Her Hollywood Daddy (2 page)

It took all his self-control not to lean forward and smack her ass as she turned away.

*****

She kept it together as she walked out of the studio trying to figure out how she was going to get home. Neither her sister nor her mom answered their phones because, of course, they were getting sheep placenta facials that probably cost one thousand dollars each. They should’ve been helping her here today. It was their fault she’d been up most of the night because no one had wanted to leave the party and take her home.

She started walking. Maybe she could call a cab.

Her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and glowered. Julie, her agent. “Hi Julie,” she said.

“What in the hell is going on?” Julie demanded. “I just got a call from the studio saying you’re in danger of being fired.”

She had planned on playing it cool, but instead she made a ridiculous snorting noise trying to hold back the tears.

Julie softened. “What’s going on? Is this still about Billy Foxx? Do you need to see a therapist or something?”

“No,” she exclaimed, scowling. “I just need to get a good night’s rest and everything will be fine in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay,” Julie said, sounding unconvinced. “So why is your mom calling me asking if I can get you a few commercials for extra cash? Have you run through your advance already?”

“My mom called you?” she asked, stunned. Her mom served as her manager, which had been great when she was still a teenager, but now was a constant source of annoyance.

“Yeah. What’s the deal?”

“So she knows I’m out of money?”

“Marissa, what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know. They spent it all. New car, new house, trip to Europe. It’s gone. My accountant said we can’t pay the mortgage on the house and we’re in danger of getting foreclosed on.”

“Who’s they? Your mom and sister?”

“Yeah,” she said, walking so fast she began to huff.

“Well, who the fuck’s in charge? Is it your money and your life or not? Look, I know you’re young, but you’re an adult. You signed these contracts on your own, and the money is yours. You could get a real manager. You don’t have to let your mom run your career like she did when you were thirteen.”

“Okay, thanks, nice talking to you,” she sang out in a false-friendly tone.

“Listen, Marissa, I’m not trying to piss you off. But you’re a lot harder to represent when you start pulling this temperamental star bullshit. You’re not established enough to act like a diva.”

“I am not a temperamental star!” she snapped, hating that she sounded like a petulant child instead of an accomplished professional. “I’m just...having a rough patch.”

“Well get over it. Immediately. Or we’re both screwed. Because I have no intention of returning my cut of your advance if you get fired. Understand?”

She hung up without acknowledging Julie.
Bitch.
Her stomach clenched in a tight knot because she knew every word Julie had said was true.

She had walked several blocks now and realized she was near Cafe Desta, the hip lunchtime restaurant for film crew and actors. She could wait here until her sister and mom emerged from their spending spree.

“Good morning, Ms. Sparks,” the maitre d’ said, “Table for one?”

God that sounded so pathetic. But yes, that was her life now.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Inside or out?”

“The patio would be great. Thanks,” she said, her eyes skittering around to see if she recognized anyone. She saw several execs from other studios, a few agents and a B-list actor. She wondered what they’d heard about her. Damn. Hollywood was worse than middle school in terms of social anxiety. Maybe it was just the dexedrine talking.

She sat down and pulled her phone out of her purse. She only had a little bit of battery left. Probably not her best plan to have her phone play the part of lunch date today. She turned it off and stuck it back in her purse.

The waitress came around and she ordered a chamomile tea. If only they could make it strong enough to counteract the amphetamine coursing through her system now. At this rate, she wouldn’t sleep for days.

She searched through her purse for her lipgloss and then decided to organize the jumbled mess in her bag. She began to remove the contents of her purse one by one, placing them on the chair beside her so she didn’t call attention to herself. She could just see that headline:  
Lonely Marissa Sparks Asked to Leave Restaurant for Acting like Bag Lady.
” She supposed that would be better than some of the other half-truths they’d said about her.

She glanced up as the maitre d’ showed three other people to the patio.

Oh shit.

She sank down in her chair, wishing she had a hat or sunglasses to hide behind. Joel and two of the female supporting actors were coming toward her. It annoyed her that he’d asked them to lunch. Or maybe they’d asked him, but still
—she’d never been invited to a meal with him.

“Oh, there’s Marissa,” she heard Joel say as she pretended not to see them. “Do you mind? I need to have a talk with her.”

“No, I don’t mind,” one of the actors said, although she obviously did. She and her cohort took a table for two, looking disappointed.

And Marissa should not feel so satisfied over that.

She watched him approach out of the corner of her eye, still pretending she hadn’t noticed his arrival. His long legs made the trip a short one. He stopped opposite the table from her.

She lifted her eyes and put on her best smirk. “Have you come to lecture me again?”

*****

Da-yum. Marissa Sparks was batting her huge baby blues at him, a naughty, coquettish smile on her face. She had changed into a slouchy mini-dress that fell off one shoulder. Did she know what that did to him?

He imagined she did. That was what gave her the “it factor”—the ability to produce the perfect persona for every occasion. A true actress.

He leaned down and rested his hands on the table, invading her space. “Nah, I thought we could go straight to the spanking.”

To his delight, her pupils dilated and her smile widened as if she was amenable to the idea. She waved to the seat across from her. “Have a seat.” She began to pick up several personal articles strewn about on the chair beside her, stuffing them into her purse.

“What were you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. I started organizing my purse and I got a little carried away. The prescription I took was for A.D.D, but I think it gave me a little too much focus.”

He slid into the chair, which seemed way too far away from her. “Do you have A.D.D.?”

She raised both eyebrows and gave him a “don’t be stupid” kind of look.

“Right.”

The waitress handed him a menu and took his drink order. “Did you already order?” he asked Marissa.

“I’m not eating,” she said. “Not hungry.”

“You know, at the risk of playing Daddy, I’m going to tell you that I think you need to try to get something in your stomach. You’ll need it with that pill you took, even though it took away your appetite.”

He’d been testing her with the word
Daddy
, and she didn’t disappoint. Her mouth opened, the flirty smirk returning.

“Okay, Daddy,” she said, looking at him from under her lashes. “What do you suggest I eat?”

His cock went rock hard.

She picked up her cup of tea and sipped it, never removing her eyes from his.

He smiled, a virile sense of power coursing through him at her acceptance of his game. He glanced at the menu. “Any dietary restrictions?” Everyone in Hollywood had a diet they followed, whether vegan, gluten free or whatever the new fad.

“I’m paleo.”

“Paleo,” he repeated, trying to remember what he knew about that diet. “Isn’t that the opposite of vegetarian? All meat?” he teased.

“No grains, no legumes, no dairy, no processed food or refined sugar.”

He winked. “Got it. You’re lucky I’m not vegan or we’d really be at odds today.”

Her lips curved into a sultry smirk. “Then you’d be giving me that spanking with my panties down.”

Oh no she didn’t. He wondered if she knew how close he was to throwing her over his knee right then and there. Now that would make a good tabloid story.

The waitress returned with his iced tea. “We’re ready to order,” he said, shooting a glance at Marissa to see how she’d take his removal of her autonomy. “Marissa will have the steak salad and I’ll try the fish tacos.”

She didn’t look annoyed. If anything, it seemed to please her, a delicate pink shading her cheeks.

“So what’s going on with you?” he asked when the waitress had left.

Her flirty bravado fell away. She dropped her eyes and stared into her cup of tea. “Are you really going to lecture me again? Because I’m not up for it.”

He believed her. She looked fragile, as if emotions bubbled just beneath the surface. Compassion outweighed playing stern. “No, I’m not,” he said gently. “You already have my opinion on the matter.”

“Right,” she said, blushing, but the teasing look returned. “I’d better show up tomorrow, on time, with my lines memorized or you’ll spank my ass.”

He wanted to keep the dominance flirtation going, but protecting his movie came first. He shook his head. “No, I should have spanked your ass two weeks ago. We’re beyond that point, and I hope you know it. One more ruined day of shooting and you’re off the project.”

She didn’t look shocked. She did understand the severity of the situation, after all. Her hand trembled as she brought the teacup to her pouting lips. “I know,” she said when she had swallowed.

The waitress brought their food and despite her claim of not being hungry, she wolfed down her salad, which satisfied him for some reason.

“Feel any better?”

“Are you going to say you told me so?”

He laughed. “Nope.” He handed his credit card to the waitress before she had a chance to leave a bill.

“Thank you for lunch,” Marissa said. “And for not yelling at me.”

“I never yell.”

“You just spank?” she teased, pushing a strand of her honey-brown hair out of her eyes.

“Don’t forget it.” He winked. “Do you need a lift home?”

She picked up her cell phone, looking flustered and swiped the screen. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Looks like my sister’s waiting outside. Thanks again for lunch,” she said, jumping up.

“Get some rest,” he called after her, stopping to say goodbye to the actors he’d abandoned to sit with her.

“I  know, I know,” she said, turning back and giving him an eye roll. “I’ll be back tomorrow ready to film.” She turned and walked swiftly out, looking every bit as frantic and harried as she had when she’d arrived on the set that morning.

He sighed. He sure hoped she would pull it together.

*****

“Thanks a whole lot,” she snarled at Bev when she hopped in the backseat of the Porsche. Her mom sat shotgun. Of course Marissa had to ride in the back seat—it was only
her
car, paid for with her money, right? But, no. As always, her mom and Bev ran the show while little sis picked up the scraps. “That prescription made my eye twitch and Antonio sent me home for the day. And pretty much, if I don’t show up on time with my lines memorized tomorrow, I’m fired.”

“They can’t fire you,” her mom said breezily from the front seat. “We have a contract. Besides you know your lines.”

“Yeah, and they’re saying I’m in breach. And I did learn my lines at one point, but I have since forgotten them.”

“Well, that’s not like you, sweetie.”

She clenched her fists, though not even sure who to be angry with or why. Maybe just herself. “Look, I just really need to get some sleep. Can you guys give me some peace and quiet when we get home?”

“Well, sure, but I invited some people over,” Bev said.

Frustration gnawed at her, but she shoved it back down. She was just crabby because she hadn’t slept. Unlike Bev, who could party six days a week without showing any sign of stress, she didn’t do well without at least seven hours of dream time.

When they arrived at her mansion, she slipped into her bedroom (not the master suite—her sister had taken that because...well, she couldn’t remember how that happened) and flopped on the bed. A strange mixture of exhausted and chemically wired, her mind swirled in a foggy mess. Images of Antonio’s angry face, the uppity make-up girl, and Joel floated before her eyes. She recalled the feel of Joel’s restraining arms around her—the delicious strength, the way he hadn’t let go even after Antonio had called
cut
.

And what had all that flirty daddy-talk been about? Joel didn’t strike her as the lewd sex joke type. But it hadn’t been lewd, really. And it hadn’t exactly seemed like a joke, either. She could picture Joel as the old-fashioned strict school-master, bending her over his desk for three strokes of his cane.