Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

CHAPTER TWO

WOLF ACCOMPANIED Alexandra to the front of the hotel, where she’d left her car with the valet attendant.

Lush purple bougainvillea covered the hotel’s pink stucco entrance, and the fragrant blossoms of potted lemon and orange trees perfumed the air, but Wolf gave his surroundings scant attention.

Alexandra could feel the weight of Wolf’s inspection as they waited for her car to appear.

The problem wasn’t only the offer. And the issue wasn’t just her morals or her values. It was her lack of experience.

She didn’t know how to manage a man like Wolf Kerrick and couldn’t imagine how one would even date a man like him.

But they won’t be real dates, she reasoned. They’re pretend dates. It’s not as if you’ll really have to kiss him or touch him or be physically involved.

Heat washed through her at the very idea of getting physically close. She really did need more experience. “If you gave me some time,” she said after a moment, “allowed me a chance to think about your offer properly, I might say yes.” She looked up, met his gaze before quickly looking away. “But I don’t want to be pressured.”

She drew another deep breath, flexed her fingers to ease her tension. “And if I did agree, how would this work?”

If he felt any elation or sensed that he’d won, none of it showed on his face. “We’d draw up a contract, include a generous financial compensation, as it’s probable you’ll miss some workdays due to events and premieres, and then begin going places together to be seen.”

He made it sound so simple, she thought, and yet she wasn’t a glamour girl, the sort to be invited to fancy parties or industry premieres. No, she was the girl raised by her dad, grandpa and five older brothers. There hadn’t been a woman in the house, not since her mom died when Alexandra was five. Growing up, she was the original tomboy.

“And what makes you think people will believe you…and I…are together?” she asked, pushing thoughts of Montana and the Lazy L ranch from her mind. “I’m not your…usual choice in dates.”

“Lots of stars date makeup artists, casting directors, the like.”

She hesitated. “Some actors do, but not you.”

“You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

Maybe, she thought, and maybe not, but she’d seen the pictures of the women he dated. He liked starlets and models, topless dancers and magazine centerfolds, his taste typically running toward women with more cleavage than brains. And Alex didn’t even have to look down at her not-so-impressive chest to know her strength was not in her cup size.

Years ago, back in junior high school, she’d learned that there were only two avenues open for women: the one for pretty girls and the one for smart girls. Even in high school it had been one or the other—cheerleaders and beauty queens or bookworms and future librarians. Girls certainly couldn’t be both. And since Alexandra knew she wasn’t pom-pom-girl pretty, she’d decided then and there to be smart. Damn smart. “We both know I’m not pretty enough to be taken seriously as your new love interest.”

“You could be if you tried to do something with yourself,” Wolf answered with brutal candor. “Alexandra, you don’t even try.”

She bit down, not knowing where to look. “I don’t try because I know already what I am and who I am. And I don’t need makeup or fake hair or nails or a tan to make me something I’m not.”

“Which is what?” he asked quietly.

“A bimbo. I’m not going to be a bimbo. I want to be respected. Taken seriously. And if I change myself—”

“You’re changing your hairstyle, not your soul.”

Her head jerked up.

“You’re smart,” he added. “Serious. And I’m sorry, but that eliminates the bimbo category for you.”

She should have been flattered. Instead his words merely left her even more flustered.

Every time he looked at her she felt sparks on the inside, little bits of hot fire flaring here and there. It was like being a human sparkler, only worse because the heat didn’t die.

“I just don’t want to be laughed at,” she said after a moment. “People can be unkind. I know the tabloids are famous for publishing unflattering photos and pointing out celebrities’ flaws.”

“Before we go public, you’ll meet with stylists, receive wardrobe consultation. I have a team of professionals who will help ease you into the transition.”

Alexandra was intrigued despite herself. “When would that happen?”

“As soon as you signed the contract.”

Alexandra tried to imagine being groomed by top Hollywood stylists but couldn’t. She might have lost twenty pounds since moving from Montana to California, but she still thought of herself as the sturdy country girl who’d worn cowboy boots before high heels. “A beautiful starlet would be far easier to introduce to the public,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m not interested in squiring around a young actress desperate to make a name for herself—”

“But in real life—”

“This is real life, and I’m quite aware that I’m responsible for dozens of people’s jobs. I just want to get The Burning Shore made and I want to do it without emotional complications.”

She fell silent, digesting this. “You don’t want anyone to fall in love with you.”

His dark eyes creased, his mouth compressed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Thankfully her practical little blue Ford Escort appeared that moment in the famous hotel drive.

The uniformed valet climbed from the driver’s seat and held the door for her.

Wolf walked her to the car. Alexandra slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll call you,” she said.

“You’ve my number?”

She stared up into his dark eyes, seeing the hard, beautiful lines of his face, and her panic grew. No one had a face like Wolf. No one had his charisma either.

It’d be suicide to do this, she thought, absolute disaster—if not for him, then for her. She wasn’t as sophisticated as he was, nor did she have his experience.

“I still have the card Daniel gave me. He wrote your cell number on the back.”

Smiling faintly, Wolf closed her door and stepped away from the car. “Take your time, think about your options and call me when you’re ready.”

She hesitated and then leaned through the open window. “You think I’m going to say yes, don’t you?”

His faint smile grew. “I know you will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a smart girl and you’ll soon realize this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated over and over driving home, her hands shaking on the steering wheel and her insides doing nonstop flips.

The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated yet again as she parked her car in the tiny garage adjacent to her California bungalow, one of the tiny nondescript row houses built in Culver City during the forties and fifties.

Her house was small, and until recently she’d shared it with another girl. But since the girl had a job transfer to Boston, Alexandra was now covering the rent by herself and it was tight. She’d considered getting another housemate but was so enjoying having the space all to herself that she hadn’t gotten anybody yet.

And if she did sign the contract to play Wolf’s new love interest, she wouldn’t have to get a roommate, she’d be able to pay the entire rent herself.

Alexandra loved the thought of that.

Since moving to Los Angeles she’d really struggled, both financially and emotionally.

She’d taken a job waitressing and then a part-time job temping for an independent film studio, answering phones, handling mail, playing general office errand girl, which was mainly going to Starbucks and getting everyone’s favorite espresso and latte.

Alex discovered that she liked being useful in the office. She was good in the office—quick, smart, agile, she could multitask and never needed to be told anything twice.

After a year working for the independent film company, she answered a Paradise Pictures ad she saw in Variety and was hired to assist intense, brainy directors and producers with whatever needed to be done.

She’d worked for Paradise for nearly three years now and she thought she’d proven herself on more than one occasion, but the promotion had never come.

Why?

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t handle more responsibility. She actually needed the risk, craved change.

In the kitchen, Alexandra took out the business card Daniel had given her several days ago, the one with Wolf’s private number. She tapped it on the counter, flipped it over to the personal cell number scribbled on the back and tried to imagine the next four weeks.

New clothes. Input from a stylist. Exciting parties.

Smiling nervously, she bit her lip. It’d be scary but also fun.

Then she thought of Wolf Kerrick and the whole concept of fun went out the window, leaving her unsure of herself all over again.

But it’s an opportunity, she reminded herself sternly, and that’s what you want.

Quickly she picked up the phone, dialed Wolf’s number.

“It’s Alexandra Shanahan,” she said when he answered, dispensing with any preamble. “And I’ll do it. But before anything else happens, I want the offer—and the studio’s promise about the assistant director position—in writing.”

“Of course.”

She held the phone tighter. “And working on B-rate flicks doesn’t count. I want to work on major studio films. Big-budget films.”

“Certainly.”

She folded one arm over her chest and pressed a knuckled fist to her rib cage. “I want to be clear that this is a job, and I’ll treat it like a job. I’ll do what I have to for the cameras, but I won’t do anything inappropriate.”

“And what is inappropriate?”

“Kissing, touching, sex.”

“There’s got to be a certain amount of intimacy for the camera.”

“Only for the camera, then, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Mr. Kerrick.”

“I’ve got it all down, Miss Shanahan. You’ll get the contract tonight. It should be there by seven.”

The contract did arrive at seven. But a courier service didn’t deliver it. Instead Wolf Kerrick brought it himself.

She hadn’t expected Wolf and she’d answered the door in her faded blue sweatpants, cropped yellow T-shirt and bare feet in dire need of a pedicure. Without her contacts, and in her glasses, with her hair in a messy knotted ponytail on top of her head, Alex knew she looked more like a librarian than the sex symbol required.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly, tugging on her ponytail, trying to at least get her hair down even if she couldn’t make the glasses vanish.

“Cleaning house, are you?” he asked.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“Mmm. But maybe I should come in. Two photographers tailed me. Red car on the right and the white car that hopped the curb. They’re taking photos of both of us as we speak.”

Alexandra opened the door so Wolf could enter.

As Wolf glanced around the house, she peeked out the living room curtain, and just as Wolf had said, the red car and the white car were out there, and both drivers held cameras with enormous telephoto lenses. “Those are some huge camera lenses,” she said.

“I learned the hard way that you’ll want to keep your curtains closed. Otherwise they’ll get shots of you walking around.”

She dropped the lace panel and faced him. “How did they know you were coming here?”

“There is always someone tailing me. Has been for years.” He dropped onto her beige couch, extended his denim-clad legs so they rested on her oak coffee table and looked up at her with piercing dark eyes. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost three years.” The abruptness of his question was less disconcerting than the fact that Wolf Kerrick was stretched out in her living room, looking very relaxed-and comfortable—in a loose gray T-shirt, with his thick black hair tumbling across his forehead. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s not much furniture.”

“My former roommate took it all with her to Boston,” she answered, thinking that even dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, Wolf looked like a film star. It was his bone structure, coloring, the easy way he carried himself. He was more than beautiful, he was elegant and intense and physical. Sexy.

Alexandra exhaled in a painful rush.

That was really the problem. He was far too sexy for her and had been from the time she first laid eyes on him—which was in a movie, of course—eight years ago. In Age of Valor, just his second film, he’d played a soldier. And while he wasn’t the lead in the film, his performance was so strong, he stole the show. Alexandra remembered sobbing when his character died in the film, dramatically blown to bits just before the movie’s end. She’d liked him—the man, the actor, the character—so much she couldn’t bear for the story to end without him still in it.

She had been fifteen at the time, just starting her sophomore year of high school, and of course she had known it was just a movie and he was just an actor, but she’d never forgotten his face or his name.

Wolf Kerrick.

Amused by the girl she’d once been, Alexandra took a seat on the edge of the coffee table across from him. “Shall I sign the contract?”

Wolf’s dark head tipped and his long black lashes dropped, brushing his high, strong cheekbones. “Think you can do this?”

Growing up, she’d been the ultimate tomboy. As the baby of the Shanahan clan, she’d stomped and swaggered around in her cowboy boots. But moving to Southern California had killed her confidence, and she was only just starting to realize how much she missed her old swagger.

She’d once been so brave, so full of bravado.

How had moving to California changed her so much? Was it Hollywood? The movie industry? What had made her feel so small, so insignificant, so less than?

“Yes. I know I can,” she said forcibly, and strangely enough, she meant it. She was the girl who’d roped calves and ridden broncs and jumped off the barn roof just because her brothers said she couldn’t. She was the girl who didn’t take no for an answer. If she could ride a bull, she could date a wolf.

Alexandra’s lips curved at her own feeble joke, but her smile faded as Wolf’s black eyes met hers.

“Think you can handle me?” he murmured.

Her heart stuttered. She knew what he was asking. Like everyone else who read the tabloids, she knew he’d been arrested more than once for fighting and heard it didn’t take much to bring out the street fighter in him.

She also knew that women found him irresistible, and having once been one of those giddy girls who threw themselves at him, knew she’d never behave so recklessly again.

“Yes,” she answered equally firmly, ignoring the cold lash of adrenaline. “You won’t be a problem. You might be a famous actor, but you’re also just a man. Now give me the contract and let’s get this over with.”

He handed her the contract and a pen, and Alex spread the document on the table to read while she tapped the pen against her teeth. The form read correctly, all the terms were there, everything she asked for given.

With a confident flourish, Alexandra scrawled her name at the space indicated. “There,” she said, lifting her pen and handing the paper back to him. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

“My little lovebird,” he mocked, taking the paper and folding it up.

Her cheeks heated. Her blue eyes locked with his. Her heart was pounding wildly, but she held his gaze, kept her chin up, refusing to show further weakness. “I won’t be broken, Mr. Kerrick.”

“Is that a challenge, Miss Shanahan?”

“No. I’m just stating a fact. I had some time to think about your offer, to look at the pros and cons, and I’ve agreed to do this not because it helps you but because it helps me. I know now what I want and I know what I need to do to get there. And you won’t keep me from succeeding. There’s too much at stake.” And then she swallowed hard. “For both of us.”

He studied her from across the table, his forearms resting against his knees, his eyebrows black slashes above bold dark eyes. “There will be pressure.”

She rose to her feet. “I anticipate it.”

“The attention will feel intrusive at times.”

“I’ve considered that possibility, as well.”

“You’re truly prepared to take this all the way? Ready for the makeover, the new hair, the wardrobe and revamped image?”

“Yes.”

He stood. “Tomorrow you’ll pay a visit to the Juan Carlos Salon in Beverly Hills. The salon is expecting you. It’ll be a long day. The car will be here at seven.”

“I don’t want a limo, Mr. Kerrick.”

“It’s part of the role, Miss Shanahan. And now that we’ve agreed to this little play, it’s time we dropped the formalities. We’re lovers now.” He slowly moved toward her. “You’re Alexandra and I’m Wolf and we’re a very happy new couple.”

He was standing so close to her now she could hardly breathe. “Right.”

“Just follow my lead,” he said.

“Your lead,” she whispered, feeling the warmth of his body, his strength tangible and real. She tipped her head back, looked up into his face, with the strong cheekbones and high forehead, the piercing dark eyes.

“I’ll make it easy for you.”

“You’re that good an actor?”

“I’m that good a lover.”

She took an involuntary step backward. “You said there’d be no sex—”

“In public, it’s my job to seduce you. To make the photographers sit up, take notice.”

She inhaled hard, thinking he was the devil in the flesh. “In public, yes.”

He leaned down and brushed the briefest kiss across her flushed cheek. “But in private, we’re just friends, remember?”

She felt her stomach fall and her breath catch as his lips touched her cheek. The whisper of his warm breath sent fingers of fire racing through her veins.

Wolf headed for the door. “Don’t forget to set your alarm clock. The limo will be here early.”

Alexandra leaned against the door after Wolf closed it.

Her heart was still pounding and her tummy felt coiled in a new and aching tension.

This was not going to be easy. Pretending to be Wolf’s girlfriend would be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

And then she pulled herself together. No more negative thoughts, she told herself. No more running scared. She’d signed the contract. She had to go for it now.

And she would go for it.

She’d been in Los Angeles four years and she was hungry. Really hungry. Hungry like one living on the streets, digging out of trash cans, looking for something to fill you up, get you by.

Because, God knew, she wanted to go somewhere. She was determined to go all the way, too, all the way up, to the top. Fame, fortune, power. She wanted the whole bit.

It was time to do what she’d left Bozeman, Montana, to do. Time to make Hollywood hers.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY WERE CUTTING HER hair off.

The next morning, covered in plastic drapes, Alexandra stared aghast as Juan Carlos lifted chunks of her waist-length hair and began to chop it off to shoulder length.

She’d had long hair—really long, down to her butt—since she was a little girl. Being the only daughter, her father had wanted her to be a princess and insisted she leave her hair long. Soon he’d learned her hair was the only thing he could control, as his princess preferred jeans, boots and playing with LEGO, blocks and army trucks.

Alexandra had kept her hair long for her dad and now she found herself fighting tears as it was whacked off.

“It’ll be beautiful. You’ll be beautiful,” Juan Carlos reassured, catching sight of her tear-filmed eyes in his station’s mirror. “Be patient. You’ll see.”

Alexandra wanted to believe him. And it was just hair, nothing more important than that. And if she couldn’t handle getting her hair cut, how would she handle the other changes coming in the next few weeks?

With her long hair in pieces all over the floor, Juan Carlos patted her shoulders. “Now we change the color.”

Thirty minutes later, Alexandra was still trying to get used to the smell of bleach and chemicals from the cream applied to her hair. They were doing a two-color process—overall color and highlights—and the smelly foils on her head made her want to gag. Did some women willingly do this?

Juan Carlos had told her he was giving her warm amber highlights and promised to make her a Hollywood golden girl.

Alex wasn’t so sure about the golden part.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled her nerves, drew a deep breath and counted to ten.

At ten, she opened her eyes, caught a glimpse of her silver-wrapped alien like self in the mirror and closed her eyes again.

This was not going to work.

Back at home five hours later, Alexandra looked in the mirror at the new, improved version of her. Her hair shimmered with a multitude of highlights, precision-cut to fall in thick, sexy waves around her face, playing up her black-lashed blue eyes and the strong cheekbones she didn’t know she had.

The makeup artist had shown her how to use color and liner to subtly darken and define her lips, her brows, her eyes.

And studying the new, improved Alexandra, she thought she looked good. Pretty. Pretty in a way she’d never been before. Feminine but smart. And confident. Strong. And that’s the thing she hadn’t known she could be on the outside. On the inside, she liked to roughhouse with the best of them, riding bareback, helping in the roundups, slinging barbwire along with the ranch hands. She’d learned early that she had to keep up with her brothers or she’d be left behind, relegated to the kitchen and the laundry room at home, and if there was anything Alex didn’t want, it was woman’s work. Housework. Domestic chores that kept her locked inside when the sky was huge and blue beyond the windows of the house, where the land stretched endlessly, waiting for exploration and hours of adventure.

Alex’s lips half curved, and she stared, fascinated, at the face of a woman she realized she barely knew.

She really was pretty, almost pretty like the girls in magazines. And maybe it was makeup and expensive hair color and a professional blow-dry, but she wasn’t the fat girl she’d been at eleven and twelve and fifteen. She wasn’t even the sturdy, healthy nineteen-year-old who’d arrived in Hollywood eager to make movies.