Infamous: Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife / Pure Princess, Bartered Bride. Jane Porter

She looked up, met his gaze before quickly looking away. “But I don’t want to be pressured.”

      She drew another deep breath, flexed her fingers to ease her tension. “And if I did agree, how would this work?”

      If he felt any elation or sensed that he’d won, none of it showed on his face. “We’d draw up a contract, include a generous financial compensation, as it’s probable you’ll miss some workdays due to events and premieres, and then begin going places together to be seen.”

      He made it sound so simple, she thought, and yet she wasn’t a glamour girl, the sort to be invited to fancy parties or industry premieres. No, she was the girl raised by her dad, grandpa and five older brothers. There hadn’t been a woman in the house, not since her mom died when Alexandra was five. Growing up, she was the original tomboy.

      “And what makes you think people will believe you … and I … are together?” she asked, pushing thoughts of Montana and the Lazy L ranch from her mind. “I’m not your … usual choice in dates.”

      “Lots of stars date makeup artists, casting directors, the like.”

      She hesitated. “Some actors do, but not you.”

      “You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

      Maybe, she thought, and maybe not, but she’d seen the pictures of the women he dated. He liked starlets and models, topless dancers and magazine centerfolds, his taste typically running toward women with more cleavage than brains. And Alex didn’t even have to look down at her not-so-impressive chest to know her strength was not in her cup size.

      Years ago, back in junior high school, she’d learned that there were only two avenues open for women: the one for pretty girls and the one for smart girls. Even in high school it had been one or the other—cheerleaders and beauty queens or bookworms and future librarians. Girls certainly couldn’t be both. And since Alexandra knew she wasn’t pom-pom-girl pretty, she’d decided then and there to be smart. Damn smart. “We both know I’m not pretty enough to be taken seriously as your new love interest.”

      “You could be if you tried to do something with yourself,” Wolf answered with brutal candor. “Alexandra, you don’t even try.”

      She bit down, not knowing where to look. “I don’t try because I know already what I am and who I am. And I don’t need makeup or fake hair or nails or a tan to make me something I’m not.”

      “Which is what?” he asked quietly.

      “A bimbo. I’m not going to be a bimbo. I want to be respected. Taken seriously. And if I change myself—”

      “You’re changing your hairstyle, not your soul.”

      Her head jerked up.

      “You’re smart,” he added. “Serious. And I’m sorry, but that eliminates the bimbo category for you.”

      She should have been flattered. Instead his words merely left her even more flustered.

      Every time he looked at her she felt sparks on the inside, little bits of hot fire flaring here and there. It was like being a human sparkler, only worse because the heat didn’t die.

      “I just don’t want to be laughed at,” she said after a moment. “People can be unkind. I know the tabloids are famous for publishing unflattering photos and pointing out celebrities’ flaws.”

      “Before we go public, you’ll meet with stylists, receive wardrobe consultation. I have a team of professionals who will help ease you into the transition.”

      Alexandra was intrigued despite herself. “When would that happen?”

      “As soon as you signed the contract.”

      Alexandra tried to imagine being groomed by top Hollywood stylists but couldn’t. She might have lost twenty pounds since moving from Montana to California, but she still thought of herself as the sturdy country girl who’d worn cowboy boots before high heels. “A beautiful starlet would be far easier to introduce to the public,” she said in a small voice.

      “I’m not interested in squiring around a young actress desperate to make a name for herself—”

      “But in real life—”

      “This is real life, and I’m quite aware that I’m responsible for dozens of people’s jobs. I just want to get The Burning Shore made and I want to do it without emotional complications.”

      She fell silent, digesting this. “You don’t want anyone to fall in love with you.”

      His dark eyes creased, his mouth compressed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

      Thankfully her practical little blue Ford Escort appeared that moment in the famous hotel drive.

      The uniformed valet climbed from the driver’s seat and held the door for her.

      Wolf walked her to the car. Alexandra slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll call you,” she said.

      “You’ve my number?”

      She stared up into his dark eyes, seeing the hard, beautiful lines of his face, and her panic grew. No one had a face like Wolf. No one had his charisma either.

      It’d be suicide to do this, she thought, absolute disaster—if not for him, then for her. She wasn’t as sophisticated as he was, nor did she have his experience.

      “I still have the card Daniel gave me. He wrote your cell number on the back.”

      Smiling faintly, Wolf closed her door and stepped away from the car. “Take your time, think about your options and call me when you’re ready.”

      She hesitated and then leaned through the open window. “You think I’m going to say yes, don’t you?”

      His faint smile grew. “I know you will.”

      “Why?”

      “Because you’re a smart girl and you’ll soon realize this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

      The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated over and over driving home, her hands shaking on the steering wheel and her insides doing nonstop flips.

      The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated yet again as she parked her car in the tiny garage adjacent to her California bungalow, one of the tiny nondescript row houses built in Culver City during the forties and fifties.

      Her house was small, and until recently she’d shared it with another girl. But since the girl had a job transfer to Boston, Alexandra was now covering the rent by herself and it was tight. She’d considered getting another housemate but was so enjoying having the space all to herself that she hadn’t gotten anybody yet.

      And if she did sign the contract to play Wolf’s new love interest, she wouldn’t have to get a roommate, she’d be able to pay the entire rent herself.

      Alexandra loved the thought of that.

      Since moving to Los Angeles she’d really struggled, both financially and emotionally.

      She’d taken a job waitressing and then apart-time job temping for an independent film studio, answering phones, handling mail, playing general office errand girl, which was mainly going to Starbucks and getting everyone’s favorite espresso and latte.

      Alex discovered that she liked being useful in the office. She was good in the office—quick, smart, agile, she could multitask and never needed to be told anything twice.

      After a year working for the independent film company, she answered a Paradise Pictures ad she saw in Variety and was hired to assist intense, brainy directors and producers with whatever needed to be done.

      She’d worked for Paradise for nearly three years now and she thought she’d proven herself on more than one occasion, but the promotion had never come.

      Why?