Why Resist a Rebel

chapter FOUR



‘Ruby, can I have a minute?’

Paul spoke from the hallway, barely poking his head into the busy office. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer—as of course it wasn’t a question—and so half a minute later Ruby was closing the door behind her as she stepped into the producer’s office.

‘Yes?’

Paul was rubbing his forehead, which wasn’t a good sign.

‘Are the drivers organised for tomorrow night?’ he asked.

Paul was attending the premiere of his latest film in Sydney. Both Dev and Arizona would also be walking the red carpet—a bit of extra attention for that film, plus some early promo for The Land. ‘Of course. All three cars are sorted.’

As was contractually necessary. Must travel in own car was a pretty standard condition for most actors. 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 your contract?’

‘Have I held up filming? Have I embarrassed you professionally?’

‘You will if you don’t go,’ she said simply.

He smiled. ‘Then you just need to get me to go.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘How?’

‘Dinner.’

He hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t planned anything beyond saying no to Paul and seeing what happened next.

With Ruby there wasn’t a script—things just happened.

But dinner, suddenly, was the perfectly obvious solution.

‘That’s blackmail,’ she said, with bite.

He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

No, he most definitely was not a gentleman.

She sighed loudly and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. ‘So if I agree to dinner, you’ll attend the premiere.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘And make you look like a miracle-worker in front of your producer.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I’d rather you’d just gone to the premiere and never brought me into this at all.’ She paused, meeting his gaze.

Her expression was sharp and assessing. ‘Dinner at that French bistro on Saturday night—you booked that for...whatever this is.’

Maybe he had? At the time it’d been about riling her up, teasing her, irritating her with the idea he had a date with another woman. Childish, but he hadn’t had a plan. Not consciously, anyway.

‘Yes,’ he said, because he knew she’d hate that answer.

‘God, you’re so, so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

He didn’t bother replying. Instead he walked past her, then settled himself onto one of the small navy-blue couches. ‘Why don’t you take a seat? We can work out the details of our date.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said, very crisply. ‘I need to get back to the office. I don’t have time during my workday to waste on this. Call me later. Or even better, email me. More efficient.’

Lord, he liked her. So direct. So to the point.

She spun on her booted heel, then paused mid-spin.

‘So this is your way of maintaining your one-hundred-per-cent never-rejected perfect score or something?’

‘You can think of it that way if you like.’

She groaned. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’

Considering he’d just achieved exactly what he wanted, he didn’t consider it necessary to reply to this question either.

She continued her exit, but at the door she, just as he expected, had to deliver a final parting shot. Just as she had yesterday.

‘You know what, Mr Cooper? Everything I’d heard about you before this week was good. Glowing even. Everyone likes you. Everyone loves to work with you. So, I reckon you must really be a great actor. Because, quite frankly, I don’t think you’re a very nice person.’

This time he had no pithy retort, so he just let her go.

After all, she was partly right. Right now he didn’t feel like the Dev that everyone liked, as she said. The Dev that loved his job and that was beloved of many a film crew. The Dev with a million friends and a lifestyle that most could only dream of.

Right now he didn’t know what type of person he was at all.

Ruby had laid out every single item of clothing she owned on her motel-room bed. Not just the clothing she’d brought with her for this film—everything she owned.

Years ago she’d got into the routine of selling her clothes before departing for a job overseas—eBay was brilliant for that purpose—rather than lugging it with her across the world.

She’d always thought it rather a flawless plan. She had a keen eye for an online shopping bargain, so she was rarely out of pocket, and, more importantly, she had the perfect excuse to buy an entirely new, season-appropriate wardrobe every six months or so.

The rare occasions she did date, it was always between films, so having a favourite, guaranteed-to-feel-awesome-in outfit was not really all that essential. She knew well in advance if she had a premiere to attend, so she could plan ahead—and besides, the full-length formal gowns were really only for the talent at those events, not the crew.

So. Consequently here she was, hands on hips—and not far from putting her head in her hands—with absolutely nothing to wear on her date with Dev.

It was tempting, really, really tempting, to rock up for her date in jeans and a ratty old T-shirt. So her clothing choice would make a very obvious statement about how she felt about the whole situation.

But, unfortunately, she just couldn’t.

Turned out she was—much to her despair—incapable of being truly cool, and strong, and defiant. In this way, at least. Nope. Just as she’d been agonising over her clothing choices for work each day, she wanted to look her best on Saturday night.

Yes, it was pathetic. Yes, it didn’t say a lot for her that, despite Dev’s ridiculous manipulating of her and their situation, she still felt her body react at even the thought of him. And when they were together...well.

But then, he was basically the sexiest man on earth. She shouldn’t be too hard on herself. Surely she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t wonder...

It was just a little galling to realise that she—who did know better—could still be distracted by looks over personality. As, really, there wasn’t a whole lot about Devlin Cooper for her to like right now.

A long time ago, the Devlin Coopers of the world had been her type. Not that she had a life populated with movie stars, but at high school she’d gone for the captain of the footy team. And the captain of the tennis team. And the very charismatic head boy who every girl had been in love with. Then once she left school, it was the sexy bartender. Or the hot lawyer who ordered a latte every morning at the café where she worked. Or the son of the owner of the café. And...and, and, and...

She’d search out the hottest guy, the most popular guy, the guy who was the absolute least attainable for a girl like her—the rebellious foster child, abandoned by her teenage mother, with a reputation a mile long.

And then she would make it her mission to get him.

It was all about her goal, her goal to get the guy, to have him want her—her—Ruby Bell, who was nobody. Not popular, not unpopular. Not the prettiest, not the least attractive. And when she got him—and she nearly always did—she had that night, or nights, or maybe only a few hours, where she got to feel beautiful and desirable and valued and wanted.

But of course that feeling didn’t last. She—and her temporary value—was inevitably dropped. She’d hurt and cry and feel just as worthless as she had before that perfect, gorgeous guy had kissed her.

Then the cycle would start again.

Ruby’s eyes stung, and she realised she was on the verge of tears. Another memory—one that came later—was threatening, right at the edges of her subconscious.

But she wasn’t going there—not tonight, and not because of Dev.

What was important was that she’d turned her life around. Never again would she need a man to make her feel alive—to feel worthy. Never again would she be sweet, and obliging and void of any opinion purely for the attention and approval of another person.

And never again would she be the girl that was whispered about. Who walked into a room only to have the men study her with questions in their eyes—and the women with daggers in theirs.

She’d grown up in a swirl of gossip and speculation, and her adult life had begun that way too—and way too early.

The sad thing was, at first she’d actually liked the attention. She wasn’t the shy girl at the back of the classroom, she was a girl who people talked about, who people noticed. Suddenly everyone knew her name.

Maybe at first she’d fuelled the gossip. She’d been increasingly outrageous, telling herself she was in control, inwardly laughing at the people who looked at her with such disdain.

But at some point the power had shifted.

Or maybe she’d just never had any power at all.

Now she was all grown up. She was twenty-nine years old. She no longer needed anyone to validate her. She no longer harboured a fear it had taken her years to acknowledge—that if her mother hadn’t wanted her, then maybe no one ever would. In men and their fleeting attention she’d received the attention and the wanting she’d so badly craved.

But now she knew she didn’t need a man. She had her career, and her friends, and a lifestyle that she adored. If she dated, she chose men who were the opposite to the high-school football stars and Devlin Coopers of the world. And it was never for very long.

She was always in control. Everything was perfect.

And another beautiful man was not going to change any of that. She would not slide into habits long severed, or let their date impact her professional reputation: she had never been, and would never be, the subject of gossip at work. Gossip would never colour her decisions—would never control her—ever again.

She didn’t hide her past from anyone—but it was the past. She couldn’t let herself head down that path again. To lose herself while wanting something a man could never give her.

Ruby needed only herself. Could rely, only, on herself.

She turned, and flopped onto her back on her bed, uncaring of the clothing she squashed and creased beneath her.

Hmm. That was all well and good—and right.

But.

She still had a date with Devlin Cooper in two days’ time.

An emergency shopping expedition was—most definitely—required.

Ruby had to spend a few hours in the office on Saturday morning, and so by the time she’d driven the four hours into the city, she was cutting it extremely fine.

Fortunately, one of her good friends was between films at the moment. So she was meeting Gwen, an exceedingly glamorous costume designer, at a boutique in Paddington, rather than hitting the department stores in a fit of mad desperation.

As she stepped into the store, complete with its crystal chandeliers, chunky red leather armchairs and modern, smooth-edged white shelving, Gwen squealed and trotted towards her on towering platform heels.

‘Ruby! It’s been for ever!’ she announced as she wrapped her into a hug.

She’d considered sharing the identity of her date with Gwen, but had decided, on balance, that it was best if she didn’t. Yes, she trusted her friend, but...it really was better if no one knew. It was only one date, after all.

In the same vein, she’d taken steps to ensure—as much as was possible—that their date remained firmly under the radar. When Dev had called her—she’d known he wouldn’t email—she’d made it very clear that the gorgeous French bistro she’d booked was no longer suitable. It was not the type of place where privacy—and a lack of photography—could be assured. The last thing she needed was some grainy photo snapped on someone’s mobile phone making it onto Twitter and, eventually, to the film set.

Yes, she was likely paranoid, and such a liaison with a film’s star would not signal the end of her career. She knew that film sets could be the home to all sorts of flings and the more than occasional affair. It was natural in an industry where the majority of the crew were well under forty—the transient lifestyle was not ideal for anyone with a family, and roots.

She just didn’t want to be that woman Dev had a fling with. She’d been that woman enough times in her life. Thank you very much.

So this was, she realised as Gwen unhooked a dress from a shiny chrome rack to display to her, more about how she perceived herself than about how anyone else would perceive her.

Which really was just as important... No. More important than her professional reputation.

But she’d fiercely protect that, too.

‘What do you think?’ Gwen asked, giving the coat hanger a little shake so that the dress’s delicate beading shimmered beneath the down lights.

It was a cocktail-length dress, in shades of green. On the hanger it looked like nothing but pretty fabric, but of course she tried it on.

Ruby was bigger than the average tiny actress that Gwen was used to dressing, but still—her friend certainly had an eye for what suited her body.

As she stepped out of the change room and in front of the mirror Ruby couldn’t help but suck in a breath of surprise.

She looked...

‘Beautiful!’ Gwen declared happily. ‘It’s perfect.’

Ruby twisted from side to side, studying herself. The dress was gorgeous, with heavily beaded and embroidered cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that flattered her average-sized curves. The silk followed the curve of her waist and hips, ending well above her knee. The beading continued throughout the fabric, becoming sparser at her waist before ending in a shimmer of green and flecks of gold at the hem. It was simple—but not. Striking—but not glitzy.

She loved it.

Twenty minutes later she’d parted with a not insignificant portion of her savings, and headed with Gwen to find the perfect matching heels and a short, sexy, swingy jacket.

And an hour after that she was alone in the hotel room she’d booked, only a short walk from the crazily exclusive restaurant where she would be meeting Dev. Really soon.

The dress sparkled prettily on her bed. She had her make-up and the perfect shade of nail polish raring to go in the bathroom.

But she paused, rather than walking to the shower. She looked at herself reflected in the mirrored hotel wardrobe.

There she was, in jeans and hair that had transitioned from deliberately choppy to plain old messy at some point in the day.

She wouldn’t say she lacked confidence in herself or her looks. She didn’t think she was hideously unattractive, but...really? When Dev could have anyone, why her?

It must be the challenge. It could be nothing else. And maybe he felt that he should be the one doing the rejecting, not her?

She nodded, and she watched the movement reshuffle her hair just a little.

Yes. That was it.

And after tonight—that would be that. He’d have achieved his goal, and in a week’s time she’d be very, very old news.

Which suited her just fine.

Didn’t it?