Why Resist a Rebel - By Leah Ashton Page 0,20

Quite the contrast to Ruby, who had driven up to Lucyville with her hire car packed full with everything she owned, Rohan and one of the girls from Accounts. Plus some miscellaneous lighting equipment.

Paul nodded sharply. ‘Good, good.’

Then he went silent, allowing Ruby to start dreaming up all the potential reasons why he’d really needed to talk to her.

Right at the top of that list was Dev.

‘So. I hear you had some luck talking Dev around, yesterday.’

Got it in one.

‘Yes,’ she said, far more calmly than she felt. ‘He just needed a little time to understand what was required.’

‘Excellent,’ Paul said. ‘As unfortunately neither his agent or I are having much luck making him understand that he signed a contract that specified he walk the red carpet at this premiere. He’s refusing to go.’

Of course he was.

Ruby bit back a sigh. ‘I don’t think I’d have any more chance of talking him around than you would.’

‘I have faith in you.’

Which meant: Go fix this, Ruby.

Paul had already reached for his phone, casually moving on to his next production crisis, now that—in his mind at least—this particular issue was sorted.

So Ruby walked out of his office, down the hallway, outside onto the dusty grass, then all the way across Unit Base to where the opulent, shiny black actors’ trailers that housed Arizona and Dev were situated.

And knocked, very loudly, on Dev’s door.

He was, Dev decided, becoming quite accustomed to people being annoyed with him.

There was Veronica, of course, all but breathing fire across the cellular network whenever she called. Her multiple-times-a-day tirades were exclusively for the benefit of his voicemail, however, as Dev considered Graeme a sufficient conduit for anything that Veronica really needed to know. He figured his agent could hardly complain. She’d planted her security guy/minder/driver/spy—she might as well get her money’s worth.

Or, more accurately, his money’s worth. As of course that was what all this was about—Veronica’s much-stated concern for him was all about the money. He was her biggest star, and now she was panicking.

But he felt no guilt. He’d made Veronica very, very rich. He owed her nothing.

Then there was Graeme. The director. The producer. The rest of the crew. He gave them all just exactly what was needed—whether it be his acting skills, the answer to a question, or simple conversation. But not one skerrick more.

Then his mother had started calling. In her first voice message, she explained she’d heard on the news that he was in Australia, and was hoping they could catch up.

He’d meant to call her, but then didn’t. Couldn’t.

And she’d kept calling, kept leaving polite, friendly messages, that always ended with a soft love you.

Each call made him feel like something you’d scrape off your boot, but, as he’d been doing lately, he just shoved that problem aside. To worry about later. Eventually...

Most likely at three in the morning, when he was so overwhelmed with exhaustion that he could no longer ignore the thoughts that caused him pain.

He clenched his jaw. No.

The woman on the other side of his trailer door, she was who he needed to be thinking about. Somehow, randomly, she’d grabbed his attention. With her, he forgot all the other rubbish that was cluttering up his head.

And she was, unquestionably, very, very annoyed with him.

He smiled, and walked to the door.

He opened the door mid-knock, triggering a surprised, ‘Oh!’ and she stumbled a step inside.

He didn’t step back himself, forcing her to squeeze past him. Not quite close enough for their bodies to touch, but close enough that her clothes brushed against his.

Yes, he was being far from a gentleman, but no—he didn’t care.

He found himself craving that flare in Ruby’s gaze, that look she worked so hard to disguise.

But it was there—this heat between them. He knew it, she knew it—she just needed to get over whatever ridiculous imagined rules she’d created in her head and let the inevitable happen.

He let the trailer door swing shut behind him and turned to face her. She walked right into the middle of his trailer, in the ‘living’ section of the luxury motorhome. The trailer was practically soundproof, so now they both stood, looking at each other, in silence.

That didn’t last long.

‘I thought I made myself clear,’ she said, frustration flooding her voice, ‘how important my career is to me, and how you have no right to mess with it. To mess with my life.’

‘But I haven’t.’

She blinked. ‘What would you call this? Refusing to attend a premiere that’s in