Cut to the Chase

• Synopsis
  
• By the Author
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• About the Author
  
• Praise for Lisa Girolami
  
• Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
  

While doing research for her third book about Hollywood, Paige Cornish meets Avalon Randolph, a sexy and wild actress who takes her on a rollercoaster ride right down the red carpet. Writing about Hollywood is one thing, but living it is quite another. Personalities clash and boundaries are crossed as they navigate their attraction for each other through the exhilarating but precarious world of money and fame.

Can Paige and Avalon reconcile their differences and find a happy middle ground in a town that never lives in the middle?

Cut to the Chase

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Cut to the Chase

© 2013 By Lisa Girolami. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-830-8

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: February 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Shelley Thrasher

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

Love on Location

Run to Me

The Pleasure Set

Jane Doe

Fugitives of Love

Cut to the Chase

My love and respect for Hollywood, the town that launched my career and whose stories I’ve lived and will remember forever.

A gracious nod to my buddy, Carsen Taite, who keeps me on the right side of the law.

Love and appreciation to Susan and all of her support.

Huzzah to Sheri and her mad cover skills.

Thank you to Shelley, the talented little bard that sits on my shoulder and draws red lines all over my ears.

And a howl out to Radclyffe, the best Alpha I could ever look up to.

To my Silver Girl.

I can do this
, Avalon thought. She gripped the door’s armrest as the wind rushed across her face.

“We’re almost at sixty-five,” the driver yelled, though her mind was so attuned to every sensation that a whisper would have sounded like thunder.

All she needed was to do it again, but this time, she was to hang out of the window of the sports car a little farther, reach around the front windshield, point over the hood, and fire off two rounds.

As she waited for her cue, streetlights and darkened storefronts raced past her like silent soldiers.

The much-too-eager grin plastered on her face had to go, so she bit her lip and grimaced, and the corners of her mouth dropped in pain.

“Sixty-five!”

Avalon’s stomach jumped, which snagged a breath from her lungs. This was it. She lurched out the window and the windy assault blasted her eyes into a watery blur. The pavement below rushed by and she gritted her teeth so hard, she could have chipped a tooth. As piping-hot adrenaline shot through her body, she lifted up and over the windshield, focusing on a point over the hood to the left. In a split second, she fired once. Twice.

The radio resting in the driver’s lap came to life. “Cut! I think we got the shot, Avalon!”

A whoosh of air passed by her ears as she slid back inside. She sat down hard on the leather seat and slapped the driver’s knee.

“Whooo!” She tried to stretch her too-long legs in the cramped quarters of the sports car. Still high on adrenaline, she punched the stunt driver’s arm.

“Owww,” he said as he swerved from the blow.

He hit the gas, skidding into a U-turn in the middle of the street, and headed back to the director and camera crew. She looked out the window, watching the smear of colors that were buildings and neon signs.

At the top of her lungs, she yelled, “I could freakin’ do this all night!”

*

“Three out of five,” Paige Cornish said as she took a step closer and pointed the gamer remote at the television. “I thought I could beat you at this stupid tennis game.”

“Uh-uh. I won,” Chris Bergstrom said. “You lost, fair and square. “I’m Billie Jean King, I’m Billie Jean King…” She raised her hands and danced around, watching the animated version of herself mimic her moves. Bending over, she patted the butt of her holey jeans, laughing hard as her twin did the same.

Paige sat down on the couch, tired from a rather difficult day of rearranging the furniture in her house in an attempt to erase three years of bad memories from her life. She scooted over so Chris could sit down. She’d been in her gym shorts and a rumpled yellow T-shirt all day. Just like the comfort food she’d had for lunch, which was a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, these were her comfort clothes.

Chris had come over earlier to cheer her up. “Best friends aren’t supposed to let their best friend lose,” Paige said.

“You didn’t.” Chris smiled and put down the remote. “Anyway, this isn’t the way we should be spending a Friday night. My God, what have our lives come to?”

Paige pushed a sweaty lock of hair from her forehead. “What do you have in mind? Go to the bar and watch a bunch of lesbians get drunk and grind their hips into each other?”

Chris’s expression was as flat as unleavened bread. It was probably a look she gave a fair share of the people she pulled over to ticket. Her short-cropped, thick head of brown hair, lightly dusted with gray, the no-nonsense olive-green eyes, and her strong, chiseled jawline completed the I’m-not-amused cop look. “Oh yeah, that’d be boring. Not to mention stupid. I mean, why would two single women even think of going out to meet some new people?”

“New drunk people.”

“It’s early. Most of them aren’t drunk yet,” Chris said as she pulled Paige’s coffee table back over between the couch and television. “They look great.”

“What?”

“Your books.” Chris picked up Paige’s newest release from the coffee table and leafed through it. It was a large-format book of bold and revealing photographs with text to match on each page. “
The End
. I love that title because it’s so to the point. And the pictures are even better than the ones in your first one.”

Chris handed the book to her and Paige turned
The End
over. She liked the author’s picture on the back jacket. Her semi-curly brown hair usually behaved when she needed it to and had framed her eyes like a soft proscenium. She was glad to have worn a brown top that day because it complemented her blue eyes without making them look washed out. Her smile, however, was wider than she liked, but that was always the case.

“You think?”

Chris nodded to the other large-format book on the coffee table. “Don’t misunderstand me. The shots you got with
Once Upon a Time
are classic. I know there are a lot of books out there about the movie business, but you’ve been able to write about and photograph it from way on the inside. The pictures on the movie sets are so candid and amazing. How are both of them selling?”

“
The End
is doing exceptionally well. But having two of the stars I featured in
The End
die right before it was released has helped make sales skyrocket.”

“Strange coincidence. But it wasn’t like you killed them yourself.” Chris’s stare was almost droll. “You have an alibi for those nights, right?”

“Coming from a cop, I guess that question shouldn’t surprise me.”

Chris shrugged. “Well, sales are sales. I mean, what can you do?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

“There is something, Miss Bestselling Author. We can go to the bar and let your fans maul you.”

“Hardly bestselling.”

“You told me yourself that you’re getting fan mail just because of your picture on the jacket cover.” She pinched Paige’s cheek. “You shouldn’t be stingy with the public.”

Paige batted her hand away. “Can’t we just go get a pizza or something?”

Eyeing her as she would if she’d just pulled her over for speeding, Chris said, “You’re afraid Marlene will be there, aren’t you?”

A surge of trepidation rose quickly, filling Paige’s stomach and throat with dread. “No.”

“Come on, it could be fun. We’re just two hapless gals, recently dumped by our exes and looking for love.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m not hapless. Just…unfortunate.”

“Let’s get out of the house.” Her whine grated, which was the objective.

“Do you really want to go? Fine, I’ll go with you. But don’t expect me to be the life of the party.”

Chris got up and held her hand out. Paige let herself be pulled up and sighed as she acquiesced to what might be a trip to Regretsville.

Groaning from the dead weight, Chris said, “I just expect my best friend to hang out with me and have a beer and a laugh.”

“And if I don’t laugh?”

Chris pulled her pants leg up to reveal an ankle holster. “Then I’ll just shoot you.”

“Okay, Officer Bergstrom. But you’re driving.”

*

“That’s Avalon Randolph,” one of two teenagers said behind her.

Avalon had stopped by a Starbucks to grab a double espresso. She knew they’d have lots of coffee on the movie set, but she was jonesing for a freshly pulled espresso.

She tried to ignore the conversation behind her but couldn’t help hearing bits of the dialogue. “She’s gorgeous!” “Should I ask her for an autograph?” “She doesn’t look like a party girl.”