Contents
Title page
Copyright
Other Books by Elle Casey
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
About the Author
Other Books by Elle Casey
Acknowledgments
By Degrees
Elle Casey
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2013 Elle Casey, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without author permission. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the author authorized online outlet that serves your country.
Elle Casey thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.
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OTHER BOOKS BY ELLE CASEY
*= Coming Soon
(New Adult Romance)
Shine Not Burn
By Degrees
Rebel*
Hellion*
Trouble*
Trainwreck*
Don’t Make Me Beautiful*
(YA Paranormal Romance)
Duality, Volume I (Melancholia)
Duality, Volume II (Euphoria)
(YA Urban Fantasy)
War of the Fae: Book One, The Changelings - FREE!
War of the Fae: Book Two, Call to Arms
War of the Fae: Book Three, Darkness & Light
War of the Fae: Book Four, New World Order
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 1, After the Fall
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 2, Between the Realms
Clash of the Otherworlds: Book 3, Portal Guardians
My Vampire Summer
My Vampire Fall*
Aces High (co-written with Jason Brant)
(YA Post-Apocalyptic)
Apocalypsis: Book 1, Kahayatle
Apocalypsis: Book 2, Warpaint
Apocalypsis: Book 3, Exodus
Apocalypsis: Book 4, Haven
(YA Action-Adventure)
Wrecked
Reckless
DEDICATION
For my husband, my forever guy.
Chapter One
SPINNING PARTWAY AROUND ON MY back while still holding onto her ankle, I use my feet to defend myself. My ribs are aching too much to throw a punch, so I kick the ever-loving shit out of her thighs and crotch and don’t stop, even when a voice finally comes over my cell phone.
“Nine-one-one … what is your emergency?”
I don’t know exactly where my phone is, but it’s near my head somewhere, so I just start yelling.
“Intruder in the house! Tarin Kilgour’s residence! The musician from the band By Degrees! Beverly Hills!” I can’t for the life of me remember his address. I hope I’ve given her enough information to find me.
“I need your name and a description of the intruder, ma’am.”
“Fuck you!” yells my attacker. “Give me that goddamn phone, dammit!” She struggles to sit up and reach for my cell, but I give her a running shoe to the face, making her fall back again.
I keep kicking, but her foot slips out of my sweaty grip. She’s crawled out of my way, but I can tell by the way she’s eyeing my pinwheeling legs, she doesn’t want to eat any more of my sneakers than she already has. All those hours on the stationary bike are paying off.
I yell again, hoping the operator can hear me. “My name is Scarlett Barnes and I work with Tarin Kilgour! The intruder’s name is …” I’m cut off by her struggle for my phone. When I kick her away, I continue. “She’s an unwelcome fan of Tarin’s! She broke into the house while he was out and she’s in the process of taking some of his things!”
“I was not taking anything!” she screeches as she stands somewhat unsteadily on her feet. She sways there, out of her mind with anger. “And I’m not an intruder! Tarin loves me and I love him!”
“Get over it, freak!” I yell at her. I’ve officially lost my cool and I don’t care about her delicate psyche anymore or the fact that all of this will be on the operator’s recording. “You’re just another bimbot deluded fan! He doesn’t give a shit about you!”
She freezes in place, hunched over, her make-up starting to smear a little and her hair a crazy mess. Backing up, she points a shaking finger at me. “You don’t know anything about Tarin and me.” Her voice is quavering.
The operator speaks again and I can barely hear her. I look over and see my phone turned upside down, the speaker facing the carpet. I pick it up in time to hear her say, “We’re sending someone to the house now. My advice is to not engage with this intruder and just leave the premises until she can be apprehended.”
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” I say, attempting to stand. My ribs are killing me, and as I get more upright, I shift to the side a little. A sharp, stabbing pain sears into my guts and makes my breath catch in my throat. “Fuck,” I grunt out, bending towards the pain, trying to make it stop. “You fucking broke my ribs, you freak.” I look up in time to see her nostrils flare.
“You broke your own ribs, coming after me like that.”
“Coming after you? After you? Are you fucking kidding me? How deluded can a person possibly be?”
“Ms. Barnes, I suggest you leave the premises,” says the voice over the phone.
“Yeah, well it’s not that easy, actually.”
“I’m not deluded,” says the freak, lifting her chin, “I’m in love. Love can make you do crazy things, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“Yes, actually, it does. What you’re doing is wrong. You need therapy and medication.” I resort to begging. The pain is bad. I can’t move enough to escape. “Please just get out of here.”
She’s crying now. “Tarin loves me.”
I shake my head, backing up until I’m leaning against the wall. “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t love anyone but himself.”
“No!”
I nod.
“Yes.”
She moves around the side of his bed, never taking her eyes off me. “You don’t know anything about love. You’re empty inside. I can see it.”
“Wrong.” I slide down the wall a little, my legs apparently deciding that injured ribs are too heavy.
She stops when she’s in front of Tarin’s nightstand. “You want Tarin for yourself, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “God, somebody shoot me.” Her words combined with the pain make me nauseated. I’m afraid I’m going to barf right here on Tarin’s silk carpeting. With my luck I’ll probably fall in it too, making the thought of it doubly awful.
Her eyes flash anger, and her color goes up again. “Oh my god! That’s it! You want Tarin for yourself. That’s what this is all about! This isn’t about him not loving me or me having problems … this is about you and your sick little infatuation with Tarin!”
My butt hits the ground, and I drop my face into my hand, using my other to prop myself up. I half whisper, half moan, “Jesus Christ save me from delusional nutbags.” I swallow over and over to keep my stomach contents where they belong.
I hear a drawer open and lift my eyes in time to see her pulling a handgun from the nightstand.
My heart stops beating for what seems like forever. My salivary glands go into overdrive. The vomiting is near.
The gun comes up and she stares at it, almost mystified. And then a big grin comes over her face as she looks at me. “Tarin keeps a gun in our bedroom to protect us from people like you.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Jerome.” I lift the phone to my ear with monumental effort. It jitters against my head, I’m shaking so bad. My heart starts beating again, only now it’s going a mile a minute. “She’s got a gun,” I say to the operator. My voice is all over the place. “I’m pretty sure she’s going to shoot me.”
Chapter Two
TWO WEEKS EARLIER…
I’M SITTING in the office reception area of Hollywood super-agent, Mel Warner, waiting for him to finish a meeting with one of his clients. The secretary pays me no mind, busy clicking away on her computer.
I take the time before our appointment to look around the office. Lots of framed awards and pictures of Mel with three generations of famous people adorn the walls. Healthy plants and colorful orchids make the place seem less sterile. The furniture isn’t too modern, which is a nice change from what I’m used to seeing in places like this.
When Mel’s previous appointment comes out of his inner sanctum, I recognize her as an actress who has starred in at least six feature films. She commands a high salary with generous terms, but she’s not why I’m here. I’m here for a superstar who needs my particular brand of help, and this actress is too on-track with her career to worry about that kind of business.
I wait for them to exchange air kisses and promises to see each other again before I stand.
“Scarlett Barnes, I presume,” Mel says once she’s gone, looking me up and down as I walk over to him.
I hold out my hand. “In the flesh.”
He’s short and round with a really daring comb-over, but he has a firm grip. He holds on longer than necessary, but I don’t fret over it because I know he’s not coming-on to me; he’s taking my measure, wondering if I can do what they say I can … if I can pull off a miracle in a month or less.
I’m taller than he is, but only because he’s barely above five feet himself. I have dark gray eyes and blonde hair that’s lighter with help from my hairstylist. Looking older than my twenty-five years is a definite asset in my little niche of the entertainment business. I dress professionally until I’m actually knee-deep in the work; then I dress as casually as possible, so I can be ready for anything. Today I’m in my favorite gray pantsuit. It’s cut in a casual business style that strikes the perfect balance between professional and trendy, its light fabric perfect for this scorchingly hot Los Angeles day.
I’m fairly certain I know what’s going on in Mel’s head as he looks me up and down because I’ve dealt with people like him before, several times now over the past couples years. He wants to know who the hell I really am and what exactly it is that I can do for him. My job in the next half hour or less will be to convince him that I can do what I promise and that I’m worth the money.
“Come on in to my office. Nanette, get Scarlett some coffee.”
I look at the receptionist who’s taking his terse command in stride and hold up my hand to keep her from going too far in her mission. “I’m not a coffee drinker, but thanks anyway.”
“Tea or water, maybe?” she asks, frozen partway out of her chair.
“Nothing, thank you.”
Nanette goes back to her work, and I follow Mel into his office, taking the chair across from him. I gaze around the room, casually taking in the details. It’s a big place, but then again, they all are. Hollywood money demands that agents’ offices be something to brag about. The view behind Mel’s chair of the Los Angeles skyline is amazing, even though the brownish smog is easier to see from this high up. The chair I’m sitting in is smooth leather and slippery. I’m glad I chose to wear pants instead of a skirt today. I hate when my bare legs leave sweat marks behind.
His desk is big enough to have sex on, and I wonder if he’s ever indulged. Rumor has it that he’s been happily married to the same woman for over forty years, but you never can tell in this industry. He could be boinking the girl who fetches the coffee every morning before nine a.m. for all I know.
“So,” he says, folding his hands and resting them casually under his belly as he leans back. “I hear they call you The Normalizer.”
I nod once. “Some do.” It’s not a name I use for myself, but it does describe pretty accurately what I do for a living.
“Do you know why I called you here?”
“I suspect it’s because you have a problem client who needs some redirection … recalibration.”
He smiles, but there’s no warmth or happiness to it. “Recalibration. That’s an interesting way to put it. As if he were a machine.”
“In some ways, he is. He’s human of course, but he’s also a money making machine, right?” I find there’s no need to beat around the bush or pretend why I’m here with these people. Agents, managers, and producers don’t hire me because they miss their old friends. They need their income sources back online and functioning at optimum levels.
He frowns. “While it may be true that they’re like machines to some degree, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the coldness of it.”
I smile tolerantly. “You’ve worked your entire life in Hollywood. Surely you jest.”
He shrugs, moving his hands to the arms of his chair. “I may be old guard, but that doesn’t mean I have a heart of stone. My clients are important to me as people, too.”
“Good to know. It helps if the client actually likes his agent.” What he’s saying confirms what I’ve heard from others. Mel Warner does care about his clients and their welfare, at least more than the average Hollywood agent does. But I’m no fool. It doesn’t mean he isn’t all about the bottom line when everything’s said and done.
“That’s not always the case. That stars don’t like their agents.” He says it like a statement, but I know he’s curious for details. It’s the nature of the beast, to want to know more than what is polite to know. And guys like him don’t get to the top of the food chain without wooing away a few clients here and there. But I don’t give out details like names and dates. Confidentiality and privacy are key in my business.
“No, it’s not always the case. Sometimes I’m fighting the agent at the same time I’m helping him. I prefer not to do that.”
“Is the fee cheaper if we play nice?” He’s smiling genuinely now.
I don’t smile back. “No. I never discount my fees.”
He sits quietly for a little while and then sighs long and loud, staring at me the entire time. I wait for him to speak, which he eventually will. No one can ever just let me walk away with this much
left unsaid.
His thumbs rub the edges of the arms of his chair rhythmically as his measured words break the silence. “You’re pricey. My question is, are you worth it?”
Here’s where the rubber meets the road for the agents. For my clients, the celebrities who’ve gone off the range, it’s a different place in the process where they finally have that come-to-Jesus moment. But for the agents, managers, or producers who hire me, here’s where I sprinkle my magic dust over the one who hires me. It’s a special medicine I like to call ‘reality’.
“You tell me if I’m worth it. I assume with your agency contract you’re pulling in at least a couple mil a year with him, right? And with your declining roster of clients, this relationship becomes more valuable and important every year, especially with your retirement looming. You’ve put a lot of eggs in this basket. That’s dangerous.”
“How do you know about that? That information is confidential.” He doesn’t seem angry or surprised, and there’s no reason he should. He knows as well as I do that secrets don’t stay secret for long in our world. The key is to keep them secret long enough that their eventual revelation doesn’t matter. We all have secrets. Even I have skeletons that I keep under lock and key.
“I have contacts in the industry who keep me informed. Right now, for example, I know you and your client have commitments for a full, twelve-stop European tour and two movies. Without even considering all the promotional work and endorsement deals, we’re talking a considerable sum for your agency. My fee is just a fraction of that.”
“But if you fail, I lose it all and then some.”
“I don’t fail. Ever. And if I do, you don’t pay. That’s how it works. It’s a no-risk proposition for you.” I finish silently with, You’d be stupid to say no. I don’t have to say it out loud, though. That would be overkill, and I never do overkill. I hit strong and I hit quick, but then I pull away and let things settle out. Eventually, he’ll figure it out for himself. Hopefully, he’ll do it before his client ends up dead. I ignore the slight twinge in my chest as I think those words to myself. Dead. No, I can’t let that happen.