Page 4 of Blood Stone

Patrick Sauvage. She sighed. Casting him was a day’s worth of rollicking debate. DoveAngel was right. Sauvage was only perfect for the role, from a strictly character actor point of view. He had the touch of maturity, and more than the right amount of talent. Fans stripped naked in order to throw their lingerie up onto his hotel balconies or stuff bras and thongs into his pockets. He had the adoration of the public, so box office was there, too. He had the right looks for the part, and he looked physically the right shape, height and colour.

She could see why DoveAngel had leapt on the idea. There were already public polls on Facebook, IMDB and other social sites that kept up with advanced casting, calling for Patrick Sauvage to be given the role.

Kate bit her lip and tapped out a direct return tweet to DoveAngel.

Millions of reasons for yes. Dozen bigs for no. Would love to, but it’s out of the question.

She had heard nothing but silence in response. Eventually, knowing she had a marathon session of meetings and lunches today, she had forced herself to bed to try and get some sort of sleep before the sun rose, but instead she had tossed and turned over the impossible casting of her Murad.

Kate stared at the back of Garrett’s business card again.I can help you get Sauvage.

Her heart kept leaping at the words, but she forced herself to focus on the real issue. She looked up at Garrett. “You lied to me.”

“It wasn’t something I could reveal easily. Think about it,” he said gently. “Would you have believed me even if I could have found a secure way to tell you who I was?”

Wouldshe have believed someone randomly contacting her via the Internet, if they had claimed they were Calum Garrett?

“No,” she answered him truthfully. “I would have cut contact with you. I would have classified you as either a whack job, or someone trying to con me.”

Garrett nodded.

“But you could have called,” Kate insisted. “Everyone and his dog knows my number, or can get it. This is Hollywood. Peoplewantto be called, here.”

“I would never have made it through your secretaries and P.A.s.”

“Are you kidding? A call from Calum Garrett? They would have...” She trailed off, thinking it through. Just like everyone else in Hollywood, Kate had professional layers protecting her from the public at large randomly contacting her. There were filters and channels and buffers, and after years of abuse and some rabid fans and nut jobs, those filters were industrial strength. The humans involved in filtering her contacts had long ago developed what Ernest Hemingway called “an in-built shock-proof shit-detector.” They wouldn’t have believed little Kathrine Lindenstream, producer, would be getting a call from the great Calum Garrett any more than she would have believed it. They would have put him off. Derailed him.

Kate sipped her drink, an answer to his question eluding her.

“Besides, what possible pretext could I give for calling?” Garrett added.

She looked up, feeling her eyes widen in surprise.

Garrett gave a small smile and his shoulders lifted under the jacket. “Telling anyone I liked you and just wanted to get to know you better would have got me bounced quicker than your average stalker.”

“You’re right, it would have,” she agreed. “But you could try the truth, instead. That always goes down better with me.”

Garrett leaned forward, resting both forearms on the table. “Alright then. Truth. I’ve been following your work for the last eight years, sinceSlave Hunt. I even read that biography they did on you.” He grimaced. “Horrible, by the way.”

“Yes,” she agreed flatly.

“I’ve come to appreciate the way your mind works. The wayyouwork. I wanted to get to know you better.”

Kate found herself on her feet, although she couldn’t remember standing up. “Bullshit,” she told him.

Garrett stayed in his seat. He didn’t stand and try to intimidate her with his height. He calmly looked up at her as she collected her notebook and cell phone and stuffed them into her satchel.

“You asked for truth,” he reminded her.

“I didn’t get it.” She threw the satchel strap over her shoulder. “Everyone in this town has an agenda, Garrett.Everyone. That includes you.”

“And your lunch date?” he replied coolly.

Her anger rose. “I don’t buy a pure, positive motive like yours for a nanosecond.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Then whytry it?”she demanded, her anger bubbling over. “You’re not that stupid, Garrett. I watched you onFace Offlast night, and you slaughtered the chair, you had the audience eating out of your hand...political strategy is hardwired into you, so why the rookie screw up?”