Free There You'll Find Me by Jenny B Jones Page B

swished through the forest like a noble prince. With really sharp teeth.
    “They’ll use CGI to make those cables disappear.” Mr. Rush stood beside me, one eye on his son, one on his BlackBerry.
    “Looks scary,” I said.
    “They’re very careful. Effects have come a long way since my day.”
    “I guess lots of things have changed since then.”
    “Some. It’s still a game of survival.” He lowered his phone. “I hope you don’t get any ideas about me son. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    Why did everyone say that to me? Did I look desperate? “I’m just here to help.”
    “You seem like a nice girl, and I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I see it all the time. Girls throwing themselves at him.” He laughed. “I remember those days meself.”
    “So you manage his career and his love life?” Had I really just said that?
    “Make no mistake.” He gave me his full attention. “His love life is his career.”
    Ten minutes later Beckett joined us, wiping sweat off his temple even though it was only sixty degrees.
    “Da’.” Beckett nodded his head at his father, then bestowed a smile on me. “Hello, Frances.”
    Cheeky boy. “Here’s your water.” Our fingers touched as I handed him the bottle, and electricity shot up my arm. No. This can’t be happening. I am not attracted to him. Gotta think of something to distract myself from his blazing hot looks. That shirt. Please. Might’ve been stylish in the 1800s, but now the only men who wear flouncy shirts also have a collection of heels and handbags to match. And his hair. He totally needs a haircut. And the pants?
    Oh. Who was I kidding? Beckett was as masculine as pickup trucks and Stetsons.
    “This coffee is cold.” Mr. Rush stopped an assistant walking by. “I would be forever in your debt if you’d get me another one, please. One cream, two sugars.” He gave her a grin, and I saw Beckett’s charm was stamped right in his DNA. “Thanks, dear.”
    “These people don’t work for you, Da’.” Beckett massaged the muscles in his neck.
    “If they work for you, they work for me. Now, about that contract.”
    “Later. Finley and I are going to rehearse.”
    Mr. Rush studied me once again, and from the look on his face, I could tell I didn’t pass his test. “I’ll come along. I’d like to talk to you about—”
    “I’m working.”
    A familiar giggle had me groaning. “Dad? Did you say dad?” Beatrice shimmied our way, a predatory smile on her lips. “Are you the famous Mr. Rush?”
    Montgomery Rush gave Beatrice his camera-ready smile. “Me son is the famous one.”
    “As are you, sir.” Her voice became Marilyn Monroe light. “You’re renowned. How you’ve built Beckett’s career, supported him since he was just a little boy with a dream? Positively inspirational.”
    “There was never any choice.” Mr. Rush regarded his son, his eyes assessing, as if weighing the loss and gain. “When me boy got the acting bug so young, I just had to move him to Los Angeles and nurture his dream.”
    Beckett’s jaw tightened. “I don’t remember telling you I wanted to be an actor.”
    “Of course you did. ‘Da’, I want to be in the movies.’ That’s exactly what you said.”
    “I was six. I also wanted to be an astronaut and a Shetland pony.”
    “My goodness, he was something at those auditions. Doing the name proud, he was.” Mr. Rush rested his hand on his son’s back. “Still is. And will for years to come.”
    “You’re a wonderful father, Mr. Rush,” Beatrice cooed. “And your son has been so . . . helpful to me on the set.” Her viper eyes zeroed in on me. “He’s just gone above and beyond to . . . make me feel so at home.”
    My temper simmered at a low boil, but it wasn’t out of jealousy.
    It wasn’t. I simply wanted Beatrice out of my sight. Removed. Like to another planet.
    “Beckett, let me know when you’re ready to run lines,” I said.
    “I’m going to go grab something to eat from