Smooth Operator Read online

  "We're going to be in Los Angeles for two and a half days. You're packing as if you're headed to the Eastern Front. If you forget something, it won't be a big deal. Besides, you’re loaded now. Who cares if you have to buy something new?" I frowned at Kat’s shrug. How could she be so nonchalant about something as important as packing?

  "Still, I like to be prepared." I triple checked the closet before shutting the door and turning to Kat. "Okay, I'm ready."

  "Finally." Kat pushed herself off the bed and shoved her phone into her pocket. "Now we wait. This six-hour flight to Tinsel Town is going to suck."

  "It is going to be boring getting there, but once we're there, we're in for a weekend of glitz and glamour and excitement," I said optimistically.

  "Hell yes." Kat gave me a high five as I dialed the cab company to take us to the airport, and soon enough, we were boarding our plane.

  ∞∞∞

  We landed at LAX six long hours later. I walked onto the jet bridge with giddiness in every step, ignoring the crick in my neck from the plane ride. We were in Los Angeles, California! Kat stepped onto the bridge behind me, her hair mussed and travel pillow still tightly secured around her neck. She'd slept the entire flight, unlike me. I envied her ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time. I'd planned on getting a nap or maybe getting some writing done, but the incessant chatter of my seatmate had ensured that wasn't going to happen. My mind was too busy to focus on one thing, anyway. I was eager for Sunday. That's when I would get to meet the actors who were going to bring my Rafe and Emmeline to life.

  Today, though, we were just checking into our hotel and doing some sightseeing. We'd agreed to rent a car and go to downtown Hollywood to do all the touristy stuff- the Hollywood sign, Grauman's Chinese Theatre, the Walk of Fame- we had it all on our itinerary. I fully planned on being the cheesiest tourist I could be today.

  Since neither of us had checked bags for the short trip, we went straight to the car rental area instead of having to wait at the baggage carousel. The car we'd picked out online was a cherry red convertible sports car that we'd both agreed was suitably glamorous for the occasion. When we got to the rental area, we were informed that, unfortunately, they were out of the convertible sports car. They were able to offer us a sensible gray sedan, though, which they seemed to think was an even swap. Too overwhelmed to argue the issue, we accepted the car, threw our bags into the back seat, and we were off!

  ...to sit in traffic for the next two hours.

  "It's only twenty-five miles, why is it taking us so long to get to our hotel?" Kat groused, checking the GPS for the thousandth time. Some of the luster from our trip was starting to fade in the mind-numbing boredom of bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  "Well, they do say that Los Angeles traffic is some of the worst in the nation," I offered helpfully.

  Kat groaned. "Maybe we should have booked a hotel closer to the airport. Then we could spend more time actually doing things instead of sitting around on the highway."

  Despite my determination to stay positive, I was starting to agree. When we finally got to the hotel, we were both grumpy and tired. We parked in the lot, grousing a bit about the thirty-dollar-a-day parking fee, and finally stretched our legs on our way to check-in. The Hotel Monaco was gorgeous, if a bit run down. It was an original 1920s hotel built in the Art Deco design that hadn't been redecorated since it was built. I was utterly charmed. Kat, less so.

  The walls of the Hotel Monaco were papered in a raised pattern of crisscrossed black and white lines, accented by gold sconces that adorned the spaces between room doors. I ignored the visible and various stains on the carpet, reasoning that it was an old hotel. It was bound to have some wear and tear. The Hotel Monaco didn't have an elevator as it was only six stories high, and as luck would have it, our room was on the sixth floor. I brightly told Kat that we'd get our steps in for the day using the stairs alone, and she'd politely told me to go to hell.

  Once inside our hotel room, Kat tossed our suitcases on the bed and flopped down next to them. She turned to me and grinned, her lousy mood from earlier gone in an instant. "Can you believe we're in California right now because you have to go meet the cast of a movie that's being made out of your book? If you'd asked me that exact question a year ago, I'd have told you that you're deluded. Talented, but deluded."

  "It is a little surreal," I agreed. "And weirdly nerve-wracking. What if I hate the cast? What if the new script is shit?"

  "Everything will be fine," she reassured me. "Relax. This is a dream come true for most people. Enjoy the ride."

  I nodded. Kat was right, of course. Whatever happened, this was still the coolest thing that had ever happened to me or to anyone I knew. "Want to go for a walk and check out the sights? I need to stretch my legs after all those hours of sitting."

  Kat bounded up off the bed, all of her energy restored. "Let's go get our tourist on."

  We walked down the stairwell with starry eyes and hopeful hearts, ready to experience the town where dreams were made. We avoided eye contact with the half-conscious person muttering to himself and slumped on the third-floor landing.

  "Do you think that guy was on drugs?" I whispered to Kat.

  "He was definitely on something," Kat agreed, looking back up in concern. "Should we call the police?"

  I glanced back at him. "No, he's not hurting anybody. We don't want to get him in trouble," I reasoned.

  We emerged from the stairwell into the golden lobby and waved at the desk clerk, who stared at us as if we were insane. He didn't wave back. Shrugging, we walked outside onto the sidewalk to stare in awe at the city before us. Hollywood, Tinsel Town, City of Angels and celebrities! Glamorous, fabulous Los Angeles.

  "Is it me or does it smell more like pee here than you'd expected?" Kat asked, wrinkling her nose.

  "It really does. Let's go somewhere else," I said. "Somewhere fancier and less odorous, like the Chinese Theatre."

  Despite the stench and the constant harassment from people who wanted us to buy something, it was an impressive place. Hollywood was terrific, but it was also far dirtier than we'd anticipated. Glam and seediness melded together perfectly to create a truly unique town. We saw all the places on our checklist, genuinely impressed with this section of Los Angeles. We marveled at the size of the Chinese Theatre, we pointed out actors we recognized on the Walk of Fame, we paid forty dollars for Star Maps- we soaked the experience up.

  Kat and I decided on a West Coast classic, In-N-Out Burger, for dinner because we were starving, and had our very first West Coast meal together. The burgers were incredibly tasty. I didn't want to admit it, but I had one of the best burgers of my life that night.

  When we'd had our fill of hamburgers and sightseeing, we headed back to the Hotel Monaco for an early night. We were still on East Coast time and had been awake since five in the morning, and both of us were ready to keel over at any moment. We waved hello to the junkie in the stairwell, who looked at us in confusion, and watched television in our double beds until we both passed out from exhaustion.

  ∞∞∞

  Sunday was the big day- the day I got to meet the actors. Doug was throwing a celebratory luncheon at a private restaurant today, so we could all meet and get to know each other before rehearsals started in a week.

  I said my goodbyes to Kat, who was planning on doing some more sightseeing while I was gone, and waited on the street for the car Doug had insisted on ordering for me. It pulled up to the curb of the hotel at promptly thirty minutes before I was scheduled to be at the restaurant. I climbed in, impressed with the service.

  "Miss Holman?" the driver asked politely.

  "That's me," I said, buckling in as I gazed around the roomy limo. "This is so fancy! Is there a disco ball and champagne?"

  "Are you having a bachelorette party?"

  "No," I answered.

  "Then no. I'm Lou. I'm your chauffeur. Tighten your seat belt. I'm going to be doing some defensive driving," he said with a smirk. "Welco
me to Los Angeles."

  Defensive driving? I pulled on the strap of my seat belt and sent a silent prayer to the heavens, preparing myself for a rough ride. True to his word, Lou swerved to and fro, cutting people off, flipping people off, cursing loudly- and grinning the whole time. It must take a particularly large amount of confidence to drive here, and Lou had that in spades.

  Despite his determination to recreate a scene from Mad Max, Lou got me to the restaurant unharmed in record time, as promised, and dropped me off at the curb with only two heart attack scares. "Thanks, Lou," I said, leaning into the window of the passenger seat. "How much do I owe you?" I pulled my wallet out, counting my cash.

  "Don't worry about it, Mr. Wiseman has already paid. Tips are appreciated, though," Lou said.

  I handed Lou a ten dollar bill, and he inclined his head. "Enjoy the city, Miss Holman."

  "Please drive safely, Lou," I implored.

  He smiled at me with dazzlingly white teeth. "I always do." With that, he peeled away, leaving me to worry for the safety of other drivers in Los Angeles.

  The restaurant we were eating lunch in today was aptly named Paparazzi, and it was one of the highest rated restaurants in Los Angeles. I hadn't considered this before, but standing in front of the fancy facade of the restaurant, I was suddenly worried about looking out of place at the high-end venue, and what I had considered to be my nicest outfit felt plain and cheap now. I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress, took a deep breath to relax, and pulled open the heavy oak door before I could talk myself out of it.

  I was greeted immediately by a smiling maitre d', who walked me through the restaurant to where Doug was waiting for me. I looked around, wondering if we were the only ones in the restaurant at lunchtime on a Sunday, but there were a few people there. In the corner was a remarkably handsome man leaning casually against a wall, talking to a waitress. She was giggling and touching his chest, gazing up at him while he whispered something in her ear. He nicked her on the chin and walked away when his cell phone started ringing, leaving her looking disappointed.

  The maitre d' reached the table where Doug was sitting and took his leave of us, and I drew my attention away from the handsome man on his cell phone. Next to Doug was a stranger wearing a man bun, a scarf, and a bored look on his face. I assumed this was Pierre. When I smiled at them, the stranger stopped running his hands through his beard and gave me a once-over. Doug stood and jauntily shook my hand, while Pierre stayed seated and grudgingly held his hand out with a sneer. I shook their respective hands and stood unsurely in front of Doug.

  "Sit, sit," Doug insisted. "Let's do some introductions. Olivia Holman, this is Pierre St. Paul, the script screenwriter."

  "How do you do?" I asked politely.

  Pierre curled his lip and took a sip from his wine glass. "I do just fine." What was his problem?

  Doug acted as if Pierre's rudeness was nothing out of the ordinary, so I ignored it completely, turning back to Doug with a smile. "So I get to meet the cast today?"

  Doug nodded. "Tyler's around here somewhere, and Brittany will be here shortly. They're our Rafe and Emmeline, and they're fabulous. Before we start lunch, though, I wanted to discuss some of the plot changes with you so that you're not surprised by anything that's said here today."

  I tilted my head. "Plot changes? What kind of plot changes?"

  "Oh, minor things, you'll barely even notice the difference." Doug waved his hand dismissively, then looked at Pierre expectantly. "Pierre will tell you all about them."

  Pierre took a long drag from his wine glass, then cleared his throat. "I have made a few improvements to the script. First off, we have changed the timeline from the past to the future. Emmeline is no longer a maid, but a noblewoman. It's not very feminist to have a woman be a maid in the future, don't you agree? Besides, Brittany doesn't want to wear a filthy costume. We've also given Rafe a sexier backstory. His parents have died, and he is forced into pirating so that he can retain his dukedom, even though he despises pirating. We have also made him bisexual, and one of his lovers is Emmeline's rival for his attention. Oh, and it's set in space. Movies in space are doing so well these days."

  I laughed. This had to be a prank. No one laughed along with me, though, and I slowly got sick as I looked at Doug and Pierre's faces. I realized this was not a joke. This was real. How could this be real, though? This was awful, and nothing like what I'd imagined the Pirate Duke series films becoming.

  "With all due respect, Pierre, and maybe I just don't understand the creative process for screenwriting, but I cannot accept this. It's a farce. It makes a mockery of everything I've created in the past ten years. A space opera set in the future? Who wants to see that? The whole plot doesn't even make sense if it takes place in the future. How is scandalous for unmarried people to be lovers in the future?!" I didn't mean to become shrill, but I could not stand by and keep quiet while my series becomes unrecognizable.

  "She's right about that," Doug said. "And my wife does love that Outlander show. Maybe there's something to be said for period pieces. Maybe it can be in space, but in the past?"

  Pierre glared at me, ignoring Doug's suggestion. "I'm sorry that you aren't capable of comprehending my vision for the story."

  "Not to be rude, Pierre, but it's my vision that matters. I created the story, not you. If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies' room." I pushed my chair out and stood abruptly. Doug nodded bemusedly. Pierre clenched his jaw, highlighting a twitching muscle on his jawline. I stared at them both for a long second before leaving.

  My shoes clicked on the tile floor as I walked away angrily. I don't care what contract Doug tries to enforce. This situation was bullshit. I splashed my face in the sink, mainly because it always seems to work to calm down angry people in the movies. All it did for me, however, was mess up my makeup. Now I had to go back to that table still angry and with mascara streaming down my face. I fixed the black smudges under my eyes as best as I could and slammed the bathroom door open into the hallway.

  "Oof!" The door made contact with something hard, startling me out of my funk. I pulled the door back to see the source of the noise.

  It was the man who'd been flirting with the waitress earlier, now holding his nose and glowering at me. I grimaced when I saw that there was already a bruise forming on his gorgeous tanned face. Despite the maimed nose, I could say definitively that this was the best looking man I'd ever seen in real life. I gawked at him wordlessly, impressed by his beauty.

  "Use doors much?" he asked sourly, still rubbing his nose.

  Reality clicked into place and mortification set in. I slapped a hand over my face. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it would swing open with such force and I had no idea there was anyone in the hallway. Are you okay?"

  "I'll survive. I can't say the same for my nose though." I looked through the slits in my fingers. The gorgeous stranger's whole demeanor had changed. He was smiling and staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time. He had turned the charm on, and I was powerless to resist it. "I'm Tyler Sutton."

  "Olivia Holman," I answered. "I usually greet people in a more dignified way than this."

  Tyler Sutton chuckled and held out his hand. I almost melted at the way Tyler's hand fit into mine. "You can slam a door in my face anytime."

  "Tyler Sutton," I said.

  He winked at me, sending my insides into a tizzy. "That's me."

  "That name sounds familiar," I said, searching internally for where I knew him from.

  "I'm an actor," he said casually.

  "An actor, huh? Do I know you from anything?" I asked. Besides my dreams. I couldn't stop myself from giggling at the silly thought.

  "Couple of movies, mostly chick flicks," Tyler said, smiling at my giggles. "In fact, I'm the lead in a new movie that starts shooting in a few weeks. Really cheesy, stupid stuff. It's popular, though, so my agent is making me do it."

  "Poor you, being forced to act in popular films because
of your beautiful face," I teased.

  "And you tried to take my livelihood away by maiming my beautiful face." Tyler shook his head sadly.

  "What's the movie about?" I asked.

  "Oh, it's awful," Tyler said. "It's set in space in the future-"

  The happy bubble that had been growing in me since I met this beautiful stranger popped. "You're talking about Smooth Operator."

  "Yeah, how did you know?" Tyler looked at me incredulously.

  "Because I wrote it," I said grimly.

  Tyler grimaced. "When I said awful, I meant unique."

  "Don't bother," I said. "It's nothing like what I actually wrote. It's crap. I have to go back to Doug's table now."

  Tyler followed close behind me. "Hey, I didn't mean to insult you. How could I have known you wrote the movie I'm starring in? That's a crazy coincidence, don't you think?"

  I sighed. "I'm not insulted. I know it's awful now. It galls me to think about what they've done with my most popular series."

  "This is your most popular series?" Tyler asked. I stopped dead in my tracks to glare at him. "Sorry, sorry. It's just- why would a series about a spoiled rich guy who kidnaps a noblewoman in space be a popular series?"

  Realization dawned on me. "You haven't read the book, have you?" I asked.

  "Just the script," Tyler replied. "I didn't want to be influenced by the book."

  "That's why you think the series is so stupid. You read a stupid and weird adaptation of the book. The real story takes place in England, on Earth, in the nineteenth century. Space is never even mentioned." I continued walking, slowly now, with Tyler keeping pace.

  "That still sounds cheesy, but at least coherent." Tyler acknowledged.

  We reached our table, where Doug and Pierre had been joined by a young lady with mussed blonde hair and over-sized sunglasses covering her face. "Olivia, I see you've met Tyler!" Doug boomed. "This is Brittany, our Emmeline!"