Hollywood Wedding (Landon's Legacy 3)

“Dammit!”

Zach slammed the empty bottle on the coffee table. Who was he kidding? This business was as tricky as any he’d ever seen. How was he supposed to know who to hire as a male lead for Hollywood Wedding? The script called for a man in his late thirties, but what did that mean? A younger Paul Newman? An older Tom Cruise? Zach had no idea, and the director was no help. Zach had asked his advice, and the guy had almost frothed at the mouth.

“Get me Mel Gibson,” he’d gushed.

Even Zach knew enough to laugh. If Triad went in hock for the next fifty years, Gibson would still be an unattainable dream.

And his boast to Eve, about getting big spenders to invest their money, had turned out to be hollow All the big spenders he’d approached wanted to know who was starring in the film before they sank any money into it. And most of them wanted to know what had happened to Eve.

One or two of them had asked the question with a wink—which had, for some reason, made him want to punch out their lights. But a surprising number of others had said Eve had turned out to be more knowledgeable than they’d expected and that they were sure her expertise would be missed.

Ed Brubeck—who’d turned out to be fifty, jovial and gay, Zach thought with a grim smile—had been more direct.

“Nobody’s going to put money into a ship without a rudder, Mr. Landon,” he’d said.

Had Eve really been that rudder?

No. No, she couldn’t. The old man had given her her job at Triad as a gift…

Or had he? Would Charles really have done that? His father had been a lot of things, but never stupid and certainly never sentimental.

Zach put his head in his hands. He’d never even considered that possibility, but then, it had all seemed so obvious just a short time ago. Now—now, he wasn’t sure of anything, certainly not of the route Eve Palmer had taken to the top…

Or of why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

“Dammit!”

He grabbed the remote control and aimed it at the TV. A sitcom came on, something that looked as stupid as he felt. He hit the mute button, swung his legs up on the sofa and stretched out, his arms beneath his head.

He had faced trouble before, and gotten out of it. There had to be a way.

By midnight, he still hadn’t found it. The hands of the clock hit one, then two. Zach’s eyelids drooped. Seconds later, he was asleep.

* * *

Zach shot upright. He was in total darkness except for a hissing black and white square hovering a couple of feet off the ground, and there was an incessant ringing noise someplace just behind his head.

The phone.

He grunted, swung his feet off the sofa and felt around on the table beside him. Something crashed to the floor but he ignored it and dragged the phone to his ear.

“Zach?”

The remote was under his butt. He dredged it out, aimed it at the TV screen and watched the picture disappear.

“Yes,” he grunted. “Who the hell is this?”

“Is that any way to say hello to your big brother?”

“Grant?”

“On the nose, buddy. How you doing?”

Zach groped for the lamp, hit the switch and blinked when the room filled with light. He looked at his watch and groaned.

“Grant, do you know what time it is?”

“Sure. A little past seven.”

“In New York, maybe. Now try deducting three hours and see what you come up with.”

“Oh, man,” Grant said. “I’m sorry. I forgot the time difference.” A smile crept into his voice. “I’ll bet you just got to bed, too.”

Zach sighed. “You got that right.”

“Party time, huh?” Grant said, chuckling.

Zach shut his eyes, leaned back and massaged his temples.

“Listen, pal, it’s great to hear your voice, but why are you calling?” His eyes flew open. “If this is some gag you and Cade cooked up…”

“No. This is for real.” The humor had left Grant’s voice. “Zach? You recall the time we talked about how to score in the market?”

Zach sighed. “You’re telling me you need stock market advice at four in the bloody a.m.?”

“You said something about knowing when it was time to cut your losses.”

“Yeah. I told you that only the true believers and the certifiably insane don’t know when it’s time to cut their losses and get out.” He chuckled. “Hey, man, I charge my clients a lot of dough for those words of wisdom.”

“It’s good advice, right? I mean, you wouldn’t think a man was admitting defeat if——”

“Grant?” Zach was wide awake now. “Are you in financial trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s—it’s this guardianship…” Grant’s inhalation sounded harsh. “My ward isn’t—she isn’t twelve.”

“She’s younger?”

“Older. She’s not a girl, Zach. She’s a woman, and——”

Zach got to his feet. “And,” he said, his voice harsh, “she’s doing a number on your head.”

Grant made a sound Zach figured was supposed to be a laugh.

“Yeah.”

“Cherchez la femme, old buddy,” Zach said, closing his eyes. “Look out for the female of the species. Whenever there’s trouble, there’s a dame in the picture.” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and sank down on the sofa again. “Do yourself a favor, man. Hand the babe off to some other sap.”

“I thought of that, but I signed on for this and——”

“Well, sign off! Cut your losses, remember?”

“Zach? Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“Sure,” Zach said quickly. “This production company is all screwed up, that’s all, and—and listen, brother mine, I’ve got a breakfast meeting this a.m. and if I want to be my usual brilliant self…”

“Sure. Get some shut-eye. And thanks for the advice.”

“Yeah. Just be sure you take it. When in doubt, cut your losses.”

Grant chuckled. “And run.”

Zach hung up the phone, walked to the window and looked out over the sleeping city. He knew the answer to his problems. It was as clear as if somebody had scrawled it across the smoggy sky.

It was just that he wasn’t very good at eating crow, but crow wouldn’t taste much worse than turkey and a turkey was what he was going to have on his hands if Hollywood Wedding was a failure.

He turned from the window and glanced at his watch. It was pushing five o’clock. Time for a shave, a shower, a pot of black coffee and then…

Then, he thought with a sigh, he’d have that breakfast meeting. It wasn’t one he’d planned on, but so what?

A little risk put spice in a man’s life.

* * *

Eve was in the shower when she heard the distant tinkling of the phone.

Let the answering machine take the call, she thought, tilting her head to the spray. Anybody who telephoned this early in the morning deserved to speak to a machine.

Besides, phone calls at this hour meant someone was having a crisis. And she wasn’t in the mood for anybody’s crisis but her own.

It was amazing, how one person could come busting into your life and turn it upside down, but that was what Zachary Landon had done. In no time at all, he’d humiliated her personally and ruined her professionally—and the worst of it was, she’d helped him do it.

Eve shut off the shower, slid open the stall door and stepped onto the bath mat. How could she have been such a fool that night? She’d thought about it endlessly as she’d gone from fruitless job interview to interview, and she was no closer to an answer now than she’d been days ago.

Zach had come on to her, but so what? Men had been coming on to her for years, starting with dear old foster Dad, but she was an adult now; she knew how to deal with the problem.

A chilly look, an even chillier remark, she thought as she pulled on a pair of baggy sweatpants and an even baggier sweatshirt, and, if necessary, a

swift kick where it would do the most good, were enough to stop the most relentless would-be Don Juan.

So what had gone wrong? She had given Zach enough cool looks to freeze water, said enough nasty things to have sent him running…

Yes, but she certainly hadn’t kicked him. Eve stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair from her face. No, she hadn’t kicked him at all. Instead, she’d gone crazy in his arms, reacted to his kisses and to his touch in a way she had never even dreamed of reacting.

And Zach had counted on that, she reminded herself grimly as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. He’d made his position painfully clear with all that rot about having her number and knowing she wanted him…Which, of course, was untrue.

The man was a consummate seducer, smooth and experienced with women. He’d set out to humiliate her, and he’d succeeded. Admirably.

Eve shut off the bathroom light and strode briskly down the hall to the kitchen. As for what had happened the next day—well, she had no one but herself to blame for that. Quitting her job had been one thing, but sending back the check Zach had sent had been just plain stupid. Triad owed her that money, dammit. She’d worked hard, and now what did she have to show for her efforts?

She yanked open the refrigerator door, peered inside at the almost empty shelves and sighed. Nothing, that was what. She had little money, no job, no prospects…

The telephone rang again. Eve glanced at the clock. It was still early, but you never could tell. Someone might be calling about a job. She’d sat through half a dozen interviews; maybe one was going to pay off, she thought, and picked up the handset.

“Hello?”