Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (27 page)

“Hot enough to eat?”

He chuckled, trying to get into the mood. “Delectable,” he replied.

“God, I love the way you talk. You make everything sound really dirty.” She moved closer, put her hand on his thigh, and squeezed. “You’re the one I wanted all along. You know that, don’t you?”

“I had an idea.”

She rose from her chair and moved over to his, then straddled his lap. “I bet you’ve got lots of ideas.”

She bent forward to kiss him, as her breasts swelled against the confines of her dress. Vlad ran his hands over her thighs and she ground against him. She was an aggressive kisser, not that it was a bad thing, but there was a dark undercurrent to her passion. She was angry, and wanted to punish someone. Him? Chris, or herself? As he touched the bare skin of her arms, she felt feverish, and moist with sweat.

“Tammy...” He moved beneath her, freeing his mouth. Her blue eyes registered confusion and they both glanced at the camera filming just a few feet away.

Scowling, she climbed off him and tugged her dress into place. “Let’s take this party upstairs.”

She grabbed one of the candles from the table and he took it from her, bending in to plant a long, slow kiss on her lips. He did it partially to play to the cameras, and to psych himself up for the inevitable. He’d done this before. This time he’d walk away a wealthy man.

As the camera followed, they went up the winding staircase and into the dark corridor of the second floor. The door to her room was open, the bed was turned down and a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket beside it. The crew didn’t follow them in, but Vlad knew there were microphones and cameras hidden all over the room. He took the bottle from the bucket and smiled at Tammy. “Shall I pour?”

She took her glass and touched the rim to his, and a soft chime sounded. They drank. She licked her lips and tugged her dress down to reveal a black push-up bra. “Like what you see, Vlad the Bad?”

He moved in close and took Tammy in his arms. Their kiss resumed, a disturbing mix of desire and anger that did nothing to arouse him. Their tongues parried, and he slid his hand up and down her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. They kissed a little longer and Vlad felt her pull him toward the bed. It was time to do what he’d come to do. What the big payoff depended on.

All he could think about was Hannah, what she would see, and how she would feel watching this. No amount of money was worth causing her pain. He paused, and stepped back to look Tammy in the eye. He took her hands, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”

Shocked, Tammy gaped. “What? You don’t want me?”

“No. Just as you do not want me. The man you want is Chris.”

She gave a sad bitter laugh. “Too late for that. I gambled and I lost, thinking another guy would make me happy. Now he’s off with that October bitch. It’s her he wants, not me.” Tammy’s lip trembled. “Cody told me.”

Now it was Vlad’s turn to be shocked. “And you were stupid enough to believe it? Cody played you, like he’s played all of us. None of this is real. It’s a scam, made for TV. It’s nothing but a bunch of lies!”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Because if I were to lay you down on this bed and have sex with you, I could walk out a rich man. But I’m willing to give it up because I want to be better than that. You don’t love me, and I don’t love you, but Chris does. Why can’t you accept that?”

“I can accept it.” Tammy’s bottom lip quivered and she blinked back tears. “I’ve been so mean to him. You know what he said when I told him I wanted to go on
Last Fling
? He said, ‘You make me feel like I’m nothing.’”

“Then tell him you made a mistake! He’ll forgive you. Go now. Get out of here, and go to him. Tell him nothing happened between us and that he is the man you love.”

Tammy gulped and she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I will. I’ll go tell him I love him, and if Miss October tries to stand in my way, I’ll kick her ass.” She gave a short laugh. “Too bad for you, not getting your money.”

Vlad sighed and shook his head. “Forget the money. Some things aren’t worth $250,000.”

Just then, the door burst open and Chris charged into the room, his big hands balled into fists ready to do business. “What did you say to her?”

Tammy yanked her dress back up. “Chris? What the fuck? What are you doing here?”

“I love you, Tammy. I love you too damn much to go through with this. There’s no other woman in the world for me. It’s time I proved it, and you don’t need to stand for some Russky asshole talking shit to you.” He charged at Vlad and grabbed him by the collar. “Take back what you said to her, you son of a bitch!”

Vlad’s mind raced, trying to think what exactly that might be.

Then a blow from an angry trucker’s fist ended his deliberation.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thursday morning, Eric was in his room watching the raw footage from the Final Fling sites when someone knocked on the door. His pulse quickened. It might be Cynthia Bishop, come to discuss how he wanted the rough cut edited. The network was expecting it tomorrow. Relocating his office from the basement dungeon to his airy fourth-floor room hadn’t eliminated the interruptions.

On the other hand, his visitor could be someone he was much more eager to see. He checked his watch. Eleven fifteen Puerto Rico time made it shortly after nine in Chicago. Yes, she could have gotten the news by now. He went to the door and squinted into the peephole. Alison stood outside his room. Eric bit back a smile.

“Surprised to see me?” she said when he opened the door.

“Glad to see you. You’ve been on my mind lately.”

“I’ll bet.” She strode into the room without waiting for an invitation. Though she wasn’t happily pirouetting across the carpet, the fact she was here at all was a marked improvement over how things had been since elimination night. The taping hadn’t been over five minutes when she cornered him outside the studio, furious to have not been chosen as Chris’s last fling.

Now she was in his room, and he wasn’t sure if she’d come to say ‘thank you’ or ‘go to hell.’

Whatever the reason for the visit, it was urgent enough that she hadn’t bothered to dress up or put on makeup. She looked like a college girl in baggy shorts, T-shirt and glasses. Her blue eyes lingered on the stilled footage on the laptop. Then she turned back to face him, arms crossed. “My bank called a little while ago.”

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat. “About?”

“Yesterday, there was a large sum of money anonymously applied to the loan on the Homestretch Café. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars, enough to pay off the balance. The diner is free and clear.” Her voice became soft, and intimate. “You did a wonderful thing, Mr. Anonymous.”

Warmth spread through him as he basked in her sunny gratitude. “I know the position I put you in. I didn’t want your friend and her boy to end up on the street, nor did I want to trash your career. So I used the money I earned from
Last Fling
.”

Her eyes widened. “All of it?”

Almost all, but she didn’t need to know that. Eric smiled. “No. And even if it had taken every cent, I can’t think of a better use for the money.”

“I don’t know what to say, but...thank you.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Eric’s body hardened in response. Kissing Alison Michaels in a hotel room, even fully clothed, was a teenage fantasy come true. But Eric was no longer a teenager. He was a man, and understood that what he wanted most wasn’t simply Alison’s body, but to win her heart. This morning, he’d made a big stride in that direction, and he wasn’t about to mess it up by acting like some horny Hollywood player, expecting a big favor. He would take things slowly. Prove his honor, be Alison’s friend. A gentleman. He broke contact, and then gazed down into her eyes.

“You’re very welcome.” He gazed into her beautiful eyes a moment longer and then squeezed her hand. “Hey, if you’ve got time, would you like to stay and help me with the final
Last Fling
episode? Then we can talk about
St. Nowhere
. I have some ideas I want to share. “

“I’d like that,” she said, smiling and standing on tiptoe to give him one more kiss. “I hope you’ve got some coffee.”

“The best local roast our rapidly dwindling budget can still afford.” He went to the room service cart in the corner and poured two cups while she brought a chair over to the desk.

Alison curled up in the chair and took a sip from the cup he had given her. “Mmm. One thing I’ve loved about Puerto Rico is the coffee.”

“Me, too.”

“Come to think of it, there are a lot of things I’ve loved about it. I wouldn’t mind coming back here someday.”

Her gaze held his and at that moment, Eric knew that when ‘someday’ came, they would make the trip together. He wondered if it was possible to feel any happier than he did at this moment. “I’d like that, too.”

“So.” Alison turned her attention to the laptop screen, now all business, though her oversize T-shirt drooped off her shoulder in a very sexy way. “What are looking at here?”

Eric cleared his throat and tapped his computer to life. “This is raw footage from fling night. From this, we develop a rough cut for the network to review. They send back notes, we make the changes, and then it goes to post-production for music, graphics and the final polish. And voila! Beamed to millions of viewers who can’t wait to see how it all ends.”

Shots from Team Red’s night showed that the borrowed mansion on the private island had turned out to be a dump, but the crew made it look good for the shoot. Vlad the Bad went all noble—totally against character, but it was nothing that skillful frankenbiting couldn’t fix. The bigger concern was Team Blue. The guesthouse near Rincon, on Puerto Rico’s eastern coast, should have been the perfect setting for the end of
Last Fling’s
most romantic storyline. Hannah and Heath did their part. They danced, watched the sunset, kissed, but when they said good-night, Hannah went to her room and Heath went to his. Exactly what was supposed to happen. But as the Jack and Robynne footage commenced, Eric leaned over to Alison. “Here’s the problem,” he said.

In the clip, Jack was short-tempered and rarely smiled. Robynne’s Pollyanna shtick seemed over-the-top and more forced than usual, especially when she sniped at Jack. They ended up in bed—thank God one thing had gone according to plan—but there was no joy or passion in it.

“Look at him. He looks miserable!” Eric said.

Alison scowled. “Maybe he is miserable. If you ask me, he deserves to be.”

“Unfortunately that’s not how Jack’s story is supposed to end.” Eric grabbed his outline. “What’s supposed to happen in the final episode is that Jack realizes Robynne is the woman he really loves and dumps Hannah to be with her. The network’s very keen on a Jack and Robynne happily-ever-after.”

“They are?” Alison shook her head. “I can’t see it. How keen on it are you?”

“Honestly, not much. But I don’t have any choice.”

“Why not? It’s your show.”

“True, but if I want to get more shows made, I have to give them what they want. Otherwise, they’ll pull the plug on
St. Nowhere
.”

“And is this what someone actually told you?”

“It’s here, in the outline they approved.” He pulled out the paper and gave it to her. “Chris and Tammy get a happy ending. Vlad turns out to be rotten to the core. Hannah’s transformation proves too little too late, because Jack’s found the love of his life, and it’s Robynne, not her. So one couple leaves the show together, while the other breaks up and the guy hooks up with one of his flings. That’s the resolution they want and I have to play ball.”

“You
are
playing ball. Chris and Tammy get their happy ending. Vlad is the bad guy. You can even have Jack and Robynne together somehow. But is it necessary to turn Hannah getting dumped for another woman into some glorious outcome we’re all expected to applaud? I just don’t see why you can’t leave her with a little dignity. She’s your friend, Eric.”

“Unfortunately, if I want to be successful, I can’t have any friends. At least not cast members.”

Alison raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you want to play it? If you have to compromise your ethics and your creative vision that much, then how successful are you?”

“What if it jeopardizes
St. Nowhere
?”

“Then take it to another network, where someone will be thrilled to have a brilliant new drama by a brilliant new writer and director.
Last Fling
is a hit, Eric. Nobody cares how it ends. You’re already a success.” She handed the page back. “You can do better than this.”

Her words stuck with him as he wrote up Team Red notes for the story editors. When he finished, he went out to the balcony where Alison sat with her bare feet propped making notes in the margin of a
St. Nowhere
screenplay. She looked up and smiled when he came outside. “All finished?”

“No. I’m going to take a walk, see if it gives me an idea for Team Blue.”

She nodded. “Good idea. You can tell me all about it when you get back.”

He bent to kiss her, knowing she would be there when he returned, and it gave him hope that somehow everything would turn for the best.

He walked down to the beach, his thoughts turning. He knew what resolution the network wanted for Team Blue and how it was to play out. He’d agreed to it, but it had always felt wrong. Yet he’d done what he had to, pushing his regrets behind him. Now success had fallen into his lap, even better, so had Alison. His bikini-surfboard girl had stepped from a poster into his arms, and was challenging him to do what he knew was right. He thought back to the day they met, when she took him to task for not doing that. Life with Alison was going to be interesting, that was for sure.

He couldn’t wait.

The beach was crowded with vanities and crew people, now with time on their hands. In The Smiling Shark, several were enjoying a liquid lunch. Eric had no desire to go inside. Hannah and Vlad had turned the cabana into a private hideaway, but the show had invaded, mining for story gold. Now he had to destroy them, all in the name of good TV.

Though they’d treated Hannah terribly by turning her into a laughingstock, she’d bounced back and even blossomed. She smiled more. She laughed. She walked with her head up. After all these years, Jack was no longer the center of her world, and in the process, she found someone who loved her in return. Not someone Eric ever would have expected, but despite his character, the stripper wasn’t a bad guy. In real life, he was a pretty good one, and if he and Hannah saw something in each other, what was the harm in that?

He walked to the water’s edge, remembering the morning he’d stood here with Alison and asked if she’d ever done something she wasn’t proud of. “What does anyone do?” she’d told

him. “Say you’re sorry and do your best to make it right.”

He could apologize, but how could he make things right, when he’d done so much wrong?

After a while he turned back, no clearer on his problem than before. He followed the path through the gardens, admiring the resort’s beauty, which he’d enjoyed far too little. The path curved around to the front of the hotel. A van was parked in the circular drive, and beneath the portico stood Vlad the Bad.

Eric approached and nodded at the stripper, who sported a black eye, but otherwise looked no worse for wear.

“Guess you were mistaken about the money,” Vlad said.

Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “Technically no, though I could have been more forthcoming. But the contract stated—”

“Yeah. I should have read it. I learned.”

Eric stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts, feeling like a heel. “Though the finished episode won’t show it, what you did was very noble.”

The stripper’s gaze was steady. “You seem surprised.”

“I guess I thought of you differently. More like how you’re portrayed.”

“I think you mean how
you
portrayed me.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Look, I came on the show and took my chances. But in the end, I did what was right and whether you show it or not, I’ll always know.”

Eric looked down at his feet, wishing he could offer the guy a better outcome, but at least the stripper seemed at peace with his fate. If nothing else, he would get his fifteen minutes of fame. Maybe he could do something with it. “Hey, if you’re ever in LA...or need me to open a few doors, just ask,” Eric said, though in light of everything, it didn’t seem like much.

Vlad nodded. “I still have your card.”

The van driver had his bags loaded and opened the rear door. “Sir, we’re ready.” The man paused, and then asked again. “Sir?”

Vlad ignored the driver, and instead looked toward the path. Eric turned, following his gaze.

Standing a short distance away beside an enormous potted fern was Hannah, her face flushed with joy...or heartbreak.