hadn’t heard from him and she knew that was her own fault. She’d pushed him away.
Funny thing, though-during the long hours, surrounded by suits and the director and the other writers, all of whom lived and breathed this soap opera world, suddenly she couldn’t remember why she did.
Why did she work around the clock for a television show? Was it the respect and love of her peers? No. Was it the money? A resounding no.
So why?
She had the terrible feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was because she had nothing else in her life, so she relied on work.
On Monday, there was a crisis. One of their favorite female leads wanted out of her contract to take a movie deal, and everyone was up in arms. Emma took it in stride. No biggie, they could kill her off.
On Tuesday, one of their teen males fell off his bike and broke both legs. Again everyone fell apart. Emma offered to write him into a coma.
On Wednesday, the union grumbled about a strike. On Thursday, an hour of film was lost. By Friday, the place was just about crisis-overloaded.
And yet she felt nothing but the oddest sense of detachment.
On Friday afternoon, it occurred to her that she hadn’t heard about any more photo shoots, specifically October and November, which she knew were to take place over the weekend. Thinking that was strange since she usually knew by Thursday what was expected, she wrote herself a note to call Amber that night.
And she refused to let herself dwell on the fact that the reason she felt so curious was that she knew she had only three excuses left to see Rafe.
Just as she thought that, Amber entered her office wearing a hot-pink sundress and a grin. “Hey, sis.”
“Hey. I was just thinking about you, wondering if you’ve heard anything about this weekend’s photo shoot.”
“Yep.” She plopped into the chair, tossed back her mane of hair and revealed a hickey on her neck.
“New boyfriend?”
Amber laughed. “Stone.”
“I thought he was a one-time thing.”
“Make that a two-time thing-Nope, scratch that, it’s been three times now.” Amber waggled her eyebrows. “And talented as he is, I’m thinking of make it four, just for fun.”
“The shoot,” Emma said, not wanting to hear details about her sister and Stone. “What have you heard about the shoot?”
“It went fabulously.”
Emma blinked. “Went? As in past tense?”
“They called the other day, and I couldn’t reach you. For October we did a bubble bath scene, and then we shot November right afterward. I had a choice this time of costume. Can you believe that Stone let me pick? A red or black negligee on this cool bedroom set. I chose the black because it sets off my tan so nicely. And Rafe finished in less than hour, so I must be getting even better than I thought. There’s only one shot left now, tonight in Malibu. Anyway-” she hopped up “-just wanted to tell you the good news.”
Emma couldn’t think past the fact that she’d just lost two of three chances to be with Rafe. “Good news?”
Amber tried to look cool but couldn’t contain her grin. “I got a part on a pilot for the fall schedule. It’s a comedy.” She let out a little scream of joy. “Can you believe it?”
“Amber, that’s…amazing.” Emma laughed and hugged her sister tight. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I know, I am, too. And given how generous I’m feeling, I think Stone just might get lucky for that fourth time soon. Maybe even tonight.” She danced toward the door. “I think I’ll just go out to Frederick’s of Hollywood and find something suitably outrageous to wear under my dress. Come with?”
Emma thought of the work she had left to do and shook her head.
“You know, I’ll never understand why you do what you do when it takes all of your time. Look at me-I make a lot more money than you do, and I have at least twice the spare time. You work too hard, Emma.”
“Yes, I know. I-” But she had to laugh, because Amber was already gone.
Emma got back to work but couldn’t concentrate. She kept picturing herself in the negligee Amber hadn’t chosen-the red one-posing for Rafe.
RAFE LAY ON A FLOAT in his pool, letting the sun bake him while the cool water lapped at his body. Only one shoot left, and all the prep work was complete. After years of working night and day, lying here on a weekday with nothing claiming his time felt incredibly decadent.
“Meow.”
Peering out of one eye, he took in the cat sitting a good three feet back from the edge of the pool, watching him with distaste. “Go do what you do. Nap or something.”
“Meow.”
Ah, hell. He drifted over to the edge. “All right. Come on over here.”
The cat eyed the water and lifted her nose.
He waggled his fingers, and with a sigh that said she was clearly queen and simply humoring him, she came a little closer, just enough that he could reach up and scratch her beneath that raised chin.
Immediately her eyes closed and a rumble came from her chest. She purred all the time now, and slept on his feet at night so that he couldn’t even feel them when he woke up in the morning.
He’d always dreamed of a puppy, a big, sloppy one that would show him affection and blind devotion. “But somehow,” he murmured, “you work, too.”
As if tired of his pampering, she simply turned away, tail raised to the sky, paws practically pointed as she strutted off as if she could no longer be bothered.
What could he do but laugh?
“Great, you’ve gone to the loony bin already and you haven’t even officially stopped working yet.” Stone, who’d apparently let himself in, dove into the pool. Surfacing near Rafe, he sighed with pleasure. “Man, that felt good. I’m done in the darkroom with those last two shoots.”
Those last two were still a sore subject for Rafe. They hadn’t been with Emma, and when he’d realized he had Amber standing in front of him in a black negligee, he’d gone in one heartbeat from taut anticipation to a frustrated edginess.
Amber had been surprisingly helpful and relatively quiet as well, letting him do his thing in a timely fashion. She’d actually wanted to please them. “Them” being mostly Stone, but Rafe appreciated it, nonetheless.
He was afraid he was never going to see Emma again.
“Did they come out okay?” he asked Stone now.
“Just as good as the others. Impossible to tell we have used two entirely different models.”
“You could call her, you know,” Stone said, flopping over in the water to float on his back.
“Who?”
“Who?” He laughed. “Emma, who.”
“I don’t need to call her.”
“Why can’t you just admit you fell for her? So she isn’t Martha Stewart, big deal.”
“I’m not looking for Martha Stewart.” “Really? What are you looking for?” Stone rolled his eyes when Rafe didn’t-couldn’t-reply, and dove under the water to swim laps.
Leaving Rafe with only his own doubts for company.
THAT EVENING, Emma decided she’d had enough. She’d been working nonstop for days, running on caffeine and little sleep.
She sat in a meeting surrounded by suits, bleary-eyed, feeling as if she’d let her life pass her by.
She knew they’d be here all weekend, and for the first time in…well, ever, she had somewhere else she wanted to be.
A photo shoot in the Malibu hills. It wasn’t a sudden urge to be a model that drove her. In fact, after this fantasy calendar shoot was over, she intended to never be in front of camera again.
Nope, what drove her was the need to see this thing through with Rafe. She hadn’t expected her desire for him to increase with each passing day and she certainly hadn’t expected that desire to be more than physical.
