Книга - Why Resist a Rebel?

Why Resist a Rebel?
Leah Ashton


Winner of the 2014 RITA award for Short Contemporary Romance.Ruby Bell has put scandal and relationships behind her to forge a successful career in film. Then the talk of Hollywood himself, actor Devlin Cooper, strolls onto her Outback set! Fired from his last two movies and looking decidedly devilish, the last thing Ruby needs is Dev making outrageous demands, and causing her to question her ‘no romance at work’ rule… But what’s a girl to do when Dev’s taking her on a swanky date one moment, then calling ‘cut’ on their growing closeness the next? What exactly does he want with her, and what’s causing the shadows behind those famous blue eyes? Now she's too intrigued to walk away…







Giving in to temptation never felt so good!

Ruby Bell has put scandal and relationships behind her to forge a successful career in film. Then the talk of Hollywood himself, actor Devlin Cooper, strolls onto her Outback set—fired from his two previous movies, and looking decidedly tempting! The last thing Ruby needs is Dev making outrageous demands and causing her to question her “no romance at work” rule….

But what’s a girl to do when Dev’s taking her on a lavish date one moment, then calling “cut” on their growing closeness the next? What exactly does he want with her—and what’s causing the shadows behind those famous blue eyes? Now she’s too intrigued to walk away....


WHY RESIST A REBEL?






“So you’ve met our new leading man.”

She spoke without thinking. “Who?”

There was a barely muffled laugh behind her.

The man. His knowing smile. The charisma that oozed from every pore.

Finally, finally, she connected the dots.

This was Paul’s latest drama. This was why she’d been rushing back to the office.

They had a new leading man.

She’d just met him.

She’d just covered him in dirt and coffee.

Worst of all—she’d just nearly kissed him.

And he didn’t just have a passing resemblance to Devlin Cooper. A passing resemblance to a man who commanded double-digit, multi-million-dollar salaries and provided continuous tabloid fodder to the world’s magazines and salacious television entertainment reports.

“You can call me Dev,” he said, his voice deep and oh so intimate.

Oh.

My.

God.


Why Resist a Rebel?

Leah Ashton




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT LEAH ASHTON

An unashamed fan of all things happily-ever-after, Leah Ashton has been a lifelong reader of romance. Writing came a little bit later—although, in hindsight she’s been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember. Sadly, the most popular boy in school never did suddenly fall head over heels in love with her.…

Now she lives in Perth, Western Australia, with her own real-life hero, two gorgeous dogs and the world’s smartest cat. By day she works in IT-land; by night she considers herself incredibly lucky to be writing the type of books she loves to read, and to have the opportunity to share her own characters’ happily-ever-afters with readers.

You can visit Leah at www.leah-ashton.com (http://www.leah-ashton.com).

This and other titles by Leah Ashton are available in ebook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


For Annie—

who has always been way cooler than her big sister

and then went and worked in film, just to rub it in.

Thank you for your endless help and patience

as I researched this book. Any mistakes are mine.

You’re awesome, Annie.


Contents

Chapter One (#u0d46302b-a839-53ff-aedd-b055ae374af1)

Chapter Two (#u369d2116-d5b0-5991-9627-ccadf38d3edc)

Chapter Three (#ued10d330-9a70-5110-a4f4-734a3b61d906)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE

Ruby Bell estimated her phone rang approximately half a second before her brisk walk was rudely interrupted by an unfortunately located tuft of grass.

More fortunately, she’d had the presence of mind to hold onto said phone during her less than graceful swan-dive onto the dusty paddock floor. A paddock that had once housed a significant number of sheep, but more recently had become the temporary home of a ninety-strong film crew. Thankfully this particular patch of paddock showed no evidence of sheep occupation.

But, at such close range, Ruby had also learnt that the paddock floor was: a) lumpy and b) hard.

‘Paul,’ Ruby said, wincing slightly as she lifted the phone to her ear. Still lying flat on her belly in the dirt, she shifted her weight in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid the patches of grass that prickled through the thin fabric of her T-shirt and the seeping warmth that had once been her half-drunk cardboard cup of coffee. Just slightly winded, Ruby’s voice was a little breathy, but otherwise she sounded about as efficient as always. Good. She’d built a successful career as a production co-ordinator that took her across the globe—regularly—by being sensible, unflappable, no-nonsense Ruby. Tripping over her own feet couldn’t even begin to rattle her.

‘I need you back at the office,’ Paul said, even more flustered than usual. ‘There’s been a development.’

And that was it—he’d already hung up. Ruby knew it was impossible to interpret her producer’s urgent tone—it was quite possible the sky was falling, but about the same odds that one of the runners had simply screwed up his espresso again. Either way, Ruby needed to get her butt into gear.

‘You okay, Rubes?’

Ruby glanced up at the worried voice, squinting a little against the early afternoon sun. But, even mostly in shadow—or maybe because of it—the very broad and very solid frame of Bruno, the key grip, was unmistakeable. Beside him stood a couple of the younger grips, looking about as awkward as they always did when they weren’t busily carting heavy objects around—plus about half the hair and make-up department. Which made sense, given she’d managed to come crashing to the ground right outside their trailers.

‘Of course,’ she said, pressing her outflung hands into the soil and levering herself up onto her knees. She waved away Bruno’s helpful hand as she plucked at her T-shirt, pulling the coffee-soaked fabric away from her chest. The parts of her not damp and clinging were decorated with a mix of grass stains and a remarkable number of dirt smudges.

Awesome.

But she didn’t have time to worry about the state of her outfit just now. Or her hair—running her fingers through her short blonde pixie-cut confirmed only that it was somehow dusty, too.

A moment later she was back on her feet and her day carried on exactly as before—grass stains and the uncomfortable sensation she was covered in a head-to-toe sticky coating of dirt notwithstanding.

‘Ruby!’ A yell from somewhere to her left. ‘Weather tomorrow?’

‘Fine. No chance of rain,’ she called out, not even slowing her pace. Paul, as always, would’ve preferred if she’d gained the power of teleportation. In its absence, she just needed to walk even faster than normal.

The cottage that temporarily housed the film’s production office was only a few minutes away—tucked to the left beyond the final cluster of shiny black or white trailers and the slightly askew tent city that was catering.

She kept her focus on her path—already well worn into the grass in the two days since they’d set up camp—mentally crossing her fingers for nothing more serious than a coffee-related emergency. So far she’d already dealt with an unexpected script change, a sudden decision to relocate a scene, and an entitled young actress who’d gone temporarily AWOL. And it was only day one of filming.

‘Got a minute?’ asked Sarah, a slight redhead in charge of the extensive list of extras required for The Land—an ‘epic historical romance played out in the heart of the outback’—from the top stair of a shiny black trailer.

‘No,’ Ruby said, but slowed anyway. ‘Paul,’ she said, as way of explanation.

‘Ah,’ Sarah replied, then skipped down from the trailer to fall into step with Ruby as she passed. ‘Just a quick one. I’ve got a call from a concerned parent. They’re worried about how we’re going to get Samuel to cry in tomorrow’s scene.’

By the time she’d reached the last of the row of trailers a minute later, Sarah was on her way with a solution, and Ruby had fielded another phone call on her mobile. Arizona Smith’s assistant wanted to know if there were Ashtanga Yoga classes in Lucyville, the small north-west New South Wales country town in which they were filming.

Given the remote town’s population was just under two thousand people, Ruby considered this unlikely—but still, with a silent sigh, promised to get back to their female lead’s assistant asap.

Ruby broke into a jog as she turned the corner, her gaze trained downward—she wasn’t about to hit the dirt again today—and her brain chock-full of potential ‘developments’ and their hypothetical impact on her already tight schedule.

Consequently, the first she knew of the very large man walking around the corner in the opposite direction was when she slammed straight into him.

‘Ooomph!’ The slightly strangled sound burst from her throat at the impact of her body hitting solid muscle. She barely registered her hands sliding up sun-warmed arms to grip T-shirt clad shoulders for balance, or the way her legs tangled with his.

What she did notice, however, were his hands, strong and firm at her waist, the fingers of one hand hot against bare skin where her T-shirt had ridden an inch or two upwards.

And the scent of his skin, even through the thin layer of cotton, where her face was pressed hard against his chest.

Fresh, clean. Delicious.

Oh, my.

‘Hey,’ he said, his voice deep and a little rough beside her ear. ‘You okay?’

Slowly, slowly, embarrassment began to trickle through her body.

No, not embarrassment—the realisation that she should be embarrassed, that she should be extricating herself from this...clinch...as soon as possible.

‘Mmm-hmm’, she said indistinctly, and didn’t move at all.

His fingers flexed slightly, and she registered that now she was moving. Then her back pressed against the cool metal of the shaded wall of a trailer, and she was sliding downwards. He’d been holding her—her feet dangling. Somehow she’d had no idea of this fact until her ballet flats were again responsible for holding her upright.

Had anyone ever held her so effortlessly?

She was medium height, far from tiny—and yet this man had been holding her in his arms as if she weighed as much as the average lollypop-thin Hollywood lead actress.

Nice.

Again his hands squeezed at her waist.

‘Hey,’ he repeated. ‘You’re worrying me here. Are you hurt?’

She blinked and finally lifted her head from his chest. She tried to look at him, to figure out who he was—but his face was mostly in shadow, the sunlight a white glare behind him.

But something about the angle of his jaw was familiar.

Who was he? He was fit, but he wasn’t one of the grips. Some of the guys in Props were pretty tall, but Ruby honestly couldn’t imagine enjoying being held in the arms of any of them. Which she was, undeniably, doing right now. Enjoying this.

She shook her head, trying to focus. ‘Just a bit dazed, I think,’ she managed. Belatedly, she acknowledged that was true. With every second, the fog was dissipating. But it was a gradual transition.

Right now, she found herself perfectly happy where she was. Standing right where she was.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

She could barely make out the slightest curve to his lips, but it was there. ‘I’ll survive.’

His grip on her softened a little as he seemed to realise she wasn’t in any imminent danger. But he didn’t let her go. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, but removing them wasn’t even a consideration.

A cloud shifted or something, and the shadows lightened. Now she could make out the square line of his jaw, covered liberally in stubble; the sculpted straightness of his nose, and the almost horizontal slashes of his eyebrows. But even this close—close enough that the action of breathing almost brought her chest up against his—she couldn’t quite make out the colour of his gaze.

A gaze that she knew was trained on her, exploring her face—her eyes, her lips...

Ruby closed her eyes tight shut, trying to assemble her thoughts. Trying to assemble herself, actually.

The fog had cleared. Reality was re-entering—her reality. Straightforward, straight-talking Ruby Bell. Who was not taken to romantic notions or embracing total strangers.

He wasn’t crew. He must be an extra, some random guy minding his own business before she’d literally thrown herself into his arms.

Inwardly, she cringed. Too late, mortification hit. Hard.

Rational, no-nonsense words were right on the tip of her tongue as she opened her eyes.

But instead of speaking, she sucked in a sharp breath.

He’d moved closer. So, so close.

The man didn’t look worried now. He looked almost...predatory. In a very, very good way.

She swallowed. Once, twice.

He smiled.

Beneath traitorous fingers that had crept along his shoulders to his nape, his overlong hair was coarse beneath her fingertips.

‘You,’ he said, his breath fanning against her cheek, ‘are quite the welcoming party.’

Ruby felt overwhelmed by him. His size, his devastating looks, his nearness. She barely made out what he’d said. ‘Pardon?’

He didn’t repeat himself, he just watched her, his gaze locked onto hers.

Whatever she’d been going to say—the words had evaporated.

All she seemed capable of was staring at him. Into those eyes, those amazing, piercing...familiar blue eyes.

Finally it clicked into place.

‘Has anyone ever told you, you look just like Devlin Cooper?’ she said. Babbled, maybe. God. She didn’t know what was going on.

One of his hands had released her waist, and he ran a finger down her cheek and along her jaw. She shivered.

‘A couple of times,’ he said, the words as dry as the grass they stood upon.

No, not quite like the famous Devlin Cooper. This man had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his darkest blond hair was far too long. He was too tall, surely, as well—she’d met enough leading men to know the average Hollywood star was far shorter than they looked on screen. And, she acknowledged, there was a sparseness to his width—he was muscled, but he didn’t have the bulk of the movie star. He looked like Devlin Cooper might look if turned into one of those method actors who lost bucket-loads of weight for a role. Not that Ruby could imagine that ever happening—Devlin Cooper was more generic-action-blockbuster-star than the Oscar-worthy-art-house type.

But as the man’s fingers tipped her chin upwards any thought of Devlin Cooper was obliterated. Once again it was just her, and this man, and this amazing, crazy tension that crackled between them. She’d never felt anything like it.

She was sure she’d never wanted anything more than to discover what was going to happen next.

He leant forward, closing the gap between their lips until it was almost non-existent...

Something—a voice nearby maybe—made Ruby jump, and the sound of her shoulders bouncing against the trailer was loud in the silence. A silence she was suddenly terribly aware of.

That rapidly forgotten wave of mortification crashed back over her, this time impossible to ignore. With it, other—less pleasant—sensations than his touch shoved their way to the fore. The fact she was covered in dirt and drying coffee. The fact her whole body suddenly appeared capable of a head to toe, hot, appalled blush.

She was still hanging off the man like a monkey, and she snatched her hands away from his neck.

‘Hey. You’re not going to catch anything,’ he said, a lightness in his tone as he watched her unconsciously wipe her hands almost desperately against her thighs.

She stilled the movement and met his gaze. His eyes had an unreadable glint to them, and for the first time she noticed their thin spidery lines of bloodshot red.

‘Who are you?’ she asked in a sharp whisper.

His lips curled again, but he didn’t say a word. He just watched her, steadily, calmly.

He was infuriating.

She ducked to her left, and the hand that had remained on her waist fell away. Ridiculously, she missed the warmth and weight of his touch immediately, and so she shook her head, desperate to refocus.

She put a few steps between them, taking deep, what-the-heck-just-happened breaths as she glanced to her left and right.

They were alone. No one else stood in this path amongst the trailer metropolis.

No one had seen them.

Relief swamped her. What on earth had she been thinking?

But then approaching footsteps made her freeze, as if whoever walked around the corner would immediately know what had just happened.

Of course, it was Paul.

‘Ruby!’ her producer exclaimed loudly. ‘There you are.’

‘Ruby,’ the man repeated, slowly and softly, behind her. ‘Nice name.’

She shot him a glare. Couldn’t he just disappear? Her mind raced as she tried to determine exactly how long it had been since she’d barrelled into the man. Surely not more than a few minutes?

It wasn’t like Paul to come looking for her. Fume alone in his office if she were late, yes—but come find her? Definitely not.

It must be a real emergency.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ruby managed, finally, and meant it. But how to explain? She ran a hand through her hair; the movement dislodged a few forgotten blades of grass. ‘I fell over,’ she said, more confidently, then nodded in the man’s direction. ‘He was just helping me up.’

She smoothed her hands down her shirt and its collection of dust, coffee and grass stains for further effect.

There. All sorted, the perfect explanation for why she wasn’t in Paul’s office five minutes ago.

Out of the corner of her eye, the man grinned. He’d propped himself up against the trailer, ankles crossed—as casual as you like. A normal person would surely size up the situation, realise something was up and—she didn’t know—do anything but act as if all he were missing were a box of popcorn and a choc-top.

‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, vaguely in his direction. For the first time she noticed the matching coffee-coloured marks all over the man’s grey T-shirt, but she couldn’t make herself apologise. He was just too frustratingly calm and oblivious. He could keep his smug smile and newly stained T-shirt.

She walked up to Paul, assuming they’d now go back to his office. ‘So, what do you need me to do?’

Paul blinked, his gaze flicking over her shoulder to the man that still stood so nonchalantly behind her.

‘You left in a hurry,’ he said—not to Ruby, but to the man.

Ruby turned on her heel, looking from Paul to the man and back again—completely confused.

The man shrugged. ‘I had things to do.’

Paul’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, as if he was on the verge of one of his explosions.

But then—instead—he cleared his throat, and turned to Ruby. A horrible sense of foreboding settled in her stomach.

‘So you’ve met our new leading man.’

She spoke without thinking. ‘Who?’

There was a barely muffled laugh behind her.

The man. His knowing smile. The charisma that oozed from every pore.

Finally, finally, she connected the dots.

This was Paul’s latest drama. This was why she’d been rushing back to the office.

They had a new leading man.

She’d just met him.

She’d just covered him in dirt and coffee.

Worst of all—she’d just nearly kissed him.

And he didn’t just have a passing resemblance to Devlin Cooper. A passing resemblance to a man who commanded double-digit multimillion-dollar salaries and provided continuous tabloid fodder to the world’s magazines and salacious television entertainment reports. A man who’d long ago left Australia and now was mentioned in the same breath as Brad, and George, and Leo...

‘You can call me Dev,’ he said, his voice deep and oh-so intimate.

Oh.

My.

God.



Dev Cooper smiled as the slender blonde raked her fingers desperately through her short-cropped hair.

Ruby.

It suited her. She was striking: with big, velvety brown eyes beneath dark blonde brows, sharp-edged cheekbones and a lush mouth. Maybe her elegant nose was a little too long, and her chin a little too stubborn—if she were a model his agent had picked out for him to be photographed with at some premiere or opening or whatever.

But, thankfully, she wasn’t. It would seem she was a member of the crew of this film he was stuck working on for the next six weeks. And—if the way she’d been looking at him a few minutes earlier was anything to go by—she was going to make the next few days, maybe longer, a heck of a lot more interesting.

Ruby crossed her arms as she spoke to the producer—Phil? No, Paul. The man who’d owed his agent Veronica a favour. A really big favour, it turned out, given his agent had bundled him onto the plane to Sydney before she’d sorted out the pesky little detail of whether or not he had the role.

Dev guessed, knowing Veronica, that Paul had discovered he was replacing his leading man just before Dev had turned up in his shiny black hire car. Chauffeur driven, of course—his agent was taking no chances this time.

He shifted his weight a little, easing the pressure on his left leg, which throbbed steadily. Had it really only been a week?

The pancake-flat countryside where he now stood couldn’t be further away from his driveway in Beverly Hills—the site of ‘the last straw’ as his agent had put it. Even Dev had to admit that forgetting to put his car into reverse wasn’t his best moment. Ditto to driving into his living room, and writing off his Jag.

On the plus side, he hadn’t been injured, beyond some temporary muscle damage, and, thanks to the fortress-style wall that surrounded his house, no one beyond his agent and long-suffering housekeeper even knew it had happened.

And, despite what Veronica believed, he hadn’t been drunk.

Exhausted after not sleeping for four nights—yes. But driving, or attempting to drive, drunk? No, he hadn’t slid that low.

Yet?

Dev scrubbed at his eyes, uninterested in pursuing the direction his thoughts had taken him. Instead, he refocused on Ruby and Paul, who had stopped talking and were now looking at him.

Ruby’s gaze was direct, despite the hint of colour at her cheeks. She was embarrassed, no doubt. But she was brazening it out.

He liked that.

‘I’m Ruby Bell,’ she said, ‘Production Co-ordinator for The Land.’

Her arm moved slightly, as though she was going to shake his hand before thinking better of it.

A shame. He was impatient to touch her again.

Maybe she saw some of what he was thinking, as her eyes narrowed. But her tone revealed nothing. ‘Paul will give me your details, and I’ll send through tomorrow’s call sheet once I’ve spoken to the assistant director.’

He nodded.

Then Paul started talking, putting lots of emphasis on tight timelines and stop dates and getting up to speed as quickly as possible—all things he’d said in their abruptly truncated meeting earlier.

Lord, anyone would think he made a habit of missing his call...

He smiled tightly at his private joke, eliciting a glare from Paul.

Dev tensed. This film might have a decent budget for an Australian production, but it was no Hollywood blockbuster. He was replacing a soapie star as the lead, for heaven’s sake.

No way was he going to take a thinly veiled lecture from some nobody producer.

‘I get it,’ he said, cutting him off mid-stream, the action not dissimilar to what had happened in Paul’s office when he’d had enough of his blustering. ‘I’ll see you both,’ he said, pausing to catch Ruby’s gaze, ‘tomorrow.’

And with that, he was off.

Six weeks of filming. Six weeks to placate his agent.

Six weeks working in a town out beyond the middle of nowhere. Where—he knew his agent hoped—even Dev Cooper couldn’t get into any trouble.

A heated memory of chocolate eyes that sparkled and urgent fingers threaded through his hair made him smile.

Well, he hadn’t made any promises.


TWO

It took all of Ruby’s strength to follow Paul up the small flight of brick steps to the production office. She literally had to remind herself to place one foot in front of the other, as her body really, really wanted to carry her in the opposite direction. Away from the scene of unquestionably one of the most humiliating moments of her career. Her life, even.

How could she not have recognised him?

Only the possibility that any attempted escape could lead her back to Devlin Cooper stopped her. Oh—and the fact she kind of loved her career.

As they walked down the narrow hallway of the dilapidated cottage/temporary production office, Paul explained in twenty-five words or less that Mr Cooper was replacing Todd, effective immediately. That was it—no further explanation.

By now they’d made it to Paul’s makeshift kitchen-cum-office at the rear of the cottage. Inside stood Sal, the line producer, and Andy, the production manager. They both wore matching, serious expressions.

It was enough to force Ruby to pull herself together. She needed to focus on the job at hand—i.e. coordinating this movie with a completely new star.

‘I have to ask,’ asked Andy, his fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. ‘How the hell did you get Devlin Cooper to take this role?’

Ruby thought Paul might have rolled his eyes, but couldn’t be sure. ‘Let’s just say that the opportunity arose. So I took it.’

Despite the catastrophic impact on their immovable filming schedule, Ruby could hardly blame him. With Devlin’s star power, The Land would reach a whole new audience. Why Devlin took the role was another question entirely—did he want to spend time back in Australia? Did he feel a need to give back to the Australian film industry? A chance to take on a role well outside his vanilla action-hero stereotype?

It didn’t really matter.

Filming had started, and Dev’s character Seth was in nearly every scene. Tomorrow’s call sheet had Todd’s name all over it—the guy who Dev had replaced. Unquestionably, they’d lost tomorrow. Which was not good, as Arizona had to be at Pinewood Studios in London for her next film in just six weeks and one day’s time. They didn’t have any time up their sleeves.

‘Does Dev know the script?’

Paul just looked at her. What do you think?

Okay. So they’d lost more than just tomorrow. Dev would need to rehearse. Ruby’s mind scrambled about trying to figure out how the first assistant director could possibly rearrange the filming schedule that she’d so painstakingly put together...and she’d need to organise to get Dev’s costumes sorted. And his hair cut. And...

‘Should I sort out a medical appointment?’ she asked. A doctor’s report for each actor was required for the film’s insurance—everything from a propensity for cold sores through to a rampant base-jumping hobby had an impact on how much it cost.

‘No,’ Paul said, very quickly.

Ruby tilted her head, studying him. But before she could ask the obvious question, Paul explained. ‘He saw a doctor in Sydney when he landed. It’s all sorted.’

Okay. She supposed that made sense.

‘Accommodation?’

God knew where she’d put him. The cast and crew had already overrun every bed and breakfast plus the local—rather cosy—motel.

‘He’s taking over Todd’s place.’

Ouch. Poor Todd. He must be devastated—this role was widely considered his big break. He was being touted as the next big thing.

Only to be trumped by the current big thing.

She felt for him, but, unfortunately, the brutality of this industry never failed to surprise her.

This was not a career for the faint-hearted, or anyone who needed the reassurance of a job associated with words like stable, or reliable.

Fortunately, that was exactly why Ruby loved it.

Ten minutes later, the four of them had a plan of sorts for the next few days, and she was closing Paul’s office door behind her as Sal and Andy rushed back to their desks.

For a moment she stood, alone, in the cottage’s narrow old hallway. Noise spilled from the two rooms that flanked it: music, clattering keyboards, multiple conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. A familiar hum peppered with familiar voices.

To her left was Sal and Andy’s office. Ruby didn’t need to glance through their open doorway to know they’d already be busily working away on the trestle-tables that served as their temporary desks. The office would also be perfectly organised—notepads and pens all lined up, that kind of thing—because it always was. They were in charge of the film’s budget—so such meticulous organisation was definitely a plus.

In theory, given her own role, she should be just as meticulous.

Instead, to her right was the room that, amongst other things, housed her own trestle-table desk, many huge prone-to-collapsing mountains of paper and only the vaguest sense of order. Or so it appeared, anyway. She had to be ruthlessly organised—but she didn’t need to be tidy to be effective.

The room was also the home of the three members of the production crew who reported to her—Cath, Rohan and Selena. Unsurprisingly, it was this room where the majority of noise was coming from, as this was the happening part of the production office where all day every day they managed actors and scripts and agents and vendors and anything or anyone else needed to keep the film going. It was crazy, demanding, noisy work—and with a deep breath, she walked straight into it.

As expected, three heads popped up as she stepped through the door.

‘I guess you all heard the news?’

As one, they nodded.

‘Was kind of awesome when he walked out on Paul,’ said Rohan, leaning back in his chair. ‘Paul came in here and ranted for a bit before charging out the door in pursuit. Guess he couldn’t find him.’

Ruby didn’t bother to correct him.

Instead, she spent a few minutes further explaining the situation, and assigning them all additional tasks. No one complained—quite the opposite, actually. No one saw the unexpected addition of a major star to The Land as anything but a very good thing. It meant they were all instantly working on a film far bigger than they’d signed up for. It was a fantastic opportunity.

She needed to remember that.

Ruby settled herself calmly into her chair, dropping her phone onto her desk—fortunately no worse for wear after hitting the dirt for the second time today. She tapped the mouse track pad on her laptop, and it instantly came to life, displaying the twenty-odd new emails that had arrived since she’d last had a chance to check her phone. Not too bad given it seemed like a lifetime since she’d been busily redistributing those last-minute script revisions to the actors.

She had a million and one things to do, and she really needed to get straight back to it. Instead, her attention skidded about the room—away from her glowing laptop screen and out of the window. There wasn’t much of a view—just bare, flat countryside all the way to the ridge of mountains—but she wasn’t really looking at it. Instead, her brain was still desperately trying to process the events of the past half-hour.

It didn’t seem possible that she’d so recently been wrapped around one of the sexiest men in the world.

While covered in dirt.

And had had absolutely no idea.

Inwardly, she cringed for about the thousandth time.

Work. She reminded herself. She just needed to focus on work. Who cared if she’d accidentally flung herself into Devlin Cooper’s arms? It was an accident, and it would never happen again—after all, she wasn’t exactly anywhere near Dev Cooper’s percentile on the drop-dead-gorgeousness spectrum. And he’d hardly had the opportunity to be attracted to her sparkling personality.

Despite everything, that thought made her smile.

No. This wasn’t funny. This was serious. What if someone had seen them?

She stood up, as sitting still had become impossible. On the window sill sat the antenna of their oversized wireless Internet router, and she fiddled with it, just so it looked as if she were doing something constructive. On a location this remote, they’d had to bring their own broadband. And their own electricity, actually—provided by a large truck that’s sole purpose was to power Unit Base, the name of this collection of trucks and people that were the beating heart of any feature film.

Her job was everything to her, and a spotless professional reputation was non-negotiable. She didn’t get each job by circling ads in the paper, or subscribing to some online jobs database. In film, it was all about word of mouth.

And getting it on with an actor on set... Yeah. Not a good look.

On the plus side, Dev would have forgotten all about the slightly mussed-up, damp and dusty woman who’d gang-tackled him by now.

Now she just needed to forget about how he’d made her feel.



I think some time away would do you good. Help you...move on.

Well. Dev guessed this place was exactly what Veronica had been hoping for. A painstakingly restored century-old cottage, complete with tasteful rear extension, was where he’d be calling home for the immediate future. It offered uninterrupted views to the surrounding mountains and everything!

It was also a kilometre or so out of town, had no immediate neighbours, and, thanks to his agent, a live-in minder.

Security. Officially.

Right.

He needed a drink. He’d walked off a trans-Pacific flight less than eight hours ago. Even travelling first class couldn’t make a flight from LA to Sydney pleasant. Add a four-hour road trip with Graeme-the-security-guy and was it surprising he’d had a short fuse today?

Please play nice with Paul.

This in his latest email from his agent.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that the producer had already started updating Veronica on his behaviour. He’d even learnt exactly what she’d held over the prickly producer—knowledge of an on-set indiscretion with an aspiring actress ten years previously.

What a cliché.

And how like his agent to file that little titbit away for future use.

Good for her. Although he didn’t let himself consider how exactly he’d got to this point—to where landing roles depended on tactics and calling in favours.

Dev had dragged an overstuffed armchair onto the rear decking. On his lap was the script for The Land, not that he could read it now the sun had long set.

Beside him, on one of the chairs from the wooden outdoor setting he’d decided looked too uncomfortable, was his dinner. Cold, barely touched salmon with fancy-looking vegetables. God knew where Veronica had sourced his fridge and freezer full of food from—he’d long ago got used to her magic touch.

Although the lack of alcohol hadn’t gone unnoticed. Subtle, Veronica.

But she was wrong. Booze wasn’t his problem.

He’d have to send good old Graeme down to the local bottle shop tomorrow or something.

But for now, he needed a drink.

Leaving the script on the chair, he walked through the house, and then straight out of the front door. Graeme was staying in a separate, smaller worker’s cottage closer to the road, but Dev didn’t bother to stop and let him know where he was going.

He’d been micro-managed quite enough. He could damn well walk into town and get a drink without having to ask anyone’s approval.

So he did.

Walking felt good. For once he wasn’t on the lookout for the paparazzi, as, for now, no one knew he was here. His unexpected arrival in Australia would have been noticed, of course, and it wouldn’t take long before the photographers descended. But they hadn’t, not just yet.

He had no idea what time it was, just that it was dark. Really dark—there were certainly no streetlights, and the moon was little more than a sliver.

His boots were loud on the bitumen, loud enough to disturb a group of sheep that scattered abruptly behind their barbed-wire fence. Further from the road nestled the occasional house, their windows glowing squares of bright amid the darkness.

Soon he’d hit the main street, a short stretch of shops, a petrol station, a library. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d arrived—a mix of jet lag and general lack of interest—but now he took the time to look, slowing his walk down to something approaching an amble.

Most of the town was silent—blinds were drawn, shops were certainly closed this late. But the one obvious exception was the pub, which, like much of the town, was old and stately—perched two storeys high on a corner, complete with a wide wooden balcony overlooking the street. Tonight the balcony was empty, but noise and music spilled from the open double doors. He quickened his pace, suddenly over all this peace and quiet.

It was packed. Completely—people were crammed at the bar, around the scattered tall tables and also the lower coffee tables with their surrounding couches and ottomans. It was the cast and crew, obviously, who’d taken the pub over. He’d seen for himself that Lucyville didn’t exactly have a happening restaurant strip. This was the only place to drink—and eat—so here they all were.

The pub didn’t go quiet or anything at his arrival, but he noticed that he’d been noticed.

It was a sensation that had once been a novelty, had later annoyed him to the verge of anger—and now that he just accepted. He could hardly complain...he was living his dream and all that.

Right.

He found a narrow gap at the bar, resting an arm on the polished surface. The local bartender caught his eye and did a double take, but played it cool. In his experience, most people did, with the occasional crazy person the exception rather than the rule. The paparazzi were far more an issue than Joe Public—no question.

He ordered his drink, although he wasn’t quick to raise the glass to his lips once it was placed in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t the drink he’d needed, but the walk, the bite of the crisp night air in his lungs?

Mentally he shook his head. Veronica would love that, be all smug and sure she was right to send him to Australia—while Dev wasn’t so certain.

What was that saying? Same crap—different bucket.

His lips tightened into a humourless smile.

He turned, propping his weight against the bar. As he took a sip of his beer he surveyed the large room. It was a surprisingly eclectic place, with funky modern furniture managing to blend with the polished ancient floorboards and what—he was pretty sure—was the original bar. Not quite the backwater pub he’d been imagining.

The lighting was soft and the atmosphere relaxed, with the dress code more jeans than cocktail.

One particular pair of jeans caught his eye. Dark blue denim, moulded over elegantly crossed legs—right in the corner of the pub, the one farthest from him.

Yet his attention had still been drawn to her, to Ruby.

Only when he saw her did he realise he’d been looking for her—searching her out in the crowd.

He watched her as she talked to her friends, wine glass in hand. To all appearances she was focused completely on the conversation taking place around her. She was quick to smile, and quick to interject and trigger a laugh from others. But despite all that, there was the slightest hint of tension to her body.

She knew he was watching her.

Beside her, another woman leant over and whispered in her ear, throwing glances in his direction as she did.

Ruby shook her head emphatically—and Dev was no lip-reader, but he’d put money on the fact she’d just said: No, he’s not.

Accordingly, he straightened, pushing himself away from the bar.

He liked nothing more than to prove someone wrong.



‘He’s coming over!’

Every single cell in Ruby’s body—already tingling at what she’d told herself was Dev’s imagined attention—careened up to high alert.

‘It’s no big deal. We met before.’ She shrugged deliberately. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know anyone else yet.’

‘When did you meet him?’ Selena asked, wide-eyed. ‘And how am I not aware of this?’

Ruby’s words were carefully cool. ‘When I was walking back to the office. We barely said two words.’

That, at least, was completely true.

Her friend had lost interest, anyway, her eyes trained on Dev’s tall frame as he approached.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Dev’s voice was as gorgeously deep and perfect as in every one of his movies. Not for the first time, Ruby questioned her intelligence—how on earth had she not recognised him?

With a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to meet his. He stood on the other side of the table before them: Ruby, Selena and a couple of girls from the art department. They’d been having an after-dinner drink, all comfy on one big plush purple L-shaped couch—now the other three were alternating between carefully feigned disinterest and slack-jawed adoration. Unheard of for professionals in the film industry who dealt with stars every day.

But, she supposed, this was Devlin Cooper.

Everyone else appeared struck dumb and incapable of answering his question—but Dev was looking at her, anyway.

To say yes, she did mind, was tempting—but more trouble than it was worth. So, reluctantly, she shook her head. ‘Not at all.’

Dev stepped past the table and sat next to Ruby.

With great effort, she resisted the temptation to scoot away. Unlike the three other women at the table, she was not going to treat Dev any differently from anyone else on the cast and crew.

No adoring gaze. No swooning.

So, although he was close—and the couch definitely no longer felt big—she didn’t move. Didn’t betray one iota of the unexpected heat that had flooded her body.

‘You shouldn’t be embarrassed,’ he said, low enough that only she could hear.

‘Why would you think I am?’

Casually, she brought her glass to her lips.

Did he notice the slightest trembling of her fingers?

She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye.

He watched her with a familiar expression. Confident. Knowing.

Arrogant.

She sighed. ‘Fine. I was embarrassed. Let me think: running into one of the world’s most famous men, while covered in dirt and looking like crap—and then not even recognising said star...’ Ruby tilted her head, as if considering her words. ‘Yes, I think that pretty much sums it up. I reckon a good nine out of ten on my embarrassment scale.’

He didn’t even blink. If anything he looked amused.

A different type of tension stiffened her body. Yes, her stupid, apparently one-track body was all a-flutter with Mr Hot Movie Star so near. But now she could add affronted frustration into the mix.

She didn’t know what she wanted—an apology? Sympathy? A yeah, I can see how that might’ve sucked for you, even?

‘But you only gave it a nine,’ he said, placing his beer on one of the discarded coasters on the table.

‘A what?’ she asked, confused.

‘On your embarrassment scale,’ he said. ‘Only a nine...’ He looked contemplative for a moment, then leant closer, close enough that it was impossible for her to look anywhere but straight into his eyes. ‘So I was wondering—what would’ve made it a ten?’

Immediately, and most definitely without her volition, her gaze dropped from his piercing blue eyes to his lips.

Lips that immediately quirked into a grin the second she realised what she’d done. What she’d just revealed.

He leant even closer again. The touch of his breath on the sensitive skin beneath her ear made her shiver.

Logically she knew she should pull away, that she should laugh loudly, or say something—do something—to stop this way too intimate moment. A moment she knew was being watched—and if people were watching, then people would gossip.

And there were few things Ruby hated more than gossip: being the subject of or the proliferation of it.

For she had far too much experience in the former. Enough to last a lifetime.

‘You know,’ he said, his words somehow vibrating through her body—her stupidly frozen body, ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever been embarrassed when I’ve kissed them. In fact, I’m quite sure I’ve never received a complaint.’

Oh, she was so sure he hadn’t...

‘I was working,’ she said, each word stiff and awkward.

So he had been going to kiss her—and she realised it was no surprise. Some part of her had known, had known there was no other way to interpret those few minutes, even though her rational self had had so much difficulty believing it.

But knowing she hadn’t imagined it and wanting it to have happened were entirely different things.

‘I kiss people all the time at work,’ he replied, with a spark of humour in his eyes that was new, and unexpected.

Ruby found herself forcing back a grin, surprised at the shift in atmosphere. ‘It’s a bit different when you’re following a script.’

‘Ah,’ he said, his lips quirking up. ‘Not always.’

Now she laughed out loud, shaking her head. ‘I bet.’

Their laughter should’ve diluted the tension, but if anything the air between them thickened.

With great effort, Ruby turned away slightly, taking a long, long sip of her wine—not that she tasted a thing. Her brain whirred at a million miles an hour—or maybe it wasn’t whirring at all, considering all it seemed to be able to do was wonder how Dev’s lips would feel against hers...

No.

‘Well,’ she said, finally, her gaze swinging back to meet his. Firmly. ‘Script or otherwise, I don’t kiss anyone at work.’ She paused, then added in a tone that was perfectly matter-of-fact and perfectly polite, ‘It’s late. I need to go. It was nice to talk to you when I wasn’t covered in dirt. And I’m sorry about your T-shirt.’

Ruby stood up and placed her wine glass on the table with movements she hoped looked casual. She glanced at her friends, who all stared at her wide-eyed.

She’d need to set them all straight tomorrow. Dev Cooper was so not her type it was ridiculous.

She managed some goodbyes, hooked her handbag over her shoulder, and then headed for the door. The entire time she risked barely a glance at Dev, but thankfully he didn’t move.

Not that she expected him to follow her. She wasn’t an idiot. He could have any woman in this bar. Pretty much any woman in the world.

For some reason she’d piqued his interest, but she had no doubt it was fleeting—the novelty of the crazy dusty coffee lady or something.

Outside, the early October evening was cool, and so Ruby hugged herself, rubbing her goose-pimpling arms. She was staying at the town motel, not even a hundred-metre walk down the main street.

Only a few steps in that direction, she heard someone else leave the bar behind her, their boots loud on the wooden steps.

It was difficult, but as it turned out not impossible, to keep her eyes pointed forward. It could be anyone.

‘Ruby.’

Or it could be Dev.

She should’ve sighed—and been annoyed or disappointed. But instead her tummy lightened and she realised she was smiling.

Ugh.

She kept on walking.

In moments, following the thud of loping strides on bitumen, he was beside her, keeping pace with her no-nonsense walk. For long seconds, they walked in silence.

Really uncomfortable, charged silence.

‘So—’ he began.

‘This isn’t an act, you know,’ Ruby interrupted. ‘I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not interested.’

He gave a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Right.’

Ruby slowed to a stop, her whole body stiff with annoyance. She stood beneath a street lamp that illuminated the gate to the Lucyville Motel and its chipped and faded sign.

‘You sound so sure,’ she said. ‘That’s incredibly presumptuous.’

‘Am I wrong?’

Ruby sighed. ‘Does every woman you meet really collapse into a pathetic puddle of lust at your feet?’

‘You did,’ he pointed out.

Her cheeks went hot, but Ruby hoped her blush was hidden in the shadows.

‘I was light-headed. Confused. Definitely not myself.’ She paused for emphasis. ‘Trust me. You’re wasting your time. I’m not interested.’

A little, nagging voice at the back of her mind kept trying to distract her: Oh, my God, it’s Devlin Cooper! The movie star!

Maybe that was why she didn’t turn and walk away immediately.

‘You’re serious?’

His genuine confusion was rather endearing. Unbelievably conceited, but endearing.

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, nodding. ‘Is that so hard to believe?’

She knew he was about to say yes, when he seemed to realise what he was about to say. Instead, his grin, revealed by the streetlight, was bemused.

He shifted his weight to one leg, and crossed his arms. He still wore the same sexy ancient-looking jeans from before, but he’d traded his ruined T-shirt for its twin in navy blue. The action of crossing his arms only further defined the muscles of his forearms and biceps.

It also defined the unexpectedly sharp angles of his elbows and the lack of flesh beyond his lean musculature.

She knew she was not the only person to notice. The film set’s grapevine was, as always, efficient, creating all sorts of theories for his unexpected weight loss.

Did you hear? His girlfriend left him—you know? That model.

I heard it’s drugs. Ice. He’s been photographed at every club in Hollywood.

He’s sick. I know! That’s why he’s come back to Australia. To spend time with his family.

Not that Ruby believed a word of it. Gossip, in her experience, was about as accurate and true to life as the typical airbrushed movie poster.

What happened to you?

But of course the question remained unsaid. It was none of her business.



Dev studied Ruby in the limited moonlight. His gaze traced the angles of her cheekbones, the straightness of her nose and the firm set of her determined mouth.

Lord, she was...pretty?

Yes. Hot?

Yes.

But that, in itself, wasn’t it...

And different. Very, very, different.

That was why he was standing out in the deserted, frankly cold, street. That was why he’d done something he couldn’t remember doing in a very long time: he’d chased after a woman.

It was an unexpected novelty.

He liked it.

For the first time in months something—someone—had caught his interest. Ruby Bell—the cute little production co-ordinator on a dinky little Aussie film—intrigued him.

‘So what is it, exactly, that you find so repulsive about me?’ he asked.

She shrugged, dismissing his question. ‘I don’t know you well enough to form an opinion—repulsive or otherwise.’

‘But isn’t that why you’re not interested?’ he asked. Not that he believed her statement to be true. ‘Because you think you know me?’

From his movies, from his interviews, from the rubbish they published in glossy magazines and newspapers that should know better. Devlin Cooper the star—the persona. Not the person.

She shook her head. ‘This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had. How could I possibly know you?’

He blinked. She’d just surprised him—for the second time tonight. The first time had been walking out of that pub just as he’d been imagining how good she’d look in that big wrought-iron bed back in his cottage.

‘Ah. So, it’s not me, it’s you,’ he said, playing with that clichéd line. Then, for the first time, the blindingly obvious occurred to him. She wore no ring, but... ‘You have a boyfriend?’

‘Oh no,’ she said, her voice higher pitched and definitely firmer than before. ‘Absolutely not.’ She shook her head for emphasis.

Okay, now he was completely confused. And surprised, yet again.

Ruby wasn’t following any script he’d heard before. How many women had he flirted with in his life? Some fawned, but most were clever, witty and/or sarcastic. But, he realised, normally he already sort of knew what was going to be said next—where the conversation, or the evening, was heading. In itself, that was part of the fun. The dance of words before the inevitable.

But this was undeniably fun, too.

‘You think I want a relationship?’ he asked, heavy with irony. ‘Scared I’m going to want to settle down, get married...’

She laughed. ‘No.’

‘So what, exactly, is the problem? From where I stand this all seems pretty perfect. We obviously both like each other...’ he held up his hand when she went to disagree ‘...we’re both single and we’re both stuck in an isolated country town for the next month or so. Is that not a match made in heaven?’

Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Weren’t you listening back at the pub? I don’t do relationships at work. Especially with actors. I’m not interested in becoming known as Dev Cooper’s next conquest. Très professional, no?’

‘I wasn’t suggesting we make out on set, you know,’ he said dryly. Ruby raised an eyebrow. ‘I promise.’

She shook her head. ‘Film sets are full of gossip. And my professional reputation is everything to me.’ She paused, then repeated her words, almost to herself. ‘Everything to me.’

Commitment to your job—sure, Dev got that. Until very recently, he’d practically been the poster child for the concept. But—really? Liaisons between crew and actors were not a crime, and far from uncommon. The world would not end.

But apparently, according to Ruby, it would. It was clear in every tense line of her expression.

They stood in silence for a while. Dev wasn’t entirely sure what would happen now.

He was out of his element: he’d just been rejected. Inarguably so.

But rather than shrugging, comfortable in the knowledge that he had many other options, he found himself...disappointed.

And reluctant to walk away.

‘Anyway,’ Ruby said in a different, crisper, tone. ‘You have an early call tomorrow morning, and I need to be at the office an hour earlier. So, goodnight.’

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. Out on the street he watched as she walked down the motel driveway to an apartment on the bottom floor of the two-storey building. Then he waited until she located her key in her oversized handbag, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside.

Then he waited, alone on the street, some more.

It was odd. All he knew about this woman was that she was blonde, and cute, and felt pretty amazing in his arms.

What was the attraction? Why did he care?

How was she different from the many other women who he’d met in the past few, dark, blurry months? Months where no one had stood out. Where nothing had stood out.

Where when, a few weeks after Estelle had left, he’d attempt to chat to a woman—but his mind would drift. Where he’d find himself with suddenly no idea what had been said in the preceding conversation.

And didn’t care at all.

That was why she was different.

Ruby pushed his buttons. Triggered reactions that had been lying dormant. Attraction. Laughter. Surprise.

So simple.


THREE

A loud bang jolted Dev out of his dream.

He blinked, his eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness.

What time is it?

He lay on his back in the centre of his bed. Naked but for his boxer shorts, the sheets and quilt long ago kicked off and onto the floor.

He remembered feeling restless. As if he needed to get up and go for a run. Or for a drive. Or just out. Somewhere. Away.

Where?

It wasn’t the first morning he’d asked that question.

Another bang. Even louder than before. Or maybe just now he was more awake?

The thick cloak of sleep was slowly lifting, and his eyes were adjusting.

It wasn’t completely dark in here. Light was managing to push through the heavy curtains that he’d checked and double checked were fully closed the night before.

He shivered, and only then did he register it was cold. He had a vague recollection of turning off the heater on the wall. Why? The nights were still cool.

Obviously it had made sense at the time.

Another bang.

The door. Someone was knocking on the door.

What time is it?

He rolled onto his side, reaching across the bed, knocking aside a small cardboard box and a blister pack so he could see the glowing green numbers of the clock on the bedside table. There were none. He didn’t remember turning it off, but it didn’t surprise him that he had.

He had set that alarm last night, though. And the alarm on his phone. He had an early call today. He’d been going to get up early to read through today’s rehearsal scenes.

Bang, bang, bang.

Dev swung his legs over the side of the bed in slow motion, then shoved himself to his feet. Three sluggish steps later, he discovered his mobile phone when he kicked it in the gloom, and it clattered against his closed bedroom door.

By feel he found the light switch on the wall, then rubbed his eyes against the sudden brightness.

His phone located, he picked it up to check the time. He pressed the button to illuminate the screen, but it took a while for his eyes to focus.

How long ago had he taken the sleepers?

He still felt drugged, still shrouded in the sleep that the tablets had finally delivered.

Seven thirty-two a.m. Why hadn’t his alarm gone off?

Bang, bang, BANG, BANG, BANG!

‘Mr Cooper? Are you awake?’

Graeme. Of course.

He twisted the old brass doorknob to his room, then padded up the wide hallway. Morning light streamed through the stained-glass panels of the front door around the over-inflated shape that was Dev’s warden.

He took his time, his gaze trained on his phone as he checked that his alarm had been set. It had. So it had gone off.

Presumably he’d then thrown it across the room, given where he’d found it.

It shouldn’t surprise him, but that wasn’t what he’d meant to do today. Last night he’d felt...different. Today was supposed to be different. Different from the past ninety-seven days.

How specific.

He smiled a humourless smile. Who knew his subconscious kept such meticulous records?

The thing was, today wasn’t the first day that was supposed to be different. But then, they never were.

Graeme was still hammering away at the door, but Dev didn’t bother to call out, to reassure him that his charge was in fact awake and not passed out in an alcoholic stupor or worse—whatever it was that Veronica was so sure that Dev was doing.

In some ways Dev wished he could apply a label to himself. Alcoholic. Drug addict.

But he was neither of those things.

What about his sleepers?

He dismissed the idea instantly. No. They were prescribed, and temporary.

Definitely temporary.

Hollywood wasn’t the shiny happy place people imagined. It was full of egos fuelled by intense insecurity. Stars that shone while simultaneously harbouring the intense fear that their light could be extinguished at any moment: at the mercy of their next role, of public opinion, of the whims of studio executives...always others.

So little control. It was no surprise that so many teetered over the edge. Fell into...something. It was just the label that changed.

But Dev had no label.

He just had...nothing.

He opened the door while Graeme was mid-knock. The other man started, then took a step back, clearing his throat.

‘We need to leave in five minutes, Mr Cooper.’

Dev scratched his belly and nodded. He left the door open as he turned and headed for the bathroom. Four minutes later he was showered and had dragged on a T-shirt, hoodie and jeans. He pulled the front door shut and locked it as Graeme hovered nearby—impatiently.

When he was growing up, his mum had done the same thing—although not as silently. She’d tap her foot as she waited for her youngest and most disorganised son. The other two boys generally already in the family Mercedes, all perfect and consistently smug. Hurry up, Dev! You’re making us late!

And just because he’d been that kind of kid, he’d taken his own sweet time.

This was why he didn’t like having drivers. Why he insisted on driving himself to and from set for every single one of his many movies. He was a grown adult with a driver’s licence—why the hell did he need a chauffeur? He was far from a child any more; he didn’t need to be directed and herded and hurried. He was a professional—always on time. Always reliable.

Until now.

Today was not the first time he’d slept through his alarm. Or, of more concern: he’d heard it, switched it off, and deliberately rolled over and gone back to sleep. More than once the action of even setting his alarm had felt impossible. Weirdly overwhelming.

Other nights sleep had never come. Where his thoughts had echoed so loudly in his skull that even drugs had no impact. And those days he’d watched time tick by, watched his call time slip by, and switched his phone to silent as his agent, or the producer, or even the director would call, and call and call...

That had got him fired from his last film. The contract was pulled on his next after whispers had begun to spread.

So here he was.

And although he hadn’t meant to—because of course he never meant to—it was happening again.

Without Graeme, he’d still be in bed, time passing. He hated that.

He sat in the back of the black four-wheel drive, staring unseeing out of the darkly tinted windows. Beside him was an insulated bag that Graeme said contained his breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry.

You’re not welcome here.

Closer to Unit Base, the bitumen road ended, and the car bounced amongst potholes on the wide gravel track. The irregular movements did nothing to jolt that memory. How long ago had it been? Ten years? No, longer. Fourteen. He’d been nineteen, home late—really late—after a night out with his mates.

He hadn’t been drunk, but alcohol had still buzzed through his bloodstream.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

His father stood at the very top of the staircase that rose majestically from the lobby of the Coopers’ sprawling Sydney upper-north-shore residence. His mum had left a lamp on for him, and the soft light threw shadows onto his dad’s pyjamas.

‘Out,’ he said. Grunted, really.

‘You have an exam tomorrow.’

Dev shrugged. He’d had no intention of turning up. He dumped his keys on a sideboard, and began to head past the stairs to the hallway that led to his bedroom, tossing his reply over his shoulder. ‘I’m not going to be an accountant, Dad.’

Patrick Cooper’s slippered feet were still heavy as they thumped down each carpeted step. Dev didn’t pause. He’d heard it all before.

He’d gone to uni to please his mum, only. But three semesters in, and he’d had it. He knew where his life was leading, and it didn’t involve a calculator and a navy-blue suit.

His father picked up his pace behind him, but Dev remained deliberately slow. Unworried. Casual.

He was unsurprised to feel the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder. But when Dev kept walking, the way Patrick wrenched at his shoulder, spinning him around...yes, that shocked him.

His arm came up, his fingers forming into a fist. It was automatic, the result of the crowd he’d been hanging with, the occasional push and shove at a pub. He wouldn’t have hit his dad—he knew that. Knew that.

But his dad thought he would. He could see it in his eyes, that belief of what Dev was capable of. Or rather, the lack of belief.

Dev saw the fist coming. Maybe he didn’t have enough time to move, maybe he did—either way he stood stock still.

His father’s knuckles connected with his jaw with enough force to twist his body and push him back into the wall. And for it to hurt. A lot. He tasted blood, felt it coating his teeth.

But he remained standing, half expecting more.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, his dad fell to his knees, holding his fist in his other hand.

For long moments, it was perfectly silent. It was as if neither of them could breathe.

Then a clatter on the stairs heralded his mum’s arrival. She gasped as she came into view, then ran to Patrick, kneeling beside him and wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

She looked up at Dev, her gaze beseeching. ‘What happened here?’

‘I’m quitting uni, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’m an actor.’ His whole face ached as he spoke, but the words were strong and clear.

‘That’s a dream, not a career.’ His dad didn’t say the words, he spat them out.

‘It’s what I want.’ What he needed to do.

‘I won’t support you, Devlin. I won’t stand by and watch you fail—’

‘I know that,’ he interrupted. How well he knew that.

That his family wouldn’t support him. That not one of them believed he’d succeed.

‘Good,’ his dad said. ‘Then leave. You’re not welcome here.’

It didn’t surprise him. It had been coming for so long. His mum, the only reason he’d stayed, looked stricken.

He nodded. Then walked back up the hall the way he’d come.

He didn’t say a word. No dramatic farewell. No parting words.

But he knew he’d never be back.



Graeme slowed to a stop at a paddock gate before a security guard waved them through. A dirt track wound its way over the smallest of hills, and then they were amongst the trailers that sprawled across Unit Base. The set was vast—yesterday the producer had told him it was the corner of a working sheep and canola farm. It spread across the almost perfectly flat countryside, overlooked by an irregular ridge of mountains. Yesterday, Dev’s gaze had explored a landscape dotted with eucalyptus, rectangular fields of lurid yellow canola and paddocks desperately trying to hold onto winter hints of green. Today it was just a blur.

But something caught his eye as Graeme parked beside his trailer. Through the car window he followed that splash of colour with his eyes.

A woman in a bright blue dress, more like an oversized jumper, really, was barrelling rapidly along the path towards him. She was unmistakeable, her mop of choppy blonde hair shining like pale gold in the sun.

Ruby Bell.

She’d slipped his mind as soon as his nightly battle for sleep had begun, but now she’d sprung right back to the front, in full Technicolor.

He knew what she was: a distraction. A temporary focus.

But one he needed.

He was here. And thanks to Graeme—via Veronica—he’d be here on set each day, right on time. But right now he couldn’t make himself care about the film, about his role.

Oh, he’d perform, right on cue, and to the best of his ability—as much as he was capable of, anyway.

But he wouldn’t care. Couldn’t care. Any more.

How was that for irony?

With his death, his father had—finally—got his way.



He was on time—just.

Ruby watched as he got out of the car, all loose-limbed and casual.

In contrast, she felt as stiff as a board. She kept making herself take deep, supposedly calming breaths as she gripped the papers in her hand, and reminding herself that she could do this—that this was her job.

It was just incredibly unfortunate it was her job. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, when Paul had taken her aside this morning and made her task clear: keep Dev on time and on schedule.

All the Dev-related rumours—a new one this morning hinting at a lot more than tardiness—should’ve made Paul’s request a no-brainer.

Yet, she’d actually gasped when Paul had told her, and then had to make up some unfortunate lie about swallowing a fly, accompanied with much poorly acted faux coughing.

Once again Dev had managed to short-circuit her brain.

Because the task of babysitting talent was a perfectly typical request for the production co-ordinator, who, amongst other things, was responsible for organising actors’ lives while on location.

Actors were notoriously unreliable. Putting together the call sheet was one thing—having anyone actually stick to it was something else entirely.

As she watched Dev watch her, a hip propped against his car, it was suddenly clear that getting him to do anything—at all—that she wanted could prove difficult.

This was not the man who’d smiled at her in the Lucyville pub last night, or who’d teased her on the street. Neither was he the man with the smug expression and the coffee stains on his shirt.

This man was completely unreadable.

‘Good morning!’ she managed, quite well, she thought.

He nodded sharply.

She thrust the portion of the script he’d be rehearsing today in his direction. ‘Here are today’s sides,’ she said.

He took them from her with barely a glance. It was as if he was waiting for something—to figure something out.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be taking you to be fitted by Costume, first,’ she said. ‘Then Hair and Make-up would like to see you prior to your rehearsal.’

‘And you’ll be escorting me?’

Ruby swallowed. ‘Yes. I’ll be looking after you today.’

It was immediately obvious that was the wrong thing to say. Something flickered in his gaze.

‘I have my call sheet. I know where I need to be. I don’t require hand-holding.’

‘Paul asked that I...’

His glare told her that was another mistake, so she let the words drift off.

Then tried again. ‘Mr Cooper, I’m here to help you.’

Somehow, those words changed everything, as if she’d flicked a switch. From defensive, and shuttered, his expression was suddenly...considering?

But Ruby didn’t think for a moment that he’d simply accepted she was just doing her job. This was different—more calculating.

‘Here to help,’ he said to himself, as if he was turning the words over in his head.

Then he smiled, a blinding, movie-star smile.

And Ruby had absolutely no idea what had just happened.



It was dumb—really dumb—that he was surprised.

Heck—if he were the producer on this film, he’d have done the same thing.

It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

He’d never been this kind of actor before; he’d never needed to be led around on some imaginary leash. Lord—he’d thought Graeme was bad enough.

And, of course, it had to be Ruby in charge of him.

It was a total waste of her time, of course. On set, he was fine, and not the fine he told himself he was whenever he was convincing himself to fall asleep.

He followed just slightly behind her. She was talking, quite rapidly, but he really wasn’t paying much attention.

She was nervous, for sure. He did like that.

And he did like how the tables had turned. Last night she’d called the shots. Today—it was him.

Juvenile? Yes.

Fun? He thought so.

So Paul thought he needed looking after? No problem.

He’d be that actor, then. The ridiculous type who wanted everything in their trailer periwinkle blue, or who would only drink a particular brand of mineral water—not available locally, of course.

He’d prove Paul right—and irritate the self-important producer in the process.

A small win.

And it would push Ruby’s buttons too—trigger that flare of response he’d already witnessed a handful of times, and was eager to experience again.

Dev smiled, just as Ruby stopped before a hulking white trailer and turned to face him.

Her forehead wrinkled as she studied him, as if she knew something was up.

He just smiled even more broadly.

Yes, this was an excellent idea.



Completely focused on the email she was reading—Arizona’s agent, confirming that his client was available to attend an opening in Sydney the following week—Ruby picked up her loudly ringing phone from her overflowing desk without glancing at the screen.

‘Ruby Bell.’

‘Ruby.’ A pause. ‘Good afternoon.’

There was no point pretending she didn’t recognise that voice. Her disloyal body practically shivered in recognition.

‘How can I help, Mr Cooper?’ she asked with determined brightness, her eyes not wavering from her laptop screen, although the email’s words and sentences had somehow become an indecipherable alphabet jumble.

Even so, she tapped randomly on her keyboard. For her benefit, mostly, a reminder that she was a busy film professional who received phone calls from famous actors All The Time. She was working. This was her job.

No need for her mouth to go dry or for her cheeks to warm.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a problem.’

‘Yes?’ she prompted, with some trepidation.

He’d been scrupulously polite this morning. Allowed her to take him from appointment to appointment. He’d chatted inanely about the weather, and charmed every person she introduced him to.

But...

Occasionally he’d slant a glance in her direction that meant...she had absolutely no idea.

It wasn’t about last night any more. She was sure. No question he’d long lost interest in perfectly average Ruby Bell by now.

Definitely.

‘I can’t figure out how to use the wireless Internet in my cottage.’

Oh. Her skin went hotter. Of course his phone call had nothing to do with her. Of course it didn’t.

Hadn’t she told him—what, three hours ago?—to call her any time?

Ruby took a deep breath. She really needed to pull herself together.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Cooper,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get that sorted for you straight away.’

‘Appreciate it,’ he said, and then the phone went silent.

Carefully, she placed her phone back onto her desk, darting her gaze about the room. She half expected everyone to be staring at her, to know exactly how flustered she was, despite all her efforts to not be. To somehow know that Dev had all but propositioned her outside the salubrious Lucyville Motel, even though she’d told her intrigued friends she hadn’t seen Dev after she’d left the pub last night.

To know that chaperoning Dev around set this morning was stupidly difficult, despite her constant mental reminders that it was so not a big deal, and that she was a professional and they were both adults who could work together professionally despite the running-into-him thing, or the not-recognising-him thing, or saying-no-to-the-most-eligible-bachelor-in-the-world thing.

But no. Rohan worked quietly at his desk. Cath stood in front of the large whiteboard calendar, studying it with fierce concentration and a marker in her hand. Selena wasn’t even in the room—she was out, busily signing in extras.

Ruby bit back a sigh. She was being ridiculous.

So she tilted her head left to right, rolled her shoulders a few times, wriggled her toes—and told herself she was cool, and calm and collected. She was!

And then she got back to work.



Less than an hour later, Dev stepped out onto the deck at the back of his cottage, sliding shut the glass door firmly behind him. Inside, one of the more junior members of the production office was busily fixing his ‘broken’ Internet.

He pressed his phone to his ear.

‘Ruby Bell,’ she said when she answered, sounding as brisk and polite as she had earlier.

‘Ms Bell,’ he said, ever so politely, ‘thank you. I now have Internet.’

Well, he would once the guy inside realised the router had been unplugged.

‘Oh, good,’ she said. There was a beat or two of silence, and then she added, ‘Can I help you with anything else?’

Dev’s lips curled upwards.

‘Yes, actually. I need a new hire car.’

‘Is something wrong with your current car?’ she asked.

No. Assuming you disregarded the fact that he had Graeme-the-warden driving him everywhere. Dev’s suggestion he drive himself to set from now on was not warmly received. If Dev had access to the keys he never would’ve asked at all.

That would’ve made Veronica happy. About as happy as she’d been in her email this morning, and her many missed calls on his phone.

Turned out Graeme had passed on his trip to the pub.

Security—my arse.

‘My current car is too...’ he paused, as if in deep contemplation ‘...feminine.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Too feminine,’ he repeated.

The line remained silent. Was Ruby smiling? Frowning?

‘I see,’ she said, after a while. ‘I’m sorry you find your black four-wheel drive so unsuitable. Can you explain to me what it is that you dislike about the car?’

There was nothing overtly discourteous in her tone—quite the opposite, in fact. Yet Dev heard the subtlest of subtle bites. He liked it.

‘It’s the upholstery,’ he said. ‘It has pink thread in it.’

‘Ah,’ she said, as if this were actually a valid complaint. ‘Fair enough. Don’t worry, I’ll have a new car to you by tonight.’

‘At the latest,’ he said, just like one of the many delusionally self-important actors he knew who made these types of requests.

‘Not a problem, Mr Cooper.’

‘Appreciated, Ms Bell.’

Then he hung up with a smile on his face.



Ruby sat alone in her office, the Top 40 show on the radio her only company. It was late—really late, and she’d sent everyone else home fifteen minutes earlier.

But she had to get everything done—well, an hour ago, really—but Dev had really screwed up her day.

Losing Rohan for an hour to fix Dev’s wireless had meant she’d had to run the call sheet alone; and unfortunately the runner she’d assigned to sort out the new hire car was young, and new, and seemed to ask Ruby a question every five minutes. Then, of course, there’d been Dev’s email, asking for directions to every amenity in Lucyville. After she’d gritted her teeth and carefully replied to it—and therefore losing another thirty minutes—he’d blithely replied with one word: Thanks.

Thanks!

She’d silently screamed.

She’d had no idea Dev was like this—normally talent of the high-maintenance variety came with clear advance warning via the industry grapevine. Put two people who worked in film together, and guaranteed that stuff like ‘Dev-Cooper-thought-his-car-was-too-girly’ got talked about.

But—until the last twenty-four hours—she’d never heard a negative word about Devlin Cooper.

Oohing and ahhing about how he was just as gorgeous in real life—which she now knew to be true—yes, she’d heard that. But unreasonable, prima-donna carryings-on? Not a whisper.

Her phone rang, vibrating against the pile of sides—the scenes being filmed the next day—it rested upon.

Of course it was Dev, and reluctantly Ruby swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call.

‘Mr Cooper,’ Ruby said, setting the phone to loudspeaker so she could continue to work on the latest updates to a transport schedule. She was not going to let Dev distract her. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I was wondering,’ he said, not sounding at all apologetic for calling so late, ‘if you could recommend anywhere good to eat in Sydney.’





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