Bad Attitude (6 page)

“Don't get all excited, sir, it's not Mitch's fault this time. I can't do anything about the weather. We're having driving rainstorms here, and it's predicted to rain for several days.”

“You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Ms. Hill? Where's Mitch?”

“Mitch? He's still in bed, I guess.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, I know what time it is.” She shook off the image of Mitch lying naked in bed. “He hasn't left his trailer, so he can't be getting into any trouble.”

“I want you keeping an eye on him to see that he doesn't.”

“Will you quit worrying, Mr. Ketteridge. I have everything under control,” she lied.

Peter Ketteridge's next words had her suppressing a laugh. “Your idea about keeping my mother busy backfired. Do you know she's making me come to dinner every night to eat the recipes she's test-cooked?”

“Think of it as a good way to save money on expensive dinners out. With the money you save, you can afford to maintain your temperamental sports car.” It amused her no end that a powerful man like Peter Ketteridge couldn't control his determined little slip of a mother.

“Don't talk about my car—my mother's gotten involved with it now, too.”

“Good, then she did find a mechanic for you.”

“I'm glad you think it's good. I'm appalled.”

“Why? What's wrong with the mechanic your mother picked out?”

“She picked out a woman,” Peter said with a heavy sigh.

“So … ”

“A
single
woman mechanic.”

This time Molly's laugh escaped. “Are you telling me that the next time you call, it might be to announce your engagement?”

“I am not amused, Ms. Hill.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“I keep telling my mother I have no intention of marrying anytime soon. Why won't she listen?”

“I don't know. I keep telling my mother the same thing. I guess it's not what mothers want to hear from their only children.”

“What's new otherwise?” Peter asked.

“You tell me. I'm the one stuck out in the boonies, without the niceties of civilization like
Variety
and
Hollywood Reporter.
How did
Unexpected Pleasures
do, by the way?” Molly asked. Peter's pet project had just opened.

“It grossed $10.4 million.”

“I guess your star director is flying high—and so is his new asking price.”

“I hope
Jesse
does as well.”

“Don't worry, it will. I'm willing to bet it will blow the lid off previous grosses for Mitch Marlow films. All it needs is a really good trailer to go with the theme song Mitch wrote.”

“How do you know about the theme song?”

“He sang it for me the other night. It's beautiful.” She didn't mention it wasn't the love song everyone was expecting.

“I told you not to go and get personally involved, Ms. Hill.”

“I'm not. I told you I wouldn't, didn't I?”

“Then how come he's singing you love songs?”

Molly took a deep breath. “He only sang it for me because he wanted my opinion, and he figured I would tell him the truth if it stank. What's that noise?”

“Alka-Seltzer fizzing in mineral water.”

“Whoa, you need to relax. I've got an idea. Why don't you get tickets to a Lakers' game? You can go relax and make your mother happy at the same time.”

“Would you explain to me how my going to a Lakers' game is going to make my mother happy?”

“I was thinking you could take that single lady mechanic your mother found for you.”

Peter Ketteridge hung up.

D
ASHING THROUGH
the raindrops, she passed Angie on the way back to their trailer.

“Hey, you didn't happen to see Heather, did you?” she asked. Angie was polishing off the last Danish, licking the crumbs from her fingers.

“As a matter of fact, I did see her when I headed over here. She was leaving Mitch's trailer. You want me to tell her you're looking for her?”

“No. No, that's okay. Look, we're both getting soaked. I'll catch you later, okay?”

Angie nodded and continued on her way while Molly headed for Mitch's trailer.

She didn't have any idea what she was going to say to him. How was she going to warn him about spending time alone in his trailer with Heather without appearing to be jealous? But all jealousy aside, her main concern was keeping him out of the tabloids.

Reaching his trailer, she knocked.

“It's open,” he yelled.

She went inside, but he wasn't in the living area.

“Come on back.”

Molly hesitated only a moment, then followed the sound of Mitch's voice to the bedroom in back.

“Are you decent?” she called as she approached.

“Which answer will get you back here?” he countered, his voice a deep growl.

“Are you covered up?” she persisted, waiting for his reply. She wasn't prudish or likely to be shocked by the sight of a naked man. She just didn't want to encourage her lustful impulses.

“I'm covered up, Red,” he assured her.

Shaking her head, Molly went into the small bedroom. Mitch was lying in bed, his leg propped on a stack of pillows. A sheet covered him—sort of. It was draped across his groin and uninjured leg.

The daring look in his eyes telegraphed a signal that it was the only thing covering him. So, of course, that was the only place her eyes wanted to look. With a supreme effort of willpower she forced her gaze toward his face. It wasn't exactly a turn-off.

His blond hair was mussed. Had Heather mussed it? The ghost of a golden beard shadowed his lean jaw, and his blue eyes were laughing at her. Damn him.

“Do you really think this is such a good idea?” she asked.

“What?” He made a stab at innocence, but it went wide of the mark.

“You know what. Entertaining women in your bedroom.”

“You want me to entertain you?”

“What I want is …” Her eyes strayed for a second to his bare chest, perfectly squared and honed. “Ah, I want you to stop entertaining women in your trailer, period.” She held his gaze as she made her point. “Most especially married women.”

Mitch ran his hand through his tresses. “Oh, I get it now. This is about Heather, isn't it? I can't believe it, Red. Why, you're jealous of her, aren't you?”

“I am not..
.”Molly felt her face flame, heard the shrill tone of her voice and finished softly. “ … jealous of Heather Simms.”

“You're not?” He didn't look at all convinced. “Then what's this all about? I assumed, because you found out Heather spent the morning in my trailer, you—”

“She's married, Mitch.”

“I know that.”

“Then you must also know your spending time, ensconced in your trailer with a married woman, is just the sort of juicy gossip the
International Intruder
is looking for.”

“Looking for? Grow up, Red. These tabloid reporters don't look for stories like that to check out. They just make up whatever they think will sell copies that week.”

“Like they made up that revealing photo of you and that woman nude cliff diving. The photo that got you a baby-sitter.”

Mitch shrugged. “They only make up photographs sometimes. They usually go through people's garbage and put bits and scraps together to come up with more garbage. “Your trouble is you worry too much. Besides, Heather's visit was perfectly innocent.”

“Innocent, with you dressed like that?”

“If you must know, I had a robe on. I got undressed to get some sleep. Heather woke me up pretty early this morning, and I didn't get much sleep, what with my ankle throbbing all night.”

Molly sidestepped his ploy for sympathy. “What did Heather want?”

“It's really none of your business. You're my baby-sitter, not my mother. But if it will make you happy, I'll tell you.” He paused for effect. “She wanted to talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“Boy, you just don't quit, do you?”

Molly waited.

“Okay, okay. She's nervous about her first big screen kiss.”

“If you ask me, there's something else I'd be more concerned about, if I were you.”

“What's that? Your telling Peter?”

“No. That someone else is going to tell Sonny Simms about these practice sessions.”

“Come on, Red, Sonny is a professional wrestler. He knows this is just business.”

“Know what I think, Mitch. I think you're too chicken to kill yourself, and you want Sonny Simms to do it for you.”

“S
HE'S OVER THERE AGAIN.
”

Fuming, Molly walked away from the rain-streaked window. “On top of that, this appears to be one of those forty-day and forty-night rains.”

Angie looked up; she lay sprawled on the love seat in the living area of the small trailer the two women were sharing. In her lap was a crossword puzzle, and she was tapping a pen against her front teeth as she pondered a word. Acknowledging Molly's distress, she asked teasingly, “What do you think they're doing over there? Drawing up plans for an ark, perhaps?”

“Hardly. And if you don't mind, I'm trying not to think about what they're doing,” Molly said glumly, dipping a chocolate cookie into her morning coffee. “I had hoped my little chat with Mitch yesterday would have at least some kind of dampening effect.”

“Don't say damp,” Angie grumbled.

Molly continued to be more worried about Heather than the weather. “Evidently Heather's appeal outweighs the very real threat of her macho professional wrestler husband tearing Mitch limb from limb.” Peering over her cup of coffee, she asked, “Isn't it foolhardy to work crossword puzzles in ink?”

“Nah. It teaches me not to make mistakes, to think before I act. I've been known to have this problem with being impulsive. But even I admit it's sometimes better to act on your gut instinct. So … why don't you go on over to Mitch's big ol' trailer and tell Heather Simms it ain't big enough for the two of you. Throw her out on her size-two bottom. After all, you were sent here by the Ketteridge Agency to baby-sit him and keep him out of trouble.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would look like I'm jealous. Mitch already implied as much yesterday. He's wrong, of course,” she protested, a little too vehemently. “I plan to be one of the best agents in town. But it takes more than developing a sharp business sense. Clients need understanding. They need to be nurtured and supported. That's what the best agents give, along with their business acumen. Mitch isn't allowing me to help him at all.

“And if I fail here, I know what will happen. My parents will begin to smother me again with their concern. I'll wind up letting them talk me into being what they want for me, rather than what I want.” Propping her elbows on the counter, she cupped her chin in her hand and sighed. “I can't let that happen, Angie. I just can't.”

Angie inked in a word on the crossword puzzle, then looked at Molly consideringly.

“What?” Molly asked.

“You know, when you think about it, there might be something behind Mitch's actions that you haven't considered. He could be scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Failure.”

“I haven't seen any evidence to indicate he's afraid of failure, not when you consider he's been doing his level best to sabotage his career. Besides, his career is going extremely well.”

“I agree that Mitch's career is in enviable shape at the moment. But you know how this business is. Things can change overnight. The span of an acting career seems to be getting shorter and shorter. And I'm talking top-of-the-title actors, whose careers were red-hot just a film or two ago.”

Molly nodded her head in agreement. “All it takes is a couple of wrong moves these days to spell disaster. So far Mitch has managed to fare better than his peers. You have to give him credit for making good choices in film roles.”

“True, but remember Mitch and Matthew were very close. It's quite possible Matthew helped Mitch make those good choices. In addition to the grief of losing his brother, Mitch may be feeling worried about making choices on his own, without Matthew as a sounding board. Of course, all this is mere supposition, but it could be the real reason behind Mitch's bad attitude.”

“It's possible you're right. There's also that old chestnut about being too hot not to cool down. That could be concerning Mitch, as well. He's had an incredible streak of luck at the box office.”

“And he knows luck and timing play a major role in anyone's career, most especially in the arts. Maybe you ought to just cut Mitch some slack,” Angie suggested.

“I guess you're right. Heather's visits could be perfectly innocent, as Mitch says.”

Angie laughed, a deeply suspicious laugh. “Well, I wouldn't go that far.”

“So you do think there is something going on between Heather and Mitch?”

“All I'm saying is Heather's up to something.”

“Oh, that's real encouraging, Angie, just exactly what I needed to hear.”

“It's not supposed to be encouraging. It's supposed to be a warning. Heather is strong and independent. Don't let her doe-eyed look fool you. She's put in her time in acting classes and she's been in a lot of failed pilots for television.

“It took a lot of doing for her to get the part in this movie. She tested several times for it before they gave it to her. I'd say Heather Simms is determined to get whatever she wants.”

Molly smiled ruefully. “Sounds like Heather and I have something in common, then. I'm equally determined to get what I want. I only hope we aren't at cross-purposes.”

T
HE REVVING
of a powerful motorbike caught everyone's attention that afternoon.

Only someone crazy would be out on a motorbike in this pouring rain. It was even dangerous to ride on wet pavement, never mind mud and gravel.

Trailer doors were pushed open to see who it was. Molly was sure she wasn't the only one thinking Mitch, despite his twisted ankle, was the most likely candidate.

Instead she saw a mountain of a man, sitting astride an idling Harley-Davidson. He was dressed in enough black leather to upholster a sofa and seemed heedless of the steady rain.

She groaned, her worst fears confirmed, when the biker removed his helmet. She could kiss good-bye to her future as an agent for Ketteridge.

Sonny Sims had arrived. The scowl beneath his exaggerated, F Manchu mustache, didn't portend anything good. A twisted ankle was going to be the very least of Mitch's problems, if Heather was still in the trailer with him.

Sonny spotted the director. “Hey, you! “You know which one of these bread boxes my wife is in?” he bellowed.

“You're?” the director asked.

Sonny looked incredulous. “You're kidding, right? No wonder you're so pale. You must live in a cave somewhere. Haven't you heard of Sonny Sims?”

The director shook his head. “No, can't say as I have.”

“I'm Sonny Sims, world champion wrestler.”

Sonny spied the key grip. “Hey, kid, how about you? You know where my wife's trailer is?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Sims. That's her trailer over there.” The key grip pointed.

“About time someone around here knew something. I was fixing' to drown, waiting for an answer to my simple question.”

Molly inched the door shut, until there was only a crack she could see through. She didn't think Sonny had seen her, and she wanted to keep things that way for now.

Sonny slapped his leather-gloved fist into the palm of his other hand. “A person would have to think there was something suspicious going on here, if they weren't a trusting sort like me. They might even give some notice to the rumors about my Heather Anne being hot for that pretty boy starring in this movie with her.”

Molly's heart sank. Sonny Sims was looking for a fight—spoiling for one.

The smile beneath the mustache was menacing. “Y'all go back to what you were doing. I'm going to surprise my wife.” With that he shut off the motorbike and dismounted, heading for Heather's trailer.

Molly offered up prayers that Heather was indeed in her own trailer … and alone.

Her prayers went unanswered.

Moments later she heard Sonny emerge from Heather's trailer. “Where's my wife?” he roared.

“She ain't in her own trailer!” Slamming the door, he made his way to the one next to Heather's.

“Is she in here with that pretty-boy actor? Is that who you're all trying to protect? Which trailer is his? Tell me!” he demanded, yanking the door open.

Molly heard him banging around inside, then watched in horror when he came back out, angrier than when he'd gone in. “I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch Marlowe when I find him, if he's with my woman.”

Sonny approached the next trailer and continued his jealous search. No one said a word.

Molly didn't allow herself time to think. As soon as she saw Sonny enter the next trailer, she made a mad dash for Mitch's.

Not bothering to knock, she pulled open the door and rushed inside.

The living area was empty. The television set was off. Molly hastily surveyed the area for any sign of Heather's clothing and breathed a small sigh of relief when she didn't spot any.

“Mitch, are you here?” she called, hurrying back to the bedroom area.

When she was met with no reply, she ventured into his bedroom, forcing herself not to close her eyes. She had a good reason for walking in on him—or them.

He was asleep.

Naked.

And, what was most important, alone.

She had to act fast. There was no time to appreciate the golden perfection of his body.

Though she knew what she was about to do was far above and beyond the call of duty, she had to protect him. Just being alone didn't mean he was safe from Sonny Simmons's jealous rage.

“Don't think, just do it,” she muttered, summoning her nerve. Time was of the essence. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, her nerves slowed her down as she discarded her clothes. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of her matching lace bra and panties. Mussing her hair, she took a deep breath and climbed into bed with Mitch. Her heart was pounding as she pulled the discarded sheet over the two of them.

Mitch mumbled some endearment in his sleep and flung one arm and his uninjured leg over her, pinning her in place. His breath fluttered softly at her neck, a warm, sensuous caress. She smelled the faint scent of a designer cologne on his skin. The fine body hair of his leg tickled her smooth skin, making it flush.

But most disturbing was his penis, suddenly alert and hard against her belly.

It was just there. Mitch continued sleeping, while his body acknowledged her. She closed her eyes, her throat tight. Mitch might live through this, but she was going to die. All her movie-house fantasies were coming true.

Right on cue there was an insistent pounding on the door. “Come on out here, pretty boy, or I'm coming in to get you!” Sonny Sims threatened.

Still asleep, Mitch didn't answer. He must have taken a painkiller for his ankle that knocked him out.

The trailer door opened with a bang and Sonny barged in with Heather in tow. She didn't look the least bit embarrassed by Sonny's macho posturing. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying it. Until she saw Molly.

Sonny stopped short. Heather didn't even make a stab at hiding her surprise and disappointment at finding the two of them together.

Waking at the commotion, Mitch sat up and blinked groggily. He looked from Sonny to Heather and then at Molly, who was very obviously naked beneath the sheet they were sharing. He said nothing.

“What's going on here?” Sonny demanded, clearly confused in spite of his aggressive posture.

Mitch looked at him. “You tell me,” he said, yawning with supreme indifference.

“What do you two think you're doing, barging in on us like this?” Molly complained, playing the surprised lover.

“Who are you?” Sonny demanded.

“She's my agent,” Mitch answered matter-off-aptly as Molly tugged the sheet under her chin.

“You sleep with your agent?” Sonny asked.

“I think you should leave,” Molly said, flinging her arm out to point the way. “Who Mitch sleeps with is hardly any concern of yours.”

“It is if it's my wife,” Sonny insisted.

Molly didn't know what came over her; she couldn't believe the words that tumbled from her lips. “Sonny, I can assure you that Mitch here has almost more women than he can handle. Isn't that right, honey?” She ran her finger seductively down Mitch's jaw, wondering where she'd found the nerve. “And you know those rumors about all us redheads being spitfires?” She shook her mop of red curls for emphasis and informed Sonny, “It's true. I don't think you need to be worrying about Mitch sleeping with your wife, because if he were to try such a stunt, he'd find himself singing soprano permanently.”

Mitch winced. “So now you know. My agent is a shark, and I'm way more afraid of her than I am of you.” Molly thought his performance worthy of an Oscar nomination.

Behaving more than hospitably, Mitch reached out his hand, offering to shake. “Nice to meet you, Sonny. Now, if you don't mind…” He turned to Molly and gave her a look that would have melted steel. “Molly and I were kinda busy.”

“Oh. Ah. Sure.” Sonny ushered out a pouting Heather.

Mitch kept Molly where she was with a warning look until they heard the sound of the trailer door closing.

Molly then began to inch her way out of bed, dragging the sheet with her.

“What do you think you're doing?” Mitch demanded.

“Leaving.”

He shook his head. “Wrong.”

“Look, I can explain,” Molly said, reaching gingerly for her discarded clothing.

“I'm listening.”

“This isn't what it looks like.”

Mitch waited patiently.

“Really, I was only trying to—”

“Have your way with me while I was asleep? Shame on you, Molly. What would Peter say? Anyway, all you had to do was ask. I would have done the gentlemanly thing and obliged.”

“Listen, Jerk face—”

“You sure weren't lying about that temper of yours, Red.” He let his gaze travel slowly over her sheet-draped curves. “A spitfire, you say?” he taunted.