“You have to do this, Max.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Desi.”
The low growl from the other end of the phone told him just how aggravated his step-sister was with him. It rankled her that he never jumped to do what she wanted just because she was Desiree Stevens, international superstar. She had more number one hits at twenty-five than some singers did in their entire lifetimes. And as such, she came off as privileged and spoiled. He never let her by with that shit.
“When do I ask you for favors?”
“You called yesterday asking me to find…”
“Never mind. This is important, Max. Shay’s scared.”
Fuck, it was too early for this shit. “Desi, it’s four in the fucking morning. Couldn’t you have waited until a decent hour to call me?”
“It’s only one here in San Francisco.”
Right. “Do you understand time zones, Desi?”
“Max, stop being a brat. The guy was in her house yesterday. She’s freaking out.”
“Tell her to come by the office and I’ll talk to her, okay?”
“No. You need to go to her. She’s on set all day. She doesn’t have time to come to you.”
Fucking fantastic. Another bratty, spoiled diva to contend with.
“Fine. I’ll swing by wherever she’s filming later today.”
“No, it’s why I called you at four in the fucking morning, as you put it. She starts filming by six. You need to get over to the studio by five. It’s the only time she’ll have to talk.”
Motherfucker.
Why had he promised his mother he’d always watch out for his little sister? If it wasn’t for that, he’d have already hung up on her. They weren’t related by blood, but she’d been two when his mom married Desi’s dad. They were brother and sister, period.
“Fine, but I swear to God, Des, if you call me again at four in the fucking morning…”
“You’ll answer, swear at me, and then tell me you love me.”
Shit. “I love you.”
“Love you too! I’ll text Shay to let her know you’re coming so they’ll put you on the list to get into the studio.”
“Text me the studio’s address while you’re at it.”
“Thanks, Max. You’re my favorite brother.”
“I’m your only brother.”
“See, you’ve got no competition.”
Max shook his head and sat up, telling his sister goodbye. He loved the kid, he did, but sometimes he wanted to strangle her.
Max ran a hand through his bedhead. He didn’t have a lot of time, so he went to do his business and take a quick shower. Leave it to Desi to find some way to screw with him. He did not want to meet a potential client on only about an hour’s worth of sleep. He tended to be rude and cranky. Not the attitude Kade or Viktor would appreciate.
But it was four in the fucking morning!
He towel dried his hair as he turned on the coffee pot. His mother had taught him and Desi to make sure it was set the night before so they didn’t spill shit all over the kitchen floor the next day. It became a rule after he stumbled in drunk one morning and decided to make coffee for the family. Not his finest moment.
He threw a Pop Tart in the microwave and pulled up the studio’s address on his phone. It was in one of the swankier parts of NYC. Great. His suits were all dirty. He’d just finished his last assignment and needed to run by the dry cleaners.
Not that he enjoyed wearing the monkey suits. Max had grown up on a ranch in Texas. He was more comfortable in jeans, boots, and flannel.
Grumbling, he headed back into his bedroom to try to find something decent. Since he hadn’t been home in almost a month, most of his good clothes were also in dire need of the washing machine.
Fuck it. This was a favor for his little sister. The actress would have to overlook his state of dress. He pulled on jeans, his favorite t-shirt—which really didn’t smell all that bad—and his trusty flannel. If he was heading out before the ass crack of dawn, he’d be comfortable, at least.
After grabbing his Pop Tart, a travel mug full of coffee, and his phone, he got into his truck, shot off a quick text to Viktor Kincaid, and headed for the studio. The traffic wasn’t too heavy at this time of morning, and he arrived at the studio in under a half hour.
The security guard at the gate motioned for him to roll his window down, and he did, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Name?”
“Max Sheridan here to see Shay.” He had no idea of the woman’s last name. He probably should have asked Desi that little tidbit of information. He blamed his lack of sleep for the error.
“You’re not on the list. Move along.”
Fuck it all to hell and back.
“Call her. She asked for me to come down as a security consultant. I work with Kincaid Security and Investigation.”
Something flickered in the guard’s eyes, and he nodded. Max expected a fight, not a grudging acceptance. It didn’t bode well for the situation he might potentially be walking into.
After a brief phone call, the guard turned back to him. “She hadn’t had time to call and put you on the list, Mr. Sheridan. If you’ll pull into the lot and park in the first parking lot in front of you, her assistant will come and escort you to her.”
Max agreed and did as he was instructed. At least the guard had him pull into a lot that could be seen by the guard post.
He’d never been to a studio before, and his curiosity got the better of him. He picked up his coffee and got out of the truck so he could lean against it and study the surroundings.
There were three large buildings in front, and he saw a wall that went up behind them. His guess was the actual sets were located back there and away from the public. It was an added layer of security that he approved of.
If that was what the wall was.
Then again, if anyone could come and go through the gate that led back there, it was a security risk.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. Viktor.
“Hey, man. You get my message?”
“Why else would I fucking call you at this God-awful hour?” Viktor yawned, and he heard a woman mumble in the background.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
“No, the twins woke us up, and I happened to see your text. What’s this job?”
“My sister called in a favor. One of her friends needs some help. Some soap opera star. I told her I’d talk to her, and the only time the woman had to speak to me was now.”
“That’s about right.” Viktor yawned again. “We did some work a while back for Michael Sullivan, another soap star. I don’t think you worked that case, did you?”
“No. I was in Texas.”
His mother had died, and he’d gone home to take care of everything.
Viktor was quiet. “Shit, I forgot.”
“It’s fine.” Max didn’t want to hear the words “sorry for your loss” and other platitudes one more time. He was damn tired of it. No one understood what it was like to lose a parent. Well, maybe the Kincaids did. Their father was dying of lung cancer. Still, he didn’t want to discuss his mother’s death.
“Let me know what you find out?”