Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason (5 page)

A
nother week passes
and I don’t hear shit from Claire. I sit in my office, the afternoon light filtering through the window, and for the billionth time think about our bet. Although I’m confident in my position, something about this is bugging me.

Why would Claire agree to such a bet if she weren’t equally confident about her chances of winning?

We may have had a hot little unspoken moment there at Pastiche, but it was likely due to the excitement of a face-to-face business confrontation. All that talk about fucking each other led us to a weird place, but that definitely wasn’t real. Claire and I have never even shared a meal, much less shown any romantic or sexual interest in each other. We’re business rivals, for fuck’s sake.

That said, I chose my terms of the bet because I honestly would love fucking her. She’s gorgeous and has a tight little body, and something tells me she would be great in bed. Sure, I get that same feeling about many women, but based on the chemistry we had the night we made the bet, I’m guessing we’d both have an amazing week.

Regardless, I’m sure Claire only made that bet because she’s convinced she can win. If she wanted to have sex with me, she could have just asked, without committing to an entire week of being ordered around. She’s a very shrewd woman who wouldn’t have taken such an outlandish bet unless she knows something I don’t, and that worries me. She’s bound to have an ace up her sleeve.

My thoughts are interrupted by the intercom.

“Mona Simmons for you on line three.”

Only half a month after our little restroom fling and she’s already calling. I just hope she’s asking for a favor and not a repeat performance. Either way, I’m going to see what she knows about Claire and the Cheyenne situation.

“Mona, so nice to hear from you,” I say with facetious cheer.

“Mason, we need to talk.”

Hardly a desired conversation opener, and her voice has a strange tone. I’m guessing whatever Claire’s up to has already affected Mona. If Claire used her knowledge of the Melrose Star thing to screw with Mona, I’m going to be very pissed.

“What’s up? You sound upset.”

“Listen, we have a problem…”

When the pause reaches a too-dramatic length, I ask, “And what is this problem?”

“I’m pregnant.”

My brain spins immediately and I can’t help but think about how utterly fucked I might be. Then I remember a crucial detail about our tryst.

“I was wearing a condom,” I say. The subtext, which I am prepared to spell out if need be, being that I can’t possibly be the father.

There’s more silence on the line, then I hear snickering.

“Gotcha!”

She’s laughing now, but I don’t see the humor.

“What the fuck?” I try to remain calm.

“Oh, come on. It was funny and you know it.”

My breathing slowly resumes, but she’s trying my patience. “What do you need?”

“Lighten up, Mason, it was just a joke,” she says. “Don’t get pissy.” When I don’t say anything, she continues, “I need to talk to Sidney Blomfield. Do you know him?”

She wants to talk to the head of Warner Brothers? Good luck with that.

“Yeah, I know Sidney.”

“Can you send him word that I have a project I’d like to discuss with him? And that you know me?”

“Mona, here’s what I’ll do instead. I’ll put you in touch with Michael Turner at Warner. He’s a little further down the food chain, but he’s got Sidney’s ear. That’s your best bet.”

“Not good enough. I want to talk to Blomfield himself.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Well you can’t. It’s pointless for me to try to put you in touch with him, trust me.”

“I did trust you,” Mona says. “I let you fuck me, in a men’s room no less, because in return you promised to occasionally help me with things like this. Surely that hasn’t slipped your mind?”

“I haven’t forgotten. It was a memorable ten minutes,” I reply. “But here’s the thing: What I actually promised was that I would help your career as best I could. And my best advice regarding you ever getting a meeting with Sidney Blomfield is that you meet Michael Turner first. He’s an executive VP at Warner, and if Michaels’s impressed by whatever it is you’re pushing, Sidney will find out about it. But if I send you directly to Sidney, he won’t talk to you and he’ll be pissed at me for wasting his time. I know these things.”

She mulls it over, then says, “Okay, Michael Turner then.”

I give Mona Michael’s number. “I’ll give him a call so he’ll be expecting to hear from you. Don’t make me look bad.”

“I understand. Don’t worry.”

She probably gets that the first time she puts me in a bad light will be the last time I help her, restroom fuck notwithstanding.

Now it’s time to pry a little. “Hey, I have a question for you: Has Claire Jarrett said anything to you about
Texas Flood
since the meeting?”

“No,” she says. “Not a peep. I never dropped Cheyenne’s demand, though. It still stands.”

“Obviously, but don’t get her hopes up. Anyway, I was just curious if Claire had contacted you.”

“Nope. And Mason, you haven’t told anybody what happened at the Melrose Star, have you?”

“Of course not, that was our business,” I assure her.

“Good. That’s strictly between us. If word leaks, we’ll both look like idiots, but I’ll be the idiot slut.”

Apart from me and Mona, only three people know, and all of them know better than to share it with anyone else. That’s good enough for me.

So Claire hasn’t said a word to Mona about this equal pay thing. That scares me a little.

After I get rid of Mona, I decide to poke Claire directly to see what happens, so I send a text.

It doesn’t take long before a reply arrives.

A second later, my phone dings again.

My reply is succinct.

Her quick response:

I receive a final text from her.

I stare at my phone. The taunting is expected and kind of hot, to be honest, but the obnoxious smiley face gets to me. What the fuck is she plotting?

T
he waiter
at Katto in West Hollywood brings two waters and asks if I’d like anything else to drink. I order a bottle of their best Cabernet Sauvignon. My dining companion, who hasn’t arrived yet, is actor T.J. Holland, who has a crucial supporting role in
Texas Flood
. He’s also one of Mason Stark’s clients. Getting his cell phone number was easy; Cheyenne is a world-class networker and has nearly every actor of any importance in her contact list.

T.J. agreed to meet me for lunch, but it took some convincing. He was hesitant to meet with another agent because Stark has done pretty well for him. His part in
Texas Flood
was pursued by dozens of actors, but a good audition, combined with the strong recommendation of Drake Manning, persuaded the producers to go with T.J.

“I’m not inclined to change agencies right now, Claire,” T.J. told me when I called him. “My father once told me never to jump off a ship that’s on course.”

“What if another ship comes by that’s going twice as fast on a better course?” I asked

That intrigued him enough to meet me over lunch. “Just to get to know each other a bit,” he said

Though it’s extravagantly expensive, I chose Katto for the meeting not only because Cheyenne told me T.J. loves a good steak, but also because the owner is a friend and I knew he would let me use the semi-secret back dining room. The space is large enough to seat a dozen people at a large table, but right now there’s just a table for two. That was my idea. It has a cinematic effect; that lone table in the middle of the big room looks like something from a Tarantino movie.

Though most people enter Katto through the main entrance on busy Robertson Boulevard, a side door off the rear service entrance leads to this room. T.J. and I can both park in the back and nobody will know we had this meeting.

I take another sip of wine, then check the time on my phone. I double-check my outfit, smoothing my white silk tank top and checking my red blazer. This is a big moment and there’s a lot riding on it. If I can’t convince T.J. Holland to sign with me, I will likely lose the bet with Stark. On the other hand, if I do my job properly, he’ll see that changing agencies is by far his best option.

After a couple of slow, deep breaths to relax, I sit back in my chair. Just as I do, the door opens and in he walks.

I greet him with a confident handshake and marvel at how handsome this man is. T.J. is twenty-eight years old and six-four with a weightlifter’s body. He’s got a tanned face with a square jaw and striking pale green eyes. His dark blond hair is down to his shoulders, and he’s growing a beard that will have to come off before the
Texas Flood
shoot. In faded jeans and a T-shirt with the long sleeves pushed back to his elbows, T.J. simply oozes charisma. More than Stark’s abilities as an agent, that charisma is responsible for his career being on an upward trajectory. A tattoo of a large spider with a dagger through its torso decorates his muscular left forearm. I’ve seen him on-screen, but had no idea how seriously hot this man is in person.

We make small talk until the waiter comes to take our order. As expected, T.J. goes for the Wagyu ribeye, a smidge under two hundred bucks for an eight-ounce steak. Exactly what I was hoping for when he told me he’d never been to Katto before. It’s the restaurant’s showpiece steak, and steak lovers have described it as “orgasmic.”

I steer the conversation toward things like his background and our mutual friends in the industry for a while. When our salads arrive, I move to more substantial topics.

“Let’s talk about your career, T.J. Are you happy with your representation?”

“Quite happy,” he says. “MAU has been great for me.”

“Who’s your agent there?”

“Ron Fetterman,” he says, unaware that I already know this.

I raise an eyebrow. “Not Mason Stark?”

“No, I started with Ron very early. He got me a season on
Dallas Rescue
and I’ve been with him ever since.” The popular television series about an EMT crew is what put T.J. on the map.

I set down my fork and say, “That’s surprising.”

“What’s surprising about it?” he asks, eyeing me warily.

“I was in a meeting with Jackie Hightower recently at Trident in which Mason said you were his client.”

T.J. smiles and loads up a forkful of salad greens. “I’m sure he meant his agency, MAU. It’s all the same.”

“You’re probably right,” I say. “It’s not like he can personally represent his entire roster, so he probably concentrates on the clients he deems most important and lets his agents handle the others.”

Not as subtle as I would have liked, but I made my point so I move on. “Did Ron tell you that Cheyenne is demanding equal pay as Drake for
Texas Flood
?”

“No. Seriously?”

“That’s what the meeting at Trident was about,” I say. “Cheyenne and her manager decided they weren’t going forward with the movie until their demand was met. When Jackie suggested Mason ask Drake to give up some of his pay for Cheyenne, he threatened to pull both you and Drake out of the film.”

“What?” T.J. is visibly agitated.

“Yep. Then he made a snide comment about Jackie blowing her way to the top and she stormed out of the room.”

He’s caught completely off-guard by the news. I can sense his blood pressure rising. T.J. knows that role in
Texas Flood
is crucial for his career.

“I’m shocked Ron didn’t mention it to you,” I say, “unless, of course, he didn’t know. Perhaps Mason never told him.”

“Where does it stand now?” T.J. asks.

I try to make it sound casual as I draw a distinction between Mason’s agency and my own. “Creative Talents is representing Cheyenne. I’m handling her personally, as I do all my top clients. The demand is still on the table and will remain there until either Drake comes down or the producers increase the budget. Cheyenne won’t be in
Texas Flood
unless she earns as much as Drake, and Jackie won’t even consider replacing her.”

“She’ll never get equal money,” T.J. says. “That doesn’t happen in Hollywood.”

I sit back in my chair and smile. “Oh, she’s getting it. It’s a done deal. Jackie has dug in her heels on this one.”

T.J. seems to have lost interest in his salad. “This movie is critical for me, Claire. I’m going to absolutely crush that role, and Drake will pull in a huge audience to see it.”

I try to reassure him. “Don’t worry, the movie will go forward, likely without delays. There will be an agreement regarding the equal pay soon, although Mason doesn’t know it yet. Jackie’s already working on it.” I’ll let T.J. think the additional funds are coming from the producers, since he seems convinced Manning won’t come down.

“Let’s talk about your next movie, after
Texas Flood
,” I say. “What do you have currently in the pipeline?”

“I’m signed on for David Lynch’s next feature,” T.J. says, “But there are already some snags with the financing. It’s not a big part anyway, just a one-week shoot for me.”

It’s time I lay my cards on the table. “T.J., how would you like the lead in a superhero film with a budget of two-hundred million?” I have no idea what the budget will be for
Phantom
, but that’s as good a guess as any.

The waiter shows up to clear our salad plates, and when he leaves T.J. is still staring at me.

“Which superhero?”

I try to make it sound casual, as if I do deals like this all the time. “Trident is rebooting
The Phantom Peril
. I’ve already spoken to Jackie about you as the Phantom, and she agrees with me that you’re the perfect choice. So Jackie and Trident are already on board with it. And obviously, if it’s a hit, there will be sequels.”

He’s more than a little stunned. “What kind of money are we talking about?”

“Jackie’s only willing to go as high as fifteen, since it’s your first starring role.”

Fifteen million dollars and the lead in a superhero movie. The poor guy is speechless. It’s kind of cute, actually.

“If there are sequels, as there likely will be, you’d get twenty or more for those. This could actually happen, T.J. On one condition…”

Time to make my big pitch.

“You’ll have to leave MAU and come over to Creative Talents. Jackie is refusing to work with Mason at this point. She told me she will absolutely not consider you if you’re represented by his agency. This deal either goes through me at CT or it won’t go through at all.” I pause dramatically, then say, “And this has to happen now. Unlike Mason, I will rep you myself, personally. You deserve top-flight representation.”

The momentary silence is broken when the waiter enters the room with our steaks. They look and smell amazing, and the timing couldn’t have been better.

When we’re alone again, T.J. asks, “How soon would you need to know?”

“Take the weekend if necessary,” I say, “but I’ll need an answer by Monday.”

He nods calmly. He may not look it, but inside he’s got to be a freaking out over the possibility of his first starring role – in a big-budget franchise, no less.

“Until then, this is strictly between us, T.J. Don’t discuss it with Mason or anyone at MAU. If word leaks out, Jackie will kill the deal.”

I watch as he cuts his steak. He must understand that on some level, he’s become a pawn in this equal-pay issue, but any trepidation in that regard is being steamrolled by the idea of
The
Phantom Peril
launching him as a major star.

That first bite of steak hits his tongue and his eyes immediately light up. The ecstasy is apparent as he chews.

When he’s swallowed it, he says, “This is too good to be true.”

I have no idea whether he’s referring to the steak or the offer. Probably both.