Locked (PresLocke Series Book 2) (27 page)

Brenda laughed, and the sound was so disturbing I stepped back into the apartment and reached for Dylan’s hand, tugging him along with me. Then just as I turned to slam the door shut, I heard her speak.
 

“Aww, isn’t love grand?” she cooed, making Dylan pivot to face her too. She ran a hand over her black blouse, then dug in her purse to pull out a little red square. “I think I said everything I wanted to. When you come to your senses and want to deal, lover boy, you can reach me here. You’ve got a week.”

She tossed the cheap pack of motel matches our way, and the both of us let them fall at our feet on the floor, then, without a word, I followed through on my initial impulse and slammed the door in that bitch’s face.

23

I HAVE CONFIDENCE

“OKAY, DYLAN, WE want these forty-two seconds to convey casual sophistication, effortless masculinity, and a polished confidence that every gentleman wants. We’ll start with you lounging against the end of the bar, blurred out, with the bottle…here,” the director, Gary, said. He was a tall, reedy guy with thick-rimmed glasses and long grey hair tied at the nape of his neck. He then pointed to the props master, who was positioning the whiskey bottle that sat on the bar top beside my left arm to face toward the cameraman. “Got it?”

I nodded.
Yep, got it.
 

I’d been looking forward to this shoot all week. It was my first commercial on this scale and magnitude, and I was excited to see how it played out. Setup was much like a mini movie. When I’d arrived at the Edison, I’d been shown into a room for makeup, hair, and wardrobe, and once I’d donned the pristine Dolce & Gabbana suit I’d been ushered out to the bar, where a tight-knit crew was scurrying around to get everything into position for the first scene of the day. There were between twelve to fifteen people setting up equipment, as I listened to the directions being given to me.

The basic gist of the shoot was to make the alcohol appear to be the elixir that would turn any average Joe into a bold and suave man about town. Ace had told me to channel my inner Sinatra, and I had to admit, I was thinking about that bygone era as I stood there in the muted lights of the bar, with the smooth sound of a piano playing from somewhere off behind me.

“Okay, we’re just about ready here, Dylan. You good?”

“Yes. Ready when you are.”

“Perfect,” Gary said as he walked backward toward the cameraman, boom operator, and producer. Two guys were up behind the lights, and when everything went quiet, I got my cue.

Yes.
This right here was what I was born to do. I loved the quick no-nonsense, in-and-out—
usually in one day
—world of modeling. You came to set, were made up exactly the way they wanted you, and then you were shown where to stand and then the photographer, or cameraman in this case, positioned themselves, and you unleashed your magic.

Unlike moviemaking, this came naturally to me. Modeling was all about knowing your angles, the best light, how to use what God had given you to project the emotion the designer, producer, or company who had hired you were after. And luckily for me, I seemed to have a knack for that. No words were usually needed, no script to memorize, just the right twinkle in your eyes, the right cock of your chin, curl of your lips, or
come get me now
pout, and the photographer snapped, snapped, snapped, until he was shouting—

“Brilliant, Dylan! That was exactly what we wanted. Barely an extra take in there.”

And only six hours later…
that
was a wrap.
 

I’d headed back to the small room I’d changed in earlier, and was in the middle of hanging my tailored slacks on the hanger when my cell phone started to ring on the small loveseat backed up to the far wall. I zipped up my jeans and glanced over to see Ace’s name and number lighting up my screen, and when I picked it up I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my lips.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to a meeting, hotshot?”

“I am,” Ace said with a jangle of keys accompanying his voice, letting me know he was probably headed to his car as he spoke. “I just wanted to call and see how the commercial went today.”

Uh huh, sure you did.
More like he was calling to make sure a certain woman hadn’t shown up, stalked me, called me, or popped out of a bush somewhere.
 

It’d been nearly a week now since Brenda had shown up at my apartment to blackmail Ace into keeping her silence about my past, and though it had taken me a couple of days to stop looking around every corner, paranoid that the boogeyman was going to spring out and ruin my life, I’d finally started to believe she’d listened to Ace’s threat and fucked off for good.

That didn’t make me feel any less guilty over what she’d tried to do. The memory of her demanding millions to keep from spreading her venom made me shudder every time I thought about it. But after much persuasion from Ace, I’d done my best to push it aside, and it finally seemed that things were settling down again.

“The commercial went great. Everyone here was wonderful, and you will soon see me sipping whiskey from a lowball down at the Edison.” Ace’s hum of approval came through the phone as I took my short-sleeved button-up off the hanger and slipped into it. “Oh and ahh…I may, or may not, have been given a few cases of the good stuff to take home with me. Soooo, can I persuade you with a bottle of Blue Label to come and help me move the rest of my furniture out tonight?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Ace said as his Lamborghini’s locks beeped. Then I heard a door open and shut and he was back. “Can I lick it off you?”

Yes, please.
“I’m sure if you were available to help me, then that could be arranged.”

“In that case, how about I meet you there after my meeting?” he suggested, just as he must’ve turned over the ignition. As the car roared to life, I groaned in his ear.

“I swear, every time I hear that car turn on I get hard.”

“That makes two of us. You made this vehicle very difficult for me to drive, Daydream.”

I leaned my shoulders back against the wall and grinned. “Are you complaining?”

“Fuck no. Best three million dollars I ever spent.”

“Holy shit,” I said.
 

Ace made a sound that was half purr and half growl, but one hundred percent animalistic. “Oh, there was nothing
holy
about what you did to me on this car.”

I forced my eyes shut and lowered my hand to my stiffening cock. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I know. I know. Give me a couple of hours and I’m all yours.”

I nodded, and then switched gears, wanting to know how he felt about the meeting he was headed to today. He hadn’t said much other than he was going to go.

“You excited?” I asked
.

“About meeting with Ronaldo Mendez?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve never met him before, right? It was nice of Alejandro to set this up. He’s a pretty big name.”

“Try one of the biggest,” Ace said.

“I’d be super nervous.”

“Uhh, thanks—”

“No. No. I don’t mean it like that. It’s just he’s
Ronaldo Mendez,
mega producer. That’s huge.”

I heard Ace let out a sigh, and imagined him rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “It is. Honestly, though, I’m trying not to get too excited. Things haven’t exactly been going my way lately, so I’ll go and check out what he has to say. But I’m not going to stress about it.”

I hated that. I hated that Ace was feeling that way. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t warned me this would happen, and most of the time it didn’t even seem to bother him, especially when it was just me and him together. However, that didn’t stop the stab of guilt I felt whenever someone called to tell him he was dropped from yet another movie or sponsorship.

It all seemed so unfair. Here I was doing better than ever
because
of Ace and my connection to him, while his career and life crumbled because of me. It made a person stand back and really look at their self-worth and what they had to offer, because in the end that
was
all I had to give him. And I hoped like hell every day that that was enough.

“Just see what he has to say—you never know in this town what’s going to happen from one day to the next. And weren’t you the one who told me it’s all about who you know and your connections?”

Ace laughed. “Throwing my own words of wisdom back at me?”

“Yep. He wouldn’t have called you and set up a meeting if he wasn’t interested. So, go see what his project is. See if it’s something you’re interested in or something-—”

“Ridiculous?”

“Ace…”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’m going, and I’ll approach the meeting with an open mind.”

“Good,” I said, happy to hear a touch of humor at the end there. “And Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“When you’re finished, hurry home to my place. I’ll be waiting.”

After we said our goodbyes and ended the call, I checked my hair in the mirror and that my clothes were in order before I picked up my backpack and headed for the door. It was time to head over to my apartment and finish to say my goodbyes
.

* * *

AS I SLOWED my car to a crawl, I made my way past the enormous houses located in the gated Beverly Park community and turned onto Beverly Park Lane.
 

God
, the neighborhood in which I lived housed some impressive homes of the rich and famous, but some of these sprawled farther than the eye could possibly hope to see. When I found the number I was looking for, I brought my vehicle to a stop at the massive gate, which was flanked by two stone pillars, and illuminated by a Tudor light on each side. There was a camera mounted up top one of those thick columns, and one aimed in the general direction of my car’s license plate. As I sat there, waiting to be screened or checked by whoever was at the other end of those security devices, I looked around at the dense foliage flanking the perimeter of the stone wall, which extended out to the left and right of each pillar.
 

Palm trees, ferns, and creeping ivy that was close to overtaking most of the exposed wall gave the home an extra barrier against anyone who might wish to camp out front and take photos of whoever was beyond the gates. In less than two minutes,
I would guess
, there was a clunking sound and then the wrought iron yawned open, inviting me to proceed forward.
 

Okay, so I’d told Dylan before I left that I hadn’t been feeling the nerves. But, the truth be told, as I drove up the paved driveway flanked by a perfectly manicured lawn and thick-trunked palm trees, my hands were sweating and my heart was thumping.
 

This was a huge opportunity being offered up to me. Of this, I was aware. A meeting with Ronaldo Mendez was notoriously difficult to get, and when Alejandro had called to tell me his father had wanted a meet-and-greet, I’d barely believed it.
 

Life was always throwing you curves, new twists and turns in your journey, and in my professional life I’d been told from the get-go that sometimes it was all about connections. But this? This seemed crazy. Unreal, even. Considering the way I knew
this
particular connection could never be discussed in a public setting due to binding contracts and the fear of being sued. It was still hard to believe that out of that sex-filled, fantasy-fueled night had come a “masked” opportunity I could never have seen coming…
or uh,
had
seen coming
, as it were.
 

Either way, Alejandro had really come through in getting me behind the famous gates of the Tuscan Vineyard Estate to see his father.

And now that I was here, I was determined to do everything in my power to make an impression.

I climbed out of my car, and as I shut the door behind me, I closed my eyes for a moment and let the afternoon sun warm me.
 

I can do this. I’ve done this a hundred times over. Just walk in there and sell Ace Locke, the action star. Right.
The one thing tripping me up, though, was that lately no one had wanted Ace Locke the action star.
 

Trying to squash that train of thought, I adjusted my navy-blue sports coat and checked that I looked presentable. Matching pressed slacks, white open-collared shirt, and my brand new pair of black Ferragamo derbies. I was good to go.

I walked up the stairs and headed toward the double-wide glass and iron doors, and just as I reached them and would’ve rung the bell, a short, portly woman appeared and opened the door.
 

She was in black from her short, bobbed hair to her leather-covered toes. Her complexion was olive, tanned skin, with wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes when she smiled up at me, and I would guess she was in her late forties or early fifties.

“Ahh, welcome, Mr. Locke. Mr. Mendez has been expecting you.”

“Thank you,” I said, returning her smile and waiting to see if she would give her name.
 

“I’m Maria. I look after the home for the Mendezes and have for years. My husband tends to the yard and keeps the workers who tend to the vines in line.”

“Well, you both do a wonderful job, Maria. This place is beautiful.”

“Thank you. Come in, come in. Mr. Mendez is in the study. I told him I’d bring you straight through. So please, follow me.”

And off she went. She turned on the heels of her flats and walked forward, leading me into a massive rectangular grand entrance where a wooden carved entry table sat with photos upon photos of the famous family who lived there. I stepped around it, and continued forward on marble floors so shiny they reflected the chandelier above. I couldn’t help but look up at the huge white columns and archways to the second story
.

Wow, this place was something else.
 

“This way, Mr. Locke,” Maria said, taking the three steps up to the middle of the rectangular space that had a door all the way on the far side of it and two ramps that led up to the second level. She took the left, heading up the gradual incline, and I was quick to follow, not wanting to be caught gawking at the stunning spread.