The Billionaire's Game: L.A. Players, #3

The Billionaire’s Game

L.A. Players #3

Copyright 2019 Ansela Corsino

All rights reserved.

Published by Queen’s Kiss Books

License Notes

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Disclaimer

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

One

An Unexpected Guest

It was the insistent tapping sound that woke Ines Andrada up. Blinking at the morning sunshine that assaulted her eyes, she looked around to discover she was still in the driver’s seat of Piper Scanlon’s car.

Once again, the police officer rapped his knuckles on the window of the Porsche.

She rolled down the window. Sorry, officer, she said. I was waiting for my boss and I must have fallen asleep.

The officer glanced at her outfit. The Fischer party? he said.

Yeah. She smiled apologetically. Parking was full inside the house. Half the guests had parked along the road in front of Ester Fischer’s mansion.

Fine. He nodded. Just so long as you move on along—

Oh, I will. Ines gunned the engine to life to demonstrate that she was, indeed, leaving.

Satisfied, the police officer left to go back to his patrol car. Ines picked up her phone which was lying on the front passenger seat. She gasped in horror when she saw it was nine thirty a.m.

There was one message from Piper:

Leaving with Tom Stockwell. I won’t be needing you till Monday.

Ines groaned. The message was sent at 4 am. She’d been waiting for Piper since two, and she must have fallen asleep right before her boss had texted her. A certified Hollywood A-lister, the actress either had Ines rushing to fulfill her demands or waiting hours while she took her own sweet time doing whatever it was she needed to do, whether hobnobbing with the rich and famous or getting her nails done.

No, Ines was used to this kind of treatment. The problem was that she had an appointment with film producer Jamie Kilborne in an hour.

She started driving towards the address Mr. Kilborne’s assistant had given her. There was no time for her to go back to Piper’s house to retrieve her car, or to change out of the white evening dress she had on. As it were, she’d have to hurry if she wanted to make it to Kilborne’s place on time. Luckily she had a copy of her manuscript in the bag she’d stashed in the trunk.

She couldn’t screw this up. It was already a huge risk trying to get her screenplay into the hands of a film producer— or anyone else, for that matter —without tipping off her employer. She was almost entirely certain that if Piper ever found out, Ines would not only lose her job as Piper’s assistant, but she’d be blackballed from working in the industry ever again.

It wasn’t fair. Piper knew she had taken this job as a way into Hollywood. Being Piper Scanlon’s assistant was supposed to open doors for Ines, give her opportunities to meet people who might give her a chance at working as a screenwriter. Instead, the actress assured her she would personally have her agent shop her script around to the right people and that Ines should focus her energy on her job as an assistant.

You can trust me, Piper had said. And in return, I’ll trust you not to make any moves to get an agent on your own. I can’t have my staff signing up with just any two-bit con artist out there. I have a reputation to protect.

However, a year and three scripts later, she hadn’t heard from anyone. Whenever she asked Piper for progress, all her replies were vague and discouraging. It had become painfully clear that Piper had no plans of helping her.

And why would she? Ines knew she was the best assistant Piper ever had. She was the only one who could put up with the woman’s unreasonable demands day in and day out without breaking down in tears.

Not anymore, Ines thought. She’d had enough of Piper’s b.s. to last her a lifetime. She was going to risk her boss’s ire by doing what she should have done a long time ago —get herself an agent. Or even better, an actual job writing movies.

Jamie Kilborne was an opportunity she wasn’t going to waste. His assistant Mikey Tobin was an old college friend of hers, and he called her up yesterday to say Kilborne was willing to meet with her and take a look at her script. Most important of all, if he decided he wasn’t interested, he would keep the meeting confidential.

Piper would never find out.

The girl will be there at 10. You’ll like her, I swear.

Mason Kilborne grimaced as he read the text. It was from the actor Michael Sorensen, star of the small independent film Mason agreed to help bankroll when it went two weeks over its filming schedule and half a million dollars over budget. To express his gratitude, Michael promised to treat him to the services of his favorite escort.

Bloody idiot. He’d brushed off the offer as a joke. The actor had been drunk —and high, if Mason’s suspicions were correct — at the time. There had been no reason to take him seriously. Yes, everyone knew Michael Sorensen had a penchant for escorts. But just because he paid for sex, it didn’t mean everyone else did.

Mason, least of all.

There were already too many women more than willing to get into the sack with him. It was the money. He had no illusions about that. He knew women found him attractive, but Hollywood was full of good-looking people.

No, it was the money. And the power that came with it.

People were shallow creatures, after all. And in L.A., you’ll be hard-pressed to find a single soul that wasn’t desperate for either money or fame or sex. Not his friends. Not even his own cousin Jamie who ran his own film production company.

He tried calling Michael once. Twice. All he got was voicemail. He had no choice but to leave a message that he had no use for Michael’s girl, and that under no uncertain terms should Michael send her to Mason’s place.

And for God’s sake, maybe if you showed up on the set on time, you’ll be able to keep to the schedule, Mason added before hanging up.

Even if Michael never got his message, it didn’t matter. Mason was spending the rest of the weekend in his estate in Hidden Hills. He’d lent the apartment to Jamie who needed a new place to host his party tonight after his wife caught the flu earlier this week.

Where was Jamie anyway? He was supposed to come by at eight a.m., and it was nearly ten. Mason tapped the button for the reception desk on the intercom.

Edgar? he said. I’m expecting my cousin Jaime Kilborne and his assistant. Just send them straight up.

Will do, Mr. Kilborne, Edgar replied.

Mason made a mental note to let his cousin know the escort might be dropping by tonight. Even if she lost him as a client, at least she might enjoy the party.

He walked toward the balcony, yanking his shirt off. He tossed the shirt over a bench between the pull-up bars and the treadmill. It was a beautiful sunny morning and when the weather was this good, he preferred working out in the open air. Clad only in his grey gym shorts, he positioned himself under the pull-up bar. He grabbed the bar with both hands a little more than shoulder width apart and slowly lifted himself.

Ines managed to clean up her make-up as she drove without getting into any accidents. It was a bit reckless, she knew, but she had no time to stop and find a ladies’ room. The skin on her face was on the oily side, and after a night sleeping in her makeup, it was all hopelessly smudged. According to her mom, it was the Asian genes Ines had inherited from her father. On the plus side, she added with an envious sigh, you probably won’t get a wrinkle till you’re forty-five. Being half-Filipino was great for aging gracefully, not so much for keeping her make-up from sliding off her face.

The apartment building on Wilshire was just as grand as Ines expected it to be. The driveway snaked around huge twin fountains, and the wide front doors opened up to a large reception area with dark gleaming marble floors and an arched ceiling.

She gave the valet the keys to the Porsche and walked inside to the receptionist behind the desk. Nervous and self-conscious about the evening dress she still wore, she blurted out, Jamie Kilborne. Penthouse.

The middle-aged man in the dark suit gave her a wide smile. Ah yes, he said. Mr. Kilborne is expecting you. Take elevator six down there. He gestured behind him. It goes straight to the top floor.

Two

Mr. Kilborne, I presume?

Ines thought it was rather nice of Kilborne to let reception know she was coming. Encouraged, she felt some of her nervousness falling away as she walked to the elevator. Maybe by the time she met him, she’d be able to speak in complete sentences again.

Alone in the elevator, she used the scant time she had before she got to the 22nd floor to rehearse her pitch. She tried to, at least. She couldn’t get past practicing her introduction.

Mr. Kilborne, thank you for seeing me, she said, nodding and smiling at an imaginary Jamie Kilborne.

She could see herself reflected on the polished walls of the elevator car. Too enthusiastic, she thought. Was it better to seem less needy?

Mr. Kilborne. She let the corners of her mouth turn up a bit in a half smile. Thank you for seeing me.

Too stand-offish? she wondered.

The elevator doors opened.

She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. Her jaw dropped as she surveyed the enormous living room. Daylight poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, illuminating the cream carpet and leather furniture. A steel spiral staircase in the corner led up to a loft. Imposing dark marble columns flanked the far corners of the space, right behind a twelve-seat dining room. There was a door on the side, leading to what looked like a library or office.

There was no one in sight.

Mr. Kilborne? she called out.

No answer.

It was quiet, but she could hear the straining of metal from somewhere outside. To her right, there was a glass sliding door opening to an outdoor space. Was he on the balcony?

Hello? She walked through the door. A few feet away a man was doing pull-ups on a bar, his back toward her.

His shirtless, sweaty, muscular back.

Grunting with effort, he lifted his body up and down with his arms. His movements were graceful, perfect. And in breathtaking slow motion, too.

Although on second thought, that may just be her.

She tried to find her voice, but it was lost somewhere between his narrow waist and the curve of his backside.

He let go of the bar and landed neatly on his feet. He grabbed a towel from a nearby table. Mopping his face, he turned to face her.

Who are you? he said.

The deep tones of his voice hit her somewhere in her core, and she felt her knees wobble under her.

Mr. Kilborne, she said breathlessly. Uhm... Mr. Kilborne. Oh shit. Did she just repeat his name? Her brain functions seemed stuck.

His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. How did you get up here?

I, uhm... She took a step back as he moved closer. I was... uh, told you were expecting me.

He narrowed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and soon he was disturbingly close. Her eyes fell lower to stare at his chest. In such proximity, she could see the fine dark blond hairs matted in a sheen of sweat. Mesmerized, she watched the rise and fall of his perfectly sculptured chest.

Huh? she said. Did he say something? It was a few seconds before it occurred to her that she was blatantly staring at his body, and her eyes shot upward to meet his gaze.

Kilborne’s eyes burned with barely concealed annoyance. I said... He spoke slowly, as though explaining to a rather stupid child. ... there has been a misunderstanding.

He smelled of sweat with a slight hint of aftershave. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily in a vain attempt to suppress the sudden dampness in her panties.

Are you listening to me, Ms...

Andrada, she said, feeling a wave of relief that she had discovered her voice. Ines Andrada. But Mikey said —

Mikey, he said, his voice thick with disdain, was mistaken.

He wrapped his fingers in a steel-like grip around her upper arm, cutting off any further argument.

For a moment she thought she saw his eyes darken and his gaze burn a path from her face down to the low neckline of her dress. She was suddenly very aware of how her breasts heaved with every breath she inhaled. He was pulling her dangerously closer. Her body ached with the promise of being pressed up against him, her nipples stiffening against the hardness of his...

Hey! she cried out as he led her roughly by her arm back inside. Mr. Kilborne, Mikey said you knew I was coming. I was supposed to give you—

He smirked. My apologies, Ms. Andrada, but I’m afraid I’m not interested in anything you have to give me. He brought her to the elevator and pressed a button.

I’m sorry. I thought you were okay with me coming to see you. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Or could it be because he was still touching her? She wasn’t sure. His hand was still firmly clamped on her arm, and his touch sent hot sparks up her spine. Mr. Kilborne, I—

No apologies necessary, Ms. Andrada. The elevator doors slid open silently, and he all but shoved her inside. And tell Mikey I don’t want him pulling a stunt like this ever again.

The girl will be there at 10.

That was what Michael’s text had said. Only he didn’t say if it was 10 in the morning or evening, and of course any reasonable person had to assume he’d meant evening.

Who the hell sends over an escort this early in the day?

Mason was caught off-guard, and nothing angered him more than being put in a spot like that.

Nevertheless, he felt a twinge of guilt at the rather crude way with which he’d thrown the girl out of his apartment. She was only doing her job, after all. It wasn’t her fault Michael had her do this despite Mason’s refusal to accept his... gift.

Edgar, he said, speaking to the intercom. His voice betrayed his annoyance. That young woman who was just here — why did you let her up?

Mr. Kilborne, I thought she was your cousin. Is there... Mason could almost hear the man swallow hard on the other end of the line. Is there a problem?

Bloody hell. My cousin is a man, Edgar. Do ask to see some identification next time, will you?

Y-y-yes, sir. I’m sorry sir. Uhm, should I ring you when he comes?

No. Just send him straight up.

Yes, sir.

After you ask to see his ID.

Yes, Mr. Kilborne, sir.

Mason shook his head. It was unbelievable how inept the new reception man was. Granted, he’d only been on the job three weeks, but one should at the very least expect him to not get conned into letting a working girl into Mason’s apartment without warning.

He looked down at himself, realizing he looked utterly looked unprepared for female company, paid or otherwise. But she made no secret of how intensely she had been staring at him. He suppressed a smirk, remembering how long she must have been watching him on those pull-up bars. At least she’d gotten a good show, even if she hadn’t made any money off him today.

As he walked into his bedroom, he recalled her face. Physically, the girl herself was nothing like he expected. Not that he’d eagerly actually put any thought into what she might look like. But she was rather... healthy for someone in her line of work. A size four, at least. And she’d clearly not had any work done to fill out what looked like a size B cup. Most of the escorts he’d seen some of his colleagues and business acquaintances parade around were usually stick-thin, with alarmingly hefty chests.

He dropped his gym shorts and boxers and tossed them into a hamper in his closet. As he stepped naked into the bathroom, he tried to put the incident out of his mind. The girl was no great beauty, after all. He would describe her facial features as plain. Except there was something oddly attractive about her eyes when you saw them up close. And the way her lips parted just before she spoke...

Why the bloody hell was he still thinking about the girl?

Mason shook his head as he turned on the steam shower. He sure as hell wasn’t planning to avail of her services. Ideally, it was best if they never saw each other again.

Of course, he couldn’t help being curious about the plain-faced woman who was supposed to be Michael Sorensen’s favorite escort. If one made a living from sex, one is expected to at least be reasonably attractive.

Then the thought hit him as he stood in the shower, under the spray of hot water: Perhaps the unassuming Ms. Andrada was simply mind-blowingly good in bed.

That, he could easily imagine.

She was a little too young for his taste — perhaps nineteen. Except there was a certain intelligence in her eyes that one does not see too often in the very young. Twenty-one, twenty-two maybe? It was doubtful she was anywhere older than twenty- five. Her skin was clear and fresh. Her breasts — the outline of which was enticingly visible under her white dress — looked quite firm and rose proudly every time she breathed.

Mason grinned to himself as he rubbed shampoo into his hair. Yes, he could easily believe the girl could be a pleasure in bed.

The image of her and Michael together came to mind, unbidden.

You’ll like her, I promise.

Mason’s nostrils flared with annoyance. Mikey, she called him. Mason couldn’t quite picture her calling Michael that name in bed.

Mason. Oh, Mason.

The image in Mason’s head changed, and it was now him and the girl. Naked in bed. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

She cried out his name softly as he filled her with his—

He looked down to find he had unconsciously taken his stiff and turgid cock in his hand.

Three

Kitten

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Inside the elevator, Ines punctuated each word by hitting the back of her head against the cold steel of the wall behind her.

She winced and rubbed the spot on her scalp that made contact to the hard surface. It hurt, but she deserved it. She should have called ahead to confirm the appointment. If she had, she wouldn’t have just broken into a stranger’s apartment. Okay, so the receptionist did tell her she was expected. But maybe he thought she was someone else.

However, that was not the problem. Her concern was Kilborne himself. He now knew her name. What if she ran into him again? As first impressions went, it was a disaster. She did not come off as very professional, and he was a film producer of some renown. What if he let on that she was some crazy woman who barged into people’s homes uninvited? She’d be lucky to get a job passing around call sheets.

Her heart sank. There goes my career.

The man at the reception desk averted his eyes when he saw her, and was suddenly very engrossed reading a large binder that was propped open on the desk.

It seemed odd that he didn’t have anything to say to her. She half-expected to be questioned by security before they would let her leave. It seemed no one cared.

She hurried outside and waited on the front steps for the valet to return with the car.

Maybe she was making too big a deal out of this. Kilborne was a busy man. In his line of work, he must meet lots of people, most of them famous or important.

Surely he’d have forgotten all about this incident by tomorrow. In fact, he’d probably already forgotten her as soon as he tossed her out of his apartment.

She nodded to herself. Yes, definitely. There was no need to worry about Kilborne. It was best to just put all this behind her.

Mason’s breath was heavy as he stroked his cock. His left hand fumbled to turn off the shower.

Behind his half-closed eyes, he saw the girl. The evening dress was discarded; she was completely naked. He was still in his gym shorts. They were in the balcony. She was smiling and rubbing up against him like an affectionate kitten.

Mr. Kilborne, she purred. Please take me. Now. Her teeth raked over her lower lip and her eyes looked up at him beseechingly. I want you so much.

He held her by the shoulders and pushed her away gently but firmly. Ms. Andrada, he said, I’m afraid I cannot be with a woman who will only fuck me for money.

She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Her breath tickled his throat as she pleaded, I swear, I don’t want your money. I only want you. She pushed her firm, creamy breasts against his chest. He could feel her nipples turn hard like little rocks against his bare skin. The moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew I could never let any other man touch me.

He slid his hands down her backside and cupped her enticingly rounded ass cheeks. What about Michael? And all your other clients?

She kissed his throat. Her tongue darted out to lick his flesh from his neck down his chest. I’d rather starve than let another man have me. Her lips closed on one of his nipples. She let hot wet tongue swirled around it before she began to lick it, running it up and down the flat of her tongue.

Mason’s eyes flew open. He found himself staring at the blue and grey marble tiles of the bathroom wall. His breathing grew faster as he jerked his now-fully engorged dick.

Bloody hell, he muttered. He hadn’t had a woman in far too long. The mess with Cassandra Thorne two weeks ago had left a bad taste in his mouth; he hadn’t seen anyone since then. Was he now so sexually starved he was jacking off to every woman he came in contact with?

He shut his eyes again.

In one she fluid movement she was on her knees, dragging his shorts and boxers down his legs.

How huge! she cried out, staring at his penis in amazement. It stood proud and erect at an angle pointing directly at her face.

Come now, Ms. Andrada. Surely you must have seen many large dicks in your line of work.

I’ve never seen one as big as this. She looked up at him. Please, let me taste it.

Without waiting for a reply, she grasped his cock with both hands. She stroked it slowly, lovingly once, twice. Then she licked her lips and stuffed the entire length of his member in her mouth.

Grunting furiously, Mason pressed his left hand on the bathroom wall for support. His right hand moved faster up and down his cock. He opened his eyes and stared at the white and gold speckled pattern on the marble, but all he could see was the girl. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, her lips around his shaft.

He stood still, not daring to move. Her head bobbed up and down as her mouth worked up and down his cock.

Oh kitten, he growled. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the pleasure of his building orgasm surge through his body. His sharp cry echoed through the bathroom as he came.

Mason opened his eyes and cleared the images of his fantasy from his mind. He took deep breaths as he turned on the shower.

Christ, he needed to get laid.

Nice to see you’re back on the saddle, Jamie Kilborne said.

Mason looked away from the women chatting animatedly over lunch three tables away and faced Jamie. He frowned, annoyed at his cousin’s knowing smirk. It’s heartening to know my personal life matters so much to you, Jamie, he said.

Jamie shrugged. I’m a married man. You can’t blame me for trying to live vicariously through you. He took a sip of his Bellini. Teagan’s great — don’t get me wrong. And I love my kids. But I rather miss the thrill of the chase sometimes.

Jamie had arrived at the apartment around noon with an entire catering staff for the party. While the staff was busy prepping for the evening, Jamie and Mason decided to have lunch out. They were in a very new, very exclusive Italian restaurant in West Hollywood. The food was decent, although not as authentic as Mason would have liked.

The chase, my dear cousin, is vastly overrated. You’re lucky you’re not in any danger of sleeping with any of the psychos out there.

Ah, you mean Cassandra Thorne. Jamie chuckled. Messy, was it?

Mason shook his head and took a swig of his beer. It was a disaster. At Jamie’s raised eyebrow, he added, I’m not talking about it.

Oh come now. Throw me a bone here.

Jamie, please. When a woman stoops so low that she steals a man’s clothes and—

You mean your pants.

Not talking about it. Mason nodded toward to his left. Lauren Burke is finally out of rehab, I see.

Jamie turned to look. Oh yes. Her agent’s been hounding me for months, trying to get her a part in YA novel adaptation I’m making.

You’re not interested? She’s quite talented — despite her penchant for the occasional blow.

Hmmm. Jamie grinned as he watched the rather listless young woman in sunglasses sip her latte. An unfortunate choice of words, Mason.

Christ, Jamie. She’s eighteen.

Jamie raised his hands in surrender. You brought it up, not me. His eyes darted to his left and he broke out into a wide smile. Rachel! he said, pushing his chair back as he stood up.

A tall, svelte brunette in a loose midriff-baring sports shirt, cropped jeans and sunglasses walked up to him and shook his hand. Jamie, she said, beaming. So good to see you. Her eyes fell on Mason and she gave him a dimpled smile.

I didn’t know you were in town. Jamie seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. Weren’t you at the Colburn twins’ birthday party?

I took the red-eye from JFK right after. Had to be at the agency office at nine a.m. She took off her glasses. Didn’t get much sleep. I look like an absolute hag. She stole a glance at Mason, who didn’t bother to hide his appraisal.

A model, by the looks of her. Black, straight hair flowed like silk over her shoulders. Her exposed midriff showed sun-kissed model-perfect skin. On her high block heels, she stood at almost the same height as Jamie’s six feet frame. From where he sat, Mason couldn’t fail to notice the spectacular curve of her backside.

Absolute nonsense, Jamie said. You’re as beautiful as always.

Thank you. She fluttered her eyelashes shyly. You’re ... having lunch?

Yes, we were. Apologies, this is my cousin Mason.

Mason stood up and offered his hand. She took it and smiled at him.

Mason Kilborne, he said.

Oh my. You’re British too, she said, her eyes widening in surprise. I’m Rachel Amsler. So nice to meet you. I’m here to grab lunch with a couple of girls from work. Her eyes were the color of dark, wet leaves. The way they gazed up at him, there was no mistaking her interest. Are you in the business too, Mason?

He grinned. Unfortunately. Are you an actress, Rachel?

She laughed. One day, I hope. Until then I’m just a plain old model.

Jamie cleared his throat. Are you free tonight? he said. I’m throwing Austin Linney a birthday party at Mason’s apartment.

Well, she said, reluctantly turning away from Mason back to Jamie. I do have a shoot tonight. Some hotel thing. But it would have been so nice to meet Austin, I’m such a huge fan.

That’s too bad, but if you’re not—

What about tomorrow night? Mason cut in. Dinner?

I’d love to, she said. Uhm... She looked awkwardly back at Jamie.

Just the two of us, Mason said.

It’s a date then. She flashed her dimple again. I should give you my number.

Mason unlocked his phone and handed it to her.

You don’t mind, do you? Mason said after Rachel had left.

Why would I mind? Jamie was still staring at her back as she walked toward her table on the far corner of the restaurant. It’s not like I was going to ask her out or anything. It’s not that I’m bitter you can seem to get any woman in L.A. with a crook of your finger.

You shouldn’t. Your wife is lovely. Also, I sometimes crook my finger at women outside L.A.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. You’re lucky I’m shackled, mate. I may be forty-five, but I could still give you a run for your money, pretty boy.

Mason chuckled. I don’t doubt it.

He turned to look at Rachel. She was talking to a friend but she paused when she caught his glance. She smiled back, waving her hand.

Four

Working, Girl

After dropping off Piper’s Porsche at her estate, Ines got changed into a shirt and jeans, and swap out contact lenses for her eyeglasses before driving home in her little Honda. She usually worked on Saturdays but luckily she wasn’t needed until Monday. Except, of course, Piper had decided yesterday she had several movie scripts she couldn’t be bothered to read herself so would Ines be a dear and read it and describe it to Piper?

Hey, Andrada, get over here!

Ines smiled and waved to Caprica O’Neil. The tall brunette was standing over a barbecue grill with a glass of wine in one hand and a pair of tongs in another. Around her, a pool party was in full swing. Music blared from speakers on the far end of the deck, and people were chatting and drinking.

Hi Caprica, Ines said, walking over. She adjusted the strap of her heavy messenger bag to keep it from slipping off her shoulder. Looks like the party started early today.

The residents of Casa de Palmeras usually held a party in the courtyard every Saturday, but it usually didn’t start till five. She had thought she would be able to get some work done before that, at least, because it was hard to focus with the loud music. The pool and courtyard were right in the middle of the two four-story apartment buildings.

Honey, I couldn’t stop them, Caprica said. I think Casey and Chad are celebrating getting guest parts in a pilot.

Oh, that’s great! Ines smiled. The two young men lived one floor below hers. They were stand-up comics from New Jersey, and they’d been trying to break into television for almost a year. I hope it gets picked up.

Hey Ines, you want a beer? Jimar White said. He sat on a lounge chair behind her, holding up a can of Heineken.

Uh thanks, Jim, she said. Maybe later.

Put down that bag, sweetie, Caprica said. You want a steak?

Ines grimaced. Can’t, sorry. I have to get back to work. She’d have to listen to Mozart on noise-canceling headphones, but that was the only way she could get any writing done that day.

What’s in that thing, anyway?

My weekend read. It’s a bunch of scripts. Piper needs me to read them so I can tell her what they’re about.

Scripts for what, a remake of The Lord of the Rings trilogy? Caprica eyed the brown leather pack. You look like you’re carrying five pounds.

I got six iPads in here. It’s like nobody sends print scripts anymore.

Well, if you finish early, we’ll probably be here till late tonight.

Thanks. See ya later.

After waking up in a car that morning, it felt good to be back home. As soon as Ines walked through her front door, she realized she was desperately in need of sleep.

Unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, she set her bag down. There was no time to rest. The weekend was the only time she had to write, and she had to make the most of it. She went to her desk to switch off her wifi router. There. No distractions.

As she made herself a large pot of coffee, she wondered idly if she ought to look up Jamie Kilborne on the internet. It was something she really ought to have done before the meeting, but Mikey had texted her about meeting Kilborne just as she and Piper were getting ready to leave for the party. Piper was barking orders at her stylist and Ines, and had changed her outfit four times before deciding on what she was going to wear.

But then, there was no point Googling Kilborne now. Apparently, she had no meeting with the producer. Mikey had made a mistake.

However ... it wouldn’t hurt, would it? The man was a grade-A beefcake. Smoking hot. As gorgeous a specimen of a man as she’d ever seen — and she’d seen her fair share of gorgeous specimens, being Piper’s assistant.

As much as she dreaded ever seeing him again, she couldn’t help but wish she’d met him under better circumstances. Not that she thought she could ever get a chance with a man like that.

She grimaced as she poured coffee into a thermal mug. A romance between the overworked assistant and the rich film producer would make for a passably mediocre rom-com, but it was hardly a thing that ever happened in real life.

Was he married? His apartment looked like it belonged to a bachelor. But then if you were as successful and good-looking as he was, you probably already had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.

She took her mug of coffee, MacBook, and headphones out on the balcony. It was her favorite spot in her apartment. She technically couldn’t afford her one-bedroom apartment on an assistant’s salary, but Piper insisted Ines live somewhere close by and happily paid for half the rent. If there was one thing Ines would miss if she ever lost her job, it would be this apartment. The balcony was small but it overlooked the courtyard and the pool. And in the early morning, if you look at just the right spot in the distance, one could catch the sunrise between two buildings.

She had just sat down and turned on her computer when the loud grumbling in her stomach reminded her she had forgotten to eat lunch. And breakfast. Groaning, she got back up and headed to the fridge.

Luckily, she still had some of the chicken adobo her dad cooked and packed for her during her visit the weekend before. She popped the plastic container in the microwave together with some rice in a large bowl. When it was done, she heaped the adobo over the rice, stuck a plastic fork in it and brought it out to the balcony.

Where was she? Right. Her script. She fitted her headphones on her ears, turned on her writing playlist and got to work.

IAGO

Shina! Stop!

Shina hears him calling from several feet below but ignores him. Instead, she stabs one pick as far above her as she could. She waits for the sound of the electromagnets connecting with the resitalt under the ice before pulling herself up. Her lips are pale from the icy cold and it was nearly impossible to breathe, but the bigger threat was the boy below her who was also making his way up the mountain.

IAGO

There’s something up there! Shina!

The closeness of his voice startles her and she is thrown off-balance. Her left hand slips from her pick. She dangles from one hand for two seconds before she manages to fasten both her feet back on the mountain wall. She reaches up to grasp her left pick, her voice trembling as she utters an incoherent curse.

LO (SPEAKING ON SHINA’S HEADPIECE)

Heads up. Iago’s closing in on you.

SHINA

No shit, Lo.

LO

You see him?

SHINA

I hear him. He’s moving too fast.

LO

Just don’t let him get near you. If you let him pass you—

SHINA

He won’t.

She releases her right pick to reach into her jacket and pull out a thick metal rod. She presses a hidden button and an array of lights glow around the rod. When she releases the button, the lights disappear. With a grin, she slips the rod into the cuff of her left sleeve. The rod doesn’t show through the thickness of her jacket.

SHINA

Not if I can help it.

Shina is about to continue her climb, but after a moment’s hesitation, she glances below her. Iago’s black climbing suit stands out in the snowy cliff. His blond hair whips around his face as he looks up at her.

Ines stopped typing, puzzled. She could swear she’d given Iago black hair. She scrolled up to the beginning of the script to check. Yup, there it was. Hair black as night. Or a raven’s wing.

Should he have black hair, though? It was a bit too stereotypical for a vampire. Maybe blond was better. Some kind of dirty blond shade.

Nodding to herself, she scrolled down her document. In a few strokes of her keyboard, she changed Iago Yu’s hair color to blond.

Much better, she thought. 

Ines should have known there was no way Piper was going to give her the entire weekend off. By Sunday evening, as Ines was going through the second screenplay she had been given to read, Piper called to tell her to get dressed for dinner.

Are you sure you need me to sit in on this? Ines said. She had her phone on speaker as she was hurrying to get dressed. From Mr. Bellamy’s emails, I think he’s expecting a more — she winced as she struggled to zip up her dress — private dinner. You know, just the two of you.

Of course you’re not sitting in on dinner, Piper said. Her voice coming out of the phone seemed tense. I just need you to make up some excuse for me, and sit with him until I get there.

Ines tossed a pair of white pumps in exasperation and picked up a pair of black kitten heels. "Look, if you’re busy why not move