Dirty
Dirty
Published by Lucia Jordan
at Smashwords
Copyright © 2015 Lucia Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All characters depicted are 18 years or older.
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Dirty Book 1
Dirty Book 2
Dirty Book 3
Dirty Book 4
Dirty Book 1
“Identification and set badge, please,” the security guard said. He smiled when Marielle Fairchild held out both before he finished speaking. “You must be the new P.A.”
“Yes, sir. Has the director arrived?”
“Oh, yeah. Ms. Newell is usually the first one through the gate.” He handed back her credentials. “Park anywhere in the green-flagged section. Craft services is in the north end if you want to grab breakfast.”
Marielle thanked him and drove into the roped-off area reserved for the filming crew. Trailers, trucks and tents encircled the makeshift lot, as did small clusters of camera and lighting equipment. On the promontory above the lot sprawled a massive manor house, which had been rented from its jet-setting owner to serve as the principal set for Fascination.
Marielle grabbed her set kit from the passenger seat, looped the lanyard with her production badge around her neck, and flipped down the visor mirror to check her appearance. Wearing minimal make-up and putting her blonde hair in a ponytail made her seem ten years younger. Sometimes looking like an ingénue worked in her favor. Women on set tended to ignore her and men inevitably grew protective of her.
As she locked up her car her mobile rang. “Marielle Fairchild.”
“Are you there yet?” her best friend Jilly demanded.
“Uh-huh.” She headed toward the catering tent. When she wasn’t working on a shoot Marielle often got together with Jilly and some other production assistants to share leads and talk shop over coffee. “Did you and the girls miss me at the diner this morning?”
“No. We did take a vote, however, and it’s unanimous: we all hate you.”
Marielle dodged around a big guy in a black hoodie walking ahead of her. “Why does everyone hate me for getting a job?”
“You didn’t get a job. You got the job on what is gonna be the biggest erotic movie of all time,” Jilly said. “You get to work with the man just voted the sexiest guy alive. Plus you’ll get to see him naked like every day. I think even your mother hates you.”
“Mom is too busy bragging about it to everyone. Listen, I’ve got to go. Give my love to all my haters.” She pocketed her phone as she walked up to the woman working the beverage table. “Morning. How does Ms. Newell take her coffee?”
“Black, two sugars,” the other woman said. “But she prefers it like her personality.” She held out a cup of ice.
Marielle chuckled as she prepared the iced coffee. One of the secrets of being a good production assistant was to anticipate the needs of the director. Nearly everyone working on a major movie shoot put in twelve to fourteen hour days for six or seven days a week. Exhaustion was a common problem. The director usually logged even more hours after leaving the set. Her new boss wouldn’t refuse the caffeine.
The guy in the black hoodie joined her at the table and reached for the sugar container at the same time she did.
“Sorry.” She handed it to him, noting his heavy black beard and sunglasses. He was probably with the camera crew. He smelled unexpectedly light and crisp, like the mist from a waterfall. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He added a scant amount to his cup before passing it back to her. “First day on the set?” he asked in a distinct Aussie accent.
“Yes. I’m not eating or drinking.” She glanced down at the crisp white blouse she’d paired with her gray twill trousers. “I’m always a spill magnet on the first day. How about you?”
A smile appeared in his thick dark beard. “I come with a dribble catcher.”
“I guess you do.” She chuckled. Her hands were full and she liked him, so she gave his shoulder a friendly bump with hers. “Have a good day.”
She walked up the wide aluminium stairwell and up the hill to set. She recognized a large area of viewing monitors and other equipment to the right of the house as video village — the place where the director and other production staff would be spending most of their time working — and picked out Vanessa Newell by her lacquered helmet of salt-and-pepper curls.
Marielle approached Vanessa but waited until the director was finished speaking with a cameraman before she greeted her. “Good morning, Ms. Newell. I’m Marielle Fairchild, your new P.A.”
Vanessa inspected her with a single glance. “John Thompson told me you practically read his mind working for him on his last film. Is that true?”
“I do my research. I picked up the script revisions and time sheets from the studio before I drove up and I have those SAG forms you needed. Oh.” She held out the coffee as if it were an afterthought. “Iced black, two sugars.”
“Nicely done.” Vanessa took the cup and gave her a handheld radio. “Your walkie. Always copy any call so we know you’ve got it. There will likely be a lot of chatter today. Raven flew in last night. Should be strolling on set any minute.”
Marielle squelched a shiver of excitement. “Should I check his trailer and make sure everything is ready?”
“Yes, there’s a list taped to the door. Tell the runners to steer clear of Raven when he shows.” The director sighed. “Last thing I need is some day player pissing off the most talented actor on the planet.”
It was the same on every movie Marielle had worked on. Everyone working on the set was replaceable except the lead actors. “Will do.”
Marielle had no problem finding the trailer the studio had set up for James Raven. It was the largest and most remote from the set. She took out her notepad and jotted down a reminder to arrange a golf cart for the actor’s use — most stars didn’t care to hike back and forth to the set — and took down the inventory list taped to the door before she opened it. Unlike many high-profile stars Raven hadn’t made demands for his comfort. He’d request a fridge with bottled mineral water, cotton linens, unscented toiletries, a specific brand of scissors and a laptop.
“You should love this, Mr. Raven,” Marielle murmured as she checked through the trailer, and found everything but the scissors. “But what do you need to cut?”
The door to the trailer opened and the man with the black hoodie stepped inside. He carried two large suitcases in his hands and a garment bag over his arm.
“Hello,” Marielle said, waving to him. “Could you bring those back here to the bedroom, please?”
He joined her and set down the cases on the floor. “Hello again. You stalking me?”
“Not unless you have the scissors our star wants,” she said as she took the garment bag from him and hung it in the closet. “I might have to follow you until I can pick your pockets.”
“Scissors, huh?” His teeth flashed white against his beard as he reached into his pocket and produced a gleaming new pair of the shears. “Like these?”
“Oh, my god, I love you.” She snatched the scissors from him and took them into the small bathroom. “I’m Marielle, by the way,” she said as she emerged and passed him to move the cases over to one corner. “So who am I throwing my heart at?”
“If he wants me to, but stars generally don’t want anyone messing with their stuff.” She checked the bedside lamp and inspected the bed before spotting a wrinkle in the coverlet and moving to the other side. “This your first day on the set?”
“Yeah.”
“Mine, too. I’m trying not get the jitters but James Raven is one of my favorite actors.” She bent over the bed to smooth out the coverlet and in the process bumped Drew’s thigh with her bottom. “Oops. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He smiled down at her. “Not a lot of room with me in here.”
“That’s what you get for being a giant.” She found herself wondering what else he had that was giant-size, and felt her cheeks burn. “Would you do me a favor? Pass the word around to the crew to give Mr. Raven some space when he arrives on set.”
He nodded. “Think he’s a snob?”
“I think he’s the reason we’re all employed,” she said. “He’s the star. We’re here to help him make a great film. Whatever the man needs or wants, we give it to him.”
“Anything.” He cocked his head. “No matter what it is?”
“Well, if it’s illegal or involves hookers, ask the director first.” Marielle glanced one more time around the room and smiled at her new friend. “Now I have to get back to Ms. Newell and make her happy. See you around?”
He inclined his head. “Absolutely.”
*
James Raven watched the blonde P.A. hurry out of the trailer before he closed his eyes and breathed in. The faintest trace of her scent, sweet as wild honeysuckle, lingered on the air. He took off his sunglasses and black hoodie and took out his mobile to call his agent. “Harry, the director has a new P.A. on set. Blonde girl, petite, looks about sixteen. What’s her name?”
“That sounds like Marielle Fairchild,” the agent said. “She’s not a teenager, you know. She just looks like one.”
He thought of the merriment in her big green eyes and how easily her lush mouth had curved into a smile. “Is she a rookie?”
“No, she’s worked on a couple dozen feature films. Thompson refuses to have anyone else P.A. for him.” Harry’s tone grew curious. “You having a problem with her, James?”
“It’s something else.” He glanced down at the bulge his ferocious erection was making in his jeans. “What else can you tell me about her?”
“Late twenties, single, doesn’t date anyone in the biz,” Harry said. “I never see her at any industry events, either. She’s not a party girl. Everyone says she’s a hard worker and a good kid. Maybe she really is.”
Raven had never met a woman who didn’t have something to hide. “Take Thompson out to lunch. Find out if he has any dirt on her or if he’s sleeping with her. Then call me back. Thanks, Harry.”
In the bathroom Raven picked up the new pair of trimming scissors he’d brought with him and went to work on his facial hair, snipping away at six months’ worth of growth until he could easily shave off the stubble. He’d miss the anonymity the beard gave him but his contract demanded he remain clean-shaven for the duration of the shoot.
He expected he’d be spending a great deal of time being groomed in order to portray the film’s main character, a reclusive world-class cellist who seduces a beautiful young street musician. While many of his colleagues had shied away from the project due to the dominant-submissive relationship between the characters, James knew it was tailored-made for him. He’d been dominating women in bed since he discovered how much controlling a lover turned him on.
Once he had finished shaving he inspected in the mirror the face that had made him millions. The combination of his Hawaiian mother and French-Canadian father’s genes had blessed him with exotically handsome features that made him stand out from other men. Another quirk of nature had blessed him with copper-brown eyes that reflected light in golden flashes. Entertainment reporters never tired of saying the camera loved him. He was faster and more agile than his big muscular frame suggested, which surprised his stuntmen, sparring partners and lovers.
Whatever the man needs or wants, we give it to him.
What Raven wanted was Marielle Fairchild. She snared his attention from the moment she’d sauntered past him in the parking lot. Following her to the catering tent and then to his own trailer had been reckless but the innocence she radiated had been a powerful lure. Watching her fuss over his gear while she chatted him up should have amused him. When she’d bent over the bed and bumped him with her tight little ass it had brought on a rush of desire so ferocious he’d almost pounced on her. The only thing that had held him back was not knowing anything about her.
As if it were reading his mind his mobile rang. When he answered it his agent said, “I can’t do lunch with Thompson — he’s in Hawaii location scouting. But he gave me the inside scoop on Fairchild.”
“Tell me,” James said.
“Says she’s dedicated, focused and honest. She’s completely professional on the set and has pretty high standards even with her personal life. She dumped her last boyfriend for cheating on her last year. Also, Thompson hasn’t slept with her. He got very pissed when I asked. He regards her like a daughter.”
“I owe you, Harry. Thanks.” He switched off the mobile and felt his cock harden.
Nothing about Marielle Fairchild made Raven feel fatherly. Now that he knew she wasn’t involved with anyone else he could move on her. All he had to do was get her alone. On a busy movie set, that was going to be a real challenge.
Unless I can take her off the set.
Raven picked up his carryon bag and opened it to take out his copy of the script. On the flight here he’d read it from cover to cover and marked the passages scheduled to shoot first so he could memorize them. He rarely needed to rehearse a scene more than once to get it right but he preferred to run through all the dialogue before shooting so he could a better handle on his character. Jess Carter, his co-star, wouldn’t be arriving until next week. If he wanted to run on his lines, he’d need to arrange to have someone standin for her.
A smile tugged at his mouth as he recalled the scene at the top of the schedule was the first bondage scene between the lovers. I know just who I want to tie up, too.
*
While Fascination wouldn’t begin shooting for another week, Marielle knew that there were a million things to do to prepare the set for filming. She was glad she was excellent at organization as well as multi-tasking. Vanessa Newell proved to be very demanding and something of a perfectionist. After bouncing several times between video village and the camera crew’s equipment pit Marielle suspected most of her time on the set would be spent checking and rechecking innumerable details to assure the director’s instructions were carried out to the letter. Vanessa apparently trusted no one.
When it became obvious that Vanessa wasn’t going to let anyone break for lunch Marielle called down to Catering and had them bring sandwich platters, coffee urns and drink coolers up to the set, where she staged them off to the side out of the high-traffic areas. The director noticed this only when Marielle brought a salad and fresh iced coffee to James Raven’s trailer, where Vanessa had retreated to go over some changes to the schedule.
“People get lazy when you feed them,” Vanessa grumbled.
“But they get cranky if you don’t,” Marielle said. “Now they’ll love you for having their lunch delivered.”
The director raised her brows. “You’re going to give me the credit for stuffing their faces?”
“You’re the boss.” Marielle glanced at her clipboard and saw one item remained unchecked. “Oh, I almost forgot, Wardrobe wants to know if they can begin fitting Raven today.”
“If the handsome beast ever shows his face.” Vanessa glanced past her as the trailer door opened. Her upper lip curled. “Speak of the devil and he’ll land on your door step. About time, Raven.”
The scent of a hidden waterfall teased Mari
elle’s nose. She turned around expecting to see the film star with Dew. Instead a clean-shaven James Raven stood alone, still wearing the black hoodie that had disguised him so well. Oh, my god, it was him all along.
“Lovely to see you, too, Van.” His copper-brown eyes shifted to Marielle’s face, and he smiled slowly as he held out his hand and added in an Aussie accent, “Not many people know this, but it’s actually Andrew James Raven on the birth certificate.”
“I would never have guessed.” She shook his hand and flinched a little as the contact sizzled across her palm and fingers with a burst of sensation. “Very nice to meet you again.”
Vanessa frowned. “How do you two know each other?”
“We bumped shoulders a while back,” Raven said. “Van, has the studio put me up somewhere close to the set, or am I living in a hotel for the duration?”
The director produced a set of keys and tossed them to him. “The producer is lending you his house in the hills. Very secluded and quiet, just the way you like it. I’ll run you out there after we finish for the day.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself. I can catch a ride with one of the crew on their way out. I’d also like to borrow someone to run lines with me tonight.” He turned to Marielle. “Would you be available, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Yeah, I can give you a ride.” She checked her clipboard. “We have a couple of actresses on call, so I can ask one of them if they could stop by — “
“No need. You’ll do very well on both accounts,” Raven said.
Marielle stared at him, her mind and heartbeat racing as she imagined being alone with the handsome actor. Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. “I’m sorry but I’m not the one you want.”
“Of course you are.” His voice sounded reassuring but his eyes were saying something very different. “It’s not difficult. All you have to do is read from the script, listen to me do the same and tell me when I screw up.” He tilted his head. “Unless my little ruse has made you despise me?”
Despise him? She was half in love with him already.
“Fairchild will be happy to run lines with you,” Vanessa said before Marielle could reply. “Just make sure she’s back on set by six a.m.”