Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) (16 page)

I digest her words. In the distance, a petite but sturdy brown-skinned woman with a long shimmering black braid heads toward us at a brisk pace. She’s clad in a colorful sari.

“Miss Stadler,” she says in a melodic, Indian-accented voice, wrapping her fingers around the handles of the wheelchair. “It is time for another treatment.”

Miss Stadler
? Brandon’s mentor? Could it be?

“I hope I’ll see you again, my dear,” the beautiful, disabled woman says cheerfully as she’s whisked away by her nurse.

I’m too stupefied to say anything. Is this all meant to be?

One hour later, I’m packed. I’ve collected my phone, and I’m on my way back to LA.

Brandon

INTERIOR KURT’S KITCHEN-NIGHT

The lights are dim. KURT’S at the counter, pouring himself a glass of Scotch. Shirtless, he’s wearing sweats and looks unshaven and disheveled. He takes a few sips and tosses the glass to the floor. It shatters.

KURT

Goddammit. I’m falling apart without her.

ANGLE ON THE KITCHEN DOOR

The knob twists and the door opens slowly.

CUT BACK TO KURT

He pivots and his eyes narrow in disbelief.

KURT

What are you doing back?

As I pound out the line, I say it out loud. I’m about to write Mel’s comeback when my name sounds in my ear. A soft familiar rasp. On my third shot of whiskey, I’m in a drunken haze. I must be imagining things. I whirl my desk chair around and blink hard.

“Hi.”

It’s Zoey, with her overnight bag in hand. In my stupor, I didn’t hear her drive in. Her glimmering eyes meet mine. I’m taken aback. How many agonizing days has it been? Five? Seven? Ten? It feels like an eternity. I’ve lost count. In fact, I thought she’d never come back. Dressed in stretchy yoga pants and a
Kurt Kussler
sweatshirt, she looks rested and thinner. I can tell even in the dimness.

“How was your vacation?”

“Enlightening.”

She glows like an angel under the overhead halogen light. At the sight of her, my comatose cock awakens with a stir. It wants to steal my next line.

“I missed you.”

She quirks a smile. “I swam a lot.”

I smile back at her. She doesn’t move. We share a stretch of silence. Only the electricity between us is palpable. I can hear the sparks.

“What are you doing?” she finally asks.

“Writing.”

Her eyes warm with interest. “Oh, the
Kurt Kussler
season finale?”

Though I never told her I was doing this, she must have read about it in the trades or online. My writing debut has been highly publicized.

“Yeah. But, I can’t really talk about it.” Damn. I hate being sworn to secrecy.

While I’m dying to share the plot twist with her and show her what I’ve written, I’m grateful she doesn’t pursue the subject. Her eyes fix on the almost empty bottle of liquor.

“You should stop drinking.”

We share another awkward stretch of silence. I so want to take her in my arms and taste her. Wash away the foul taste of the whiskey with her sweetness. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

She turns on her heel. “I’ll bring you your Starbucks in the morning.”

“I’m going to take a break. Are you sure?” The truth is I’m famished. Dealing with bouts of depression and writer’s block all week, I haven’t eaten much.

At the doorway, she cranes her neck and looks over her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just keep writing. Don’t give up.”

At her last three words, something in my head clicks. My eyelids flutter. And my heart races.

“Zoey!” I call out her name. It’s too late. She’s gone.

I swivel my desk chair and face the computer. I feverishly type away. I know at last how the season finale is going to end.

“Cut! That’s a wrap!” shouts out Director Niall Davies.

While just minutes ago, a loud gun explosion thundered in my ears, now an explosion of claps, cheers, and wolf whistles reverberates. On location, we just finished shooting the last scene of the explosive season finale of
Kurt Kussler.
The emotionally charged cliffhanger that dramatically changes the dynamics between Kurt and his assistant Mel.

Lying in a pool of make-believe blood on the street just outside Kurt’s house, I slowly sit up. Wiped out, I swipe at my face, burnishing the tears my co-star Kellie Fox shed. Still crying, she’s kneeling beside me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Her eyes continue to water. Then, laughter mingles with the tears. “Brandon, you got to me.”

I brush away her tears and then smack her mouth with a kiss. My lips long to be smothering another mouth. The mouth I thought about everywhere on my body while shooting—and writing—this climatic, action-packed episode.

I compliment my co-star. “You were amazing.”

She truly has been. This has been a breakout episode for her. While Kellie’s always been terrific, the depth of emotion she’s shown from start to finish has been astounding. She made the lines I wrote jump off the page and come alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets an Emmy nomination for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series for her moving portrayal of Kurt’s assistant, Mel.

A cheek-to-cheek smile spreads across her face. “You were too. Thanks for writing such an incredible script.”

I think that may be the best compliment I’ve ever received from a fellow cast member. In writing the script, I learned the power of words. How each one can make a significant difference. Orgasmic elation sweeps over me.

Kellie reels me in. “Are Kurt and Mel going to get a happily ever after?”

A sudden cloud of doubt falls over me, shrouding the euphoria.

“I don’t know.” My voice wavers
. I really don’t know
.

Before I can say another word, the congratulatory crew surrounds us. I help Kellie to her feet as we both stand up. My shirt is completely soaked with fake blood.

Our ecstatic Executive Producer, Doug DeMille, offers to take everyone out for drinks at a nearby Mexican cantina.

Shrugging off my shirt, I politely decline.

I just want to celebrate with my inspiration.

The woman whose heart eludes me.

My Zoey. Zoey Hart.

Zoey

T
he next few weeks are the happiest I’ve ever seen Brandon. That’s
when
I see him. He spends long hours on the set, shooting the season finale of
Kurt Kussler.
It’s a closed set, so no one but the cast and crew are allowed on it. To my further dismay, I can’t even help him with his lines because the storyline is top-secret. I’m dying to know how the season ends, but Brandon is tight-lipped about it. Everyone’s working overtime to get the two-hour feature-length episode shot and edited in time for MIP. It’s going to be shown at the convention to an exclusive group of international broadcasters. Brandon’s traveling to Cannes along with network production chief, Blake Burns, the producers, and the rest of the cast to participate in a Q&A panel discussion following the screening. He’s flying to France via the Conquest Broadcasting private jet and staying in a suite at the 5-star Carlton Hotel. Lucky for me, I don’t need to set up his flight or accommodations; it’s all been handled by the Conquest travel department. Unlucky for me, Katrina’s probably tagging along. I can’t imagine her missing a red carpet opportunity.

After the shoot, I see Brandon even less. He spends long hours in editing, rising early and coming home at ungodly hours. I’ve never seen him so involved with an episode. I miss seeing him. But I don’t miss seeing him with Katrina. To her frustration, Brandon, with his crazy hours, has had no time to deal with all the wedding details. It’s taking place a few weeks after he returns from Cannes. I’m besieged with nasty emails from her, insisting I get Brandon to focus. After I forward some of these emails to him, he tells me to just agree to all her demands. I reluctantly obey his orders. Each time I reply to her, I feel a pin prick my heart.

In every email, she rubs it in that the wedding is going to be a live televised spectacle—a special edition of her reality series,
America’s It Girl.
I wish I could forget, but that’s been next to impossible. Promotions for it are everywhere—from billboards on Sunset to backs of busses. The whole world will be watching the two of them exchange their forever vows. While I promised Brandon I’d be there, I still don’t think I can stomach it. Whenever I have my doubts or a down moment, I turn to the inspirational words his mentor, Bella Stadler (yes, it was her for sure!), shared with me at the wellness spa about leading and landing your dreams. Maybe I’ll go and, just before they exchange their “I do’s,” work up the courage to object. The thought of doing that on national TV scares the hell out of me.

Just about the only time I see Brandon is in the early morning—after his daily swim. Not only do I bring him his regular iced Grande Caffè Americano, but also an iced vanilla blended to drink at the editing sessions. The episode is being edited at a nearby Hollywood facility.

“How’s it going?” I ask him about two weeks in after he sits down next to me at a patio table.

Fresh out of the pool and dripping wet, he takes a sip of his iced coffee. My eyes stay fixed on his glistening well-formed bicep that flexes as he holds the cup to his luscious mouth. Oh, those exquisite long fingers! And then, my gaze shifts to his gorgeous face as he imbibes the chilled dark brew through a straw. His violet eyes twinkle like two morning stars while he sensuously licks his upper lip. Tingles fly through me like glitter as he meets my moonstruck gaze.

“Do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re coming to Cannes with me.”

The words spin around in my head like a pinwheel in the wind.

“Come again,” I stutter, my jaw slackening.

“You heard me. I want you to come to Cannes with me.”

My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I’ve never left the country except for a daytrip to Tijuana with my brother Jeffrey. My souvenir—a major case of Montezuma’s Revenge. Setting the coffee on the table, Brandon continues.

“We finished editing the season finale of
Kurt Kussler
last night. As you know, Conquest is screening it at MIP. I want you to attend the gala premiere with me.”

I can’t get my brain to communicate with my larynx. Brandon Taylor has just given me the best invitation of my life. Every ounce of my being is doing a happy dance. Then, an invasive thought brings me crashing down from my high.

“Isn’t Katrina going with you?”

He playfully flicks the tip of my nose. “She can’t. It’s her father’s sixtieth birthday. She’s going up north to visit him in prison.”

I almost like her for a minute. Then, on my next breath, I love her so much I’m giddy.

“When are we leaving?” I ask with unbridled excitement.

“In two days. You’ll be flying with our executive producer, the cast, and me on the Conquest corporate jet. Blake Burns and his wife Jennifer will also be flying with us.”

Holy cow! Visions of walking down the red carpet with him dance in my head. I’ll be like a movie star. Paparazzi abounding. But there’s only one problem. Gah!

“Brandon, I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”