Page 2 of Her Hollywood Master (Master Me #6)

He’d found her staring at one of the gossip rags one day.

He had snatched it out of her hand, rolled it up and swatted her ass with it.

“Don’t you know the first rule to surviving Hollywood is never to read the gossip about yourself?

” But then he’d seen her face. She looked like she’d been kicked in the gut.

He unrolled the paper to take in the headline.

Bad Boy Billy Foxx Cheats on Actress/Girlfriend Marissa Sparks .

“I’m sorry, kid. That sucks,” he’d said with sympathy.

She had shrugged, her jaw tightening. “Good riddance,” she’d said. But the public humiliation of being cheated on seemed to have kicked off her current downward spiral.

He looked over at her now. She sat hunched over her script, her lips moving as if she were whispering her lines.

“Sparks, did you figure out your line?” Antonio called out loud enough for the entire set to hear.

“Yep. I’m ready,” she said, springing to her feet and jogging back to the elevator.

Antonio started the shoot again and Joel entered, wrestling physically with Marissa—one of his favorite parts of the job.

He captured her against his body, holding the dull prop blade at her throat, feeling the flutter of her rapid pulse against his knuckles.

Her breasts were pushed up by his arm, her nipples hard again. “Who are you working for?”

“Easy, big guy. We’re on the same side. Jones sent me.”

“Cut!” Antonio yelled. “What the hell is wrong with your face, Sparks?”

Her hands flew to her cheeks in terror. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your lips are twitching, your pupils are tiny and there’s a muscle pulling your left nostril up. Are you on coke?”

“No,” she gasped. “I’m not. I took a prescription?—”

“Fuck this,” Antonio said, cutting her off in disgust. “Get out. Get the hell off my set. You go home and get your shit together and if you don’t show up tomorrow ready to roll, you’re fired.”

Technically, Antonio couldn’t fire her. Joel was an associate producer, so he could call the shots. But then he’d run the risk of Antonio quitting.

Marissa’s slender shoulders slumped. No defiance or backtalk from this little starlet—she had submissive written all over her.

Another reason he found her so attractive.

He’d released her from the hold, but he still stood close enough to feel her body trembling.

She licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.

Antonio had already walked away so she turned to Joel, her eyes not quite meeting his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really am.”

Again, a surge of protectiveness came over him. He wanted to take her in hand and remedy this for her. “Don’t be sorry, just fix it,” he said, leveling her with a stern look.

She nodded. “I will. I promise.” She turned away.

“I liked the yes, sir , you gave me earlier,” he said before he could stop himself.

She turned back to him, her cheeks flushing an enchanting shade of pink.

A glint of something—recognition? connection?

deviant sexuality? appeared in her eye. Once more, the evidence of her arousal showed in the stiffened peaks of her nipples through the latex catsuit.

One corner of her full lips turned up. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, her voice sultry and thick, like honey.

It took all his self-control not to lean forward and smack her ass as she turned away.

She kept it together as she walked out of the studio trying to figure out how she was going to get home.

Neither her sister nor her mom answered their phones because, of course, they were getting sheep placenta facials that probably cost one thousand dollars each.

They should’ve been helping her here today.

It was their fault she’d been up most of the night because no one had wanted to leave the party and take her home.

She started walking. Maybe she could call a cab.

Her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and glowered. Julie, her agent. “Hi Julie,” she said.

“What in the hell is going on?” Julie demanded. “I just got a call from the studio saying you’re in danger of being fired.”

She had planned on playing it cool, but instead she made a ridiculous snorting noise trying to hold back the tears.

Julie softened. “What’s going on? Is this still about Billy Foxx? Do you need to see a therapist or something?”

“No,” she exclaimed, scowling. “I just need to get a good night’s rest and everything will be fine in the morning, I promise.”

“Okay,” Julie said, sounding unconvinced. “So why is your mom calling me asking if I can get you a few commercials for extra cash? Have you run through your advance already?”

“My mom called you?” she asked, stunned. Her mom served as her manager, which had been great when she was still a teenager, but now was a constant source of annoyance.

“Yeah. What’s the deal?”

“So she knows I’m out of money?”

“Marissa, what’s the deal?”

“I don’t know. They spent it all. New car, new house, trip to Europe. It’s gone. My accountant said we can’t pay the mortgage on the house and we’re in danger of getting foreclosed on.”

“Who’s they? Your mom and sister?”

“Yeah,” she said, walking so fast she began to huff.

“Well, who the fuck’s in charge? Is it your money and your life or not? Look, I know you’re young, but you’re an adult. You signed these contracts on your own, and the money is yours. You could get a real manager. You don’t have to let your mom run your career like she did when you were thirteen.”

“Okay, thanks, nice talking to you,” she sang out in a false-friendly tone.

“Listen, Marissa, I’m not trying to piss you off. But you’re a lot harder to represent when you start pulling this temperamental star bullshit. You’re not established enough to act like a diva.”

“I am not a temperamental star!” she snapped, hating that she sounded like a petulant child instead of an accomplished professional. “I’m just...having a rough patch.”

“Well get over it. Immediately. Or we’re both screwed. Because I have no intention of returning my cut of your advance if you get fired. Understand?”

She hung up without acknowledging Julie. Bitch. Her stomach clenched in a tight knot because she knew every word Julie had said was true.

She had walked several blocks now and realized she was near Cafe Desta, the hip lunchtime restaurant for film crew and actors. She could wait here until her sister and mom emerged from their spending spree.

“Good morning, Ms. Sparks,” the maitre d’ said, “Table for one?”

God that sounded so pathetic. But yes, that was her life now.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Inside or out?”

“The patio would be great. Thanks,” she said, her eyes skittering around to see if she recognized anyone.

She saw several execs from other studios, a few agents and a B-list actor.

She wondered what they’d heard about her.

Damn. Hollywood was worse than middle school in terms of social anxiety.

Maybe it was just the dexedrine talking.

She sat down and pulled her phone out of her purse. She only had a little bit of battery left. Probably not her best plan to have her phone play the part of lunch date today. She turned it off and stuck it back in her purse.

The waitress came around and she ordered a chamomile tea. If only they could make it strong enough to counteract the amphetamine coursing through her system now. At this rate, she wouldn’t sleep for days.

She searched through her purse for her lipgloss and then decided to organize the jumbled mess in her bag.

She began to remove the contents of her purse one by one, placing them on the chair beside her so she didn’t call attention to herself.

She could just see that headline: Lonely Marissa Sparks Asked to Leave Restaurant for Acting like Bag Lady.

” She supposed that would be better than some of the other half-truths they’d said about her.

She glanced up as the maitre d’ showed three other people to the patio.

Oh shit.

She sank down in her chair, wishing she had a hat or sunglasses to hide behind. Joel and two of the female supporting actors were coming toward her. It annoyed her that he’d asked them to lunch. Or maybe they’d asked him, but still—she’d never been invited to a meal with him.

“Oh, there’s Marissa,” she heard Joel say as she pretended not to see them. “Do you mind? I need to have a talk with her.”

“No, I don’t mind,” one of the actors said, although she obviously did. She and her cohort took a table for two, looking disappointed.

And Marissa should not feel so satisfied over that.

She watched him approach out of the corner of her eye, still pretending she hadn’t noticed his arrival. His long legs made the trip a short one. He stopped opposite the table from her.

She lifted her eyes and put on her best smirk. “Have you come to lecture me again?”

Da-yum. Marissa Sparks was batting her huge baby blues at him, a naughty, coquettish smile on her face. She had changed into a slouchy mini-dress that fell off one shoulder. Did she know what that did to him?

He imagined she did. That was what gave her the “it factor”—the ability to produce the perfect persona for every occasion. A true actress.

He leaned down and rested his hands on the table, invading her space. “Nah, I thought we could go straight to the spanking.”

To his delight, her pupils dilated and her smile widened as if she was amenable to the idea. She waved to the seat across from her. “Have a seat.” She began to pick up several personal articles strewn about on the chair beside her, stuffing them into her purse.

“What were you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. I started organizing my purse and I got a little carried away. The prescription I took was for A.D.D, but I think it gave me a little too much focus.”

He slid into the chair, which seemed way too far away from her. “Do you have A.D.D.?”

She raised both eyebrows and gave him a “don’t be stupid” kind of look.

“Right.”