Infamous: Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife / Pure Princess, Bartered Bride

“Because I’d be lying if I said I liked you. Maybe once admired you, lined up to see your movies, but that was before I met you. Now I see who you really are and I don’t like you or your chauvinistic, condescending attitude.”

He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, rocked back on his heels. “Your honesty’s surprisingly refreshing.”

“Were you ever nice?”

His lips pursed, black brows pulling as he mulled over her question. Reluctantly he shook his head. “No.” Then the corner of his mouth tugged into a sardonic smile. “But you don’t have to like me to date me.”

“That’s revolting.”

“Alexandra, if you’re not an actress and you don’t date actors and you can’t get yourself promoted out of the copy room at Paradise Pictures, why stay here in Hollywood? Why not just pack your bags and go home?”

She felt a pang inside her, the muscles around her heart tightening. She’d asked herself the very same question many times. “Because I still want to make pictures,” she said softly. “I hope to one day be more involved, hope I can somehow make a difference.”

He studied her a long moment, his expression closed, eyes hooded. “You can make a difference,” he said finally. “You can help make a picture—and save the jobs of dozens of people. We’re to start filming The Burning Shore in a little over a month’s time. Work with me. Let’s get the film into production.”

Alexandra bit down, pinched her lip between her teeth. She’d love to make a difference, do something positive, learn something new. She’d love to be challenged, too, but she didn’t trust Wolf. “You think we could generate positive press together?”

He’d never looked so somber. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”

CHAPTER TWO

WOLF ACCOMPANIED Alexandra to the front of the hotel, where she’d left her car with the valet attendant.

Lush purple bougainvillea covered the hotel’s pink stucco entrance, and the fragrant blossoms of potted lemon and orange trees perfumed the air, but Wolf gave his surroundings scant attention.

Alexandra could feel the weight of Wolf’s inspection as they waited for her car to appear.

The problem wasn’t only the offer. And the issue wasn’t just her morals or her values. It was her lack of experience.

She didn’t know how to manage a man like Wolf Kerrick and couldn’t imagine how one would even date a man like him.

But they won’t be real dates, she reasoned. They’re pretend dates. It’s not as if you’ll really have to kiss him or touch him or be physically involved.

Heat washed through her at the very idea of getting physically close. She really did need more experience. “If you gave me some time,” she said after a moment, “allowed me a chance to think about your offer properly, I might say yes.” She looked up, met his gaze before quickly looking away. “But I don’t want to be pressured.”

She drew another deep breath, flexed her fingers to ease her tension. “And if I did agree, how would this work?”

If he felt any elation or sensed that he’d won, none of it showed on his face. “We’d draw up a contract, include a generous financial compensation, as it’s probable you’ll miss some workdays due to events and premieres, and then begin going places together to be seen.”

He made it sound so simple, she thought, and yet she wasn’t a glamour girl, the sort to be invited to fancy parties or industry premieres. No, she was the girl raised by her dad, grandpa and five older brothers. There hadn’t been a woman in the house, not since her mom died when Alexandra was five. Growing up, she was the original tomboy.

“And what makes you think people will believe you … and I … are together?” she asked, pushing thoughts of Montana and the Lazy L ranch from her mind. “I’m not your … usual choice in dates.”

“Lots of stars date makeup artists, casting directors, the like.”

She hesitated. “Some actors do, but not you.”

“You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

Maybe, she thought, and maybe not, but she’d seen the pictures of the women he dated. He liked starlets and models, topless dancers and magazine centerfolds, his taste typically running toward women with more cleavage than brains. And Alex didn’t even have to look down at her not-so-impressive chest to know her strength was not in her cup size.

Years ago, back in junior high school, she’d learned that there were only two avenues open for women: the one for pretty girls and the one for smart girls. Even in high school it had been one or the other—cheerleaders and beauty queens or bookworms and future librarians. Girls certainly couldn’t be both. And since Alexandra knew she wasn’t pom-pom-girl pretty, she’d decided then and there to be smart. Damn smart. “We both know I’m not pretty enough to be taken seriously as your new love interest.”

“You could be if you tried to do something with yourself,” Wolf answered with brutal candor. “Alexandra, you don’t even try.”

She bit down, not knowing where to look. “I don’t try because I know already what I am and who I am. And I don’t need makeup or fake hair or nails or a tan to make me something I’m not.”

“Which is what?” he asked quietly.

“A bimbo. I’m not going to be a bimbo. I want to be respected. Taken seriously. And if I change myself—”

“You’re changing your hairstyle, not your soul.”

Her head jerked up.

“You’re smart,” he added. “Serious. And I’m sorry, but that eliminates the bimbo category for you.”

She should have been flattered. Instead his words merely left her even more flustered.

Every time he looked at her she felt sparks on the inside, little bits of hot fire flaring here and there. It was like being a human sparkler, only worse because the heat didn’t die.

“I just don’t want to be laughed at,” she said after a moment. “People can be unkind. I know the tabloids are famous for publishing unflattering photos and pointing out celebrities’ flaws.”

“Before we go public, you’ll meet with stylists, receive wardrobe consultation. I have a team of professionals who will help ease you into the transition.”

Alexandra was intrigued despite herself. “When would that happen?”

“As soon as you signed the contract.”

Alexandra tried to imagine being groomed by top Hollywood stylists but couldn’t. She might have lost twenty pounds since moving from Montana to California, but she still thought of herself as the sturdy country girl who’d worn cowboy boots before high heels. “A beautiful starlet would be far easier to introduce to the public,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m not interested in squiring around a young actress desperate to make a name for herself—”

“But in real life—”

“This is real life, and I’m quite aware that I’m responsible for dozens of people’s jobs. I just want to get The Burning Shore made and I want to do it without emotional complications.”

She fell silent, digesting this. “You don’t want anyone to fall in love with you.”

His dark eyes creased, his mouth compressed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Thankfully her practical little blue Ford Escort appeared that moment in the famous hotel drive.

The uniformed valet climbed from the driver’s seat and held the door for her.

Wolf walked her to the car. Alexandra slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll call you,” she said.

“You’ve my number?”