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“There’s chemistry between you,” Odele responded, switching gears.
“Fireworks are more like it.”
Chiara’s manager brightened. “The press will eat it up. The stuntman and the beauty pageant winner.”
So Chiara had won a contest or two—he shouldn’t have been surprised. She had the looks to make men weak, including him, somewhat to his chagrin. Still, Odele made them sound like a couple on a C-rated reality show: Blind Date Engagements. “I’ve seen the media chew up and spit out people right and left. No, thanks.”
“It’ll raise your profile in this town.”
“I like my privacy.”
“I’ll pay you well.”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Well,” Odele drawled, lowering her eyes, “maybe I can appeal to your sense of stuntman chivalry then.”
“What do you mean?”
Odele looked up. “You see, Chiara has this teeny-weeny problem of an overly enthusiastic fan.”
“A stalker?”
“Too early to tell, but the guy did try to scale the fence at her house once.”
“He knows where she lives?” Rick asked in disbelief.
“We live in the internet age, dear. Privacy is dead.”
He had some shred left but he wasn’t going to go into details. Even Superman’s alter ego, Clark Kent, was entitled to a few secrets.
“Don’t mention the too-eager fan to her, though. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Rick narrowed his eyes. “Does Chiara Feran know you approached me?”
“She thinks I already have.”
All right then.
He surmised that Odele and Chiara had had their talk. And apparently Chiara had changed tactics and decided to turn the situation to her advantage. She was willing to tolerate him...for the sake of her career at least. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d already had one bad experience with a publicity-hungry actress, and then he’d been one of the casualties.
Still, they were in the middle of the second act, and he’d missed the opening. But suddenly things had gotten a lot more interesting.
Odele’s eyes gleamed as if she sensed victory—or at least a chink in his armor. Turning away, she said, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
As Rick watched Chiara’s manager leave, he knew there was a brooding expression on his face. Odele had presented him with a quandary. As a rule, he didn’t get involved with actresses—ever since his one bad episode—but he had his gallant side. On top of it, Chiara was the talent on his latest film—one in which he had a big stake.
As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated. Fishing it out of his pocket, Rick recognized the number on-screen as that of his business partner—one of the guys who fronted the company, per Rick’s preference to be behind the scenes.
“Hey, Pete, what’s going on?”
Rick listened to Pete’s summary of the meeting that morning with an indie director looking for funding. He liked what he heard, but he needed to know more. “Email me their proposal. I’m inclined to fund up to five million, but I want more details.”
Five million dollars was pocket change in his world.
“You’re the boss,” Pete responded cheerfully.
Yup, he was...though no one on set knew he was the producer of Pegasus Pride. He liked his privacy and kept his communications mostly to a need-to-know basis.
