She thought about Chew taking it up the ass and the pain he’d feel that she knew all too well and how he’d hate, absolutely hate, being made someone’s bitch.
And on that thought, like only that kind of thought could do for her, Harrietta Turnbull smiled.
Rebel
The next day . . .
Everyone had gone home and I was sitting in my director’s chair on the quiet set, script in my hand, going over my notes for the shoot the next day when my phone binged.
It was in my lap.
I picked it up.
The bold text was a bogus name I’d made up in case someone who shouldn’t see my phone saw it.
The text under it ticked me off.
I opened the message just because I was in the mood to be pissed.
Not tomorrow. I’m working on it. Give me time.
Harrietta.
Useless.
“Stupid bitch,” I muttered then jerked when my phone rang in my hand.
I also felt my heart squeeze when I saw the name of who was calling.
After swallowing mountains of their vitriol, all of it I hid from D, I really, really wished I could block them all.
Except her.
I couldn’t do it to her.
I didn’t know why.
Maybe it was because she was my mother and I held hope, since she was Diesel’s mother too, that she’d come around.
God, she would just love it if she knew I was taking a call from my director’s chair on a porn set.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered.
“Rebel, I need you to speak to your brother,” she snapped.
That snap indicated she was not calling to ask me to speak to D so she could pave the way for our mother to make things right with her son.
Nope.
It was the same old shit.
God.
Again.
This time, she was on about a family Thanksgiving.
That being the “family” she would accept for Thanksgiving.
Shit, it wasn’t like she didn’t know. She couldn’t not know.
The denial was ridiculous.
When would this end?
My back went up. “Mom—”
“Your father and Gunner are all set up to drive out to Phoenix—”
Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, shit.
That could not happen.
“Mom, do not let them do that.”
I could actually hear her lifting her chin in obstinacy when she said, “I’m at the point where I don’t mind they beat some sense into my boy.”
I blinked at the floor in front of me.
Did I hear that right?
Beat some sense into her boy?
Beat some sense into him?
“Rebel, did you hear me?” she called. “It shouldn’t be me who has to ask my son to come for Thanksgiving. He hasn’t been home in years.”
Oh God.
That would not go well.
“Mom—” I tried.
“You know,” she whispered, and I tensed at the way she did. “It isn’t like I don’t know. A mother knows.”
Oh my God!
“He needs to come home,” she carried on. “He needs to be away from that man. He needs to be with his family. He needs to talk to our pastor. I hear there’s programs—”
Oh no she didn’t.
“Shut up right now,” I snarled.
We weren’t going to go where we needed to go about fifteen years ago and do it like this.
No fucking way.
And it wasn’t me who could do this. It was Diesel’s to do. I didn’t get to do this for him.
I wanted to do this for him. I wanted to take this from him.
But it was his, and I couldn’t jump that line.
Though with Mom harping on Thanksgiving, I had to give him a heads up. I had a feeling this was going to come to a head and he had to be in the right place to deal with it.
It was time.
Long since time.
But I wasn’t going to share with my brother about programs or any of that whacked-out shit.
That’d cut D to the bone.
As usual, I had to finesse this. Take my brother’s back how I could and soften whatever blows they might land . . . however I could.
And last, hope at least Mom came around. I was a woman. I hoped one day I’d be a mother. And I hoped when I was, the kind of mother I’d be was one who might not agree with everything their child did in their lives, but she’d love and support her children no matter what.
“I . . . what did you just say to me?” my mother asked, sounding shocked, pissed and wounded.
“You tell them not to do that, Mom,” I warned, my voice vibrating with fury. “You tell them not to get anywhere near Diesel. He might take it. He might. He’s that guy who’d have trouble lifting his fists to his father. Gunner, he probably wouldn’t mind taking Gunner out. But Dad, he’d have a problem with that if only because he’s old. But either of them laid a finger on Diesel, Maddox would tear them apart.”
“Do not say that man’s name to me.”
“Maddox, Maddox, Maddox,” I fired back, immature and not giving a shit. “It is how it is. You have two choices. If you know, then you accept him and love him or bow out of his life. I made my choice a long time ago, but just saying, it wasn’t a choice. It’s just the way it is. In case you haven’t noticed, I love my brother and always will. But I swear to God, Mom, if you don’t stop calling me and harping about this shit, I’ll be forced to choose sides and I’ll choose Diesel.”
“I’m not losing my son and daughter over this insanity.”
Insanity?
“Yes, you are, you don’t lay off,” I returned. “This is my final warning. Leave Thanksgiving alone. Think on all of this. You call one more time and mention this kind of shit, I’m blocking you, Mom. And we’re done. No going back. No making amends. Find your way to being all right with this or shutting up about it or you no longer have a daughter. Your choice. But hear me on this and believe it. They go down to Phoenix and cause trouble and it gets physical, Maddox will lose his mind and it will not be pretty. And just to say, either of them lay a hand on Maddox, all bets are off. Diesel will come undone. Trust me on that. And save your husband and at least one of your sons a world of hurt.”
And with that, I disconnected and glared at my phone.
“That seemed like an unpleasant conversation.”
I jumped in my chair and turned to see the dark-headed man wearing an expensive suit standing beside me.
Shit.
Fuck.
Really, considering I was undercover in this gig, I needed to keep my shit a whole lot tighter.
“Benito.”
“You wished to speak with me?”
I didn’t.
Ever.
He pretty much made my skin crawl.
But he was my boss.
So . . .
“I wanted to talk to you about a script Meryl gave to me,” I told him.
“You have full script approval, Tallulah,” he reminded me.
“Well, this one is outside the general scope of Luxe’s focus.”
He nodded, turned, walked four steps, then dragged another director’s chair over to mine.
Fabulous.
He was going to settle in.
He sat in the chair, knit his fingers and rested his elbows on the arms of the chairs so his hands stood suspended in between.
“Share,” he urged, an attentive look on his face, a warm look in his dark eyes.
I was not fooled.
“It’s m/m,” I said.
“I’m sorry?”
“M/m, man on man.”
His face twisted.
Yup.
I was not fooled.
“Please listen, Benito.”
“I do not do gay porn,” he bit off.
“These are, uh . . . erotic love stories we’re doing. Right?”
“Your talent is indisputable, Tallulah. But as you know, your first film was not received as we’d hoped. But the second one caused a stir, which sent our female clientele to the first one, and even though there’s been very limited time for customer discovery, both are performing better than the top performing title I’ve ever produced.”
The power of the woman-centric dollar.
Had no one learned from the romance novel, fashion and cosmetics industries?
I tried to put some enthusiasm behind my, “Yeah. I know. And that’s great.”
“The crew is very attuned to you. Your production rate is exceptional, especially considering the quality you achieve. We’re about to imprint the DVDs of our third film in six months, and I’ve seen it, as you know. It’s surpassed the other two, and the other two were outstanding. You have a gift. This next film will only increase interest and uptake. I’m considering lightening your schedule, giving you more time for editing, and providing a budget for pre-release marketing, maybe even organizing a premiere, if this continues as it has done.”
This would excite me, if it wasn’t coming from him.
And it wasn’t porn.
And considering the fact I was undercover and I could not be out in the real world with this, for more than one reason, so there was no way I could go to a premiere or do any interviews or shit like that.
Benito kept talking.
“I already know one competitor who’s scrambling to produce films of like quality to ours. Before he even finds the capital, we’ll corner the market.”
“I’ve read the business plan, Benito.”
“And it doesn’t include gay porn.”
“Your target audience is women,” I reminded him.
“As you said, you’ve read the business plan and outside your obvious talent, my target audience is one of the reasons you’re sitting in that chair.”
“Right. So trust me on this. Women want m/m love stories and more, they want m/m sex scenes.”
He stared at me.
“They’re hot,” I said.