“Studio Sluts?” Angela asked.
“Glee was a Studio Slut,” Luiz said. “She got her first part because she was sleeping with the owner, his latest bit of tit. The movie should have tanked, but she was perfect for the part and stole the show. The studio signed her on a six-year earn-out contract—she had to star in a movie which grossed a certain amount, or continue acting in the movies until she hit that point. This is her third and the contract’s up in six months; the only way it will gross anything is because Tyler is here.”
“Carla is Glee’s replacement,” Jacob said. “When Glee’s second movie tanked, her sugar daddy dropped her and picked up another young thing. He’s the one who bought out her contract with
Fractured
, I guarantee it. Carla has never had that kind of money.”
“And now Glee has decided she won’t be shooting any of the stunts because she’s afraid of heights.” Luiz rolled her eyes. “Two weeks ago she threw an almighty tantrum because Swendon brought in a body double. Now she’s flip-flopping, tonight’s shoot might get canceled.”
Angela picked up a water bottle. “Maybe–OW!” She flailed as someone pulled her backward by her hair.
“Give me the wig!”
Angela rounded on the woman tugging at her hair. “What on earth are you doing?”
Chapter Five
Dear Mom,
Don’t worry about sending money. I’ve found a job and my first paycheck comes before the end of the month. If Delilah calls to ask you about a Rembrandt, tell her you’re not interested. There’s a new exhibit coming to the museum and she was going to go birthday shopping for you.
Remember the da Vinci she picked up for you when we went on that trip to Paris our sophomore year? It’s going to be like that all over again.
Your law-abiding daughter,
Angela
Angela rubbed her scalp, scowling at the woman who’d yanked on her hair.
“I need Glee’s wig if we’re going to film this scene,” the pinched-faced woman said with a puckered glower.
Luiz batted the woman away. “That’s her real hair, Kerry. AJ, this is the wardrobe director for this disaster. Kerry, AJ, she’s filling in for my brother since he’s unavailable.”
“No, I don’t have a blonde you can borrow from me.” Patrick Swendon stepped around the corner mid-argument with a slightly shorter, bald man. “Kerry, where’s the wig?”
“I don’t need a wig,” the other man argued. “I’ll take your coffee girl. I just need someone who can pose in a white catsuit.”
“Sweetie, you have a casting director, go ruin his day. I have enough problems.”
The bald man put his hands on his hips. “You are so sleeping on the couch tonight!”
They both came to a stop in front of the buffet table. Swendon looked Angela up and down. “Can you jump off buildings?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, you’re Glee’s new body double for stunts. Kerry will get your costume.”
“Jacket off,” Kerry ordered.
Angela obligingly unzipped the jacket and noticed the bald man’s eyes fixed on her shirt. She resisted the urge to take a deep breath.
“Have you ever considered being a superhero?” Baldy asked.
Angela smiled shyly as she shook her head. “Not really.”
“She’s a fan of Zephyr Girl,” Jacob said with a wink.
Swendon stepped in front of her. “No. Mine.”
The bald man gave him a limpid-eyed look. “Oh, come now darling, you know you like threesomes.”
Panicking, Angela turned to Luiz for help.
Luiz leaned over. “That’s Patrick’s husband, Geoff. He’s also the producer and director for
Fractured
. Rumor has it that he’s obsessed with the superheroes, especially Zephyr Girl.”
Jacob was nodding eagerly, Geoff Swendon was already fawning, and Patrick seemed resigned.
Angela smiled shyly. “What do you need me to do?”
“All I need is a few days of filming, so we can edit Carla out and put you in as the superhero Pacifica. It’s a blue and white catsuit, you’ll look amazing,” Geoff said with his hands folded in prayer.
“I need you to do Glee’s stunts,” Patrick said. “But it’s mostly night shoots at this point.”
Luiz held a hand up. “AJ is already under contract with my company. Patrick, if you want her you’re going to need to call her agent and set up a separate contract for her. Right now she’s here as a stunt rider and background character. Geoff, she can do some test shots with you tonight, but then you need to write up a contract.”
Both men nodded eagerly and Angela sighed. Daddy was going to have way too much fun with this. And she was willing to bet that sleep wouldn’t be in either of the contracts.
***
Arktos woke with a scream. A cold sweat covered his body as he fought off the nightmare that had woken him. A beautiful, red-haired woman approached a door, the door exploded, and her body was found in the cold dawn light. Again, and again, and again, the scene had repeated itself in his dreams until finally he’d fought to escape sleep.
After taking a deep breath, he climbed out of his oversized bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. He went downstairs where a light was on in the kitchen.
His little brother Aaron looked up in confusion. “I thought you said you didn’t have anything to do tonight.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams.”
“About Mom?”
Arktos shot his little brother a look that would have chilled the blood of most men. “No. It wasn’t about anything real.” He rooted around in the kitchen until he found a pitcher of lemonade. “What are you doing up?”
“Studying.” Aaron sulked.
“You need to sleep too.”
“It’s only ten. I’m going to finish the practice worksheet for math and go to bed.” Aaron worked in silence for a few minutes, portraying the Good Student with a skill that never went as far as the classroom. “I’m not going to get kicked out this time,” he said when he caught Arktos watching. “My grades are good. I’ve even got a tutor.”
“A tutor?” Arktos raised an eyebrow. “The last ‘tutor’ you had couldn’t add two plus two.”
“This one’s different.” He hesitated a moment. “My friend Mia has a tutor. She said I could come over and study with her this weekend.”
“We’ll see,” Arktos said. He’d take Aaron over on his bike and see if there was an adult in the area before passing judgment. Taking a sip of his lemonade, he stared out the window to the dark garden and wondered if he should go for a run. Sleep wasn’t going to come back easily and sitting in the kitchen held no appeal.
He turned to tell Aaron he was headed out when the vision caught him. It was an alley outside a conference hall that he knew. And there, the red-haired woman pulling up on a motorcycle. She parked the bike and sauntered down the alley, fully confident of her safety. She touched the door handle, and he felt the heat of the blast.
“Are you okay? Hey!” Aaron jumped out of his chair. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve got to go. There’s going to be a problem downtown. Get to bed. I’ll be back before you leave for school.” He kissed Aaron’s head before running out the door. “Get some sleep.”
Chapter Six
Dear Daddy,
The next time you suggest to the director that I replace the star of a show, I will drop scorpions in your Dior suit. Do not play innocent with me. There are rules in Hollywood, and one of those is that unknown girls who fill in as motorcycle stunt riders don’t get offered jobs as lead actresses within twenty-four hours of getting their first job. Don’t think I don’t see your hand in all of this.
What I’d like to know is: Where did you hide the minions?
They’re in the studio, aren’t they? Lurking like the little monsters they are in the shadows? Are there minions at my house, Dad?
The minions can’t eat intruders. This isn’t Texas. California doesn’t have the same home defense laws, and I really don’t think your genetically altered minion is the same as a dog. That’s going to be very hard to prove in court.
I love you, Daddy. I know you just want me to be happy. But can you please call the insane producer back and tell him I can only work one job at a time? I can’t be Glee’s stunt double and shoot the new episodes they need for
Fractured
at the same time. I need sleep!
Your very busy daughter,
Angela
Angela tossed the red curls of her wig and parked Luiz’s bike in the alley behind the conference center. She hadn’t put on her Rage getup since arriving in L.A., but tonight the mental screams of terror echoing from the center warranted the kind of investigation that would attract questionable attention.
Tight black jeans, a bright red tank top that matched her hair, and a leather duster that was too heavy for the L.A. heat were a start. She’d added a black domino mask that obscured the shape of her nose and cheekbones when she’d moved to New York, because no one needed to see their favorite schoolteacher beating down the local thugs. The heart and star pendant around her neck—a little invention of Daddy’s that would shield her from most things—completed the outfit.
The “most”s still worried her some days.
Terror radiated from the building, escalating until the headache tearing into her brain was a living fire. Whatever was happening, she would hit back. Hard.
Checking to make sure the alley was empty, Angela sauntered towards the back door and hoped someone inside had been kind enough to leave it open. More often than not the people hired to cater at these places would stick a rock in the door to keep it from locking every time they slipped out for fresh air.
If not, she could always pick the lock. Angela sighed. The whole point of moving away from her sisters was to avoid a life filled with crime and superheroes.
Angela reached for the door and someone hit her. A breeze ruffled her wig and she found herself on her back in the alleyway, staring up at a masked man. No hate tainted the aura around him; nothing that suggested that he was dangerous except that he was bigger than her.
She raised an eyebrow. “Hello?”
The man took a deep breath. “Hi.” He smelled like mint.
“I’m new to the area, so I’m not familiar with the protocol when you’re jumped by a masked man in an alleyway. Is there a secret handshake or something?” she asked sarcastically.
“I’m here to save your life.”
Angela looked around for signs of danger. The man was the only thing in the alley, and he was cradling her, hand cushioning her head, muscular arm suspending him in a pushup so his body weight wasn’t resting on her.
“Right. What danger am I in, exactly?”
“The door is going to explode and kill you,” he said in a very serious tone.
She lifted her head to peer over his shoulder at the door. It was a mistake. The movement meant gyrating under him in his spandex suit, and she caught a whiff of cologne, soap, and clean sweat. His emotions shifted, becoming tinged with desire and arousal.
Angela cleared her throat and lay back down, trying to put space between herself and her captor. “Mmhmm. Tell you what, let me up and I’ll help you find your doctor. I bet someone is very worried about you missing your medicine.”
The man shook his head insistently. “I had a vision and saw you killed.”
“And I had a vision where I won an all-expenses-paid trip to Fiji. That doesn’t mean anything is going to happen. Let me get up, please.”
“No. It’s not safe.”
Her patience frayed as the terror inside amped her headache up another notch. “I’m not lying here until I die of starvation because the door might—”
The door exploded.
Blue ice surrounded them like a shield, then, as the last piece of shrapnel fell to the ground in a smoldering pile, the ice receded, leaving frost patterns on the pavement.
“I told you so,” the superhero said as he pushed himself up. He was taller than she was and his black costume had jagged blue lightning strikes crossed over it.
Angela smoothed her wig out. “Fine. You have visions. Is it anything useful, like the winning lotto numbers for tomorrow?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“It never does.” She eyed the smoking wreckage of the doorway. “Care to clean this up?”
“What am I, your maid?”
“And my nanny.” Angela stepped towards the door.
“Who are you?”
She pointed. “Cool the hallway off, and I’ll tell you.”
The hero shot a jet of icy cold air down the wall. Melting metal cracked under the arctic blast.
“Very nice,” Angela said, turning her back on him and studying the remains of the door. “Very nice indeed.”
***
“Who are you?” Arktos repeated. Nothing in his vision had hinted at the fact that the woman would be another superhero. Or quite so...attractive. With their bodies pressed together he’d been far too aware of lithe muscles under him and the subtle spice of her citrus perfume. It clung to him like a phantom hand, stroking his libido.
She gave him a come-hither smile. “I’m Rage.”
“Rage?”
“Because I manipulate emotions and enrage people?” She waited with an expectant smile. “It’s sort of a joke.”
“I’ve never heard of you.”
“Under the circumstances I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”
He stretched an arm across the doorway, blocking her from stepping into the hall. “You need to go home now.”
She patted his cheek. “You’re so cute. How long have you been in the business? Three years? Four?”
“Six.”
“I’ve been in it for over twenty, so let’s pretend that I know what I’m doing and you’re the newbie who still needs training pants. M’kay? Good. I’m glad we had this little talk.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him before brushing past, trench coat swaying as she walked.
He stared. “No one has been with The Company for over twenty years. None of the talent, at least.” Most heroes didn’t survive four years. It was a rough life and he’d only made it so far because he was cautious. He had Aaron to think about.
She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “I didn’t say I was with The Company. I said I was in the business.”
“Rogue.”
“I prefer the term freelance.” She shot him a coy smile. “The pay is nothing to write home about, but I set my own hours.”