TAMING HOLLYWOOD’S BADDEST BOY Page 10

  “Yep,” I mutter and focus my attention on stirring. Both the beans and corn are starting to bubble up to a boil.

  “Thank you,” she says, and her gentle voice urges my gaze to move to hers.

  I refuse, staring at the beans like they’re going to explode if I take my eyes off them. No good thing can come from another annoyingly interesting conversation with her.

  Besides the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind and an occasional smacking of Bailey’s hungry lips, silence takes the reins. It fills the space between us, and for that, I’m thankful. The less we talk to each other, the better. That way, I won’t be able to get irritated—or irritatingly turned on.

  But it’s no surprise that Billie has other things in mind. If I’ve learned anything about her, it’s that she always has an agenda.

  “Since you’re sharing your food, and we have no damn Wi-Fi out here, I’ll share my reading material.”

  I look up to meet her eyes and raise one suspicious brow.

  “I brought some magazines,” she clarifies with an innocent lift of her hands, and I snort.

  “I’m pretty sure I have no desire to read any of the magazines you brought along with you.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean? You think I have bad taste in reading material?”

  “Based on what you’ve been wearing on this hike?” I ask teasingly. She scowls as I finish the thought. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t like the Times?” she asks. “Or Alaskan Wilderness?”

  I narrow my eyes. “You have those with you?”

  “No,” she says on a giggle, and I swear to God, I officially hate her fucking giggle. I guess that’s because there’s nothing worse than a likable quality in the person you’re trying to keep disliking. “But I do have two issues of Cosmopolitan and People magazine.”

  A smile almost curls my lips, but I hold it back with self-control, willpower, and years and years of acting experience. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” I take the beans and corn off the fire, putting three steaming servings of each onto reusable plates.

  Bailey bounces around on his paws, his excitement visible, but I know better than to let his eagerness get the best of me. I guess in some ways, Billie and Bailey have a few things in common. “Sit down and chill,” I tell the canine. “This food is too hot to gobble like a heathen.”

  He grumbles a sigh but obeys, lying back down and putting his big head between his paws.

  Billie giggles again—please stop that—and rubs her fingers between his ears. “You’ll get some soon, Bubby.”

  Bubby. Of course, she’d come up with some prissy nickname for my dog.

  He loves it, though, the bastard, looking up at her with happy eyes and a wagging tail.

  It doesn’t take long before we’re all sitting around the fire, eating our food, and Billie opens up one of her stupid magazines.

  “Are you sure you don’t want something to read?” she inquires.

  “Positive.”

  “But you could find out the ‘Top Ten Hottest Things a Woman Can Do with Her Tongue’ in this issue,” she peddles, holding up one of her issues of Cosmo in the air. “I bet it’s pretty interesting.”

  I shake my head. The only way I’m going to find out the top ten hottest things a woman can do with her tongue is by having her fucking do them. I need to read about that shit with a woman I can’t touch ten feet away like I need a hole in the head. “I’m good.”

  “It also has the ‘Top Ten Things that Annoy Men’ in here, too,” she keeps trying. “I wonder if I mark all of those things off your list.”

  I laugh. I’m sure it does—her list of annoying behaviors is a whole lot longer than ten.

  “Fine,” I say. “You convinced me.”

  She grins and hands the magazine over to me.

  But the damn thing is a hell of a lot heavier and thicker than I’d expect. When I open it up, the cause of the increased weight is clear. Tucked inside, a stack of white sheets of paper sits right in the middle.

  “What is this?” I ask and look over at her.

  “A magazine for you to read, obviously.”

  “Funny. Sure looks like a screenplay on the inside.”

  “Really?” She feigns confusion. “Are you sure about that?”

  I narrow my eyes. “It literally says the word screenplay on it, Billie.”

  “Hmm…that’s strange. Maybe the magazine made a mistake. How about you read it and see?”

  Goddamn, this woman. She just won’t give up, will she?

  “I’m not reading this fucking screenplay. Not today, not ever.”

  “But why?” she questions on a sigh. “Why won’t you just read it to see if you like it? What’s the worst that could happen? You actually end up liking it?” she challenges. “It’s not a snake. It won’t bite.”

  I look down at the screenplay and then over to the fire, and she follows my eyes.

  “Luca Weaver! Don’t you even think about it!”

  Damn, that’s tempting. A little too tempting…

  I meet her eyes, and she points her index finger at me.

  “Don’t you dare toss that screenplay into the fire…or…or else,” she scolds.

  “Or else what, princess?”

  “Or else I will stick this furry, booted foot…right here—” she lifts one slim leg into the air “—straight up your ass. It’ll probably make the trip miserable for both of us, but I’m willing to do the one-legged shuffle for the cause.”

  I reel in my anger and toss the screenplay her way. It hits the dirt with a soft thud, and she glares at me. “You jerk.”

  I shrug and take a bite of corn.

  “And what about my magazine?” she questions with a hand to her hip. She nods her eyes down toward the issue of Cosmo that’s still in my lap. I keep a tight hold on it, just for revenge.

  “This, I’ll read.” I shove a forkful of beans into my mouth and nod toward the screenplay again. “But that and your pushiness can go right to hell.”

  Billie

  If bears need food, I’ve got a big ole stack of papers that aren’t getting used for anything else. I pick up the screenplay Luca just threw from the ground and dust off the debris of dirt and grass and leaves. He sits across the fire, eating his plate of beans and corn, reading my Cosmo magazine, and literally giving zero fucks about anything.

  Every once in a while, he steals a glance at Bailey and gives him a few extra bites of food, but otherwise, he is occupied with whatever is inside that magazine.

  A magazine I offered him, sure, but I didn’t really want him to read the darn thing. I wanted him to open it up, spot the screenplay, and, wowed by my ability to create a ploy of distraction, read it.

  But no. Not Luca Weaver. That’d be too easy, right?

  Momma used to say, “Impossible men aren’t as impossible as they seem. Once you crack that hard shell of theirs, they’re soft and gooey on the inside.”

  Sorry, Momma, but I call bullshit. Daddy might have been chemically composed like the inside of a Godiva truffle, but Luca Weaver is solid as a rock. A giant stone peppered with little sparkles of ill-tempered blowups, explicit commentary, and hardheadedness to rival my own, he is, without a doubt, the most impossible man I’ve ever met.

  I busy myself with the not-too-bad dinner of beans and corn—it certainly beats the damn granola and protein bars Earl packed for me—and stare at the fire, trying to figure out my next move. I didn’t come on this trip for the hell of it. I’m here to convince him to take a meeting with Serena. To read a screenplay. To do a fucking incredible movie.

  To save my motherclucking job.

  The fire glows red and orange, and smoke drifts off the tips of the flames—a perfect, painful metaphor for what’s about to happen to my career.

  Ugh. Sometimes I hate my own brain.

  I shake off the thought and move my gaze out toward the trees, but with the sun resting and only the moon and stars held tight in the sky, those trees are
more like a void of black nothingness. If it weren’t for the flicker from the fire, I wouldn’t even be able to tell they’re trees at all.

  And it’s all so damn quiet, it’s almost eerie.

  I move my eyes back to the fire, and then to a now-snoozing Bailey, but my gaze is quickly brought back toward the trees when I hear something…rustling.

  My back jerks painfully straight and my senses dial up so fast, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I don’t know what’s out there, but it’s something.

  I stare toward the forest until spots start to dance in front of my eyes, waiting for the moment of attack.

  And then…the noise happens again.

  A rustling and a shaking.

  “What was that?” I ask, my voice jittery and terrified even to my own ears, but Luca barely looks up from his stupid magazine. I don’t even think it’s possible to read at this point. I mean, the fire is bright, but it isn’t that bright.

  “Did you hear that?” I question again, this time more urgently.

  “Probably just a bear,” he replies calmly.

  “Pardon, but what did you just say?” I ask, certain I couldn’t have heard what I think I did, because tranquil, soothing tones are in no way freaking appropriate when big, man-eating creatures are lurking nearby!

  “I said it’s probably just a bear.”

  Oh Jesus Christ! I think this guy needs to see a professional. Some kind of emotional reflex specialist…or something. We’ve got tons of people in LA who would be willing to overcharge him to analyze the complexities of his emotive shortcomings.

  “There are…” I pause, and my heart damn near skips a beat. “Bears out here, and you’re just gonna sit here like you’re a lady who lunches?”

  He nods. “There are wolves too.”

  “What?” I question, then my voice goes louder. “What?”

  His lips quirk up with amusement.

  “This is not funny!” I whisper-yell this time, because wolves and bears—holy hell, I don’t want to encourage them to come over here!

  He shrugs. “It’s kind of funny.”

  “Luca! How in the hell could you bring us out here if there are bears and wolves?!”

  “I didn’t bring us out here. I brought Bailey and myself out here. You took it upon yourself to join the fun.”

  “Oh my god!” I whisper on a groan. “What if they come over here? What if they attack my tent?”

  “Trust me, princess, that god-awful pink tent is a deterrent to just about any living thing on the planet.”

  “Funny ha-ha,” I snap back, but honestly, I don’t really know what’s coming out of my mouth. I think I’m too busy having a mental breakdown.

  “You’re safe. We’re safe. Just relax, Billie,” he says like it’s no big deal. Like it’s so easy to relax right now, you know, with the fucking bears rummaging around the forest and all!

  “Relax?” Relax?! “Yeah, I’ll try to do that once I find my heart that’s somehow made an escape into my damn boots.”

  “Look,” he says, and I move my gaze to his. “Bailey is sleeping. This dog has done this trip hundreds of times. If there were a reason to be alert, he wouldn’t be sawing logs right now.”

  Gah. I don’t know what else to do at this moment besides sigh and not move.

  Or maybe I should hide inside my tent?

  I never went on Daddy’s camping trips with him and Birdie, so hell if I know what to do when giant, meat-loving animals are involved.

  “You ready to go home yet?” he asks, and I hate how hopeful his face looks. “Because I’ll gladly lose a day and help you get back.”

  My competitive nature hardens me against my flight response.

  “You ready to read the screenplay?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Then, fuck no, I’m not leaving yet.”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

  Ditto, Luca Weaver. Freaking ditto.

  Billie

  Apparently, Alaska doesn’t put a limit on the number of times you can almost die in a visit. No, it’s a gosh darn all-you-can-eat buffet of catastrophe out here in the wilderness.

  Last night, I almost died again.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t from bears or wolves, but from how crazy cold it is at night here.

  That’s right. In a tent, in the middle of nowhere, with my teeth chattering and toes and fingers completely numb, I almost met my fate.

  Camping in Alaska in May is no joke.

  Someone should have told me spring in this northern state doesn’t mean shit.

  Once the sun goes down, the temperature drops like an underwire bra being taken off by a girl who just spent twelve hours at the office.

  If it was twenty degrees last night, I was lucky.

  I spent the majority of my night watching my breath leave my lips and shivering inside my sleeping bag. The other part was spent fixating on every little noise that surrounded my tent.

  Sleep certainly didn’t get checked off my to-do list, and now, I’m faced with hiking god-only-knows how many miles today without the restorative properties of rest.

  I’m so tempted, so incredibly tempted, to ask Luca how much longer until we can stop, but I bite my tongue and just keep telling my feet to move. Lord knows, at the pace he’s currently hiking, I don’t have a damn choice but to haul ass.

  Nearly thirty-six hours into this wild Alaskan adventure and I’m not any closer to getting Luca to read the darn screenplay than when I started.

  He’s still grumpy and broody and grumbling about any Hollywood-related question I ask him, and I’m still trying to figure out how I ended up here—hiking through the forest like a lunatic.

  Because that’s what this is. Pure insanity.

  Why on earth anyone would willingly want to go camping is beyond me. It goes against every survival instinct we should be programmed with. As technology evolves, so should the human race. If cavemen were offered a tent or a warm, cozy house that had electricity and a fridge stocked full of food, they’d light their cave on fire and move into the damn house. It’s a basic fucking survival skill!

  Bailey sticks close to my side as I follow Luca up a hill without a path. No gravel or flattened dirt to guide us, we’re climbing over rocks and tree limbs and through all kinds of strange-looking plants that make me thankful I’m wearing pants.

  The stupid hiking pack Earl packed for me has only managed to get somehow heavier along the way, and I don’t think my lungs have ever worked this hard to breathe. Air pulls into my tight chest and releases on heavy whooshes with each step. Sweat beads on my forehead and drips between my boobs. And my heart is pounding so hard, it might escape my chest before we make it to wherever we’re going.

  I look up from my feet to find Luca moving up a rocky hill like his ass has turbo boosters.

  Good God, man! Slow down!

  A loud buzz bounces around inside my ear, and I squeal.

  “Ah! Get away! Shoo, you little bastard!” I shout so loud, it echoes off the trees. Luca turns around to find me swatting at my face and ears.

  Bailey barks. I swat some more.

  “Everything okay back there?”

  “Oh yeah, just peachy!” I yell toward him once the buzzing has blessedly disappeared. “I just love when bugs fly into my ears. Probably my favorite thing ever!”

  I swear to God, he smiles, but he’s so damn quick to turn back around and start hiking again that it’s hard to be certain.

  Wilderness-loving bastard.

  Don’t get me wrong—I was raised in the hollows of West Virginia, in a small town stuck between mountains, and everyone I knew loved those same hobbies. But Lord knows they still enjoyed civilization every once in a while.

  Walmart. Shopping malls. Grabbing some Twizzlers from the Stop N’Go.

  Living in a house that could be reached without a damn boat.

  They weren’t crazy people.

  But Luca is anything but normal.

  And unfortunately for me
and my job, he’s still just as mysterious as he was the day I paddled myself to his cabin on the cliff.

  Bailey stops to lift his leg on a tree, and I decide that I’ll wait for him.

  You know, just in case he gets lost. Obviously, this has nothing to do with the fact that my thighs are burning like Jane Fonda herself forced me to do seventy-two hours of workout videos.

  I pull a bottle of water out of my pack and take a long swig, and once Bailey has marked his territory on enough trees to be satisfied, I follow his lead up the hill that might as well be Everest.

  All is going surprisingly well. I’m getting up the hill. Hell, I even grab my phone from the pocket of my jeans to snap a picture to commemorate the moment. For one, it’ll distract me from the constant burning in my thighs, and two…well, the view is truly breathtaking.

  As much as I complain, I can’t deny that Alaska’s got something going for her. Her lush nature and gorgeous mountain views would make anyone feel wonder and awe.

  But with my phone in my hand and my boots still moving up the incline, something snags my progress. Quicker than I even know it happened, the toe of my boot gets stuck between two rocks, and my body decides it’s perfectly fine if I leave that leg behind.

  Catapulting forward, I’m all limbs and legs and giant hiking backpack and cell phone flying through the air and landing on a rock in the hard dirt with an awful thud and shatter.

  “Ah hell!” I shout when my stupid boot finally releases from between the rocks and my ankle twists and pops in response.

  This is exactly why I should never be out in the wilderness.

  I am not made for this!

  Shocked silent, I look around at the aftermath. Cell phone crushed to smithereens—Dammit, I knew I should have gotten one of those Otterbox cases everyone talks about!—and my body and backpack on the ground in a sad display of defeat.

  I curse you, hill! I curse you to hell!

  “Shit!” I hear from somewhere ahead, the hard patter of footsteps moving toward me in quick succession. “Are you okay?”