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  “Yeah, okay.” I wanted to work. I needed to work. I just didn’t want to have to read five scripts a night to be able to work.

  “Also we need to schedule a call with Boom Boom. I want to go over publicity for the premiere of Mission Ranger. It’s your first film, man, we got to get as many eyeballs on you as we can. Get those teen queens salivating. They buy tickets, baby! Those girls see a movie two or three times. That is your audience. If they love you? You are golden. You only get your first time one time, right, my man?” Webber laughed. “And you never forget it."

  “Damn.” I shook my head. “That seems like forever ago.” Mission Ranger had been my first role in a film. The shoot had wrapped in February and the film would finally premiere in July.

  "So first read the Legend script, then we’ll schedule the meeting with Legend, and we’ll also schedule a call with Boom Boom for this week. Got it?” Webber asked.

  I nodded. I had my orders from my agent, and before the end of the week I would get more orders from my publicist, Boom Boom. I sighed. These were good problems to have. I was a working actor. A working actor making money who could take care of his kid brother.

  “Get me a reader,” I said. “One that will stick. Someone ugly or with a penis.”

  “Dillon, you’re running thin over here. You’ve fired four in three months.”

  “Just find me one,” I hammered into the phone. “Preferably one I don’t want to have sex with.”

  Chapter 2

  Lane

  I might have been straight out of the fly-over states, but I wasn’t a moron. I definitely didn’t appreciate the looks or the attitude being shot my way. I stood in the center of the human resources department in my new suit and my new heels with my new bag and my new haircut, expecting to start my new job.

  “What do you mean my job is gone?” My fingertips tingled and my heart jolted in my chest. I stared wide-eyed at the blonde behind the human resources desk. She settled her chin on her hand. She looked bored. My problem was definitely not her problem. A part of me wanted to reach over and shake her.

  “A client needed a summer internship for his brother.”

  “But you have something else for me, right?” My voice grew louder as the idea of what was going down sank into my brain. “I just drove two thousand miles for a summer job.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I need the money.”

  Her eyes slitted and she tilted her head. “It’s an internship,” she said. “You don’t get paid for an internship in entertainment.” Her eyes roamed over me and my sixty-dollar suit like I was a hick from Hicksville, USA. When was the last time this little girl had ever paid for anything on her own? Her HR assistant gig wasn’t paying for those Loubies on her feet, which were peeking out from under her desk. Damn, those were some great-looking shoes.

  “What kind of company doesn’t pay a person for summer work?” I asked.

  “The kind of company that gets five thousand résumés a week.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as though she was educating a Neanderthal and not someone who’d just locked down her third year of college. She resettled her gaze on me. “Who do you even know to get in here?” she asked as though there had been some tragic mistake other than CTA giving away my internship to some overindulged rich kid and me believing my internship would be paid.

  Who did I even know? I cocked my hip to the side and sucked in my cheeks. Little Miss Attitude was not so great at HR. “A friend of my mom referred me,” I said. “But I nailed the Skype interview.”

  “Who’s your mom?” She twisted her blond extensions between her finger and thumb, suddenly interested that maybe I was somebody she should know.

  A piece of my heart broke with the word mom on her lips. Who was my mom? She was my world—had been my entire world—with her wild, curly golden hair and bright blue eyes, eyes that always seemed to smile even when things were remarkably bad. Tiny pinpricks of heat started at the backs of my eyes and I swallowed and forced myself to concentrate on the entitled girl in front of me.

  “That’s not important.” I cleared my throat and looked around the gray room full of cubicles. “Is there anyone else I can talk to? You know, about a real job?”

  I’d rolled into L.A. on gas fumes and grabbed a bed and a shower in a Best Western. I didn’t know a soul in Los Angeles. I had approximately seventy dollars to last me until my first paycheck, and I dearly hoped one of my coworkers needed a roommate for the summer. Call me a gambler, call me a risk-taker, call me crazy—I’d been called worse—but when I found out I’d gotten the gig for the summer at CTA, the biggest entertainment agency in L.A., I didn’t think twice about hitting the road from Lawrence for my opportunity of a lifetime. Especially after the hell of the past year. The only problem was that it appeared that my “opportunity of a lifetime” had evaporated.

  “You can talk to Nancy,” the blonde said and jerked her head toward the door. “She’s the head of HR, but she won’t have anything for you either. Not if you need money.”

  A flush blossomed on my neck and bloomed on my cheeks. Who didn’t need money? Oh, right, rich kids with trust funds and parents that stole other kids’ jobs. Yes, I was one of those people that needed money. No daddy to bail my ass out, no mama with a trust fund to pay for my entire life. I had to actually work and get paid to have clothes, a car, a place to live, and even school.

  “Take a seat. I’ll see if she has time.”

  Half a day later, after meeting with two other people, both of whom seemed grandly perplexed that I would assume my internship was paid, I had no job, no internship, and in twenty-four hours most likely no place to stay.

  “You coming to work in the mailroom?” I looked up at a tall guy with shocks of ink-black hair that sprung out in odd angles from his head. He had on thick-rimmed glasses, and under his suit jacket he wore one of those graphic tees that looks shabby but costs the same amount as my books for a semester. He pulled a thick manila envelope out of a loaded mail cart.

  “Don’t think so,” I said and settled my head onto my hand. Nancy, her assistant, and some guy from Business Affairs were on the other side of her office door, still yakking about what to do with me.

  He set the envelope on Nancy’s assistant’s desk. “I’m Choo,” the guy said and held out his hand.

  “Choo?” I asked. Maybe I hadn’t heard him right.

  “Choo,” he said again and nodded.

  I leaned forward. “Is that even a name?” I asked.

  A wide smile broke over his face. “Girl,” he said and rolled his eyes, “I like you.”

  I smiled and tilted my head. “I like to be liked,” I said. “I’m Lane.” I took his soft palm into mine. “Lane Channing.”

  He settled one fist on his hip, and examined me from my shoes to my hair. “You’re not from around here,” he said and tapped a finger to his lips.

  “That obvious?” I asked. I would have been annoyed if I wasn’t so tired. “I just spent three days driving two thousand miles to discover those people gave away my job.”

  “Job? Or internship?” Choo asked.

  “How come everyone knows the difference but me?” I sighed. “Internship, okay.” I cocked one eyebrow skyward. “An internship that, now that I know all the definitions, I wrongly thought was a job.” I jiggled my foot and looked away from Choo and toward Nancy’s closed door. “I was so excited to get the gig, I didn't even ask. Then I went and based my whole summer earning potential on my inaccurate definitions. Now I am all kinds of screwed.”

  “But you’re gorge,” he said and planted his hand on his hip. “Super gorge, and baby, that can go a long way in this town.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I had to laugh. This boy was funny. Anyone who could make me laugh when I was broke, without a job, and nearly homeless was okay in my book.

  “You should come out tonight,” Choo said. He slipped his phone from his back pocket. “Digits.”

  “Choo, after my day, I can guarantee I won’t be fun.” I gave him a
warning look. “Plus I got no bills, you hear me? Not a dime.”

  “Don’t worry about the money.” He waved his hand as though money could never be any concern. “And it doesn’t matter if you’re fun or not, L.A. is.” He plugged in my number. “Besides, you might find a job.”

  “At a party?” I asked.

  “Lane, this is L.A., that isn’t even strange.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and grasped the handle of the mail cart. “Nice to meet you, Lane Channing. I’ll text you about tonight.”

  “You too, Choo,” I said and watched him sashay his way down the hall.

  Half an hour after meeting Choo, Nancy didn’t have any good news.

  “We’ve filled our internships for the summer,” she said. “I’d put you in the mailroom where you could get paid, but we’re overstaffed.” She tilted her head to the side and lifted her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  I bit down on my bottom lip and fought the urge to yell or cry. I didn’t want to cry in the office of the head of HR at the biggest talent agency in Los Angeles because I was already humiliated by the assumptions I’d made about my internship. I didn’t want to yell because of the next thing I had to ask her.

  “If something comes up,” I said, looking directly at Nancy, “anything, would you let me know?”

  She nodded and slid her business card across the top of the desk. Over the day, Nancy had heard my long, sad story and knew I needed a job. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For the misunderstanding. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  I stood and forced my lips to smile. “Thank you,” I said and clutched her card.

  I walked to the street and turned the corner. My air conditioner had crapped out in Nevada and my ancient black Jeep baked in the California sun. I didn’t look forward to climbing into that oven. Then I saw it, fluttering on the windshield, taunting me.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” I said with each step toward my car. I yanked the paper from beneath the blade. “Eighty-seven dollars for a parking ticket!” Tears welled in my eyes. My heart rate spiked and a large lump choked my throat. Not only did I not have a job, but I also now owed the city of Los Angeles eighty-seven dollars, which was seventeen more dollars than I currently had.

  Dillon

  “You can get the fuck out of my way,” I growled as I hauled the missile launcher over my shoulder and pointed. “Or I can blast a path through your ass.”

  “Cut!” Hunter Fabian called. The bell rang and the entire crew started to clap. “Brilliant, Dillon, absolutely brilliant.” Hunter’s British accent was lighter since he’d lived in Los Angeles for closing on twenty years. He lifted his baseball cap from his head and looked around the set. “We’re done for today, people.”

  “You were so good!” Denise squealed. She clipped across the set and grasped my bicep, which looked filthy and charred, thanks to the makeup department. Denise’s scenes had filmed early in the morning. Why was she still here?

  “Yo, man, nice job today,” Ryan called from the top of a tank he’d been pretending to jockey. He, too, was rocking the hard-core dirty-military-man thing going for today’s scene.

  “You look so sexy when you’re sweaty,” Denise cooed.

  I pulled away from her. I needed to get clean and get it through this chick’s head that while it’d been fun, it’d been nothing but that.

  “Dillon,” Hunter called from behind the monitor in video village, “can we chat?”

  I nodded and headed toward my director. Blond hair curled under the edges of his ball cap. He stood, hands on his hips and a smile crinkled his suntanned face. Hunter was solid. This was his third action film and he was definitely making bank for every studio he worked with. I handed one of the crew my “rocket launcher” and stripped the fingerless black leather gloves off my hands. “Thanks,” I said to the guy who took both.

  I ambled over to Hunter. He now sat in his director’s chair, his aviator sunglasses reflecting an image of me.

  “You are doing a kick-ass job,” he said. The crew who usually congregated around him had scattered. I settled into the director’s chair beside him. “I see big things for you. Huge. And I mean that.”

  I smiled. I needed big things. I wanted big things. I wanted them fast. I didn’t know how many opportunities I would get to work in films. According to my team, I should grab every role I could, at least until my first film premiered in July. Then we’d have a better idea of how to manage my career. I would either take flight and be huge, or I could land with a giant thud. Having Hunter tell me I was doing good work and that he thought I had a future in film made me feel a little less anxious about my career.

  “Thanks, Hunter,” I said.

  “So what do you think of the Steve Legend script I sent you?” Hunter asked.

  My throat tightened and my heart beat faster in my chest. I looked past Hunter to the now-empty set. I didn’t want to meet his eyes; I didn’t want Hunter to see the guilt I felt over not doing part of my job—the part I loathed, reading scripts, but still a part.

  I cleared my throat and gave him a slight nod. Damn, I wished I had some sunglasses.

  Hunter’s hopeful expression fell. “Dillon,” he said and his eyebrows furrowed, “The biggest action star in the world is considering you for his costar—don’t tell me you haven’t yet read the script?”

  I bit down on my bottom lip and finally met Hunter’s gaze. He collapsed back in his chair.

  “Dillon, do you want this Steve Legend film?”

  My throat grew tighter and I nodded.

  “Then don’t give Steve a reason to tell you no.” Hunter scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I really went out on a limb for you with Steve.” He leaned forward. “Read the script. Meet with Steve. Convince him you’re the right guy for this role.”

  My palms were moist. This was not an opportunity to mess up. Steve Legend scripts didn’t happen for every actor. I cleared my throat. “I’ve been having some problems with my readers.” I pressed my knuckles into the palm of my hand. I looked past Hunter to where the crew now rolled the tank away from the set.

  “So I hear,” Hunter said. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “Sounds like you need a bloke for a reader.”

  I nodded. “That might fix it.”

  “A big offer came with that script,” Hunter said. He pointed at me. “I told Steve that I only wanted you in the role. The Legend Returns should be your next picture. Every actor in town wants this role. Don’t let this opportunity slip away simply because you don’t love reading scripts.”

  I nodded. I liked working with Hunter. He’d worked with the biggest and the best. He knew how to film “Blow ’em up and Shoot ’em down” movies and those were the movies I wanted to do, where a big star was made. Getting the costar in the next Steve Legend film would be the biggest thing to happen in my new career. Working with Legend was like him giving me the nod.

  “I’ll have an answer for you by Monday,” I said to Hunter. And I would, even if I had to read the damn script myself.

  He slapped my shoulder. “Great. Thanks, Dillon. Hope it’s the answer I want.”

  I stood from the chair. I needed a shower and obviously some reading time. I didn’t want to get the reputation of being difficult or a pain in the ass or somebody who wouldn’t read or respond to an offer. Those could be career-killers.

  I also needed a little stress release. I looked toward my trailer where Denise was lingering. She twirled her hair and her hips and talked to Ryan. She lifted her hand and touched the side of his hand. Please let her be moving on—I was tired of hitting that. I needed to get off, but not with Denise.

  “Hey, Dillon,” Denise said and her hand dropped from touching Ryan’s arm.

  Ryan’s gaze glanced over to me and I could see the questions. He wondered if he’d been caught or if he could have the okay. One of the wardrobe mavens walked up to Denise and tapped her on the shoulder. Denise turned toward her and I leaned in close to Ryan. “Dude, she’s all yours,” I
whispered. “Enjoy.”

  I slipped around the edge of my trailer and up the stairs. Once inside, I peeked out a window just in time to see Ryan and Denise walk away with his hand settled on her tight little ass. The tight little ass that I had already tapped.

  Chapter 3

  Lane

  “Sorry, chicky. You no pay, you no stay.” Haroom tilted his bald brown head and planted his hands on the front desk.

  I glanced at the two suitcases and duffel bag at my feet. I pressed my fingertips to my eyes. “I just need one day.” I pulled my cell phone from my purse and scrolled, praying that someone had called—anyone. The only message was the same one that was always there. An old message that I could never delete that was from my mom, telling me how proud she was of me and how she wished she could help more. I looked up at Haroom. “Please,” I said. I glanced at the guests milling around the lobby. “Just one night.”

  “A dollar for every time I’ve heard that and this place would be free.” He shook his head and his lips thinned. “Your company decline your card. No money not funny. It is time for you to be going now.”

  My stomach growled. Nancy had ordered me lunch, but that had been a long time ago. After paying for my one night at the motel with cash, I only had twenty dollars left, which I’d set aside for gas. Twenty dollars that I wouldn’t touch no matter how hungry I got.

  “I can’t let you stay. I cannot turn away paying customers for a deadbeat like you.”

  “A deadbeat like me?” I slammed my hand to my chest. “I’ve been looking for jobs—I put in seven applications today. If you’ll just let me—”

  “No, chicky. No can do. Either you pick up that bag and head through those doors, or I’ll be picking up this phone and you’ll be staying for free tonight somewhere where the nice men with handcuffs and guns won’t let you leave.”