Page 5 of Howl for Me (Moonlight Magic Studios #1)

Chapter Four

The house looms in front of me, quiet and still.

A house? This can’t be right. It looks nothing like a supermarket.

There isn’t even a sign, just a heavy black door that feels like it’s watching me, waiting.

I glance down at the address to be sure, but it matches.

I move toward the door, then stop, frozen mid-step.

I wait a little too long, caught between knocking and running.

That’s when I hear it. Smooth as hell, a car pulls in behind me, the engine purring like a cat.

I turn just as the door of a black Cadillac swings open.

A man steps out slowly, like he’s got nowhere to be and knows the world will wait for him.

Curly brown hair, thick mustache, flowy silk shirt open halfway to his stomach, and bell bottoms hugging narrow hips.

He’s wearing dark sunglasses and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He doesn’t even glance at me at first. Just strolls up toward me like this is all routine. Behind me, he stops and exhales with boredom. He smells like smoke and pine needles and something a little wild, like the woods after it rains. He smells so good.

“Door ain’t gonna open itself, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? The word is supposed to sound tender and nice, but he manages to make it sound like an insult.

I glance at him sideways. “I wasn’t sure if this was the right place.”

He says nothing, brushing past me to push the door open with a huff.

Rude. I roll my eyes. Still, I follow him inside. The house is… opulent. Deep red velvet, gold-framed art, mirrors on every wall. He drops onto a red velvet couch like he owns it. Maybe he does. I take a few steps into the room, suddenly unsure if I’m supposed to sit, stand, or run out the door.

“Did I speak to you on the phone?” I ask.

He doesn’t look at me. Just exhales and says, “Nope.”

“Do you live here?”

He sighs again, then finally removes his sunglasses. His eyes are chestnut brown, bloodshot, and sharp. He looks at me like he would much rather I stop talking.

“You lost, stray?”

I blink. “Stray?”

He doesn’t explain. Just smirks, like that answers everything.

I cross my arms. “I’m here about a job. This is the address that was given to me.”

He drags his eyes down my frame, slow and deliberate. He smirks. “That so?”

“Yes, that’s so. So sorry if my questions bother you, but someone asked me to be here.”

He leans back, “You’re forgiven.”

I roll my eyes, “Charming.”

His grin is lazy, crooked, and a little dangerous. “You don’t look the type.”

I fold my arms. “What type do I look like? Not that your opinion matters.”

He chuckles. It's cocky and a little cruel. “Not the type to be working here, that’s for sure.”

I don’t know what here is even supposed to be.

He finds me amusing; I’m a joke to him. I’ve dealt with men like him before, but none of them looked like this.

None of them smelled like fresh sin and forest air.

I’m about to ask him who the hell he is when another man enters.

He’s sharp and polished, with jet-black hair and a suede suit that fits perfectly.

Rings gleam on his fingers, his skin carries a deep tan, and a hint of expensive cologne hangs in the air as he moves closer.

“You the broad that called?” His voice cuts across the velvet-drenched room like the snap of a switchblade.

I nod, straightening my shoulders. “Yeah. Cassidy. I called about the job.”

He gives me a once-over that lingers too long. “You done any work before? Anything I might’ve seen?”

Seen? My stomach does a slow roll. “I’m not sure. I just moved here. A friend gave me your number and said you might be hiring…”

Before I can finish, his eyes snap over my shoulder. “Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence. You’re four goddamn hours late, Johnny.”

I turn and find the man from the couch, Johnny, stretching like he just woke up from a nap in a meadow instead of in the middle of someone else's job interview. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Traffic,” he says around his cigarette, unbothered.

My cheeks go hot. Not from embarrassment, just from how smug this asshole is.

And how unfair it is that someone that irritating gets to look that good doing it.

Before I can say anything else, Reggie appears from one of the bedrooms, all peace signs and sleepy eyes.

He looks at me and grins like we’re old friends. I guess we are after the night we had.

“There she is. Didn’t think you’d remember the note. You were flying last night.”

My stomach drops a little as vague memories of Reggie and the party surface. Curiosity and desperation are doing a little two-step in my brain.

While Johnny and the other man bicker in the background, I lean toward Reggie and whisper, “What is this place?”

He beams, eyes a little glassy. “Moonlight Magic Studios, man. The grooviest job in town. You’ll love it here.”

My brows lift. “A film studio?”

Could I be that lucky?

The suited man turns back to me with a raised brow. “Can you be on time?”

I nod automatically, even though I’m still not sure what I’m agreeing to.

“Do yourself a favor and leave,” Johnny mutters without even looking at me.

I bite back the urge to throw something at his smug face. “Sir, what are the hours?”

The man opens his mouth, but Johnny groans loudly.

“The hours?” he says like I just asked for his blood type. “Jesus, what do you think this is, a bank job?”

The man ignores him, speaking louder. “As long as your co-star shows up when he’s supposed to,” a sharp look toward Johnny, “then once shooting’s wrapped, you’re free to go.”

Co-star?

I blink. “Oh no, I’m not an actress.”

That gets his attention. His brow furrows. “Then… what job are you here for?”

A flicker of genuine concern crosses his face, like maybe someone’s dropped me off at the wrong damn planet. Reggie takes that moment to scurry off, leaving me to fend for myself against his stare.

Johnny snorts. “Can we do this on your own time? I’m here now. Let’s roll before I lose the mood.”

I’ve had enough. I snap toward him.

“You are so unbelievably rude. Could you shut up for five minutes? We get it. You’re a miserable asshole who thinks the world revolves around him.”

The room goes still for a breath.

My heart thudding, I turn back to the man in charge.

“It seems there’s been some kind of mistake.

I’m not an actress, but I love film. I just moved here, and I need a job, any job.

I’ll answer phones, clean, organize, whatever you need.

I have a degree in communications, and I just want a foot in the door. I’d be so grateful. Really.”

He studies me in the thick silence. Then glances at Johnny, who, blessedly, is keeping his mouth shut for once.

I swallow. “I’m sorry about the outburst.”

His lips curl slowly, like he just watched a particularly good scene unfold.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I like fire. And I think I’ve got just the job for you.”

He turns, beckoning with two fingers. “Come with me. Both of you.”

Johnny groans but gets up anyway, flicking his ash onto a gold ashtray like this is just another Tuesday.

I follow them down the hall, my nerves going haywire. Whatever I just signed up for, I’ve got a feeling it's not what I expected.

But hell, I’ve handled worse. Right?