to some Chablis. Initially she meant to pour half a glass, but given the events that developed that afternoon, one just shy of the rim was filled.
Pete, Crystal's boyfriend/manager, had insisted upon a private meeting in which he dictated certain terms Montana had no intention of honoring. He wanted the option of developing projects for Crystal to star. He wanted to launch her on an all-expenses-paid promotional tour that would generate enthusiasm for her future videos. He also wanted script approval-prior to Crystal's first blush.
Pete wanted a number of things that would never get a single nod. Though strongly feeling Crystal would receive delicious hype for Wildwood productions, Montana would not permit herself to be ordered about by an amateur. Montana maintained professional standards and ran her organization by her own code-exempt of outsider input. Crystal was slated for maximum exposure, though not with the breakneck speed Pete wished. Montana simply did not have the kind of operating capitol Pete imagined; even if she did, she would not tolerate his demands.
She took a healthy gulp of her drink, then sighed. If only she could rid herself of the emotion attached to each project. Montana, by nature, was a sensitive creature. She might seem tough, even callous by some, but those who truly understood her saw the fragile woman she was. After the poisonous darts were thrown and invectives hurled, Montana was stripped of her armor. She hid behind a harsh, inflexible image to ward off unwanted parties.
As a matter of practice, she distanced herself from those in her employ. Montana had no desire to create friendships that would consume her emotional energies. It was best to stay a loner and conserve her stamina for the longevity of her business. The problem she faced was that those that populated her company were highly desirable individuals who brought temptation at every turn. She taught herself the art of discipline in moderating her indulgence.
Alone late at her studio, she was given the opportunity to think clearly-without the interruption of the phone, people barging into her office while attempting to hold a meeting or other unpleasant distractions. Preserving her sanity was key.
These days, Montana recognized her shortage of patience. Her assistants, alert to the amount of stress she was under, implied a vacation was in order. Montana, a work horse, rejected their suggestion. The aggregate hours she spent at the studio didn't explain her fatigue-what did, she came to realize, was her lack of a social life. Montana did not have a romantic interest in which to place her focus.
Montana once had a regular lover-Robert, a magazine photographer. She had met him in her early days, prior to making her first video. On a sexual level, they burned up the sheets. Robert was deliciously insatiable. The problem, however, stemmed from her busy schedule at the inception of Wildwood Productions. Montana eventually found herself in increasing demand-much to Robert's chagrin. Her inability to spend quality time with him led to the demise of that relationship.
Next came Mark, a bronzed stud, who ruled her everyday thoughts for six consecutive months. Mark was such a good fuck, she could hardly wait to wrap things up for the day so she could hop in the sack with him for an all-nighter. He ran a profitable restaurant business that made him a millionaire. Their mutual lust swiftly cooled after he relocated to New York to launch an East Coast location. Both suffered from the transition of sex on a nightly basis to occasional weekends and sought new partners. Mark had no problem in finding a replacement; Montana didn't bother. She decided to invest those energies into a more worthwhile pursuit: enlarging her fortunes.
Neglecting her personal life had been judged regrettable particularly on nights such as these, when Montana felt utterly alone. She would preferred to be enveloped in a pair of masculine arms, lazing in bed, with a bottle of champagne and a hormone-provoking video playing on the TV. Those lush moments spent with men like Robert and Mark weren't forgotten; she periodically took them off the shelf and gave them a dusting.
Strangely, the only person of late who touched a nerve was Crystal. Certainly Montana wasn't about to migrate to that kind of relationship after admitting failure with a straight arrangement. Men would always raise her pulse, get her pussy moist; women, however, were like a box of chocolates she kept tucked away for a secret thrill.
Having Pete in the picture soured Montana's appetite for Crystal. She wasn't liable to indulge herself if she had to deal with him. Montana would prefer to have no one than tackle that kind of scenario.
A knock sounded at her door, reverting Montana's thoughts to the presence. She frowned. With the exception of the security guard, she hadn't expected to be bothered. 'Yes?' she asked, unable to censor the irritation from her voice.
A tall, lean guy with dark hair, a mustache and the beginnings of a beard entered her office. The white tank top he wore revealed a developed chest loaded with dark curls and biceps pumped up in size. His jeans were worn at the crotch, drawing immediate attention to the heft of his cock. 'Miss Wildwood?'
Montana had never seen him before. Usually she wasn't kind to strangers, but struck by his virile presence, she employed a less grating tone. 'Yes, I'm Miss Wildwood. What can I do for you?'
'I'm Rusty Peters. You scheduled me for an audition this evening.'
Montana searched her memory banks. She couldn't recall having jotted that item on her agenda. 'Are you confident it was tonight?'
He nodded. 'This note was prepared by your secretary.'
Montana scanned it for authenticity. Yes, it was Paula's handwriting. She glanced up to digest those incredible hazel eyes. Rusty Peters was indisputably a hunk. The male actors she hired tended to have a direct impact on the senses-Rusty was no exception. His thick dark hair was pulled back into a small pony tail, framing rugged features. He possessed a masculine quality she didn't often encounter.
'Since you appear to have me at a disadvantage, Rusty,' Montana huskily said, 'why don't I pour you a drink so we can talk? I prefer a relaxed atmosphere to conduct an interview.'
A grin split his tanned face. He affected a swagger that nearly mesmerized Montana. He lowered himself into a spot at the far end of her sofa and accepted her terms without questions. Montana poured him a glass of champagne, letting the neckline of her blouse dip as she handed it to him. The look they exchanged was best described as 'electric.' She actually felt a current flow between them.
'Tell me something of your background, Rusty,' Montana began with. 'What led you to Wildwood Productions?'
'Well,' he said, appearing to choose his words carefully, 'I'm an automotive mechanic and have always had an appetite for pornography. I attended showings of various movies on a regular basis and feel I can improve upon the action currently produced.'
Montana grinned. Rusty couldn't be any older than twenty-one. How could someone of his inexperienced years make such an outrageous statement? 'You honestly believe you have something worthwhile to offer my audience?'
'That's what the girls tell me,' he proudly mentioned.
Montana spotted the southern twang in his voice now that he spoke more freely. Apparently she was talking with a man of absolute aplomb. 'Did you just arrive in LA?'
'I've been here almost two weeks.'
'Have you tried to secure any other kind of employment?'
He shook his head. 'I figure I can make it big in porn. I've got what it takes.' He tossed her a wink. 'I've curled more toes and hit more high notes in the women I've bunked down with than you can shake a stick at.'
Hmmmmm, his confidence level was right up there, she noted. 'Do you have a problem performing in front of people?'
'Performing?' His brow went up.
'Maintaining an erection?'
'Hell, no,' he chuckled. 'I've been at parties where a whole bunch of us have switched partners. The girls like when they end up with me. Sometimes I've worked on two at once.'
Montana felt his qualifications limited, but it was to Rusty's merit that he approached her in a susceptible mood. She took a prolonged sip of her champagne, letting the bubbles snap against her tongue before slurring, 'Let's have a look at you. Remove your clothes.'
A grin radiated from his face. Rusty couldn't have been more pleased to drop his duds. 'Yes, ma'am.'
Montana studied him with an expert eye as the top button of his jeans was popped, then his fly unzipped. White briefs arrested an interesting shape. While he wasn't the least hard, Montana could tell Rusty had the
