Cindy Dees - High-Stakes Bachelor

“Great. A black eye from a girl. I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

“I’m so sorry—” she started.

He cut her off immediately. “My fault. I wasn’t paying attention and zigged when I should have zagged. I was distracted.”

“That phone call?” she asked sympathetically.

He huffed in obvious exasperation at the memory of the offending phone call. She recognized that sound from countless times listening to guys grouse about their relationships. “Woman trouble?”

He scowled. “You could say that.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” She winced as soon as the words left her mouth. That was her. Ole shoulder-to-cry-on for every guy she knew. They all went to her for advice about chicks. Apparently, having the same reproductive apparatus as their girlfriends made her some kind of expert.

Which was a load of crap, by the way. She didn’t know squat about women. Hell, she hardly knew how to be one, herself. And she had no idea how to do a relationship. It wasn’t like her own past had given her any sterling examples to go by. After the disaster—God, was it two full years ago now?—she’d pretty much sworn off men.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “My grandmother is haranguing me to settle down, find a nice girl and get married. She’s just antsy to get a great-grandkid, and figures that, out of all my brothers and sisters, I’m her best prospect. She’s being a total pain in the ass.”

Jackson Prescott was looking to get hitched? Wow. Talk about an eligible bachelor.

“I don’t even have a girlfriend.” He added, scowling, “No matter what the damned tabloids say.”

Really? Interesting. Oh, get over yourself. He’d never take a second look at you. Aloud, she commented, “You could have an actress friend fake an engagement with you to shut up your grandmother for a while. Or, you could just skip the wife and go straight to the baby. People don’t have to get married to make babies.”

“So I should, what? Pick up some random chick in a bar and get her pregnant to shut up my grandmother?”

She shrugged. This flavor of woman trouble went well beyond her ability to give advice on it.

“I don’t even like going to bars,” he grumbled.

Shut the front door. “Seriously?” she blurted.

Someone barged in just then with the plastic bag of ice she’d asked for on the way in there. She stole a hand towel from the sink in Adrian’s bathroom, wrapped the ice in it and laid it gently on Jackson’s face. She felt for the guy; she would have no idea how to go about picking up a woman if she were a man.

In an attempt to be helpful, though, she commented, “There are other places besides bars to meet women. I hear there are good pickings in the produce section of grocery stores. Apparently, if you act clueless when a hot girl comes along, she’ll stop and help you.”

Jackson retorted, “I would have to actually be in the market for a girlfriend for that to work.”

Oh. Something way down deep inside her deflated at the news that he wasn’t interested in dating. It was nothing personal, of course. She was just reacting on behalf of her entire half of the species. Jackson Prescott was a hell of a hunk that some woman ought to get to enjoy.

She replied cautiously, “I have to say, I doubt you’d have all that much trouble finding a woman willing to have your baby.”

Warmth uncurled inside her at the thought of holding his baby in her arms, shocking her into momentary silence. Where in the hell did that come from? Had her biological clock just started ticking? Heck, she wasn’t in the market to have a kid any more than he was.

He lifted aside the ice pack to stare up at her. Was that a speculative gleam in his gorgeous eyes? Surely not.

A little panicked at the direction her thoughts were taking, she pushed the big ice bag back down onto his nose, which also had the effect of covering his eyes and taking his distracting hazel gaze off her.

Thoughtful silence was all that emerged from the towel for the next couple of minutes. Then, “What’s your name, 127?”

“Ana. Anabelle Izzolo.”

“You have zilch by way of acting credits, Anabelle Izzolo.”

She didn’t need a box-office giant to point that out to her. She was well aware of her lack of credits. She’d been taking acting classes as part of her plan to become a stuntwoman, but it was hard to get work if you hadn’t already had some previously.

“But the chemistry between you and me is exactly what we’re looking for.”

“For...what exactly?”

“The lead actress in our film. Assuming you can act.”

Lead? Actress? Her mind went completely blank. He was right. She was totally unprepared to do anything like that. But what kind of idiot would she be to say so? Chances like this came along once in a lifetime. Once in a very lucky lifetime.

“I can act,” she blurted, then added hastily, “I bet I could convince your grandmother I was having your baby.”

He started to snort with laughter but cut the sound short with a groan of pain.

“Quit moving around so much. I almost had the bleeding stopped, but now you’ve got it going again.”

“Pushy, aren’t you?”

“No. Just trying to stop a nosebleed. That only makes me sensible,” she declared.

He laughed again, but carefully. “So here’s the thing. We’re going to have to convince the primary investors in the film to go with an unknown leading lady. My name should carry the box office...we’ll have to spin it as the debut of an exciting new star. It could work if we market it right...”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”

“Nope. Just keep being you. Oh, and I’m going to need to have supper with you, tonight.”

“Why?” She was immediately suspicious. It probably didn’t help that her last real date...that fateful one two years ago...had started out as a dinner invitation from a big good-looking guy. He’d been the star of the high school football team, and all the girls had swooned over him, too. Ana had kept in touch with him after graduation, as he’d attended the same college as her on a football scholarship.

“Consider it part of your callback.”

The hallway door opened before she could come up with a polite way to turn him down but still get the dream acting job. “How are we doing in here?” Adrian asked from the doorway. He seemed leery of charging in and finding pints of blood spilled on his floor.

Nervous, she jumped to her feet. “Good. I think we’ve got things under control,” she declared with false cheer.

“Thanks for your time this afternoon, Miss Izzolo,” Adrian said politely. “We’ll be in touch.”

Oh, God. The classic Hollywood brush-off. Don’t call us; we’ll call you. She’d clobbered the star of the movie and wrecked her shot at fame and fortune, after all. It had been a fun fantasy for the five minutes it had lasted. Ah, well. Maybe she could still break into stunt work, someday.

She headed for the locker room to retrieve her cheap nylon gym bag and get back to her regularly scheduled life. She threw open the locker door and stared in dismay. Her bag was shredded. As in literally shredded. Her extra audition clothes were in tatters, and what little makeup she had was smeared all over the rags formerly known as the only decent clothes she owned.

What the heck? Who would do a thing like this? And why?

Chapter 2

Jackson had no idea what to do about casting the lead actress part in the film. His gut shouted at him to go with Anabelle Izzolo, the unknown with the wild talent. But just as surely, the movie’s investors were going to want him to go with a more established actress. Someone like Shyann Brooklyn.