The Italian Heartthrob: Forbidden Standalone Read online

  I leaned forward and asked the driver to stop the car.

  “Maggie, don’t—”

  My arms wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”

  “Maggie,” he called after me as I shut the door behind me. “The money will be in your account by the end of the day.” His voice trailed behind me.

  “No thanks. I’m a bad investment.” I stalked away, my fists shoved in the pockets of my jacket, tears burning my eyes.

  My phone buzzed with an email alert. I got it out, swiped and glanced at the subject line: Results of our short story competition - Congratulations!

  My eyebrows hooked as I opened the email.

  Dear Maggie,

  I'm delighted to tell you that your short story, Shreds, was in the top five in this quarter's competition - congratulations!

  We'd like to publish your piece in the next anthology, which we're hoping to bring out in mid-November. If you're happy to be a part of the collection, just get back to us and let us know before Wednesday 25th October so that we can announce the winning entries, then we'll send you a check with your $1,000 prize.

  Congratulations once again!

  Stephen

  I froze for a moment, and then I lifted my head to the bright sky, the tears now falling.

  This was neither the first time I’d won a writing contest, nor did I care much about writing now, but winning at this particular moment meant the world to me. It was all the validation I needed after my most important supporter told me I was doing nothing but wasting my life.

  Wiping my face, I nodded to myself. I would make my movie. At any cost.

  I just had to figure out how to come up with nine more thousand dollars. Writing a few more pieces here and there wasn’t going to cut it. It barely paid for groceries. Maybe I should have let Dad get me that Lexus for my birthday. It would have come in handy now.

  The phone buzzed again, this time with a text message alert. I scowled at the name on the screen. Mike.

  Morning, Kiddo. Back from Berlin. Scheduled 4 photo shoots till 3. Call me when u r up. TC.

  Sniffling, I tapped the dial icon and placed the phone on my ear, expecting voicemail.

  “Carolina, how’re you doing?” Mike answered, his voice cheerful. “Why are you up so early?”

  My heart thudded. The way his Italian accent popped as his rugged voice said my middle name warmed my cheeks. “Um… I haven’t slept yet.” I ran a finger across my eyebrow. “What’re you doing answering your phone? I thought they were getting you dolled up for pictures.”

  He laughed. “They will…in thirty minutes.”

  “Okay. How was Berlin?”

  “Was all right. Shoot. Promote. Fest. Same old stuff. Anyway, what’s up with you, Kiddo?”

  I hated it when he called me that. “I’m not a fucking Kiddo.”

  He chuckled. “Missed your potty mouth.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really?”

  His laughter continued. “No, not really.” He paused for a couple of seconds. “But I sure missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Superstar.”

  “So what are you up to?”

  I took a long breath. “Guess what? One of my short pieces of shit has just won an award.”

  “First, don’t call your stories that. Second, get the fuck out of here! That’s awesome.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  “Have you told your parents yet?”

  “Nope. You’re the first one I told.” My voice cracked.

  “Maggie, you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I lied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Why do you sound so upset? You gotta celebrate, not brood.”

  “Sure. The award comes with a social media party and everything.”

  “Not your kinda party, I know. But I’m sure you won’t have a problem stumbling on one that matches your taste.”

  “You know me too well, Superstar. Any chance I’m gonna see you soon?” I squeezed my eyes shut, disappointed at myself. I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Er… Yeah. I haven’t seen you in like what, eight months now? Let’s meet at your parents’ place. I have something very important to discuss with Andrea this week anyway.”

  What the fuck? “Whatever.”

  “Listen, I gotta run now. I’ll text you the day. Take care, Kiddo.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He cackled. “Love you.”

  Scene 3

  Mike

  Mike slid behind the wheel of his silver Porsche, his sunglasses tilted enough to hide half of his face. Like it was going to work. Fans and paps had already gathered along the street. He nodded and smiled through the glass as he slowly moved forward among the waving hands, bouncing bodies, and popping flashes. His foot went gentle on the gas until he eased through the madness and made the turn.

  It’d been fifteen years since he’d decided not to become a chef and made his first movie. He was used to the madness. The attention, the love, the lights, he appreciated. It meant he was still hot, desired, and successful; there was still time before the crowds didn’t remember his name.

  “Good evening, Loretta.” He took his shades off when she greeted him at the door, giving her his perfected, fan-mode smile.

  She didn’t smile back. She never did. The old woman hated him for a reason he never cared to know.

  She escorted him to the living room and asked what he’d like to drink.

  “I’m good.” He sank onto the couch and placed his sunglasses on the coffee table.

  “Mrs. Dawson is expecting you. She’ll be down any minute.”

  He nodded at her and spread his arms along the back of the couch. A chuckle escaped his mouth as she stalked away, murmuring in gibberish.

  The lights were dimmed, casting a beautiful hue on the hardwood and glass interior. The room and décor were all shades of brown. Warm. Welcoming. The air smelled like the jasmines adorning the antique vases.

  His gaze wandered with the ocean waves as he recalled the house where he was born— where Andrea Dawson was still Andrea Marino, and he was Mickey, il bambino dell’ autista—the chauffeur’s kid. He couldn’t remember much of that house now, except that it was big. But again, he was almost ten the last time he went there. He’d been invited to Maggie’s first birthday. The garden swarmed with guests and plenty of children to play with. That day, he had seen Andrea for the first time after she got married. She was nineteen then, and God she was hot.

  He glanced toward the sound of heels coming from behind him. Andrea smiled from ear to ear when she saw him, her lips a crimson red like the corseted dress that gave him a good view of her cleavage. Anybody else would have been tempted, but he knew better.

  He rose, and she folded her arms around his waist, pulling him in for an embrace. “I missed you, Mickey.”

  He ended the hug fast. “Looking good. Those fillers are really working for you.”

  She flipped her long, brown hair as she sat next to him. “Thank you. Maybe I should give you the number of my doctor. You’re going to need him very soon.”

  He smirked and put one leg on the other. “Nah, I’m good. James called you?”

  “Yes, your manager informed me that you don’t want to do Heavenly Kisses. No problem. I have two more scripts for you to choose from.”

  “What is it this time? A rom-com or a romantic thriller?” He snorted. “Listen to me. This isn’t just about Heavenly Kisses. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my acting career doing nothing but being some sexy whatever who saves the day and gets the girl. I’m done with that kind of shit. I want to act. So bring me something different. Important.”

  She sighed. “I understand what you’re going through. Believe me. After this long in the business you get bored. You want to try something different, something new, even risky.” She leaned forward, her tits on display even more. “But you can’t just make that shift all of a sudden. You have to ease your way into it, pave the way for your audience to acce
pt that change, or else everything you’ve worked really hard for will be at risk.”

  “Or maybe I just need a new audience. That’s the point of change, isn’t it?”

  “But we—”

  “No buts! Last Resort is the last movie on my contract with Universal and the last one of this kind I’m ever gonna make. Next year is gonna be different, and you’d better be ready for it.”

  “I can’t let you do this. This is career suicide.”

  “You know what? I just don’t give a shit anymore. If you can’t get me what I want, I’ll find a new agent who can.”

  Her eyes flashed at him as she jumped to her feet. “Excuse me? Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you? What my family did for you?”

  “No, I haven’t, and I never will. I like what we have. Our friendship and partnership have been very successful so far.” He grabbed his shades and stood. “For me and you.”

  Then he glanced down at her. “I don’t want to end this, and I’m sure you wanna keep making the millions I make you. So get me what I want.”

  Scene 4

  Mike

  “Hey, Kiddo.” Mike snickered as Maggie cursed in response. He could picture her hazel eyes rolling as he adjusted his phone on his ear, climbing into his Porsche. “Why didn’t you come to Andrea’s?”

  “Ugh! You really don’t know the answer?”

  “But we agreed to meet there.”

  “No. You made that obnoxious suggestion, and I said whatever,” she corrected. “You know better than anyone that’s the last place I wanna be, even if it’s to see you.” There was an edge to her voice.

  He grunted. “Okay. How about I make it up to you?”

  “I’m listening.”

  A grin stretched my lips. “I’m having a party tonight at the AKA. Why don’t you come over?”

  “You still live there?”

  “Si, si.” He’d been calling his AKA Beverly Hills suite home for the past two years. After his father passed away, the mansion in Bel-Air was too big and lonely for a single man like him.

  “Um… You know I never say no to that, but Kyle isn’t in town tonight. He doesn’t like me going to parties without him.”

  His face contorted in disgust when he heard the name. That nineteen-foot bastard with the cheekbones of a model she met a month after Mike had gone to Europe to shoot Everlasting. The one she’d been with longer than all her boyfriends combined. “Kyle? That slick ass broker bosses you around now? What the fuck?”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’s my boyfriend. I don’t like to upset him.”

  His fist tightened around the steering wheel. “So you’re not going to a party just to please some insecure boy who can’t trust you to go somewhere without him for a few hours? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Jealous much? Why don’t you get yourself a girlfriend?”

  Fair question. One he couldn’t answer without having to lie to her. “Maggie, I got weed. Loads of it. You coming or not?”

  “Well, when you say it that way…”

  “I’m sending a car over at 9:30.”

  Scene 5

  Mike

  Mike did a double take as Maggie waltzed through the people jumping up and down in the strobe lights on his suite floor. She met his gaze with a crooked smile, sauntering toward him in a wraparound black dress and high heels with fancy lacing. Her hazel eyes, framed with black liner, shone with a wild glint. Holy fuck.

  He gave James his drink and walked toward her. “Hey—”

  “If you say Kiddo one more time, I’ll steal all your weed, and you’ll never see me again.”

  He bit his lip on a laugh. “Come here.” He spread his arms, and she threw herself into them. His nose skimmed across her hair as he bent to kiss her cheek. Why did she have to smell so damn good? He closed his eyes, swallowing a moan. “Mi sei mancato tanto, pazza.”

  Her arms slid around his waist, embracing him tighter. “I missed you, too.”

  The way he was squeezing a young hottie with his eyes closed in the middle of a room full of people must have raised some eyebrows, but he didn’t care. These friendly hugs were his only chance to feel her warmth, to touch her skin, to hear her heartbeat. He wasn’t going to let go until she did.

  When she finally pulled away from him, he gazed at her. “You look amazing.” His fingers played with a strand of her brown hair. “And this looks good short.”

  “Thanks. You should tell that to Andrea. For her, my hair is never the right length. My body is never the right size. And of course, my choice of attire is never appropriate for any given occasion.”

  “Good thing that you never listen to her. You’re gorgeous.” He took her by the hand and stepped onto the balcony, shutting the party craziness behind the glass door.

  She tossed her purse on one of the wicker chairs surrounding a small, walnut table. “Maybe you should try that, not listening to her.”

  “You should’ve been there today.” Cool air ruffled his curls as he slouched against the banister. “I’m sure you’d have liked it.”

  “I doubt that. Did something new happen?”

  He nodded, pushing his hair off his face, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “I told her I wouldn’t be making the same kinds of movies anymore, and I’d find a new agent if she wouldn’t get me what I wanted.”

  She gaped at him. “Shut up! You practically told Andrea Dawson to shove it where the sun didn’t shine? Shit! I really should’ve seen that. She must’ve flipped.”

  His eyes widened as he laughed. “Have some respect. She’s still your mother.”

  “Suck my dick.”

  “God help me.”

  She hopped and sat on the banister next to him. “So you’re finally stepping out of your comfort zone?”

  “Um-hum.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He glanced at her sideways. The moon illuminated her face with a silver twinkle, and her beauty distracted him for a second. His gaze dropped to his feet. “Because I’m done.”

  “With what?”

  “Some seventeen-year-old girl once told me that when I was done with those—and I quote—‘cheap thrills,’ she’d finally go watch my work.” He looked up. “I’d like her to know that I’m done now, and I’d love to take her to my premiere someday.”

  She smiled. “Why would you listen to some silly teen?”

  “Because she’s my best friend. And she’s not silly at all. She has the ability to follow her passion anywhere, anytime.” He brushed the back of his fingers over her temple. “I’ve always envied that about you, Carolina.”

  She ran a hand through her hair and sighed.

  “What?”

  Her lips twisted. “Dad’s coercing me to work for him again, and I think I’m gonna have to say yes.”

  “What?! Why?”

  She looked away. “I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean you can’t tell me?” He got down on his feet and tilted her face in his direction. “That job made you miserable. You swore you’d never work as an architect again. What the fuck happened? Do you need money? Is that what it is? Are you in trouble or something?”

  “No. No, it’s not like that.” She came down from the banister. “Look, if I told you why I needed the money, you’d want to help, and after a very charming conversation with Dad, I realized I needed to do this one on my own. For myself. That’s all.”

  He stared at her for a second, then he got a pen and his checkbook from the pocket of his suit jacket. “How much do you need?”

  “God! What did I just say?”

  “Fine.” He leaned over the table, scribbled her name down on a check, and handed it to her. “Here. Put your number and cash it out any time you want.”

  She stared at the piece of paper for a second. “A blank check? Seriously? You think I’m just gonna take that? No fuckin’ way.”

  He held her purse, placed the check inside, and
tossed it back on the chair. “Yes, you’re taking it,” he said with an authoritative tone as he took a seat. “How’s your novel coming?”

  Filling her chest with air, she sat on the opposite chair and looked away. “I can’t fuckin’ believe you right now.”

  “You stopped writing, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she uttered. “I really don’t need you, too, lecturing me on how I’m wasting…” She trailed off when James opened the glass door.

  Mike apologized to her for the interruption. “Yes, James?”

  “Your guests are asking about you.” He smiled at her. “Hi. I’m James Bailey, Mike’s manager.” He stuck his hand out.

  “Maggie Dawson,” she yelled over the music, shaking his hand. Then she looked back at Mike. “You should get back to your friends.”

  He rose. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you.”

  “In a while. I need some air. You go ahead.”

  “Okay. I’ll return with gifts.” He winked.

  Scene 6

  Maggie

  “Do you mind if I keep you company?” A charming smile danced across Mike’s manager’s lips as he closed the door.

  I glanced at his face. He was a handsome guy; anybody could see that. Over six feet. Athletic. Gray eyes. Blond hair. Symmetrical. A few years older than Mike. “Sure.” This week was getting shittier by the day. A little company might take my mind off things for a minute.

  He sat, unbuttoning his jacket. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “We might have crossed paths once or twice. Mike’s agent is my mother.”

  “You’re Andrea’s daughter? Maggie Dawson,” he said slowly, as if he felt stupid not to catch the last name resemblance.

  “The one and only.”

  “So humble.” His laugh made me laugh. He was one of those people. “And pretty.” A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes. “Very pretty.”

  I tilted my head, measuring him. I was unable to decide whether he was being honest or just saying things to get in my pants. “I have a boyfriend.”