What I Did for Love (15 page)

He didn’t bother changing out of his wet trunks but went right to his workout room. A ballet barre had appeared a couple of days ago. One more invasion of his private space. What would he do with his life if
Tree House
slipped away from him? Go back to guest roles as vapid playboys? The idea turned his stomach.

He put on an Usher CD and eyed the elliptical machine with distaste. He wanted to be outside, free to run for miles in the hills like he used to, but thanks to his Vegas misadventure, he was trapped.

At least he had the room to himself. Watching Georgie go through her stretching routine had become torturous. She tied up her hair before she worked out, so that even the nape of her neck became an erogenous zone. Then there was the sexy extension of those long legs. It said something about his life that getting down and dirty with Little Orphan Annie had gone to the top of his thrill list.

But he couldn’t dismiss her as easily as she dismissed herself. She had an unconscious sex appeal that trumped big tits and phony
posturing. Nobody was going to catch Georgie York flashing her goody bits in public.

Or in private…Something he was growing increasingly intent on changing. She might hate his guts, but she definitely liked the packaging they came in. Georgie didn’t know it yet, but her days of wasting away over the Loser were coming to an end.

Who said he only cared about himself? Liberating Georgie York had become his civic duty.

Two
more days passed. Georgie was in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make one of Chaz’s delicious smoothies, when she heard a noise coming from the front of the house. Seconds later, Meg Koranda exploded into the room like a frisky young greyhound who’d been kicked out of obedience school so many times her owners had given up trying to train her. In this case, her owners were her adoring parents, screen legend Jake Koranda and Fleur Savagar Koranda, the Glitter Baby, a woman who’d once been America’s most famous cover girl and who was now the powerful head of the country’s most exclusive talent agency.

Meg hurled herself at Georgie, bringing the smell of incense with her. “Ohmygod, Georgie! I only heard the news when I called home two days ago, and I took the first plane out. I was at this fabulous ashram—totally isolated from the world—I even got head lice! But it was so worth it. Mom says you’ve lost your mind.”

As Georgie returned Meg’s fierce hug, she hoped the head lice were one of her twenty-six-year-old friend’s exaggerations, but Meg’s dark brown crew cut didn’t bode well. Still Meg’s hairstyles changed with the weather, and the addition of a red
bindi
between her eyebrows and dangling earrings that looked as though they were made from yak bone, led Georgie to suspect her friend might be going for a monastic-chic fashion statement. Meg’s chunky leather sandals
and a gauzy brown top confirmed the impression. Only her jeans were 100 percent L.A.

Meg was a tall, slender reed who’d inherited her mother’s large hands and feet, but not her mother’s extravagant beauty. Instead, Meg had her father’s more irregular features, along with his brown hair and darker coloring. Depending on the light, Meg’s eyes were either blue, green, or brown, as changeable as her personality. Meg was the little sister Georgie had always wanted, and Georgie loved her dearly, but that didn’t make her blind to Meg’s faults. Her friend was spoiled and impulsive, five feet ten inches of good times, good intentions, good heart, and almost total irresponsibility in her quest to outrun her famous parents’ legacies.

Georgie squeezed her shoulders. “How could you disappear for so long without calling one of us? We’ve missed you.”

“I was cut off from civilization. Time got away from me.” Meg pulled back far enough to spot the blender with its messy, unprocessed pink contents. “If that has alcohol in it, I want some.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

“Not in Punjab. Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

Bram, who must have let her in the house, appeared in the doorway. “How’s the grand reunion going?”

Meg ran to him. They’d dated a few times, over the protests of Georgie, Sasha, April, and both of Meg’s parents. Meg swore they’d never had sex, but Georgie didn’t entirely believe her. Now Meg snaked her arm around his waist. “Sorry to ignore you when I came in.” She gazed back at Georgie. “We never hooked up. I swear. Tell her, Bram.”

“If we never hooked up,” Bram said in his huskiest, sexiest drawl, “how do I know you have a dragon tattooed on your ass?”

“Because I told you. Don’t believe him, Georgie. Really. You know I only went out with him because my parents gave me such a hard time about it.” She looked up at Bram, which, with her considerable height, only required lifting her eyes a few inches. “I have
oppositional disorder. The minute somebody tells me not to do something, I’m all over it. It’s a character flaw.”

He ran his hand up her spine and dropped his voice to a sexy purr. “If I’d known about that when we went out, I’d have demanded you keep your clothes on.”

Meg’s eyes flashed from sea green to a stormy blue. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Make sure you tell Georgie.”

Meg pointed her finger. “She’s standing right there.”

“How do you know she’s paying attention? If you’re her friend, you won’t let her ignore what’s going on right under her nose.”

Georgie lifted an eyebrow at him, then drowned them both out by switching on the blender. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten to tighten the lid.

“Watch it!”

“Jeez, Georgie…”

She lunged for the blender controls, but the buttons were slippery, and the machine spewed its contents everywhere. Strawberries, banana, flaxseed, wheatgrass, and carrot juice flew across the pristine counter, down the cabinets, spattered the floor and Georgie’s exorbitantly expensive wheat-colored tunic top. Bram pushed her aside and found the right button, but not before he decorated himself and his white T-shirt with colorful glop. “Chaz is going to kill you,” he said, the sexy drawl forgotten. “Seriously.”

Meg had been far enough away to escape unscathed, except for a bit of banana that she licked from her arm. “Who’s Chaz?”

Georgie snatched up a dish towel and started dabbing at her tunic. “Do you remember Mrs. Danvers, the scary housekeeper in
Rebecca
?”

Meg’s yak bone earrings bobbed. “I read the book in college.”

“Imagine her as a surly, twenty-year-old punk rocker who runs the place like Nurse Ratched in
Cuckoo’s Nest,
and you have Bram’s charming housekeeper, Chaz.”

Meg watched Bram pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’m not picking up a real strong love vibe between you two.”

Bram grabbed a dishcloth. “Then I guess you’re not as perceptive as you think. Why else would we have gotten married?”

“Because Georgie’s not accountable for her actions these days, and you’re after her money. Mom says you’re the kind of guy who never grows up.”

Georgie couldn’t hold back a smirk. “That might explain why Mommy Fleur refused to represent you.”

Bram’s expression of displeasure would have been more effective if his cheek hadn’t been smeared with gooey flaxseeds. “She wouldn’t represent you, either.”

“Only because I’m so close to Meg. It would have been a conflict of interest.”

“Not really,” Meg pointed out. “Mom loves you as a person, Georgie, but she wouldn’t be caught dead having to deal with your father. Do you guys mind if I crash here for a couple of days?”

“Yes!” Bram said.

“No, of course not.” Georgie regarded her with concern. “What’s up?”

“I want to spend some time with you, that’s all.”

Georgie didn’t entirely believe her, but who knew exactly what Meg was thinking? “You can stay in the guesthouse.”

Bram bristled. “No, she can’t. My office is in the guesthouse.”

“Only in half of it. You never go into the bedroom.”

Bram turned on Meg. “We haven’t even been married for three weeks. What kind of loser barges in on people who are practically on their honeymoon?”

Scatterbrained Meg Koranda disappeared, and in her place stood Jake Koranda’s daughter, her expression as steely as her father’s when he played the gunslinger Bird Dog Caliber. “The kind of loser who wants to make sure her friend’s best interests are being pro
tected when she suspects that same friend might not be looking out for herself.”

“I’m fine,” Georgie said quickly. “Bram and I are passionately in love. We just have a weird way of showing it.”

Bram abandoned his clean-up efforts. “Have you told your parents you want to stay here? Because I swear to God, Meg, I don’t need Jake on my ass right now. Or your mother.”

“I’ll deal with Dad. And Mom already dislikes you, so she’s no problem.”

Chaz chose that moment to enter her kitchen. Today two tiny rubber bands made miniature devil horns out of the now fluorescent red hair on top of her head. She looked fourteen, but she cussed like a veteran sailor when she saw the condition of her kitchen. Until Bram stepped forward…

“I’m sorry, Chaz. The blender got away from me.”

Chaz immediately softened. “Wait for me next time, okay?”

“I sure will,” he said contritely.

She began ripping off squares of paper towel and handing them out. “Wipe your feet so you don’t track this shit all over the house.”

She refused any offers of help and began attacking the mess with single-minded focus. As they left the kitchen, Georgie remembered Chaz’s enthusiasm for cleaning up messes and wished she had her video camera handy.

She decided to settle for Meg instead, and later that afternoon as they sat around the pool, she turned the camera on her and began asking about her experiences in India. But unlike Chaz, Meg had grown up around cameras, and she answered only the questions she chose to. When Georgie tried to press her, she said she was bored talking about herself and wanted to swim.

Bram appeared not long after. He closed up his phone, sprawled on the chaise next to Georgie, and gazed at Meg in the pool. “Having your pal around isn’t a good idea. I still have the hots for her.”

“No, you don’t. You just want to annoy me.” He hadn’t put a shirt on, and lust shot right through her slutty little body. Bram thought she was playing games by holding him off, but it was more complicated. She’d never viewed sex as meaningless entertainment. She’d always needed for it to be important. Until now.

Was she finally clear-eyed and self-assertive enough to indulge in a mindless fling? A few steamy romps and then, “Arrivederci, babe, and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” But that scenario had a major flaw. How could she have a mindless fling with a man she couldn’t send home afterward? No matter which way she looked at it, living under the same roof was a complication she couldn’t get around.

“You haven’t mentioned your meeting at the Mandarin this morning,” she said to distract herself.

“Nothing to say. The guy mainly wanted the dirt on our marriage.” Bram shrugged. “Who cares? It’s a beautiful afternoon, and neither of us is miserable. You have to admit this is a great third date.”

“Nice try.”

“Give it up, Georgie. I’ve noticed the way you look at me. You do everything but lick your lips.”

“Unfortunately, I’m human, and you’re a lot hotter than you used to be. If only you were a real person instead of a male blow-up doll…”

He swung his legs over the lounge and stood above her like a golden Apollo who’d sauntered down from Mount Olympus to remind female mortals about the consequences of messing with the gods. “One more week, Georgie. That’s all you’ve got.”

“Or what?”

“You’ll see.”

Somehow it didn’t sound like an idle threat.

Laura Moody finished
her salad and tossed the container into the trash basket by her desk, which was located in a glass-walled
office on the third floor of Starlight Artists Management. She was forty-nine years old, single, and perpetually dieting in an attempt to lose the extra ten pounds that made her grossly obese by Hollywood standards. She had flyaway brown hair, still without a speck of gray; brandy-colored eyes; and a long nose balanced by a strong chin. She was neither pretty nor plain, which made her invisible in L.A. The designer suits and jackets that were a Hollywood agent’s required uniform never looked quite right on her short frame, and even when she was dressed in Armani, someone invariably asked her to get coffee.

“Hello, Laura.”

She nearly knocked over her Diet Pepsi at the sound of Paul York’s voice. A week of dodging his phone calls had finally caught up with her. Paul was a great-looking guy with his thick, steelgray hair and even features, but he had the personality of a prison warden. Today he wore his customary uniform: gray slacks and a powder-blue dress shirt with a pair of Ray-Bans hooked in the breast pocket. His easy, loose-jointed walk didn’t fool her. Paul York was as laid-back as a cobra. “You seem to be having trouble returning phone calls lately,” he said.

“It’s been crazy.” She felt around under her desk with her bare foot for the stilettos she’d kicked off earlier. “I was just getting ready to call you.”

“Five days too late.”

“Stomach flu.” As she located one shoe, she forced herself to remember everything she admired about him. He might be the stereotypical overbearing stage father, but he’d done a decent job raising Georgie. Unlike so many other child stars, Georgie had never needed a stint in rehab. She hadn’t changed boyfriends every week or “forgotten” she wasn’t wearing panties when she got out of a car. Paul had also been scrupulous about handling her money, taking only a modest management fee for himself so that he lived comfortably, but not ostentatiously. What he hadn’t done was protect her from his own ambition.

He wandered over to the wall behind her office couch and took his time studying the plaques and photos on display—civic commendations, professional certificates, shots of her with various celebrities, none of whom she actually represented. Georgie was her only high-profile client and the major source of her income.

“I want Georgie in the Greenberg project,” he said.

Somehow she kept her smile even. “The bimbo vampire story? An interesting idea.”
A horrible idea.

“It’s a great script,” he said. “I was shocked at how clever it is.”

“Genuinely funny,” she agreed. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Georgie will bring a new dimension to the story.”

Once again, Paul was ignoring his daughter’s wishes.
Revenge of the Bimbo Vampire,
despite its funny premise and witty dialogue, represented exactly the kind of role Georgie wanted to get away from.

Laura tapped her fingernails on her desk. “The part could have been written for her. I just wish Greenberg weren’t so determined to have a dramatic actress play the lead.”

“He only thinks he knows what he wants.”

“You’re probably right.” She rolled her eyes. “He believes bringing in a serious dramatic actress will give the project more credibility.”

“I didn’t say this was going to be easy. Earn your fifteen percent and make him see her. Tell him she loves the script and wants to do it more than anything.”

“Absolutely. I’ll talk to him right away.” How the hell was she going to convince Greenberg to meet with Georgie? She had much more confidence in Paul’s ability to steamroll his daughter into going after a part she didn’t want.

“You know…” She’d only found one shoe, so she couldn’t stand, which gave Paul the advantage of being able to tower over her desk. “They start shooting next month, and Georgie’s demanded six months off.”