, it didn’t matter. To this day, it was
a mystery unlikely to be solved. Sally certainly wasn’t telling.

“Your brother called.”

“So?” Garrett reluctantly began sorting through
the mail. “The surprise would be if one of them
hadn’t
called.”

“Wyatt.”

“Ah.”

“He wants to meet with you at eleven.”

“Did he say why?”

“Money.”

“What else.” Wyatt’s favorite subject.

Sally left the way she did everything — quietly.

Garrett threw the envelope back on the table, promising
himself he would get back to it later. He grabbed a bottle of water from the
fridge, then propped his feet up. He was running on three hours of fitful
sleep. Lying down for a nap was a tempting thought. A brief thirty minutes
sounded like heaven. Unfortunately, he had a busy day ahead. Squeezing Wyatt in
would be a challenge. Then there were script revisions, meetings with the head
of costumes. He needed to go over the storyboards for tomorrow’s shoot.

It would be easier now that they were back in L.A. He would
be in his own bed, for starters. No matter how he tried, he didn’t sleep when
on location. On long shoots, there were nights when he wondered why he
bothered. He would eventually give up. His time was better spent working.

It wasn’t the healthiest of lifestyles. Yet he wouldn’t
change jobs for anything. He could live with temporary insomnia if that was the
price he paid to make his movies. It was in his blood. His father claimed the
business was in their DNA. Garrett couldn’t argue.

His parents were the definition of legends. When town’s most
powerful producer married its hottest screen siren, they became Hollywood
royalty. Their four sons princes. He and his brothers grew up on film sets.
They cut their teeth in editing rooms, learned to walk around camera cables and
sound equipment.

Garrett remembered the moment he knew directing was his
calling. His mother, Callie Flynn, was filming what many considered her
greatest movie,
The Sun
Goes Down
. Garrett was seven, running
around, getting into everything. He had a nanny, not that it mattered. He was
impossible to keep track of. The crew indulged him. If he asked a question,
they answered without hesitation. The director, who was missing his own son,
took Garrett under his wing.

By the end of the shoot, Garrett was hooked. From then on,
he used his envious position to learn everything possible. He went to film
school, always anxious to learn more. By his sophomore year, he knew it was a
waste of his time. They taught things he already knew from experience. He quit
school, made a low-budget horror flick, and never looked back.

Garrett gave up trying to rest. His mind was too busy.
Standing, he stretched his long body, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was
his mother’s face — so to speak. A very male version. She was tall by Hollywood
standards. He inherited her height, her cheekbones, and dark brown, red-tinged
hair. To be honest, Colt shared the same traits. The difference was the eyes.
His brothers’ eyes were blue, like their father. Garrett was the only one who
had his mother’s changeable pale silver.

The camera loved those eyes. Directors became obsessed with
close-ups. The shade deepened depending on her mood. Stormy. Misty. Intense.
They shaded from hot gunmetal to chilly slate. Her eyes told the story. The
emotions played out in colors. Callie was a master at using this anomaly to
draw the audience in. Anger? No problem. Happiness? Piece of cake.

The only one she couldn’t fake — the color no audience ever
saw. The deep purple of love. Caleb Landis knew that shade; he saw it every day
for the last thirty-six years.

Garrett wondered if his eyes turned that color when he was
with Jade? Did he love her? Or was it only a gnawing obsession that would burn
itself out? He knew the answer. For the first time, he was glad they had never
had sex in the light. Like his mother, if his eyes gave him away, he didn’t
want Jade to know. Not now. Not unless there was a drastic change in their
twisted relationship. His words would never give him away. He didn’t want his
eyes to.

With a sigh, Garrett glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. He
hit the intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Landis?” Dominic, Wyatt’s assistant,
answered a second after the first buzz. He always did. Not even Sally was that
good. Super capable or slightly creepy? Garrett could never decide.

“Can we move the meeting up a few minutes?”

Garrett could imagine the calculations running through the
man’s head. In Wyatt’s world, half an hour
was not
a few minutes. He had
his time micromanaged down to the second. It should have made him an annoying
son of a bitch. It didn’t. His brother was one of Garrett’s favorite people. It
had nothing to do with being related. They were
siblings
and friends.

“He’s on the phone with Dubai.”

“How is old Dubai? I haven’t spoken to him in
years.”

Silence. Hell, Garrett swore he could hear crickets. Dominic
had no discernible sense of humor. Luckily, Wyatt was fine with that. His
assistant wasn’t there to entertain or be entertained. His job was to keep
things running smoothly. Most important, keep the boss man free from
unnecessary interruptions. Garrett was never sure if Dominic considered him a
necessity or an annoyance.

“He wrapped up a bit early. You may see him now.”

“You
know
I’m his brother.”

Garrett heard Dominic huff.

“Not during office hours.”

GARRETT GREW UP in Beverly Hills. The huge estate his parents
purchased in the early eighties was a never-ending playground for four growing
boys. Tennis courts, two swimming pools, an endless lawn for games of every
kind. Every year since the last of the children moved out, his parents talked
about downsizing. Why did they need so much space? Grandchildren? None of their
sons seemed in any hurry to provide them with the renewed patter of little
feet.

Wyatt received the brunt of that complaint. Garrett and Nate
were catching up. Colt was only two years behind, yet he seemed exempt. Why?
Movies stars were different. He had years to play the field. Or play with his
leading ladies.

For all their less than subtle hints, Caleb Landis and
Callie Flynn never tried to change their children. Their decisions, from their professions
to their love lives, were their own. They were loving, generous parents. Not
all Beverly Hills kids could make the same claim.

Spoiled, pampered, their egos as big as the industry they
dominated. Somehow, with all the privileges they were afforded, the Landis boys
avoided the clichéd pitfalls associated with too much money and too much fame.
Their father would never have permitted it. He ruled with an iron fist in a
velvet glove, not afraid to hug his sons when needed or kick some ass when warranted.

Garrett pulled his Lamborghini to a stop next to Wyatt’s
Bentley. The wide driveway also contained a classic Porsche and a decked-out
Ford F450. It looked like Colt and Nate beat him here too. The way production
on
Exile
was going, it was a surprise he made it at all. A night with
good food and family was exactly what he needed.

“Garrett!”

“Nate,” Garrett laughed as his twin lifted him off
his feet. “Let me down, you idiot.”

“Getting soft?” Nate sat Garrett on the ground,
giving him a quick punch in the stomach.

Well-versed in his brother’s methods, Garrett stepped back.
Between his quick reflexes and Nate pulling his punch, he barely felt it. If
he’d wanted to, Nate could send a man to the hospital with one fist to the
midsection.

Garrett counted himself lucky they were family. Around
puberty, Nate’s growth spurt shot him past his twin by almost three inches. As
a stuntman, he was nothing but solid, lean muscle. Garrett exercised. Took care
of himself. Nate’s body was his business.

“When did you get back from Costa Rica?”

“This afternoon.” Nate draped an arm over
Garrett’s shoulder. “Never again. I can’t sleep in those lousy trailers. I
need my own bed. After dinner, I’m sacking out for ten hours straight. What’s
so funny?”

“Us,” Garrett said. “I think we developed our
sleeping quirks in the womb. I can’t sleep on location, neither can you.”

“Blame Mom?” Nate seemed horrified at the thought.

“Never.” Garrett shook his head. “We hit the
parental jackpot.”

“And that is one of the many reasons I love my boys.”

Callie Flynn opened her arms. When she had Garrett and Nate
in a warm embrace, she sighed. There was nothing better than having all her
chicks back in the nest. The fact that they returned on a regular basis —
willingly — filled her heart to near bursting. The love and respect she and
Caleb received had her counting her blessings. Every day.

“Who is this gorgeous woman?” Keeping an arm
around his mother’s trim waist, Garrett stood far enough away to look her up
and down. “You get younger every time I see you, Mom.”

“Why thank you, Garrett.” Callie beamed. “A
woman can never hear that enough.”

“It would make it easier if you stopped looking like a
teenager and started looking like the mother of four grown men,” Nate
grinned down at the woman he adored. “I’ve lost track of the times some
jerk has told me how hot you are. Put on fifty pounds. Get some wrinkles. It
will save me from having to threaten guys with an ass-kicking.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As your mother, I’m
flattered,” Callie smiled. “As an actress who has spent the majority
of her life being judged by her looks? I’m thrilled. As a fifty-six-year-old
woman? I’m freaking ecstatic.”

“Why is that, my love?”

Caleb Landis came into the room at the end of the conversation.
He didn’t care why. He approved of anything that made his darling wife happy.

“Nate seems to think I’m
too
beautiful.”
She winked at Garrett. “Can you imagine?”

“Sacrilege.” The big voice boomed out of a man who
in every way was bigger than life. Well over six feet tall, with a shock of
thick white hair, his body was strong and straight. At sixty-two, he had the
energy of a man half his age. He came to Hollywood hungry for success.
Everything he had, the money, the fame, the awards, came from his hard work and
the ability to spot a winner. His track record as a movie producer was
legendary. A trait he’d passed down to his sons.

The sound of their father’s voice brought Wyatt and Colt
from the kitchen.

“You are the most beautiful, desirable, intelligent
woman ever put on this Earth. It’s our job, as the men in your life, to worship
the ground you walk on. Understood?”

The last was directed at Nate, not his wife.

“Is this asshole… Sorry, Mom.” Colt winced.
“Is Nate being a jerk?”

Callie hid her smile. Her boys didn’t curse in front of
their mother. Not because she was a wilting flower whose ears would melt. She
was pragmatic enough to understand that she was living with four men — they
were going to use salty language. She didn’t want sons who spewed f-bombs at
the drop of a hat. Curtailing their use of four letter words around her made
them think twice when out in the world. Or so she told herself.