on Portia’s dreams, but she wasn’t about to make that public knowledge. And she wasn’t happy about it, either. Portia shrugged. “He’s okay. Great face, great body, but that’s nothing new in Hollywood. Of course, this—” she gestured over her shoulder toward the computer screen “—should mean great ratings for our new show.” This time around, they’d signed Rourke on as their star bachelor and lined up twelve wealthy single women for him to choose from. She’d read an article citing that the latest trend among the twenty-something idle rich was to push their parents’ buttons by putting themselves in a controversial spotlight. They had twelve young women who were living proof. Portia, however, was the lucky duck saddled with baby-sitting Rourke, the star, through production. She eyed the petite redhead. “Obviously you’ve joined the legion of women ready to drop at his feet.”
Sadie raised her hand. “Guilty as charged. I’ve enjoyed several orgasms with him lately. I just crank my vibrator, close my eyes and Rourke O’Malley and I have a grand time.”
Brash and uninhibited, Sadie usually left Portia laughing. “That was so much more information than I ever wanted to know. Please feel free not to share in the future.”
Sadie arched a brow. “Can you honestly tell me you’ve never fantasized about him after working with him and seeing him day after day?” Portia opened her mouth but Sadie cut her off before she could utter the denial. “You’ve never thought about kissing that fabulous mouth? Never imagined that hot bod naked and sweaty and getting down? Never imagined him touching you, you touching him?”
Enough. “No, no and no. I haven’t.” But now thanks to Sadie, she had. A warm flush spread inside her and she mercilessly exorcized the erotic imagery.
“Well maybe you should—”
“Not.” Portia cut her off and finished the sentence. “I should not.”
“A little fantasy never hurt anyone.”
“I don’t have time for fantasy.” And if she craved the time, reality lurked right around the corner. The stark contrast between the two proved too painful. Portia lived in the here and now.
She’d found out nine years ago where fantasy got you—single, pregnant and shattered. The ensuing reality had been waiting tables, changing diapers, several long years of night school and working her butt off to get ahead and make a better life for her and Danny.
Sadie shook her head. “A woman without time for fantasy. That’s just not right.”
Portia grinned. “Sorry, toots.”
“When’s the last time you had a date?”
She shrugged and lied. “Not that long ago.”
“Ha. Name the day, place and man.”
Sadie was fun and they laughed together, but she’d just crossed into nunya territory, as in none of your business. Portia’d had one date in the last nine, almost ten, years. She had neither the time nor the inclination. Guys thought single moms were easy marks, desperate for sex. Thanks, but no thanks. The only thing she was desperate for was more hours in the day and a good pedicure.
Portia smiled to herself. Poor Sadie’d really be wrecked if she knew Portia hadn’t had sex since the last time she’d slept with Mark, Danny’s dad—wait, Mark hadn’t been a dad at all, make that sperm donor—just before she found out she was pregnant. Sweet-talking, pretty-boy Mark, who’d promised to love her forever, had dumped her before the word pregnant was out of her mouth. And he’d turned out to be one rung lower than a deadbeat dad. The last she’d heard, he was a crackhead shacked up in East L.A.
“You’re not going to answer me are you?” Sadie asked.
“Nope.” Portia smiled to take the sting out of it.
“Well, okay. Don’t date, don’t fantasize. I’ll handle all of that for both of us.” Sadie nodded toward the computer screen crammed with fan postings. “Me and the other women without good sense.”
“Good deal. You can drool enough for both of us.”
“What a wasted opportunity. It’s not fair you get to spend a couple of weeks shooting this new show with him. Fourteen days in a romantic setting with those blue eyes, that black hair, those chiseled features, that body… I’ve got chills just thinking about it.”
“I know.” Portia heaved a dramatic sigh, fluttered her lashes, and cooed in a falsetto voice. “Just me, him, the moonlight, the hot tub…” Portia lost the simpering tone and added dryly, “…a dozen poor little rich girls and a production crew. Cozy, intimate.”
“Go ahead, make fun. I’d be content just to breathe the same air he does.”
“You need to breathe a little more air now instead of waiting on O’Malley. Obviously your brain isn’t getting enough oxygen.” Portia glanced out the window. “Are we on red alert today?”
Actually, she thought the Santa Ana winds had blown through and temporarily cleared the wretched smog that smothered the city so badly that they issued breathing codes.
“Very funny.”
“I was just reminding you that even if I were remotely interested in Boy Toy O’Malley, and I think we’ve established that I’m not, he’s there to pick from a bevy of wealthy beauties and I’m a drone, there to produce a show that’ll pull in ratings.”
“Drone? That has such an ugly sound to it.”
“Ah, but apropos.” And nothing was going to stop her. This was her proving ground. One last two-weeker away on location. If she did well, she’d been promised a studio position. No more long stretches of time away on location, when Danny had to stay with her parents and her sister. He loved them and they loved him, but the poor kid only had one parent as it was. He deserved to have her around a little more. Yeah, she’d still work brutal hours, but she would be home every night and he’d wake up to her there every morning. She had high stakes riding on this assignment.
“I WANT to have your baby!”
Rourke ducked into the elevator and watched in horror as the woman chasing him brandished a pair of purple thong panties and almost lost a few fingers in the closing door. “I love you,” she yelled, dropping the panties and yanking her hand out at the last minute. “Call me.”
He slumped against the wall, relieved the stranger, nutso or not, wasn’t an amputee because of him. “The whole world’s gone insane.”
“Nah, man. Just the female portion. And, yeah, they’re all crazy about you,” his baby brother Nick said.
“I’m pretty sure I’m crazy agreeing to do this show and all of…this.” He gestured at the undies on the floor. No way. A piece of paper with a phone number was pinned in the crotch. Totally looney.
“You’re a good brother. You know I appreciate what you’re doing for me.” Despite his words, Rourke wasn’t sure whether Nick realized exactly how close he’d come to jail time. Embezzlement was a constant and serious temptation when you handled large quantities of money on a daily basis, and it had been a temptation his baby brother hadn’t resisted. If Nick returned the money, his employer had agreed not to press charges, preferring his money back to bad publicity. “Although choosing from twelve beautiful women
