Page 90 of Her Ruthless Protector

Epilogue

Cabin her ass. When Kane said he had a little place on a lake in Virginia, she hadn’t expected a movie star hideout. She stretched her legs onto the deck railing and sipped her ice-cold glass of pinot grigio and plucked another grape out of the bowl.

This was living.

She flipped through the script that Shelly had sent to her. Her friend was really excited about this one. In her words, it was the one. Of course, Shelly was in love at the moment, so A.J. took her perspective with a grain of salt.

Really? Really? You’re going to dis on your girl like that when you’re in love too? Does that mean your ability to be logical is shot to shit?

A.J. took another sip of Kane’s fine wine and sat back and turned to the first page of the script. Two pages in and she was hooked. She was pissed off thirty minutes later when her cell phone rang and interrupted her reading, but it was Paul, so she had to take the call.

“Hey, Paul, how are you feeling?”

“When are you going to stop asking me that?” the man complained.

“I don’t know, maybe when you’re healthy?”

“The doctor gave me the all-clear weeks ago. They only removed my gallbladder, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“How’s your weight? Blood pressure? Are you still taking your pre-diabetes medicine?”

“You are a pain in my ass, did you know that?”

A.J. laughed. She could hear the pleasure in his voice. Paul didn’t have many people in his life who mothered him, so he was happy that she cared. What’s more, now that he had the scare and was taking care of himself, DiDi had asked him out on a date. So, life was really looking up for Paul Seaton.

“Actually, I’m calling as Python Sexton.”

“Oh, God, why is he calling?” A.J. moaned.

“He’s one of your investors. When are you going to stop playing house in Virginia and come up with something to produce?”

A.J. looked down at the script in her lap and closed it.

“I have to find something first. It takes time.”

“Bullshit. Shelly sent me a copy of ‘Lucky Star.’ It’s perfect. You’re perfect to produce it. Get your fledgling little production company up and running. I’m putting money in, Don’s going to get you more. Now get ‘er done.”

“I’ve only produced game shows and live shows, not movies.”

“This is just a small indie. Get over your bad self. You can do this. Is it because of Kane? Hell, he’s away a lot too. You’re not going to have kiddies for a while, so see each other on long weekends. He can visit you on-set. He’s got the money.”

A.J. took a gulp of wine this time. Paul wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t thought a zillion times before. Hell, to begin with she’d sold her place in LA because she intended to move to Georgia, now that Atlanta was the East Coast film hub.

Eventually she planned to look at houses to buy. Maybe look at apartments in Atlanta to rent. Or do something there other than get an office for Shelly to work out of. Dammit, she needed to not keep her ass planted here in Virginia!

“Kid, it’s time to make the move. The woman who bested terrorists can do this. The kid who put Cullen Lyon in his place and ended up torpedoing Amber Dick’s career when she found out she was sleeping with a sixteen-year-old male model, can do anything.”

“I don’t want to move to Atlanta,” she finally admitted.

“Who in their right mind suggested you move to Atlanta? Shelly’s there. You’re going to be on set in LA, Atlanta, Timbuktu, or back in Oman for all we know. You continue to plant your happy ass next to your man when you can. That’s your home base. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Shit, you’re right.” A.J. sat up straight with a grin.

“Of course I am.” Paul said. She could almost see his smirk through the phone.

“Okay, I’m seriously considering the script. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.” A.J. said.

“Tomorrow. Get back to me tomorrow.”