Hard Lines

1. Violet

CHAPTER 1

VIOLET

“Cut!” the director yelled.

Cut what?

My wrists?

The thin thread tethering my sanity to my half-naked body?

Or just the cameras in this…this…soft-core porn movie masquerading as a thriller. Hidden Intent had passion, intrigue, and drama, or so my agent had said right before I fired him for getting me into this whole mess. If only I could click my heels together and fly right back to Kansas.

Because right now, I was lying on my back, topless, on a sweaty leather couch, with fifty people watching as I tried to moan in all the right places. Even to my own ears, it sounded less convincing than d**k Van Dyke’s cockney accent in Mary Poppins.

Kane Sanders, my co-star, removed his hand from under my skirt and stepped back. His grin wasn’t as big as his ego, but it was certainly bigger than his d**k. A wardrobe assistant leapt forward with a robe for him while I staggered to my feet and fetched my own from the back of a chair, cotton to Kane’s silk, a flimsy shield between my body and the horrors around me. Kristen, my assistant, was too busy gawping at Kane’s ass to actually assist, and I couldn’t totally blame her. It was a nice ass. Just a shame about its owner.

Kane flashed me another of his trademark smiles as he strode off set, leaving me confused. Why was he happy? The whole scene had been a disaster from start to finish. Did he have a date later? Or was he merely pleased about the stern word the director would undoubtedly want to have with me?

Speaking of which… David Jackson beckoned in my direction. Too late, I realised the tie from my robe was caught around the chair, and the front gaped open, giving everyone in the vicinity another eyeful. Oh, what did it matter? Soon the whole damn world was going to see my boobs, at least, they would if the movie turned into the box-office hit David assured us it was destined to be. Well, as long as a certain member of the cast got her act together, anyway.

D minus, Violet. Must try harder.

David’s minions studiously looked away as I approached, hovering around the periphery of his aura, close enough to hear the gossip but far enough away that if he threw his clipboard again, he’d probably miss.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

He sucked on his front teeth, and I forced the image of Bugs Bunny out of my head because there was nothing even vaguely funny about the situation. Everything was up, Doc.

“Violet, what the hell was that? You’re with Kane Sanders—Kane Sanders—and you look like you’re paying a visit to the gynaecologist instead of dancing the horizontal tango. Six takes, and we’ll still have to fix that scene in post-production.”

I choked at the mere mention of the word “gynaecologist.” My last visit to Dr. Samuelson back home in Oakwood Falls had been over a year ago, and I still remembered every moment in excruciating detail. Bad enough that I’d gone to school with his granddaughter, but as he’d fished around down below with a flashlight, he’d chuckled and cheerfully informed me that he couldn’t find the tunnel for the bushes. And did I know that Kathy at the beauty salon had a special on waxing this week? Twenty percent off, or so his wife said.

Okay, maybe the whole Kane ordeal wasn’t so bad after all, except David was still staring at me, as were the minions.

“I’m so sorry. With all the people watching us…”

And we weren’t actually horizontal. More…haphazard.

David tutted, shaking his head. “You’re an actress, Violet. People watch. That’s the whole point. And this isn’t Little League anymore. Hidden Intent might have an eighty-million-dollar budget, but we can’t afford to keep reshooting scenes.”

Probably because most of that eighty million dollars was going on Kane’s fee.

“I’ll do better, I promise.”

David draped one arm over my shoulders, a fatherly gesture when his words were anything but.

“Look, it’s simple. If Kane doesn’t do it for you, just block him out and imagine the last man to give you a rabid f*****g. That way, we might get home on time tomorrow. Capiche?”

My mouth dropped open, and in the battle to close it again, I felt like a goldfish out of water, panicking as I gasped for air.

“Y-y-yes. Yes, I understand.”

Sniggers came from the crowd as David strode off, leaving me behind to contemplate my lies. Firstly, I wasn’t sure I could do better, and secondly, while I understood the theory, the sum total of my s****l experience hovered dangerously close to zero. In Oakwood Falls, my one drunken fumble in the back of a Toyota Camry had left me stranded in a movie theatre parking lot wearing a ripped dress. In summary: a disaster.

Encouraged by Lauren—my best friend and roommate—some alcohol, and memories of my dad telling me that if I fell off the horse, the best thing to do was get right back on, I’d tried the s*x thing again soon after I moved to LA, and I still cringed at the memory of my suitor storming out when I asked, “Is it in yet?” Honestly, I hadn’t meant to offend him, but it was dark, and there was a lot of fumbling. Then, when he slammed the door, a chunk of drywall had fallen from the ceiling and broken my toe. After the swelling went down, I’d hoped for third time lucky, but my final foray into the world of dating had resulted in a month-long mistake I’d needed therapy to get over. Except I couldn’t afford therapy, so I’d been forced to drink more wine instead.

Shit. I needed help, I needed it fast, and there was only one person I could call. As soon as I got back to my trailer, I picked up the phone.

“Lauren?”

As a romance author, Lauren had offered me many nuggets of wisdom, but so far, I’d struggled to translate them into actions fit for a Hollywood blockbuster. A blockbuster I was way, way out of my depth in. Yes, I’d been in movies before, but only once in a leading role. Most of my acting experience came from “third girl on the left” parts and a short-lived series of infomercials for Diamonesque jewellery.

“So, how was your big day?” Lauren asked. “You had another scene with Kane, right?”

Why did she sound so dreamy?

“I keep telling you, he’s just a frat boy stuffed into a designer suit.”

“But he looks soooo good in the suit. Tall, dark, handsome, and hung.”

“Should I introduce you? You’ll soon change your mind about wanting to breathe the same air as him.”

“Wish I could visit, Vi, but until I can get another book written, I need to work all the shifts I can.”

Lauren might have been an author, but she’d barely penned a word since her last boyfriend dumped her via w******p. Sure, they’d only been together for three months, but she’d fallen hard. Would a phone call really have been that difficult?

“You can be my date for the premiere.” If I didn’t get fired first.

“Are you serious?”

“There’s nobody I’d rather go with. But first, I need more pointers, or the movie’s never gonna get finished.”

“What happened this time?”

A groan escaped as I dropped onto the couch. Three-quarters of the space in my trailer was set aside for a make-up chair and a two-seater table, with the remainder taken up by a tiny bathroom and a bedroom containing a fold-out couch and a TV. At first, I’d been so excited to see my name on the door, my picture on the movie poster… But now? The longer I spent in LA, the more depressed I got by the layer of dirt that lay beneath the gleaming façade.

“Veronica decided to go for a walk after an argument with Drake—”

“Drake’s the boyfriend?”

“Yes, on again, off again.” Veronica was my character. A cop. Tough on the outside but broken on the inside, thanks in no small part to Drake’s violent temper. “Well, the walk was more of a wild sprint, really.” In high-heeled boots. “But it rained, and she got soaked. Then Kelvin found her outside his office and took her in to dry off.”

I’d read the script with a mixture of longing and incredulity. What kind of a millionaire found a bedraggled woman slumped in his doorway and invited her up for drinks? That was the stuff of fairy tales, not real life.

“Then? What happened next?”

Lauren’s voice hitched with excitement, and for a moment, I envied her. She still believed in the magic, the dream that Mr. Right was out there, waiting around for fate to lend a hand. Me? I knew she was wrong. After all, I’d already found the perfect man, but he wasn’t interested.

When I hesitated, Lauren prodded harder. “Hey, don’t hold back on me, superstar.”

I tried to inject a little enthusiasm into my answer. “Kelvin asked about the bruise on Veronica’s cheek, and because it’s perfectly normal to discuss your problems with a complete stranger, she told him that her boyfriend drank too much and pushed her into a cupboard.”

“People do talk to strangers. Think of confessionals.”

“Those are priests, Lauren. Men of God. That’s totally different.”

“They must hear so much good stuff. Do you think they recognise the voices? I mean, how do they face sweet old Mrs. Robins in church if she’s recently confessed to messing around with the gardener?”

“Can we stay on topic here?”

“What about bartenders? When you were pouring drinks, didn’t you get weird old guys spilling their dirty secrets?”

“Mostly they just hit on me.”

“They must’ve seen that star quality, babe. Anyhow, last night in the bar, this bald dude told me how he came home and found his neighbour screwing his son on the living room floor. But—get this—daddy was also doing the neighbour, and she’d been cheating on both of them. Then his wife came home, and—”

“Lauren, please?”

“Okay, okay, so where did it go wrong?”

“Well, I managed the crying part, and I suppose the pushing-Kelvin-away part went all right too.”

Let’s face it, calling Kane an arrogant prick came naturally.

“And…?”

“And then he kissed me. Lauren, he’d eaten fish for lunch. Salmon, I think.”

“OMG, you hate salmon.”

“I know.”

“Yeuch! He didn’t brush his teeth?”

“He didn’t even suck a breath mint. He’s Kane Sanders. Kane Sanders.” I mimicked David. “Women are supposed to relish the gift of his second-hand sushi.”

Lauren gagged. “Okay, kissing aside, what about the rest?”

I pulled a face, even though she couldn’t see it. Right now, she was probably lying out by the pool in our apartment complex, catching the evening sun, which sounded more glamorous than it really was. Firstly, it was the end of January. Secondly, the pool had been empty since we moved in, save for some leaves and a few crumpled beer cans, and Lauren only sat outside because our upstairs neighbour liked to do Zumba between six and seven every day, and the ceiling shook alarmingly. But still, I couldn’t help wishing I were there with her.

“The rest? Kane tore my top off, and my mind went blank. I forgot everything you told me last time and just stiffened up. David got pissed again, and afterward, he told me I should lie back and visualise the last man to rabidly f**k me.”

Lauren spluttered, and I heard a clatter followed by muffled curses. “s**t, sorry, I dropped the phone. No way—he really said that?”

“I only wish I’d misheard. Lauren, what am I supposed to do?” No answer. “Lauren?”

“I’m thinking, okay? I mean, there is the obvious solution.”

“A one-way flight to Timbuktu?”

“No, you could pick up a guy for the night and solve this whole problem. With your looks, it’d be easy.”

“But I don’t want any old guy.”

No, I wanted Trent Vickers, the man who’d grown from my childhood crush into a successful lawyer. The problem? He’d always seen me as a little sister. No matter how many hints I dropped about my interest in him, he remained oblivious. When I moved to LA, I’d hoped the distance between us would lessen my feelings, but you know that old saying about absence making the heart grow fonder? Totally true. We were still friends, good friends, but every time we spoke, I longed for more.

“And that’s exactly why you need to do this. Remember what we discussed? OTT?”

Ah, yes. Operation Tempt Trent. We’d come up with the name while knocking back margaritas, and you try saying the words quickly when you’re drunk. After the second pitcher, we’d shortened it to an acronym.

The plan was simple—show Trent that I could be both adventurous and sophisticated. Polished. Independent. Capable. After all, that was the type of girl I’d overheard him telling his friend Colby he wanted. Back in Kansas, I’d been none of those things, but I’d changed. In the two and a half years I’d been away, I’d changed.

“Nothing in OTT mentioned using another man for sex.”

“Not using, exactly. He’d get something out of it too. What about that other actor? Lucas? He always seems kind of quiet.”

Ah, Lucas Collins. Hollywood B-list, and my partner in crime. Well, the opposite of crime. He played Lance Hosier, Veronica’s partner in the SFPD. Lucas was a good guy, friendly, but…he wasn’t Trent. And I’d been in love with Trent since I was ten years old. I slumped back on the couch and buried my head in the crook of my elbow.

“Lauren, I can’t. Even if I did want to…to you know, with Lucas, can you imagine the awkwardness the morning after? We’ll have to come up with an alternative plan.”

She fell silent, but not for long. Lauren always had an answer for everything. “How about going to one of those cabaret shows? Sure, you wouldn’t be doing the deed, but you could writhe around with a man for a while.”

“You’re seriously suggesting I go to a strip show on my own?”

“Couldn’t you take someone with you?”

“I barely know anyone here.”

“Mikki the b***h?” Lauren giggled as I made a gagging noise. Mikki was my female co-star. My competition, as the gossip websites kept reminding me, although I’d rather throw myself off the Golden Gate Bridge than aspire to be like her. “Is she still driving you crazy?”

“This morning, she threw a hissy fit because we’d run out of low-fat soya milk. She accused me of drinking it all.”

“And did you?”

“Of course not! It’s disgusting. No, Kane drank it, but if I told her that, she’d only call me a liar. She thinks the sun shines out of his derrière.”

“What about the make-up lady? You get along okay with her.”

Get along okay with her? I freaking loved the woman. First, she’d taught me how to put in my contact lenses without blinding myself—David insisted my eyes had to be blue instead of brown—and then she’d worked her magic with scissors and brushes and jars of mystery miracle creams and turned me from a beggar-woman into a bombshell, or at least, that’s what Lauren called me when I sent her the first photo. My dark hair shone, and my skin was flawless. But taking Shonda to a strip show? No.

“Shonda’s forty-five years old, and she’s married.”

“Fine. I have a new plan. I’ll send you a fun little video. Watch it and give yourself sweet dreams.”

“What sort of video?”

“Think of it as instructional.”

“You’re gonna send me porn?”

“Plenty of women watch it nowadays.”

“Lauren…”

But it was no good. She’d hung up, and I was talking to dead air.

And it was time for me to go home. Or rather, back to the rented beach house I was sharing with Kane, Lucas, and Mikki for the duration of production. Why was I sharing a place with two people I hated and one who made me swoon a bit? A good question, and one I’d asked myself many times over the last two weeks. Why had I ever listened to my ex-agent and signed on the dotted line?

Hidden Intent wasn’t just a movie, you see. It was David’s creative vision, a project billed as Blockbuster versus Big Brother. He’d hired the four of us not only to star in the final product but also to make a twelve-part behind-the-scenes reality show about the process. The whole movie was being filmed in chronological order, and we hadn’t even been allowed to read the script before we started. It got revealed to us in small chunks, scene by scene, and each time David brought around those golden envelopes, the cameras were on hand to capture our reactions as we read through our parts. My gasp of horror when I received today’s instalment had been all too real, and two hundred thousand people had watched my knees buckle on YouTube, much to David’s delight.

So far, the movie had opened with the gruesome murder of Del Swanson, the husband of Mikki’s character and the business partner of Kane’s. There’d been grief and a funeral. The tears had been followed by an argument as Mariah and Kelvin each accused the other of the dastardly deed. Mariah and Kelvin—the scriptwriters thought it would be cute to make each of our characters’ names start with the same letter as our own as a way of—to quote David—blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.

“Knock-knock,” Kristen called before walking in without waiting for an answer.

I pulled the robe tighter around myself but then thought, why bother? Thanks to last week’s supposedly leaked photos—and I say “supposedly” because I overheard David congratulating Debbie, the publicist, for leaking them—several million people had already seen my ass in the opening shower scene.

Kristen tapped her watch, a bubble-gum-pink model with no numbers—the perfect accessory for someone who arrived late half the time.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“If you want to ride back with Kane, you need to go. The car’s outside. Kane said he’d wait, but Mikki insists they’re leaving right this second.”

After today’s events, I’d rather walk. “What are the other options?”

“You could ride with Lucas. I think he stopped to talk to David.”

“Perfect.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him. Uh, did you know you have your robe on inside out?”

No, but on current form, that didn’t surprise me at all.