Fall Apart (23 page)

“Ohhhh,” Jill purred. “That was a very political answer. Well done!”

Zane shrugged, easily hiding the irritation rising up from the pit of his stomach. Junior varsity bullshit with a toddler like Pershall? Really?

“Seriously, Zane,” Spike pressed. “I mean it’s just us and a huge portion of America listening. Do you think he’d be the right guy to take over the sub-machine gun toting, verbal battery, and bare-ass shots?”

“As long as he makes sure squats are a part of his training routine, I’m sure the crowd will be happy.”

Spike gave him a salute and let Jill ease in with a different set of tactics. The goal was still the same, to get Zane to say he
hated the fucking guy
.

“I wonder a lot when I see things like this, how much it spurs on celebrity rivalries. There’s a lot of
he said, she said
, or in this case,
he said, he said
, and it’s gotta piss you off a little bit when you hear someone saying things. I mean, I highlighted a couple of the more forthright statements that Brad made in the article, like this one about no king reigning forever and stars falling. He’s specifically referring to you. If I were in your sexy shoes, that would make me wanna poke his eyes out.” Jill laughed, the sound so bubbly and effervescent, but Zane saw the intention beneath.

“Like I said, I didn’t know about the article and anything he might have said, but he’s entitled to think whatever he wants. It’s not going to impact who I am, my work, or how I conduct myself. That’s how I was taught. To focus on the work I’m responsible for and make sure it’s the best I can do.”

“It doesn’t bother you even a little bit? He said he’s the fresh perspective the world needs, which sort of implies that you’re past your prime or obsolete.”

Zane gave his most winning smile and Jill flushed again. He wanted to wring her tiny neck. “I think he and I both have bodies of work that will continue to evolve as we take on new projects. I’m really happy with my life and the direction I’m heading and I hope that he’s as happy with what he’s doing.”

“Your mother really did raise you right,” Jill retreated, patting him on the back of the hand.

The topic changed to Zane’s upcoming projects and he was able to throw some hints out there about working with Max Hayama, which made both Spike and Jill forget about creating drama of the Brad Pershall variety.

The interview was about an hour and a half long and by the time Zane was walking to his truck, he felt like he could shoot steam from his ears. He spotted his usual paparazzi followers about a block from the truck and made sure his face didn’t reveal his disgust. Once he was closed up inside, he yanked his cell phone out and dialed up Mark.

“Hey, babe,” his husband answered immediately. “You killed that interview. Do you feel like Miss America? Peace and love and Just Say No?”

“Can you believe the crap he’s stirred up already? It was like a Presidential debate!”

“And you spiked every single question back over the net,” Mark soothed him. “It was really impressive. I mean, I
know
you and I couldn’t tell you were upset.”

“Yeah…” Zane sighed.

“Tell me what you would’ve said if you could’ve answered any way you wanted. Maybe it will help.”

Zane hesitated for a second, and then opened the valve on the pent-up pressure. “I’d say that if they want Pershall on the throne, then what they’ll get is a fucking
Neanderthal
with a pretty face. He’ll stand on his mark and grunt when he’s supposed to, but forget about quality, forget about art, and forget about getting back the goddamn ten bucks you just spent on
The Mercenary 8
!”

He was breathing kind of heavily as he finished, but the worst of the pressure had dissipated.

“So are you saying it’s a rivalry now?” Mark chuckled.

“I’m saying he’s not going to know what hit him.”

“Good. You’re hot when you’re tough like this.”

Zane fired up the engine and smiled. One phone call and life was good again.
God, what would my life be like right now if I never went to Bora Bora?
He didn’t even like thinking about it.
10301300010

The screens in Alarik’s office turned on with a quick blink and dozens of images of Damon greeted him. The stupid grin that followed wasn’t to be helped. That man had no earthly clue of his impact. He was desirable and sexual in a way that told of his lack of vanity. Damon didn’t act like the other men Alarik had been with—showing off their bodies to hide that there wasn’t much depth beyond the surface. There’d definitely been some swimming in very shallow ponds, hadn’t there…? Damon didn’t work that way. He was the richest of wines in a misplaced bottle.

Alarik clicked through a few more pictures, organizing them on his system, but he couldn’t put off what he had to do. It made him uneasy to think about why he needed Damon’s picture in front of him when he was making a phone call to Max, so he dropped the mouse and dialed up Hayama’s personal cell number.

“Hello?”

Alarik took a deep breath. “Max, it’s me. Alarik.”

The sound in the background changed from noisy conversation to echoing silence in the space of a few seconds. “You’re calling me sooner than I thought you would.”

“I’m very interested in the offer you made at Zane’s.”

Max either grumbled something or cleared his throat. “Which offer?”

Christ. “Were there two?”

Max’s silence was ominous, but when he spoke, he let Alarik off the hook. “There’s a meeting this afternoon that you should come to if you’re serious about the job. Plans are coming together and you can get an idea of what we’re looking for from you. It’d be a good time to figure out if you want to bring in your perspective.”

“What time’s the meeting?”

“Two o’clock at my office. Are you in town?”

The emphasis on “town” let Alarik know exactly where Max thought he was.

“I’m at my place in LA.”

Another pause loaded with meaning. “Come by at one for lunch.”

Ha ha ha ha ha. HA! Wouldn’t that be a disaster!
“I actually think that sounds like a terrible idea,” Alarik answered, trying to keep the laughter reel on his internal sound system only.

“This from the man with iron control?” The mocking tone was unlike the Max that Alarik was used to. Frustration was brewing behind that calm exterior. “Nothing I say will affect you,” he said slowly. “Come for lunch.”

Damon’s eyes stared at Alarik from the computer screen and the silence stretched out. Self-control, he told himself. He heard Damon telling him to try for the job so they could see where their relationship was headed, and took in a bracing breath.

“One o’clock, Max.”

The line went dead.

***

The receptionist for
Sunrise Productions
, Max Hayama’s production company, wasn’t at her desk when Alarik entered the office. He could hear muffled conversation coming from down the hall, so he took a seat on the couch in the waiting area. The office wasn’t large and before it had been opened up and converted, it had been someone’s home.

Max’s personality was all over the place. There were hints of his strength and control in the neutral tones, his exotic and cultured beauty in the splashes of rich color.

There wasn’t much art on display, but on the wall immediately behind the reception desk was a mural-sized piece of the
Sunrise Productions
logo in Japanese calligraphy. The front of the desk sported the same logo, but it was backlit. Overall, the impression was no doubt exactly what Max wanted people to feel: that artwork in his hands would be directed with care, focus and beauty. And when Max appeared from the hallway, Alarik had to fight off the squirms because he sensed every bit of that harnessed energy and knew within that he wasn’t immune to it.

Max stopped and leaned against the desk, watching Alarik for a moment or two. Finally, he approached very slowly, giving Alarik the chance to look him up and down ten times if he wanted.

Which he
didn’t.
Not much.

Max was wearing a button up shirt, untucked, with the collar undone and his tie loose. His jeans were artistically frayed and Alarik knew they must have cost much more than any person should pay for frayed denim—probably because he’d buy the same thing. Max’s boots looked worn and the jeans fell haphazardly over the top.

It really was too bad that Alarik felt any attraction to this man at all. Really. It was
very
bad.

“You’re reminding me of my first time in Tokyo, getting off the train at Shinjuku station.” He tilted his head back to look Hayama over once more.

Max smiled. A real smile, his white teeth shining. “Good. That means you’re overwhelmed.”

Shit. He walked into that one. “Me?” he scoffed weakly

“You.” Max waved for him to get up and follow him. “It’s okay. Come with me, please.”

So demanding!
Alarik wanted to grumble and drag his feet down the hallway on principle.
Nobody tells me how I feel!
However, that seemed counterproductive; Max Hayama was, after all, his future boss.

“Taylor went to lunch, but she set up some food for us in the conference room. I want to show you some of the things we’ve been storyboarding. It’ll give you a good idea of the character shots I’m looking for,” Max said as he led them to the conference room. “Before the premiere, I want to release different character images using the website and social media. Zane’s is the most important shot to get right because his image will serve as the main movie poster.”

Alarik expected a few scenes to be storyboarded, but when he stepped in the room after Max, he gaped at the work that filled the space. One wall was set up as a projector screen and images that had been loaded into a computer system could be pulled up one at a time, or even dozens at a time, to be reviewed. Notes and schedules were tacked up and as he took a moment to absorb it all, he could see the order.

“Been busy, I see,” Alarik spoke up, staring at the storyboard currently projected on the wall. “This artwork is incredible. Who did this?”

“A woman named Maki Saitou. I was working in the bay area last year and there was an art exhibition in Berkeley featuring her work. Her technique, her style… It’s unique. She graduated from Cal Berkeley in the spring. I’ve had her working on this from the moment the script solidified.”

“She works for Sunrise Productions?”

“You sound surprised.” Max turned his golden brown eyes back to the projected images.

“No, I think it’s great you got to her first.” The storyboard was like manga. Really exceptional manga. As he looked at the art longer and longer, he realized the main character actually looked like Zane.

“I told you. I wanted to work on this film from a new angle: well-known talent, some fresh faces. I want my particular combination to be what makes this film better. It should be set apart from the rest of the movies released next year.” Max gave him a sideways look, his smile faint. “Do you think I’m trying too hard? Is all this too much?” He lifted his hands, gesturing around the conference room at the visible evidence of what he and his team had already accomplished.

Alarik took another look around and shook his head. “Not at all. I think you’re Hayama Makoto, and you never do anything halfway.”

The words came out sounding much more intimate than Alarik intended and Max’s eyes suddenly blazed as they looked into his. Taking this job could be one of the worst ideas he’d ever had.

“You look hungry,” Max murmured, turning away. “Almost as hungry as I am. We should eat before I do something foolish.”

“Foolish?” Alarik choked, sinking into one of the swivel chairs around the conference table.

Max pinned him to the spot with the glare that followed. “You flirt even when I know you don’t mean to. It’s part of your personality.” He pulled a chair out of the way and braced his hands on the table. “You care for this man you’ve met and you don’t want to hurt him, so don’t tempt me with empty words.”

Alarik was mystified. He’d asked a simple question. Or, did he flirt? Was that what he was doing? “I didn’t mean to say—”

“I’m protecting myself, Alarik. I’m protecting both of us.” Max sighed and pulled up a chair. “Taylor ordered soup and sandwiches. I told her your favorite.”

“Max—I’m not trying to be flippant with you. I didn’t realize I was creating an expectation…” Alarik left his food untouched even as Max opened the containers in front of himself, his eyes lifting and dropping away again every few seconds.

“Meeting you created an expectation. I’ve been trying to undo the damage from the beginning, but none of that’s your fault.”

Alarik sank back in his chair, feeling like shit. “Can we do this? Work together?”

Max gave a frustrated laugh, running a hand over his eyes and turning off the composure that seemed so natural. “I can work with you, Alarik; I’ve had time to prepare myself in the hopes you’d take the job. You need to ask yourself what you really want. After all, you’re the one who seems to care for two people at the same time.”

It was interesting how the truth could be so cumbersome. Alarik’s face flushed guiltily and he dropped eye contact, aware of the ugliness inside of him that swiveled his head back and forth between Damon and Max. He thought he wasn’t so fickle as all that. Max saw more than he let on.

Alarik thought of being with Damon and holding him. The freedom they had together. Then, he thought of Max and the sensual drive he felt in the man’s presence. He was already further along with Mr. Wright than he’d ever been with Max, so why were these inner whisperings so convincing? Why did he look at Damon, and then find himself turning back to Max?

The job offer was too good to pass up. He’d read the script that Max emailed to him the day before, with subject line:
For Your Consideration
. It was brilliant. He wasn’t even ten pages in before he was taking shots in his mind and picturing how he wanted to capture particular characters in order to best portray their personalities. The thought of Zane in full makeup with cameras on gave him the chills.