Something way down deep inside her deflated at the news that he wasn’t interested in dating. It was nothing personal, of course. She was just reacting on behalf of her entire half of the species. Jackson Prescott was a hell of a hunk that some woman ought to get to enjoy.
She replied cautiously, “I have to say, I doubt you’d have all that much trouble finding a woman willing to have your baby.”
Warmth uncurled inside her at the thought of holding his baby in her arms, shocking her into momentary silence. Where in the hell did that come from? Had her biological clock just started ticking? Heck, she wasn’t in the market to have a kid any more than he was.
He lifted aside the ice pack to stare up at her. Was that a speculative gleam in his gorgeous eyes? Surely not.
A little panicked at the direction her thoughts were taking, she pushed the big ice bag back down onto his nose, which also had the effect of covering his eyes and taking his distracting hazel gaze off her.
Thoughtful silence was all that emerged from the towel for the next couple of minutes. Then, “What’s your name, 127?”
“Ana. Anabelle Izzolo.”
“You have zilch by way of acting credits, Anabelle Izzolo.”
She didn’t need a box-office giant to point that out to her. She was well aware of her lack of credits. She’d been taking acting classes as part of her plan to become a stuntwoman, but it was hard to get work if you hadn’t already had some previously.
“But the chemistry between you and me is exactly what we’re looking for.”
“For...what exactly?”
“The lead actress in our film. Assuming you can act.”
Lead? Actress? Her mind went completely blank. He was right. She was totally unprepared to do anything like that. But what kind of idiot would she be to say so? Chances like this came along once in a lifetime. Once in a very lucky lifetime.
“I can act,” she blurted, then added hastily, “I bet I could convince your grandmother I was having your baby.”
He started to snort with laughter but cut the sound short with a groan of pain.
“Quit moving around so much. I almost had the bleeding stopped, but now you’ve got it going again.”
“Pushy, aren’t you?”
“No. Just trying to stop a nosebleed. That only makes me sensible,” she declared.
He laughed again, but carefully. “So here’s the thing. We’re going to have to convince the primary investors in the film to go with an unknown leading lady. My name should carry the box office...we’ll have to spin it as the debut of an exciting new star. It could work if we market it right...”
“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“Nope. Just keep being you. Oh, and I’m going to need to have supper with you, tonight.”
“Why?” She was immediately suspicious. It probably didn’t help that her last real date...that fateful one two years ago...had started out as a dinner invitation from a big good-looking guy. He’d been the star of the high school football team, and all the girls had swooned over him, too. Ana had kept in touch with him after graduation, as he’d attended the same college as her on a football scholarship.
“Consider it part of your callback.”
The hallway door opened before she could come up with a polite way to turn him down but still get the dream acting job. “How are we doing in here?” Adrian asked from the doorway. He seemed leery of charging in and finding pints of blood spilled on his floor.
Nervous, she jumped to her feet. “Good. I think we’ve got things under control,” she declared with false cheer.
“Thanks for your time this afternoon, Miss Izzolo,” Adrian said politely. “We’ll be in touch.”
Oh, God. The classic Hollywood brush-off. Don’t call us; we’ll call you. She’d clobbered the star of the movie and wrecked her shot at fame and fortune, after all. It had been a fun fantasy for the five minutes it had lasted. Ah, well. Maybe she could still break into stunt work, someday.
She headed for the locker room to retrieve her cheap nylon gym bag and get back to her regularly scheduled life. She threw open the locker door and stared in dismay. Her bag was shredded. As in literally shredded. Her extra audition clothes were in tatters, and what little makeup she had was smeared all over the rags formerly known as the only decent clothes she owned.
What the heck? Who would do a thing like this? And why?
Jackson had no idea what to do about casting the lead actress part in the film. His gut shouted at him to go with Anabelle Izzolo, the unknown with the wild talent. But just as surely, the movie’s investors were going to want him to go with a more established actress. Someone like Shyann Brooklyn.
The tall blonde had been last to audition today. Although Shyann looked great on film, he doubted there was room for him on the silver screen with her and her ego. She was nasty, self-centered and not all that bright, either. He doubted she would have long-term staying power in the business. A few films from now, after the public got its fill of looking at her, it would dawn on everyone that she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.
His phone vibrated. It was a text from his grandmother to call her. Meddling woman. Oh, Minerva was well-meaning enough, but a royal pain sometimes. Too bad he loved her so damned much.
His father, a soldier, had died on active duty, and his mother had drowned in her grief and wasted away on sleeping pills until she’d finally OD’d. Gran had taken in the whole passel of Prescott kids, him, his three brothers and his twin baby sisters, and raised them all. Minerva had married young herself, and his parents had married right out of high school. As a result, Gran was far from ancient and was energetic, nosy and felt within her rights to boss all of them around. She was a classic iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove type.
And right now, he was ignoring her.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped out into the studio’s parking lot. The blistering California sun slammed into him. The soundstage he and Adrian had built was inland far enough not to catch the ocean breezes that cooled the California coast. But the price had been right on the sprawling piece of property. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow as he threw a leg over his Harley and cranked it up. The powerful engine revved between his legs and, as usual, gave him a bit of a hard-on.
He rolled out of the parking lot and spotted a familiar figure standing at the bus stop in front of the studio. Ana Izzolo looked about ready to burst into flames in the blazing heat. There was one bus in Serendipity, California, and it operated on no discernible schedule. She could be standing there for another hour.
He pulled to a stop in front of her. “Can I give you a lift?”
“I’m okay. I’ll catch the bus.”
“Hop on. It’s hot as hell out here.
