Why Resist a Rebel

chapter THREE



A loud bang jolted Dev out of his dream.

He blinked, his eyes attempting to adjust to the darkness.

What time is it?

He lay on his back in the centre of his bed. Naked but for his boxer shorts, the sheets and quilt long ago kicked off and onto the floor.

He remembered feeling restless. As if he needed to get up and go for a run. Or for a drive. Or just out. Somewhere. Away.

Where?

It wasn’t the first morning he’d asked that question.

Another bang. Even louder than before. Or maybe just now he was more awake?

The thick cloak of sleep was slowly lifting, and his eyes were adjusting.

It wasn’t completely dark in here. Light was managing to push through the heavy curtains that he’d checked and double checked were fully closed the night before.

He shivered, and only then did he register it was cold. He had a vague recollection of turning off the heater on the wall. Why? The nights were still cool.

Obviously it had made sense at the time.

Another bang.

The door. Someone was knocking on the door.

What time is it?

He rolled onto his side, reaching across the bed, knocking aside a small cardboard box and a blister pack so he could see the glowing green numbers of the clock on the bedside table. There were none. He didn’t remember turning it off, but it didn’t surprise him that he had.

He had set that alarm last night, though. And the alarm on his phone. He had an early call today. He’d been going to get up early to read through today’s rehearsal scenes.

Bang, bang, bang.

Dev swung his legs over the side of the bed in slow motion, then shoved himself to his feet. Three sluggish steps later, he discovered his mobile phone when he kicked it in the gloom, and it clattered against his closed bedroom door.

By feel he found the light switch on the wall, then rubbed his eyes against the sudden brightness.

His phone located, he picked it up to check the time. He pressed the button to illuminate the screen, but it took a while for his eyes to focus.

How long ago had he taken the sleepers?

He still felt drugged, still shrouded in the sleep that the tablets had finally delivered.

Seven thirty-two a.m. Why hadn’t his alarm gone off?

Bang, bang, BANG, BANG, BANG!

‘Mr Cooper? Are you awake?’

Graeme. Of course.

He twisted the old brass doorknob to his room, then padded up the wide hallway. Morning light streamed through the stained-glass panels of the front door around the over-inflated shape that was Dev’s warden.

He took his time, his gaze trained on his phone as he checked that his alarm had been set. It had. So it had gone off.

Presumably he’d then thrown it across the room, given where he’d found it.

It shouldn’t surprise him, but that wasn’t what he’d meant to do today. Last night he’d felt...different. Today was supposed to be different. Different from the past ninety-seven days.

How specific.

He smiled a humourless smile. Who knew his subconscious kept such meticulous records?

The thing was, today wasn’t the first day that was supposed to be different. But then, they never were.

Graeme was still hammering away at the door, but Dev didn’t bother to call out, to reassure him that his charge was in fact awake and not passed out in an alcoholic stupor or worse—whatever it was that Veronica was so sure that Dev was doing.

In some ways Dev wished he could apply a label to himself. Alcoholic. Drug addict.

But he was neither of those things.

What about his sleepers?

He dismissed the idea instantly. No. They were prescribed, and temporary.

Definitely temporary.

Hollywood wasn’t the shiny happy place people imagined. It was full of egos fuelled by intense insecurity. Stars that shone while simultaneously harbouring the intense fear that their light could be extinguished at any moment: at the mercy of their next role, of public opinion, of the whims of studio executives...always others.

So little control. It was no surprise that so many teetered over the edge. Fell into...something. It was just the label that changed.

But Dev had no label.

He just had...nothing.

He opened the door while Graeme was mid-knock. The other man started, then took a step back, clearing his throat.

‘We need to leave in five minutes, Mr Cooper.’

Dev scratched his belly and nodded. He left the door open as he turned and headed for the bathroom. Four minutes later he was showered and had dragged on a T-shirt, hoodie and jeans. He pulled the front door shut and locked it as Graeme hovered nearby—impatiently.

When he was growing up, his mum had done the same thing—although not as silently. She’d tap her foot as she waited for her youngest and most disorganised son. The other two boys generally already in the family Mercedes, all perfect and consistently smug. Hurry up, Dev! You’re making us late!

And just because he’d been that kind of kid, he’d taken his own sweet time.

This was why he didn’t like having drivers. Why he insisted on driving himself to and from set for every single one of his many movies. He was a grown adult with a driver’s licence—why the hell did he need a chauffeur? He was far from a child any more; he didn’t need to be directed and herded and hurried. He was a professional—always on time. Always reliable.

Until now.

Today was not the first time he’d slept through his alarm. Or, of more concern: he’d heard it, switched it off, and deliberately rolled over and gone back to sleep. More than once the action of even setting his alarm had felt impossible. Weirdly overwhelming.

Other nights sleep had never come. Where his thoughts had echoed so loudly in his skull that even drugs had no impact. And those days he’d watched time tick by, watched his call time slip by, and switched his phone to silent as his agent, or the producer, or even the director would call, and call and call...

That had got him fired from his last film. The contract was pulled on his next after whispers had begun to spread.

So here he was.

And although he hadn’t meant to—because of course he never meant to—it was happening again.

Without Graeme, he’d still be in bed, time passing. He hated that.

He sat in the back of the black four-wheel drive, staring unseeing out of the darkly tinted windows. Beside him was an insulated bag that Graeme said contained his breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry.

You’re not welcome here.

Closer to Unit Base, the bitumen road ended, and the car bounced amongst potholes on the wide gravel track. The irregular movements did nothing to jolt that memory. How long ago had it been? Ten years? No, longer. Fourteen. He’d been nineteen, home late—really late—after a night out with his mates.

He hadn’t been drunk, but alcohol had still buzzed through his bloodstream.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

His father stood at the very top of the staircase that rose majestically from the lobby of the Coopers’ sprawling Sydney upper-north-shore residence. His mum had left a lamp on for him, and the soft light threw shadows onto his dad’s pyjamas.

‘Out,’ he said. Grunted, really.

‘You have an exam tomorrow.’

Dev shrugged. He’d had no intention of turning up. He dumped his keys on a sideboard, and began to head past the stairs to the hallway that led to his bedroom, tossing his reply over his shoulder. ‘I’m not going to be an accountant, Dad.’

Patrick Cooper’s slippered feet were still heavy as they thumped down each carpeted step. Dev didn’t pause. He’d heard it all before.

He’d gone to uni to please his mum, only. But three semesters in, and he’d had it. He knew where his life was leading, and it didn’t involve a calculator and a navy-blue suit.

His father picked up his pace behind him, but Dev remained deliberately slow. Unworried. Casual.

He was unsurprised to feel the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder. But when Dev kept walking, the way Patrick wrenched at his shoulder, spinning him around...yes, that shocked him.

His arm came up, his fingers forming into a fist. It was automatic, the result of the crowd he’d been hanging with, the occasional push and shove at a pub. He wouldn’t have hit his dad—he knew that. Knew that.

But his dad thought he would. He could see it in his eyes, that belief of what Dev was capable of. Or rather, the lack of belief.

Dev saw the fist coming. Maybe he didn’t have enough time to move, maybe he did—either way he stood stock still.

His father’s knuckles connected with his jaw with enough force to twist his body and push him back into the wall. And for it to hurt. A lot. He tasted blood, felt it coating his teeth.

But he remained standing, half expecting more.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, his dad fell to his knees, holding his fist in his other hand.

For long moments, it was perfectly silent. It was as if neither of them could breathe.

Then a clatter on the stairs heralded his mum’s arrival. She gasped as she came into view, then ran to Patrick, kneeling beside him and wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

She looked up at Dev, her gaze beseeching. ‘What happened here?’

‘I’m quitting uni, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’m an actor.’ His whole face ached as he spoke, but the words were strong and clear.

‘That’s a dream, not a career.’ His dad didn’t say the words, he spat them out.

‘It’s what I want.’ What he needed to do.

‘I won’t support you, Devlin. I won’t stand by and watch you fail—’

‘I know that,’ he interrupted. How well he knew that.

That his family wouldn’t support him. That not one of them believed he’d succeed.

‘Good,’ his dad said. ‘Then leave. You’re not welcome here.’

It didn’t surprise him. It had been coming for so long. His mum, the only reason he’d stayed, looked stricken.

He nodded. Then walked back up the hall the way he’d come.

He didn’t say a word. No dramatic farewell. No parting words.

But he knew he’d never be back.

Graeme slowed to a stop at a paddock gate before a security guard waved them through. A dirt track wound its way over the smallest of hills, and then they were amongst the trailers that sprawled across Unit Base. The set was vast—yesterday the producer had told him it was the corner of a working sheep and canola farm. It spread across the almost perfectly flat countryside, overlooked by an irregular ridge of mountains. Yesterday, Dev’s gaze had explored a landscape dotted with eucalyptus, rectangular fields of lurid yellow canola and paddocks desperately trying to hold onto winter hints of green. Today it was just a blur.

But something caught his eye as Graeme parked beside his trailer. Through the car window he followed that splash of colour with his eyes.

A woman in a bright blue dress, more like an oversized jumper, really, was barrelling rapidly along the path towards him. She was unmistakeable, her mop of choppy blonde hair shining like pale gold in the sun.

Ruby Bell.

She’d slipped his mind as soon as his nightly battle for sleep had begun, but now she’d sprung right back to the front, in full Technicolor.

He knew what she was: a distraction. A temporary focus.

But one he needed.

He was here. And thanks to Graeme—via Veronica—he’d be here on set each day, right on time. But right now he couldn’t make himself care about the film, about his role.

Oh, he’d perform, right on cue, and to the best of his ability—as much as he was capable of, anyway.

But he wouldn’t care. Couldn’t care. Any more.

How was that for irony?

With his death, his father had—finally—got his way.

He was on time—just.

Ruby watched as he got out of the car, all loose-limbed and casual.

In contrast, she felt as stiff as a board. She kept making herself take deep, supposedly calming breaths as she gripped the papers in her hand, and reminding herself that she could do this—that this was her job.

It was just incredibly unfortunate it was her job. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, when Paul had taken her aside this morning and made her task clear: keep Dev on time and on schedule.

All the Dev-related rumours—a new one this morning hinting at a lot more than tardiness—should’ve made Paul’s request a no-brainer.

Yet, she’d actually gasped when Paul had told her, and then had to make up some unfortunate lie about swallowing a fly, accompanied with much poorly acted faux coughing.

Once again Dev had managed to short-circuit her brain.

Because the task of babysitting talent was a perfectly typical request for the production co-ordinator, who, amongst other things, was responsible for organising actors’ lives while on location.

Actors were notoriously unreliable. Putting together the call sheet was one thing—having anyone actually stick to it was something else entirely.

As she watched Dev watch her, a hip propped against his car, it was suddenly clear that getting him to do anything—at all—that she wanted could prove difficult.

This was not the man who’d smiled at her in the Lucyville pub last night, or who’d teased her on the street. Neither was he the man with the smug expression and the coffee stains on his shirt.

This man was completely unreadable.

‘Good morning!’ she managed, quite well, she thought.

He nodded sharply.

She thrust the portion of the script he’d be rehearsing today in his direction. ‘Here are today’s sides,’ she said.

He took them from her with barely a glance. It was as if he was waiting for something—to figure something out.

‘And?’ he asked.

‘I’ll be taking you to be fitted by Costume, first,’ she said. ‘Then Hair and Make-up would like to see you prior to your rehearsal.’

‘And you’ll be escorting me?’

Ruby swallowed. ‘Yes. I’ll be looking after you today.’

It was immediately obvious that was the wrong thing to say. Something flickered in his gaze.

‘I have my call sheet. I know where I need to be. I don’t require hand-holding.’

‘Paul asked that I...’

His glare told her that was another mistake, so she let the words drift off.

Then tried again. ‘Mr Cooper, I’m here to help you.’

Somehow, those words changed everything, as if she’d flicked a switch. From defensive, and shuttered, his expression was suddenly...considering?

But Ruby didn’t think for a moment that he’d simply accepted she was just doing her job. This was different—more calculating.

‘Here to help,’ he said to himself, as if he was turning the words over in his head.

Then he smiled, a blinding, movie-star smile.

And Ruby had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

It was dumb—really dumb—that he was surprised.

Heck—if he were the producer on this film, he’d have done the same thing.

It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

He’d never been this kind of actor before; he’d never needed to be led around on some imaginary leash. Lord—he’d thought Graeme was bad enough.

And, of course, it had to be Ruby in charge of him.

It was a total waste of her time, of course. On set, he was fine, and not the fine he told himself he was whenever he was convincing himself to fall asleep.

He followed just slightly behind her. She was talking, quite rapidly, but he really wasn’t paying much attention.

She was nervous, for sure. He did like that.

And he did like how the tables had turned. Last night she’d called the shots. Today—it was him.

Juvenile? Yes.

Fun? He thought so.

So Paul thought he needed looking after? No problem.

He’d be that actor, then. The ridiculous type who wanted everything in their trailer periwinkle blue, or who would only drink a particular brand of mineral water—not available locally, of course.

He’d prove Paul right—and irritate the self-important producer in the process.

A small win.

And it would push Ruby’s buttons too—trigger that flare of response he’d already witnessed a handful of times, and was eager to experience again.

Dev smiled, just as Ruby stopped before a hulking white trailer and turned to face him.

Her forehead wrinkled as she studied him, as if she knew something was up.

He just smiled even more broadly.

Yes, this was an excellent idea.

Completely focused on the email she was reading—Arizona’s agent, confirming that his client was available to attend an opening in Sydney the following week—Ruby picked up her loudly ringing phone from her overflowing desk without glancing at the screen.

‘Ruby Bell.’

‘Ruby.’ A pause. ‘Good afternoon.’

There was no point pretending she didn’t recognise that voice. Her disloyal body practically shivered in recognition.

‘How can I help, Mr Cooper?’ she asked with determined brightness, her eyes not wavering from her laptop screen, although the email’s words and sentences had somehow become an indecipherable alphabet jumble.

Even so, she tapped randomly on her keyboard. For her benefit, mostly, a reminder that she was a busy film professional who received phone calls from famous actors All The Time. She was working. This was her job.

No need for her mouth to go dry or for her cheeks to warm.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a problem.’

‘Yes?’ she prompted, with some trepidation.

He’d been scrupulously polite this morning. Allowed her to take him from appointment to appointment. He’d chatted inanely about the weather, and charmed every person she introduced him to.

But...

Occasionally he’d slant a glance in her direction that meant...she had absolutely no idea.

It wasn’t about last night any more. She was sure. No question he’d long lost interest in perfectly average Ruby Bell by now.

Definitely.

‘I can’t figure out how to use the wireless Internet in my cottage.’

Oh. Her skin went hotter. Of course his phone call had nothing to do with her. Of course it didn’t.

Hadn’t she told him—what, three hours ago?—to call her any time?

Ruby took a deep breath. She really needed to pull herself together.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Cooper,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get that sorted for you straight away.’

‘Appreciate it,’ he said, and then the phone went silent.

Carefully, she placed her phone back onto her desk, darting her gaze about the room. She half expected everyone to be staring at her, to know exactly how flustered she was, despite all her efforts to not be. To somehow know that Dev had all but propositioned her outside the salubrious Lucyville Motel, even though she’d told her intrigued friends she hadn’t seen Dev after she’d left the pub last night.

To know that chaperoning Dev around set this morning was stupidly difficult, despite her constant mental reminders that it was so not a big deal, and that she was a professional and they were both adults who could work together professionally despite the running-into-him thing, or the not-recognising-him thing, or saying-no-to-the-most-eligible-bachelor-in-the-world thing.

But no. Rohan worked quietly at his desk. Cath stood in front of the large whiteboard calendar, studying it with fierce concentration and a marker in her hand. Selena wasn’t even in the room—she was out, busily signing in extras.

Ruby bit back a sigh. She was being ridiculous.

So she tilted her head left to right, rolled her shoulders a few times, wriggled her toes—and told herself she was cool, and calm and collected. She was!

And then she got back to work.

Less than an hour later, Dev stepped out onto the deck at the back of his cottage, sliding shut the glass door firmly behind him. Inside, one of the more junior members of the production office was busily fixing his ‘broken’ Internet.

He pressed his phone to his ear.

‘Ruby Bell,’ she said when she answered, sounding as brisk and polite as she had earlier.

‘Ms Bell,’ he said, ever so politely, ‘thank you. I now have Internet.’

Well, he would once the guy inside realised the router had been unplugged.

‘Oh, good,’ she said. There was a beat or two of silence, and then she added, ‘Can I help you with anything else?’

Dev’s lips curled upwards.

‘Yes, actually. I need a new hire car.’

‘Is something wrong with your current car?’ she asked.

No. Assuming you disregarded the fact that he had Graeme-the-warden driving him everywhere. Dev’s suggestion he drive himself to set from now on was not warmly received. If Dev had access to the keys he never would’ve asked at all.

That would’ve made Veronica happy. About as happy as she’d been in her email this morning, and her many missed calls on his phone.

Turned out Graeme had passed on his trip to the pub.

Security—my arse.

‘My current car is too...’ he paused, as if in deep contemplation ‘...feminine.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Too feminine,’ he repeated.

The line remained silent. Was Ruby smiling? Frowning?

‘I see,’ she said, after a while. ‘I’m sorry you find your black four-wheel drive so unsuitable. Can you explain to me what it is that you dislike about the car?’

There was nothing overtly discourteous in her tone—quite the opposite, in fact. Yet Dev heard the subtlest of subtle bites. He liked it.

‘It’s the upholstery,’ he said. ‘It has pink thread in it.’

‘Ah,’ she said, as if this were actually a valid complaint. ‘Fair enough. Don’t worry, I’ll have a new car to you by tonight.’

‘At the latest,’ he said, just like one of the many delusionally self-important actors he knew who made these types of requests.

‘Not a problem, Mr Cooper.’

‘Appreciated, Ms Bell.’

Then he hung up with a smile on his face.

Ruby sat alone in her office, the Top 40 show on the radio her only company. It was late—really late, and she’d sent everyone else home fifteen minutes earlier.

But she had to get everything done—well, an hour ago, really—but Dev had really screwed up her day.

Losing Rohan for an hour to fix Dev’s wireless had meant she’d had to run the call sheet alone; and unfortunately the runner she’d assigned to sort out the new hire car was young, and new, and seemed to ask Ruby a question every five minutes. Then, of course, there’d been Dev’s email, asking for directions to every amenity in Lucyville. After she’d gritted her teeth and carefully replied to it—and therefore losing another thirty minutes—he’d blithely replied with one word: Thanks.

Thanks!

She’d silently screamed.

She’d had no idea Dev was like this—normally talent of the high-maintenance variety came with clear advance warning via the industry grapevine. Put two people who worked in film together, and guaranteed that stuff like ‘Dev-Cooper-thought-his-car-was-too-girly’ got talked about.

But—until the last twenty-four hours—she’d never heard a negative word about Devlin Cooper.

Oohing and ahhing about how he was just as gorgeous in real life—which she now knew to be true—yes, she’d heard that. But unreasonable, prima-donna carryings-on? Not a whisper.

Her phone rang, vibrating against the pile of sides—the scenes being filmed the next day—it rested upon.

Of course it was Dev, and reluctantly Ruby swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call.

‘Mr Cooper,’ Ruby said, setting the phone to loudspeaker so she could continue to work on the latest updates to a transport schedule. She was not going to let Dev distract her. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I was wondering,’ he said, not sounding at all apologetic for calling so late, ‘if you could recommend anywhere good to eat in Sydney.’

Ruby’s jaw clenched. Really?

‘Was it for a particular occasion?’

‘A date,’ he said. ‘This weekend.’

Ruby determinedly ignored that irrational, disappointed kick she felt in her belly.

‘Sure,’ she managed to squeeze out. ‘I’ll get someone onto that for you tomorrow.’

‘But I was hoping you could offer some personal recommendations.’

Had his voice become slightly deeper? More intimate?

Don’t be an idiot! She typed the words on screen for good measure; maybe then it would sink in.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you were thinking fine dining, then you probably can’t go wrong with Tetsuya’s, on Kent Street. Or Quay, at The Rocks.’

‘Personal favourites?’

‘No. I’ve heard the food is amazing, but I generally prefer somewhere a little less formal. Where people talk and laugh loudly and you don’t need to book months in advance. You know?’ Immediately she realised what she’d said. ‘Although I’d imagine you don’t have too many problems with getting a table.’

‘Not usually,’ he said, a smile in his voice. ‘So where would you go for dinner this Saturday night in Sydney?’

She’d grown up in the outer suburbs of Sydney, but as an adult she’d spent little time there—aside from when she was working. And with twelve-to-fourteen-hour days typical on a film set, dining out—fine or otherwise—wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence. Although, she’d crashed in the spare room of a set dresser between jobs last year...

‘Some friends took me to a French Bistro right in the CBD when I was last in Sydney. It’s a little fancy, but still relaxed. Plus, the Bombe Alaska is to die for.’

‘Perfect. Would you be able to book me a table?’

Ruby gritted her teeth. So not my job!

‘Sure!’ she said, instead, with determined enthusiasm.

‘Appreciate it,’ he said, and the words were just as annoying the third time she’d heard them that day.

Then he hung up.

Ruby told herself she’d imagined the beginnings of a laugh before the phone went silent. As otherwise she’d need to drive to his place right now. And strangle him.

The next day was overcast, with rain forecast for the early afternoon.

Consequently, Asha, the second assistant director, was rather frantic when she rushed into Ruby’s office just after eleven a.m.

‘I need your help,’ she said, running a hand through her shiny black bob. ‘We have a situation in Hair and Make-up. Dev won’t let anyone cut his hair, and we need him on set like now. We need to get this scene before the weather hits.’

Ruby sighed. She’d left him with hair and make-up not even twenty minutes ago...but still—she really shouldn’t be surprised.

A minute later, both women were striding across Unit Base.

‘Dev isn’t at all like what I expected,’ Ruby said. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she walked, the breeze sharp through the thin cotton of her cardigan.

‘You mean the whole “haven’t slept or eaten in a month” thing?’ Asha asked. ‘Thank God Make-up and Wardrobe can work miracles is all I can say.’ Then a long pause, and a conspiratorial whisper: ‘I hear that he’s nursing a broken heart. That Estelle van der something? She’s already hooked up with someone new. Poor guy.’

Poor guy? Right.

‘Yeah, that, I guess,’ Ruby said. ‘But I meant all of his demands? It’s driving me nuts.’

Asha shot her a surprised glance. ‘Really? Honestly, up until just now he’s been a model actor. It’s amazing how quickly he’s learnt his scenes and he just nailed our rehearsals yesterday. His professionalism is the only reason we can shoot anything today.’

Ruby slowed her pace slightly. ‘No complaints about his costume? Requests for a box of chocolates with all the soft-centred ones removed?’

Both were the type of requests that the Dev she’d been dealing with over the past day and a half would definitely have asked. Just this morning he’d asked to have new curtains installed in his trailer, as the current set let in too much light when closed. Apparently. Then he’d asked for a very specific selection of organic fruit. Rohan was wasting his time on that, right now. Ugh!

‘No,’ Asha said, coming to a halt outside the hair and make-up trailer. ‘This random hair thing is it. But, it’s only been a couple of days. Maybe he’ll reveal his true self to all of us on set soon.’

‘Hmm,’ was all that Ruby could say to that. A niggling suspicion that she’d dismissed as ridiculous, impossible, was now niggling, well...louder.

But surely he wouldn’t...?

She opened the door to the trailer, taking in the frustrated-looking hair stylist and his assistant—and of course Dev, sprawled ever-so-casually in front of a mirror, complete with two days’ worth of—she had to admit—sexy stubble. As she stepped inside he met her gaze in the glass.

And winked.

Ruby dug her fingernails into her palms, then took a deep, calming breath. The action was not soothing in the slightest, but it did help her speak in a fair facsimile of an I’ve-got-everything-under-control production co-ordinator.

‘Could I have a few minutes with Mr Cooper?’

It was a perfectly reasonable request—it was her job to fix exactly these types of hiccups—and so with quick nods and hopeful expressions aimed in Ruby’s direction everyone filed out.

Ever so slowly—and Ruby now knew he was enjoying this—Dev spun his chair around to face her. His assessing gaze travelled over her, from her flat, knee-high leather boots, up to her fitted navy jeans, cream tank top and oversized, over-long wool cardigan. Then to her face—touching on her lips, her eyes, her hair.

Ruby wanted to kick herself for being pleased she’d made an effort with her make-up today. She’d done so yesterday too, not letting herself acknowledge until just now that it had—of course—been for Devlin Cooper.

God, she frustrated herself. She’d been sure she’d long ago got past this—this pathetic need for male attention. The need for anyone else to provide her with validation, other than herself.

No. That hadn’t changed.

He opened his mouth, guaranteed to say something teasing and clever. He had that look in his eyes—she’d seen it in his movies, and definitely in person.

She didn’t give him the chance.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’

Ruby had the satisfaction of watching his eyes widen in surprise. But he recovered quickly, as smooth as silk. ‘I believe I’m Devlin Cooper.’ He shrugged. ‘You know, the actor?’

She shook her head. ‘No way. Don’t be smart. I’m onto you.’

‘Onto me?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘What exactly are you onto?’

Ruby bit her lip, trying to hold onto the barest thread of control. Could he be any more deliberately oblivious? Any more arrogant?

‘This,’ she said, throwing her arms up to encompass the trailer. ‘And the phone calls, the emails, the hire car, the chocolates, the fruit, the curtains...’ Ruby started to count them off on her fingers. ‘What next? What next trivial, unreasonable task are you going to lob in my direction?’

‘You don’t feel my requests are legitimate?’ he asked. If he was at all bothered by her rapidly rising voice, his expression revealed nothing.

‘I know they’re not.’ She glared at him when he tried to speak again. ‘And I don’t care why you’ve been doing it: I don’t care if you’re so shocked by the concept of a woman saying no to you that you need to be as irritating as possible in revenge, but—please—just stop.’

Dev blinked. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’ In contrast to even a moment before, now he looked dumbfounded—his forehead wrinkled in consternation. ‘That’s not it at all.’

But she was barely listening now.

‘In case you’re not aware, when you pull stunts like this, Paul—you know, my boss?—expects me to sort it all immediately. If I don’t—if filming is held up, if we can’t shoot a scene because of you, or if I need to ask Paul to call your agent to kick your butt into gear—it isn’t you who looks like a massive, unprofessional loser. It’s me.’

Dev pushed himself to his feet. He was in costume: dark brown trousers, a soft tan shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a heavy leather belt and holster, plus chunky work boots—he was playing an early nineteen hundreds Australian drover after all. Temporarily, her tirade was clogged in her throat as she digested the sight of him approaching her. He was so tall, so broad—and suddenly the trailer felt so small.

But then her frustration bubbled over again. Hot, famous movie star or not—nobody got away with treating Ruby Bell this way.

‘You might have forgotten what it’s like to rely on a regular salary, but trust me—I haven’t. And I’m not having some entitled, full-of-himself actor think it’s okay to stomp all over my reputation, my professionalism, my...’

With every word her voice became higher and less steady.

Dev had stopped in front of her. Not close enough to crowd her, not at all, and yet she found that words began to escape her as he studied her, his gaze constant, searching and...what? Not arrogant. Not angry. Not even shocked...

Sad? No, not that either. But it wasn’t what she expected.

It had been silent for long seconds, and Ruby swallowed, trying to pull herself together.

‘If you don’t stop,’ she began, ‘I’ll...’

And here her tirade came to its pathetic—and now clearly obvious—end.

What exactly would she do? What could she do? She’d just told him that she’d get blamed for any problems he caused, and that was pretty much true. And it wasn’t as if she could get him fired.

Hmm. Let me think: Easily replaceable production co-ordinator versus the man who’s starred in the world’s highest grossing spy franchise?

She tangled her fingers into the fabric of her cardigan, suddenly needing to hold onto something.

Oh, God. What had she done? All he had to do was complain to Paul and...

Dev was still watching her.

‘You’ll what, Ruby?’

She made herself meet his gaze. ‘I—’ she started. She should apologise, she knew. Grovel, even—do anything to patch up the past few minutes as if they had never, ever happened.

But she couldn’t do it—it would be like time-travelling ten years into her past.

‘I’d appreciate it,’ she said, deliberately mimicking him, ‘if you could carefully consider your future requests, or issues, before contacting myself, or my office. We’re all very busy at the moment.’

Even that was far from an appropriate request to make of a film’s biggest star, but she just couldn’t concede any less.

In response, Dev smiled. The sudden lightness in his gaze made Ruby’s heart skip a beat. Alone in a room with Dev Cooper, Ruby would challenge any woman not to do the same—irritated beyond belief or not.

‘It wasn’t revenge,’ he said, simply.

‘But it was something,’ Ruby prompted. What was all this about?

‘I’m sorry that you thought I was trying to make you look bad in front of your boss and colleagues. I can assure you I wasn’t.’

Even knowing he was a very good actor, Ruby believed him. Those eyes, in real life, were nothing at all like what you saw on celluloid. They revealed so much more—more than Ruby could even begin to interpret.

‘It’s much simpler than that. Much less exciting than some dastardly vengeful plan.’

Ruby crossed her arms, watching him stonily.

He sighed. ‘Okay, bad joke. Look...’ He looked down at the trailer floor for just a moment. ‘It’s simple, really. I don’t need “looking after”.’

Ruby narrowed her eyes. ‘And the fact I’m the brunt of this behaviour is an unfortunate coincidence?’

‘No,’ he conceded. ‘I just like...’ He studied her face, then focused on her eyes, as if he was trying to work something out. ‘I like seeing you react.’

She was not deluded enough to think that she stood out amongst all the other women she knew he surrounded himself with. She’d seen the photos of him with Estelle—a supermodel, for crying out loud. This juvenile game had nothing to do with her. Not really.

This was about his ego, his sense of the way things should be.

She didn’t come into it at all.

Ruby spoke very politely. ‘Please carefully consider your future requests, or issues, before contacting myself, or my office,’ she repeated.

He nodded, and for the first time in long minutes Ruby felt as if she was breathing normally.

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.

Every muscle in her body that had begun to relax re-tightened, ready for battle. Had he not heard a word she’d said? How could he possibly think—?

‘No more stunts like this—I get it. I won’t impact the filming schedule.’

But...

He grinned, but that brightness she’d seen—just for that moment—had long disappeared. Now there was a heaviness to his gaze, and the lines around his mouth were tight.

‘I think I’m having too much fun with you.’

‘I’m not interested,’ she said, quick as a flash. But they both heard that she didn’t really believe that.

Since when had she been this transparent?

He was so sure he knew where this was headed it made her want to scream. And simultaneously made her question her sanity. There was just something about the man, and the way he looked at her, that had her questioning herself. Had her questioning the rules she’d laid down for herself long ago...

She shook her head firmly.

‘I’m going to tell Hair and Make-up that it was a misunderstanding and you’re happy to go with the haircut as planned.’

He nodded sharply.

She turned to go, but paused at the trailer door.

‘You do realise that the kid who threw sticks at the girl he liked in primary school never did get the girl?’

He laughed, the deep sound making her shiver. ‘Not in my experience.’

Ruby slammed the door behind her as she left.