Twisted Arrangement 2 (3 page)

Josh withdrew his hand. If the stunningly efficient Emma was really off her schedule after no more than a week’s vacation, then Josh was a prima ballerina. But, as much as she might remind him of his younger self, he didn’t know her that well. It wasn’t his place to pry, and he doubted she’d be comfortable with him doing so. Instead, he nodded. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be right as rain in no time, if I know you.” He held up the papers. “I’ll get these back to you ASAP. Promise.”

He smiled as warmly as he could and headed to the door. She cleared her throat before he could turn the knob.

“Josh?”

When he turned back, he saw color glowing in her wan cheeks again.  He quirked a brow.

“It’s fine. You know.” She wriggled the fingers of one hand in the air. “What you said. And I’m sure you didn’t drive anyone away.”

If only that were true. But there was that devil’s voice inside him saying that if he’d made as much of an impression on Madame Butterfly as she had on him, he wouldn’t have come back to an empty room. “Thanks, Emma. I appreciate that.”

“And good luck with your important meeting.”

His jaw clenched just thinking of wily William Ransler. “I’ll need it.” His tone was dryer than the Sahara. He waved the sheaf of papers in farewell and strode out to once again try and pin down the most elusive star in Hollywood.

Twenty years ago, William Ransler shot to stardom playing the high school bookie Joel Badgley in the coming-of-age comedy
The Spread
, owing mostly to a scene in which he’d played golf in his boxer shorts and his great on-screen chemistry with older leading lady Diane Keaton. His clean-cut good looks and dimpled smile had instantly made him American’s Heartthrob.

Even now, cruising toward 50, the handsome star remained everyone’s favorite leading man. He commanded a salary in the tens of millions and his face had graced more newspapers and magazines than Princess Kate. He was beloved, both for his body of work and his down-to-earth everyman personality in interviews. Not to mention he’d been married to the same woman for the last 17 years too, which was something of a miracle in Hollywood.

And yet, Josh found the mega-star strolling around a farmer’s market in Big Bear in a pair of worn jeans and a plain cotton t-shirt with nary an assistant or bodyguard in sight. The market was teaming with people, including kids who ran and shrieked around Josh as he tried to catch up with Ransler. Ransler stopped to talk with one of the vendors who was selling strawberry jam. While the Hollywood A-lister looked completely at home beside the wizened old woman in worn overalls, Josh stuck out in this casual crowd in his Hugo Boss suit, even though he’d left the jacket in the car.

“Ransler.”

The man turned around, smile in place. It faded a bit as he caught sight of Josh. “Mr. Owens.” He inclined his head. Josh stuck out his hand. Ransler shook it brusquely. Josh decided to take that as a good sign. The man hadn’t refused to shake, after all.

“You’re a hard man to get hold of, Mr. Ransler.”

The lips that had launched thousands of women’s daydreams flattened into a thin line. “Yes. I value my privacy.” The rebuke in his tone was clear. Josh didn’t care if Ransler wanted to chastise him, so long as he gave him a chance to talk afterward.

“I’d say I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been trying to reach you through conventional means for over a week now. As you can tell, this project is important to me. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that it gets made. And I’m here, in person, to give you any other assurances beyond that that you might require.”

Ransler’s broad shoulders slumped a bit. He motioned for Josh to follow him with an open palm. “Let’s talk, Mr. Owens.”

Josh strode beside him in silence. He marveled at how the other man interacted with the public as if he wasn’t a mega-millionaire and a giant movie star. And these people didn’t treat him like one. They were friendly, but not fawning. Several people came up to talk to William about his wife’s recipe for pepper relish or the likelihood of the local high school baseball team going to state.

He knew for a fact that William Ransler’s ranch on Big Bear Lake cost well over six million dollars. Yet Ransler’s jeans were Lee and his shirt was Fruit of the Loom. Of course, Josh had seen the pictures of the movie star in a five thousand dollar tux at movie premieres or award galas too. Blending in was part of his job.

They reached the far side of the market, away from the packed vendor isles and parking lot. Ransler led the way into a large white tent. The air was slightly cooler in the shade, and the scent of burgers and dogs cooking on the grill wafted through the air. After a brief conversation with a scraggly bearded man behind the tent’s wooden counter, Ransler turned to Josh with two cold beers in hand and pointed to a table near the edge of the tent.

Josh took the beer and sat, so relieved to have Ransler in front of him that he didn’t even care what the rough wood was no doubt doing to his suit pants. He sipped the cold, crisp brew with a grateful sigh. Ransler plonked himself down opposite Josh and raised his own beer to his lips.

“So, you’ve finally pinned me down. What do you want to say?”

Josh leaned his elbows on top of the table and wrapped his hands around the cool glass beer bottle. “What do I need to say? You’ve read the script. I know you have. So you know this role would be excellent for you. Not just a good fit, I’m talking little gold statue. You haven’t gotten one of those yet. But you deserve one. This role will get it for you.”

Ransler set down his beer and nodded. “Maybe. But one of the luxuries of my position, Mr. Owens, is that I get to be real picky. About what projects I do, what kind of roles I take... And who I work with.”

“So, this whole thing is about me. Personally.” Josh tilted his head to study the other man’s expression. Ransler’s blue eyes weren’t hostile, but they weren’t warm either.

“Well, yeah. To be honest with you, Mr. Owens, the things I’ve heard about you make me real wary to work together.”

Josh’s shoulders tensed. Ransler meant the things he’d heard from Lolly Tate, no doubt. “Was one of the things you heard that I’m incredibly hands-on with the projects I produce and that I take great interest, great care even, that we hire the very best cast and crew available?”

Ransler was already nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I did hear that. But frankly, and pardon me for saying so, that’s part of what worries me. Most producers aren’t nearly as involved as you are. And since my concerns are about
you
...” He tipped his beer bottle in Josh’s direction. “You can see how it raises problems with me signing on.”

Josh gritted his teeth. “With all due respect, Mr. Ransler, the rumors you’ve heard about me are just that. Rumors. Not all of them are true. In fact, I’d wager the majority aren’t. But if you come work for me, you can see that for yourself.”

Ransler’s lips twitched. One dark eyebrow rose a little. “You think I’m basing my concerns solely on what others tell me? You must not think very highly of me, Mr. Owens.”

“Please, call me Josh.” He leaned back in his chair and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. Even in the shade under the tent it was quite warm. “Look, Mr. Ransler, I have no clue what you’re basing your decisions on because until now you haven’t even been willing to speak to me. I was under the impression you’d agreed to meet with me after the charity ball, but since then I’ve been given every excuse in the book.”

“Fair enough. I did say I would meet with you after your ball, and here we are.” Ransler drained the last of his beer. “Look, I know you can’t make this film without my name on the dotted line. Arnold Purefoy has made no bones about the fact that he’ll pull his money. But I have to be honest with you, Josh. I just don’t see it working out. We’re two very different people and I don’t think I can compromise on this.”

Anger and resentment bubbled up in Josh’s throat. He swallowed them down. He was angry with Arnold Purefoy, for making his jittery stipulations public knowledge. He was angry with Lolly Tate for being such a petulant ex and spreading nasty rumors. And he resented having to beg William Ransler to sign onto a project he should be jumping all over, because he thought Josh was some sort of boogieman.

“William, I appreciate your honesty. But I just don’t understand what it is about my character you find so objectionable. I’ve never cheated on my taxes. I donate to charity all the time. I treat my cast and crew with respect and see they have whatever they need. I care about the artistic integrity of my films. You’re not going to find another Hollywood producer that can say all that honestly.” Josh tried to relax his grip on the beer bottle. He was worried it would shatter in his hand.

As he watched, Ransler’s eyes moved over his shoulder and a grin like a sunbeam broke out across his face. Josh shifted in his seat so he could see who was coming. He’d never seen a man look so joyful before.

The woman gliding toward them was tall, maybe six feet. Her orange-red hair hung in a long braid down her back, swinging side to side with her swishing gait. Her round face was sprinkled judiciously with freckles. They covered her cheeks and her long, thin nose completely. Her wide mouth curved upward, and Josh could see a glint of laughter in her soft brown eyes even from a distance.

She wasn’t a gorgeous woman, though her dusty blue jeans and bright purple tank top showed off her full figure well, but she carried herself with a graceful confidence. And William Ransler was gazing at her as if Venus herself had just stepped down from her clamshell.

Josh barely recognized her. 17 years ago, an up-and-coming William Ransler had done a film called
Down the Plains
. It was a cowboy flick that had bombed at the box office, much to the surprise to the investors. But the bigger shock to the Hollywood system had been the lead actor’s sudden marriage to a young lady no one had ever heard of, a girl who lived in the town
Down the Plains
had shot in.

Maisie Buchanan was a rancher’s daughter, going to the nearby community college for animal husbandry. She hadn’t even worked on the film. After the wedding, the couple had bought a ranch in Northern California and Ransler’s wife had rarely been seen in Hollywood. If he brought a date to an award show or event, it was usually his eldest daughter.

“There she is,” William murmured with relish. He held out his hand, palm up, and she slid hers into it, twining their fingers. William tugged her down beside him, running her braid through his free hand. “Josh, this is Maisie Ransler. My wife. Maisie, this is Josh Owens.”

“The producer?” Maisie’s thin brows curved upward. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Josh gave her a crooked grin. “Seems like many people have. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Ransler.” He extended his hand and Maisie shook it briskly. Her hand was big, almost as big as his, and warm. She squeezed.

“Call me, Maisie, please.” She drew back her hand and rested her chin on it, dancing eyes fixed on Josh’s face. “You’re trying to talk Willie into joining your movie, huh?”

“I am. And you should call me Josh.” He liked Maisie Ransler immediately. She had a kind face and her friendliness practically radiated off her like heat waves.

“Well, good luck, Josh. He’s awful picky these days.” She rubbed her nose briefly against William’s cheek and then pressed a quick kiss there. “I just came by for a kiss. I’m going to go help Norman with those spring squash. Want me to get us a few for dinner?”

William brushed her lips with his own. “If you want. We can throw ‘em on the grill with the steaks.”

Maisie unfolded herself from the seat and touched William’s cheek gently. “Sounds like a plan. You boys play nice, now.” She lifted her laughing gaze to Josh’s. “Josh, don’t you let him talk himself out of this one. I’m counting on you.”

She raised a hand in farewell and sashayed away. Josh and Ransler both watched her go. When Josh shifted his gaze to the other man, William was scowling. Josh’s lips twitched. “It seems even your lovely wife thinks you should take the job, William. So, tell me, what’s the hold up? Honestly?”

William Ransler leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his face within inches of Josh’s. “I worship that woman.”

Josh shot a quick look to where Maisie Ransler strode away from them. She moved with a casual elegance, her hips swinging as she waved and called to people, still laughing, a smile on her wide mouth. It was the kind of view of a woman walking away that a man could enjoy. “I can see why.”

Ransler’s dark brows snapped down so hard they collided just above his nose. “That right there is my problem with you, Owens. The way you treat women. It’s despicable.”

Josh’s mouth dropped open. The way he treated women? This had to be Lolly’s doing. “Look, William. I apologize if you took any offense. Your wife seems like a wonderful, warm, caring woman. That’s all I meant.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I swear”

“Right. Because ‘warm’ and ‘caring’ are the qualities you appreciate most in a woman.” Ransler snorted. “I’ve watched you at an endless parade of premieres and banquets, Owens, and you know what? You have an endless parade of girls too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with the same one twice.”

Josh couldn’t argue with that. Aside from his brief “relationship” with Lolly Tate, the last time he’d been seriously involved with someone had been his college girlfriend. Ransler was lucky. It wasn’t quite so easy to find someone and maintain more than superficial relationship with them in Hollywood. But he could hardly say that now. He was on the verge of really losing Ransler, and with him two years of hard work. He’d let down all the people he’d promised to come through for.