Unforgettable 3 (Hollywood Love Story #3) (36 page)

My gaze shifted to Jennifer. She had managed to calm down Payton. Smiling, she looked my way.

“It’s really a shame. You could have had a career in children’s entertainment.”

I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Right.”

We held each other’s gazes. The air between us sparked with electricity and warmth. I could have stared at her all day.

“Sorry I took so long.” After ten long minutes, Jaime was back. Guess he had to take a dump too.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking Payton from Jennifer.

“They were little angels,” she replied as he strapped the little guy back in his high chair. Taking Paulette from me, she followed suit. I’d learned something about my little tiger today. She was a natural born mother.

For the first time in my almost thirty years, the idea of having children was appealing to me. The thought of having them with Jennifer made my heart do little flips. I could picture a den full of little cubs.

A minute later, Jennifer’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag and answered it. “Oh, hi, Bradley.”

In a nano-second, my fantasy blew up in smoke.

Operation Dickwick
was back in business.

Jennifer

M
ore than anything, I wanted to impress my boss, Blake Burns. And prove to him I was right about the programming slate I wanted to develop. Immediately after lunch, I started on my PowerPoint, gathering images and reviews of various books in one folder and available sales data in another. I was so excited about pitching Gloria Zander. Her lingerie chain, Gloria’s Secret, was one of the largest retailers in the world. Her support of my proposed SIN-TV daytime block could make a big difference in terms of its viability and success.

By late afternoon, my heart was no longer into it. It was somewhere else. My mind had wandered. I couldn’t stop thinking about Blake. Lunch with him and Jaime had been so much fun. When I saw him playing with little Paulette, my heart totally melted. It had shown a whole other side of him. Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Despite his annoying skepticism, I had a full-blown crush on my boss. The way a schoolgirl has on a teacher, though being home schooled, I could only imagine what that felt like.

Heart flutters? ✓

Shortness of breath? ✓

Lightheadedness? ✓

Tingles? ✓

Fantasies? ✓

Yes, all of the above. I even had his monogrammed hankie still tucked away in my purse.

I could tell Blake liked me. We shared some kind of chemistry. I aroused him and he aroused me. The thought made me quiver. Enough. Taking a much needed break, I opened my
Hollywood Reporter.
My eyes widened and my heart stuttered. Staring me in the face was a photo of Blake and one of his blond bimbos taken at a recent movie premier. A bell went off in my head.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Reality check: this man was a player. Someone who hung out with gorgeous supermodels and starlets. And who had a new one in his bed every night of the week. He probably was just taunting me. It was all some kind of egotistic power trip. But why was I so foolishly letting him get to me? I was engaged. And hello . . . he was my boss. I had a career at stake. And a fiancé who was committed to me though we were going through a rough patch. The bottom line: I had to stop thinking about him and just focus on my job. And my upcoming wedding. I tossed the trade magazine into my waste paper basket and went back to my PowerPoint.

Six thirty rolled around. The taping of
Wheel of Pain
started at seven. Not wanting to be late, I shut down my computer and packed up my bags. On my way out of my office, I stopped by my bookshelf and pulled out the dictionary my father had given me. I looked up the word “infatuation.” “
Foolish, short-lived affection for another person.”

I half-smiled with relief. My infatuation with Blake Burns would soon pass. Yet, while I walked over to the soundstage where
Wheel
was taping, my emotions were in a tailspin.

I wasn’t looking forward to overseeing this raunchy game show.

Blake had given me a list of things to watch for. And he’d made me watch two insufferable episodes. It was more than watching sex. It was a mixture of watching humiliation and human suffering. He’d also instructed me to not put up with any bullshit from the producer, Don Springer, who could be an asshole. That part of the job I thought I could handle.

When I arrived at the studio, the three competing couples, already undressed, were testing the Wheel of Pain. The Wheel resembled a small Ferris wheel with an attached capsule that was big enough to accommodate each of the couples in a variety of positions. Two cameramen were operating cranes while a third one was experimenting with a hand-held camera. Other production personnel were scattered across the set.

My eyes gravitated to a man who was pacing the floor and shouting orders. Curse words spilled from his mouth. I was sure he was the producer. Don Springer.

In his late forties, he was bronzed, balding, and beer-bellied. He wore a tight black open shirt with straining buttons, and jeans that sat low below his paunch. A thick gold chain hung around his neck, and a large diamond ring adorned his pinky. He was in a word: a sleazebag.

My belly bubbling with nerves, I sauntered up to him and introduced myself.

He gave me the once-over with his dark beady eyes. “You look familiar, sweetheart.”

I cringed at the word “sweetheart.” “I’m sure we’ve never met.”

“I never forget a beautiful face. Or body.” His eyes lingered on places he had no right to be. And then he took a sharp sniff.
Drugs?

“That smell. I know it. You smell like cherries and cream.”

He was inhaling the scent of the Gloria’s Secret shampoo I’d used forever. Very Cherry Vanilla. Without responding, I stepped away and glanced down at my watch. “We should get going so we don’t go into overtime.” Overtime drove up the cost of production, and Blake had warned me Don was notorious for this.

“Oh, so you’re a network cop. If you know what’s good for you, sugar, don’t fuck with me.” Snarling, he stomped off.

I felt shaky and was having second thoughts about being able to handle Don Springer. My confidence was more than a little shattered. I took a deep breath.
You can do this
,
Jen
.
Yes, I can,
I convinced my conscience. After another calming breath, I quickly checked the buff male contestants to make sure they were wearing condoms. A law had recently passed in California making their use mandatory in adult entertainment; for this reason, a lot of productions had moved to Vegas where they weren’t an issue. My eyes got a cockful, but to my relief, their condoms were in place. God, I so didn’t want to be doing this.

Eager to get away from Springer and the contestants, I headed upstairs to the director’s booth. Blake had told me this was the best place to watch the taping as I could see what was being captured by all the cameras. The room was small with a console and a dozen monitors. I took a seat behind the console waiting for the director. To my shock, in walked Don Springer. Unbeknownst to me, he was directing tonight’s final episode.

“I hope you like company,” he sneered, lowering himself into the swivel chair right next to mine. Unfortunately, there was no other place to sit. He deliberately brushed his hard thigh against mine, and I jumped. Hastily, I rolled my chair away from him.

“Don’t be such a prude, sweetheart.”

“My name’s Jennifer, and please act professionally.”

He snickered. “I’d like to take whatever pickle you have up your hole and fuck you up the ass.”

My body quivered. Part of me wanted to run. What was I doing here? I was so out of my element. I should be overseeing children’s game shows, not this pornographic crap.

Don’t let him intimidate you
, I told myself. “Please, Mr. Springer, let’s get on with the show.”

“Or do you like it this way?” He gave me the finger. I inwardly shuddered and said nothing. To my relief, the taping began. I pulled out a notebook and pen from my briefcase to take notes.

The game show was simple. The three naked couples competed in rounds of sex trivia questions that ranged from spelling words like cunnilingus to naming what country has the highest rate of gonorrhea. The couple with the most points at the end of each Q&A round got to ride the spinning Wheel of Pain and fuck until they could no longer take their tortuous reward. Whatever couple lasted the longest on the Wheel by the end of the game won $10,000 and a trip to Vegas. I couldn’t believe people would actually subject themselves to so much torture and humiliation, let alone bare themselves and fornicate publicly. Equally horrifying to me was the millions of men who watched this shit. Though the
Wheel of Pain’s
ratings were the lowest on SIN-TV, it still attracted a sizeable audience. Why did Blake have to make this kind of programming? And why did he make me oversee it?

My stomach churned as I watched the show being taped. I wanted to close my eyes and cover my ears, but I had a job to do. A boss to please. The fornicating couples were as repulsive as the physical gags, which included having green slime poured over them, ice cubes dumped on them, and lastly, to my utter horror, a beehive tossed at them. Equally repulsive was Don Singer.

“Camera Three, move in tighter on the spick’s cock. Just fucking do it.”

“Camera Two, for God’s fucking sake, get a wide shot of the bees.”

“Camera One, stick it in Carla’s pussy. Now!”

“Give it to him harder, you horny fucking fat bitch!” he yelled as Carla rode Carlos, both screaming and writhing as bees repeatedly stung every inch of their naked bodies. Including their genitals. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I actually had to turn away.

Don slid his chair over to mine and breathed down my neck.

“Having fun yet, Ms. McCoy? Does watching this make you wet and horny?”

Rage mixed with nausea. Keeping my head bowed, I bit down on my tongue and tried to focus on my notes. I couldn’t. Carla and Carlos’s shrieks of agony resounded in my ears.

“Get me out of here,” sobbed Carla as angry bees buzzed around her. “Please!”

Get me out of here
. I’d had enough. Springer had taken things too far.

With all the bravery I could muster, I stood up and faced him.

“Mr. Springer, you need to stop production. This is unacceptable.”

He swirled around in his swivel chair. “What the hell are you talking about, bitch?”

“The bees are too much. The contestants can’t take it anymore.”

“It’s the fucking season finale. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m
not
shutting down production.”

Close to tears, I barked two words: “Do. It.”

Springer slammed his fist on the console so hard it shook and then shouted into a microphone. “Stop the fucking wheel. And everyone get your ugly asses out of here.”

I sighed with relief as I watched the wheel come to a halt. Poor Carla and Carlos. Their bodies were covered with red welts from the bee stings, and they were violently shaking. The only, little comfort I had was watching Carlos wrap his swollen, mutilated arms around his whimpering partner. At least, he cared more about her than winning this sick game.

“I have a few other notes.” My voice faltered.

“I gotta get out of this hell hole. Give ’em to me downstairs.”

Having no choice, I followed him as he stormed out of the booth and headed back onto the set. Everyone was gone including the crew. Only a few buzzing bees remained. My nerves crackled with apprehension. I didn’t like being here alone with Don Springer. The faster I could give him my notes, the better.

Standing beside him before the Wheel of Pain, I opened my notebook. It shook in my hands. Before I could give a single note, he wrenched it away and flung it across the soundstage. His face reddened with rage.

“No uptight little bitch tells me to shut down
my
production.” He jerked me against him.

“Let go of me!” Writhing, I tried to free myself, but his grip was too powerful.

“Tell me, why the fuck did you do that?” His fetid breath heated my face. I turned away from him. He pinched my cheek. “Answer me.”

I winced. “My boss, Blake Burns, gave me the authority to make decisions.”

“That fucking prick.” He squeezed me tighter. He was hurting me. I could hardly breathe.

“The contestants were in too much pain.” The words barely made it out of my mouth.

“I’ll show you pain, you cunt.”

Only one person had ever called me that. That night. Sophomore year. Don cut the painful memory short and shoved me into the capsule on the wheel.

“What are you doing?” I gasped. My inner panic button sounded.

“You’re going for a ride, you little ho.”

The monster stomped on a large button on the floor and then, to my horror, hopped into the capsule. The wheel began to spin. As it ascended, he tore off my blouse and tossed it onto the set. I heard the pearl buttons ping across the floor as he slammed me down onto the cushion. His wretched eyes held me prisoner.

“Let go of me!” I screamed as he pinned me down by my shoulders.