Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(25)
“Get out.”
He laughed at her faint accent—not like the one that their extras had attempted—God those had sucked. They hadn’t known it; they had passed through their Californian ears just fine, but now he knew.
“I mean it.” She pointed to the door, her mouth set in a hard line. “Get out, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”
The talent scout moved nervously between them, patting Cole’s shoulder frantically, like a pat would accomplish anything. “She means it,” he whispered loudly. “She has guns in her coat closet.”
Cole took a step back, his eyes on her. “What was your name again?” he asked.
She growled in response, and he laughed again, letting the tiny gay man push him out the open door and into the summer heat.
Perfect. She’d be perfect.
Now, he just had to call Envision. Give Price exactly what she’d been begging for—a release from the contract. One problem solved in his first fifteen minutes in this town. DeLuca had been right to bring him here. On the ground, here in Quincy, he could get done the things that needed to get done. He could dig his hands in and distract his mind from everything Nadia.
The press wouldn’t love the loss—they would have to spin it the right way, to work with Minka on an exit strategy and PR campaign. And they might lose out on a few box office points, but his name alone would bring in the fans. And the blonde and her authenticity would be worth it. She was exactly what the movie needed.
CHAPTER 29
I realized the error of my ways as soon as the door slammed shut behind Cole Masten’s broad shoulders. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, should have behaved like a good little Southern girl and smiled politely. Cursed him to hell and beyond in my mind while showing every pearly white in my mouth. Showing emotion was something that should be done behind closed doors. Raw emotion was weakness, and I knew better than to show weakness, especially when dealing with a stranger.
I don’t know what came over me. The man and money behind The Fortune Bottle, and I had kicked him out into the heat because I didn’t like him asking who I was. It had been a perfectly reasonable question, even if it had been worded and voiced inappropriately. He was a stranger, a Yankee. He couldn’t be expected to know all of the rules that govern our Southern Society. And let’s jump straight to the meat of it—Cole Masten could ask any question any way he wanted. The twenty thousand in my bank account was from his pocket; he was the conductor on the Get Out Of Quincy train. It didn’t matter if I didn’t like him. It didn’t matter if the Actual Real Life Cole Masten disappointed every fantasy I had stashed in my fantasy bank. He was an actor. It was his job to be different than he actually was.
I sank onto the couch and rested my head back. The damn thing now smelled of him, some exotic scent I would need to Febreze out. Well, there went my chance to get any type of job on the set. Not that Ben had had much luck with Eileen WhatsHerFace. I’d heard his half of the conversation with the AD. It hadn’t been great for my self-esteem. I really didn’t have a lot of brag-worthy talents. ‘Making delicious carrot cake’ and ‘a sparkling sense of humor’ didn’t really seem like Top 10 Qualities Desired on a Movie Set. Damn. I kicked out a foot and rested it on the coffee table. Looked at the ring of moisture caused by Cole’s glass and frowned. Leaned forward and wiped it away. He’d left his water. I could be a dear and bring it out to him. Apologize for my outburst and invite them back in.
Nah. Ben had a car. They could get in it, crank the A/C, and head into town. Ben was probably on the phone with Mrs. Kirkland. Her house would be close to ready, their RV already delivered, big plans in place to road-trip around the country on Envision Entertainment’s dime. Cole Masten moving in a month early shouldn’t be much of an issue.
I blew out a frustrated breath. What the hell would he do here for a month?
CHAPTER 30
“There’s only a month before we start filming. It’s impossible.” The clipped tones of the director came through a burst of static and Cole glanced at the cell, cursing at the low number of bars.
“Nothing’s impossible. You know Minka is dying to get out of this movie. Let’s call her agent, make them think we are rolling over, and get something out of it. Maybe a cameo. Or cash. Or I don’t care. But this girl is perfect, I’m telling you. Right now, get your ass on a plane and over here.”
“You’re an actor, Cole. You know everyone can’t do this. The last thing I want is to stick a wooden face on the screen.”
His hand grappled for the seat’s controls, sliding the chair all the way back and attempting to stretch out his legs a little. “That’s the beauty of it, Don. She won’t have to act at all. She just has to be herself. Aniston has made a freakin’ career out of it; this girl just has to do it for one movie.”
“No. I’m not doing it. I’m not throwing this entire movie in the can just because some wanna-be starlet sucked your dick in a corn field.”
“Cotton field, Don.” Cole grinned. “Didn’t you read the book? I know I sent you the book.”
“WHATEVER!” the man exploded. “I’m not doing it.”
“I’m not in love; the girl blew me off. But she was Georgian as hell in doing it. Pure freakin’ Southern Charm. Be at the Santa Monica airport in an hour, I’ll have a jet waiting. Meet the girl, and you can tell me tomorrow to go to hell and fly back home. It’s twenty-four hours, Don. And you know this Price thing isn’t going away. She smells Oscar on that Clooney piece and is creaming for it.”