“Today would be a good day to start on the first try,” she announced to the fickle car. “Today is the beginning of the rest of my life. Today, I finally arrive in Hollywood.”
After three false starts, the Civic kicked in. Cassie backed out, praying the car would get her to her appointment without dying. She pulled out into the heavy traffic, something she’d never gotten used to in her nine years in LA. As she drove like a maniac, she thought about how everyone back in Waco, Texas thought she was living the good life with a Hollywood address. They had no idea how dilapidated most of Hollywood really was. Sure, urban renewal had kicked in a few years ago and parts of the area were spruced up so the tourists would have something to take pictures of, but for the most part, Hollywood was a sad, tired section in the City of Angels.
She glanced at her gas gauge as she tossed a piece of sugarless gum into her mouth to kill the coffee aftertaste. At least she had three-quarters of a tank. Plenty to get her to Merriman Smith. She began humming to herself. The radio gave up the ghost months ago and the CD player hadn’t worked in years. Maybe if she landed this new job, she could afford a decent car for the first time in her life. She shook the thought from her brain. If the Civic got wind of that kind of thinking, it would break down just to spite her.
Forty minutes later, she closed in on her destination. Spitting the gum into its wrapper, she tossed it over her shoulder onto the floorboard and applied the expensive lipstick while sitting at a light. It was going to be her day. She knew it. Her gut told her so.
Cassie spotted a dog. It ran in front of her, a leash dragging behind it. In slow motion, she heard a high-pitched voice wail for the mutt to come back. She whipped the wheel, trying to avoid hitting the dog.
And hit the man instead.
CHAPTER 2
Rhett Corrigan punched the elevator button for the ninth floor. Merriman Smith occupied three levels and his longtime agent, who’d help found the new agency, was on the top floor.
It had not been Rhett’s day. Leo, his personal trainer, had called right at five and canceled their session because he was driving his wife to the hospital in what looked like a case of appendicitis.
Rhett worked out alone for half an hour on free weights and then hit the treadmill for another thirty minutes. His mind must have wandered and he’d somehow lost his footing, falling and smacking his forehead hard against the treadmill’s ramp. The knot already rivaled any knocks he’d taken during his USC football days.
Then Suellen called when he got out of the shower. He loved his older sister dearly and would walk through fire for her but she’d announced she was marrying the idiot she’d been dating for all of two months. Rhett knew better than to plead with her or order her not to do it. In a family of notorious hardheads, Suellen’s head could cut diamonds.
Finally, he sat down for breakfast, only to taste the milk in his cereal had gone bad. He grabbed the carton and saw it had expired three days earlier. No one was there to yell at because Consuelo, his housekeeper, had left two weeks ago to return to Mexico for the third time in two years. Rhett poured the bowl’s contents down the disposal, angry that he’d been left high and dry again but knowing she and her family would return and slip back into their former jobs without a word from him.
To top it off, on the way to see Irv Stromberg, he’d run out of gas. Rhett hadn’t done that since the first time he’d taken his mom’s car out with a brand-new driver’s license fresh in his back pocket. Rhett knew Nadine Corrigan had left the tank on empty as a test. Humiliated, he’d called home and then waited for his oldest sister, Carreen, to bring him the gas can from their garage. He’d been forty minutes late for his first date with a girl he’d had a crush on since third grade. Her dad chewed him out royally for being a rude jerk. It wasn’t as if Rhett had a cell phone and could text why he’d be late. Money was tight in the Corrigan house. A cell phone was a luxury—not a necessity—in his mom’s eyes.
He’d finally arrived at the new entertainment agency, late, but in one piece. He ran a hand through his dark hair and then peered at his image in the elevator’s mirror, frowning at the knot above his eye. At least he’d already attended his latest movie’s premiere, which wouldn’t open until Christmas Day. If it had been a week from now, the bump would be the size of Mount Olympus and green fading into that ugly yellow color. Rhett knew even Tanya, his skilled makeup artist, couldn’t have disguised it.
As it was, he’d have to lie low so the paparazzi wouldn’t snap him in all his hideous glory. Far be it that Rhett Corrigan appear in public and not make women salivate as they dropped to their knees in worship of Hollywood’s reigning action star.
The chime brought Rhett back to reality as the door opened. Greeting him was a reception area, chrome and smoked glass, with plush gray carpeting and modern chairs and lamps. The art on the walls cost as much as his last picture had made.
Rhett walked up to a honey-blonde seated at the receptionist’s desk, who tried to maintain her cool with a breathy, “May I help you?” as her eyes undressed him.
“Rhett Corrigan to see Irving Stromberg. I’m running a bit late,” he apologized and saw her eyes widen at the comment. Big stars never said they were sorry. About anything.
“One moment, Mr. Corrigan.” She dialed an extension. “Mr. Corrigan’s here, Mr. Stromberg.”
The receptionist paused and Rhett could imagine Irv’s profanity-laced reply. His agent hated when anyone was late. The woman frowned slightly.
“Yes, sir. Of course.” She smiled brightly at Rhett. “Mr. Stromberg will see you now. It’s the third door on the left. Go right in.”
She moistened her lips and gave him her best don’t you want my cell number look. Rhett was immune to it after eight years in Tinseltown.
“Thanks.” He strolled down the hall, ignoring the tittering file clerks sizing him up. He waved at Julie, Irv’s assistant who had followed her boss to the new agency, and walked in without knocking.
Irv jawed away, his ever-present Bluetooth in place. Rhett suspected the agent would be buried wearing it.
“No, tell him we won’t go for less than eight points. Ten would be better. Also, production in Italy’s no good. He wants Greece. Yes, it is. Because I said so. Tell him. Call me back before the end of the day.”
Irv yanked off the headset and tossed it on the desk, stretching his arms wide in a greeting.
“Rhett, my boy. How are you?”
Rhett allowed the old man to wrap him in a tight bear hug. Irv had seven daughters and Rhett was the closest he came to having a son.
“Pretty good, Irv. Except for this,” and he pointed to the swelling above his eye.
“Bar fight?” his agent teased.
“Yeah, right. The Internet would be screaming with stories by now if that were the case.”
“Without an assistant and your good-for-nothing publicist, I hear nothing. When are you going to hire someone, Rhett? It’s getting ridiculous.”
He shrugged. Carreen handled his schedule, making appointments for him, but she was in treatment for Stage 3 breast cancer. He didn’t want to replace her but things were starting to get tough since she hadn’t worked in over two months.