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  GONE WITH THE NERD

  Copyright © 2005 by Vicki Lewis Thompson. Cover photo © Phil Hefferan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in die case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-99858-9

  BAN: 80312-99858-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  St Martin's Paperbacks edition / August 2005

  St Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Cooper Scott Thompson,

  a really cool California dude.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, my books are blessed with help from incredible people. Special thanks to Guy Bordelon for giving me insights into the Bigfoot phenomenon, the St. Martin's marketing department for its heart-warming enthusiasm, my family for continued support, my agent Maureen Walters for her steady guidance, and my editor Jennifer Enderlin for awesome input.

  Chapter One

  Two blocks from the restaurant, Zoe Tarleton knew she was screwed. Slowing for the light, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse and speed-dialed her lawyer. "Flynn, forget the restaurant I told you. It's a faster cluck of reporters out front."

  "So I see. I'm two cars ahead of you."

  Zoe braced herself on the steering wheel and pushed up to see over the yellow Corvette in front of her. Sure enough, there was a white Honda Civic idling in traffic with Flynn at the wheel. One of the richest entertainment lawyers in Hollywood drove a ten-year-old sedan. And that's why she needed him. Flynn Granger was the only nerd she knew.

  "I'm assuming you mentioned this meeting to Leon?" Flynn sounded resigned.

  "I had to. He wanted to schedule an interview and I had to tell him why I couldn't do it." And her agent, Leon Borowsky, had alerted the new publicist, Sandi. Good old

  Leon alerted the publicist every time Zoe stepped out her front door, even when she'd specifically told him not to, like now. But she had a movie out and Leon had a thing for the new publicist, which meant he'd gladly turn Zoe's every breath into a photo op.

  "Okay." Flynn switched to his lawyer's voice. "New plan. We'll drive past and go to a different restaurant."

  "They'll recognize my car if I drive past. As slow as traffic's moving, I could still get waylaid." Even if she put up the top, that wouldn't save her.

  "Switch cars with me."

  "Now?"

  "Right now. You have about five seconds before the light changes."

  Zoe didn't pause to think. Still clutching her cell, she flung open the door and ran past the Corvette. She and Flynn bumped into each other, mumbled apologies, and whirled toward their respective destinations. She made it into his car just as the light turned green.

  With zero time to move the seat, she stretched her legs to reach the pedals and used the steering wheel to balance herself. The Corvette driver leaned on his horn during the nanosecond she needed to release the emergency brake and put the Civic in gear, but finally she was in motion, gliding down the street in Flynn's nerd car.

  Another horn blared from somewhere behind her, and she realized that Flynn wouldn't have fit in her Boxster without adjusting the seat, so he must have taken longer to get situated. But he was moving now. She could see him in the side-view mirror, his prescription sunglasses glinting in the light, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze.

  When he picked up a little speed, the end of his brown tie flapped into view. He needed to lose the tie and roll back the sleeves of his dress shirt. Then he'd be at one with that sports car.

  Even so, he looked good driving a ragtop, surprisingly good, macho even. But he'd never buy one. According to him, cars were transportation, not toys or status symbols or—heaven forbid—compensation for sexual inadequacies. Cruising the coast highway with the top down and the radio up wouldn't occur to Flynn as a way to spend some quality time.

  Perched forward on the seat, Zoe concentrated on not crashing Flynn's car into the vehicle ahead of her. Flynn didn't have a scratch on his Civic. Even the inside was immaculate—not a gum wrapper, empty CD case, or soft-drink container to be found.

  He was anal as the day was long, but that was fine with Zoe. That same meticulous attention had been applied to her studio contracts, and she gave thanks every day for a thorough lawyer like Flynn.

  The car smelled like Flynn, too. No pricey aftershave for this guy. He was an Aqua Velva man. She'd learned that one day when she'd had to use the powder room adjacent to his office and had found a bottle of Aqua Velva on the counter. Taking off the cap to sniff, she'd immediately recognized the familiar mint scent she associated with Flynn.

  Speaking of Flynn, she wondered if he was still connected via cell. She snagged hers from the seat where she'd tossed it. "Zoe to Flynn. Come in, Flynn."

  "I'm here, crammed in like a sardine."

  Zoe smiled. Only Flynn would complain about being behind the wheel of a freshly washed black Boxster. "Yeah, but you're stylin'."

  "Not my goal."

  "I know. Listen, thanks for trusting me with your car." She thought it might be harder for him to loan out an economy car he'd carefully maintained for ten years than for her to let him drive the Porsche she'd owned for less than six months, a car that had no sentimental value and was maintained by a member of her staff.

  "No problem. Okay, we're getting close to the restaurant. Lock the driver's door. The others are already locked."

  "I will, but don't worry. They'll never look for me in this car."

  "Lock it anyway."

  Zoe searched for a power switch. "How?"

  "There's a button on the door frame along the edge of the window. Take your finger and push it down." He sounded amused.

  "Oh." She locked herself in. "I thought there was a switch somewhere."

  "I know."

  "You're trying not to laugh, aren't you?" "I'm not laughing."

  "Yes, you are. Almost. So I haven't been in a car with manual door locks in a while. So sue me."

  "As your lawyer, I don't think that's legally possible."

  "You are so laughing." She checked in the side-view mirror again and there was a big grin on his face. Driving a sports car while showing off his pearly whites, he looked rakish and daring, two words she never would have associated with Flynn previously. Probably a trick of the fight.

  As she'd predicted, she slipped right past the restaurant without a single person recognizing her. No one moved; no cameras flashed. Flynn was not so lucky. Everyone on the sidewalk had been waiting for her Boxster. Zoe watched in the mirror as the crowd surged forward, creating a momentary halt in traffic.

  Zoe could hear their shouts of frustration through the cell phone connection. "They're not happy," she said to Flynn.

  "Nope. Not happy." Eventually the Boxster continued on down the street, but Flynn was no longer smiling.

  "You okay?" She hadn't considered how the mob scene might have affected him. He wasn't used to that kind of pressure.

  "Sure, I'm fine. But I don't know how you stand it."

  "It's the price of fame. I'm willing to pay it, most of the time. I just wish Leon hadn't decided to turn our meeting today into a media feeding frenzy. Maybe he's ticked because I wouldn't tell him why I was meeting you." Or maybe Leon was making points with Sandi the publicist so he could score, but Zoe decided not to mention that possibility to Flynn.

  "For that matter, you didn't tell me why we're meeting," he said.

  And she knew how he must have hated that. Flynn liked to have all available
info before he did anything. "I will tell you, but not on the phone. Any ideas where we could go?"

  He paused. "How about Venice Beach? You park by the boardwalk and stay in the car with the air on. I'll get us some hot dogs and we'll eat in the car."

  "Flynn, I wanted to buy you a nice meal."

  "Why, so you could soften me up?"

  Bingo. He was too smart for her, but then, she'd always known that. Normally she liked that he was smart. "Okay, hot dogs in the car then."

  "What do you like on your hot dog?" "Everything."

  This time he really did laugh. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

  Later, as Flynn ordered the hot dogs—one with everything and one with only ketchup and mustard—he speculated as to what Zoe wanted from him. Maybe she needed to find a way around her current studio contract in order to do some work for an independent production company. If so, he'd have to burn the midnight oil to find a loophole for her. But she could have asked that over the phone.

  Maybe she planned to fire him and wanted to tell him personally out of consideration for their five-year association. God, he hoped not. The timing couldn't be worse, now that he was seriously thinking about marrying Kris-ten. He wanted to present a healthy financial picture when he proposed, and Zoe was his biggest client.

  He had his game plan regarding Kristen all mapped out. He'd booked a hotel on Catalina Island for her visit next week. Assuming all went well, he'd propose to her there and ask her to take a year's sabbatical from Harvard and live with him in LA. He thought she'd agree to that.

  Carrying the hot dogs in a bag and two bottles of chilled water in his other hand, he approached the Civic from the passenger side. Zoe looked so out of place in the driver's seat of that car. With her pricey sunglasses and her red hair cut in the trademark shaggy style she'd made famous, she belonged in a Boxster.

  She was his complete opposite—a person who basked in the limelight and loved all the luxuries her star power could buy. Her seaside home in Malibu would make three of his town house in Pasadena, and the town house wasn't exactly a hovel. But he did live below his means.

  Like Zoe, he'd grown up poor, but unlike her, he was determined to squirrel away enough cash to guarantee he'd never be poor again. Zoe spent most of what she made, on either herself or others. Although he'd never seen her tax returns, he knew what she earned because he reviewed her contracts. And because he had a fair idea of her lifestyle and a good estimate of real estate values in Malibu, he could safely say that Zoe wasn't putting away a whole lot for the future.

  He tapped on the window with a water bottle to get her to unlock the passenger door.

  She leaned over and pulled up the button. "See how fast I learn?" she said as he climbed into the car.

  "I shouldn't have laughed." He handed over her hot dog and one of the water bottles. "I'm sure you're not the only person who expects power locks to be standard."

  "No kidding. Come to think of it, you might be the only car owner in LA with manual locks." She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and smiled at him. "But the car switcheroo worked great. Thanks. And thanks for the food."

  "Not exactly Spago, though, is it?" He set the bag with his hot dog on the floor of the car so he could open the glove compartment and replace his prescription shades with his regular glasses.

  "I don't always eat at fancy restaurants, you know." She braced the water bottle between her knees and unwrapped her hot dog.

  "No?" He snapped the glove compartment shut and put on his glasses. The first object in his line of vision was her water bottle, which was propped between two of the most photographed knees in the world. Zoe had great legs, and right now she was wearing a denim micromini that showed off a good part of those assets.

  Flynn hadn't spent much time admiring Zoe's legs, because their meetings had always taken place at either his office, where she was on the other side of his desk, or a restaurant, where those legs were under a table. He'd never sat in a parked car with her where he had the perfect position to ogle. And he shouldn't be ogling, not even a little bit. In another week he'd probably be engaged.

  "Sometimes I order from fancy restaurants and eat at home," she said.

  As he brought his attention abruptly back to her face, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she'd caught him staring. "Which pretty much cuts out Taco Bell," he said, trying to sound cool.

  "Pretty much." She laughed and opened her mouth for her hot dog.

  Flynn was bombarded with an explicit sexual image. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected this hot dog-sharing experience to make him think of oral sex. He'd come up with the suggestion as something quick and easy, something unlikely to attract anyone's attention, so Zoe would have the opportunity to talk with him privately.

  Maybe that was the problem. He'd never been in a totally private setting with Zoe. Outside the car the usual hurly-burly crowd of Rollerbladers and beach bums mixed and mingled, ignoring them completely. In the air-conditioned interior of the car he and Zoe seemed to be in their own little world, wrapped in a disquieting intimacy. That had to explain why he was watching her eating a hot dog and thinking about sex.

  Worse yet, he was responding. He tucked his own water bottle between his legs and hoped the coolness would have some effect. Then he pulled his hot dog out of the bag at his feet and unwrapped it. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to eat it without noticing that the bun cradling the hot dog could easily represent something other than a bun.

  See, that's what he got for having a girlfriend who lived three thousand miles away, one he hadn't seen in six months. Despite their busy schedules, they should have found a way to get together. He hadn't thought he was feeling sexually needy, but this whole episode was proving him wrong.

  "Are you busy this weekend?" Zoe asked.

  With his thoughts still firmly in the gutter, Flynn choked on his hot dog.

  "Oh, dear. Drink some water." She twisted the cap from her bottle and handed it to him.

  He took her water and drank. Surely she hadn't been angling for a date or anything. Flynn was the last person in the world she'd want to be seen with socially. Besides, she had a romantic interest. According to all reports, she and her costar in the new movie were an item. Pictures of her with Trace Edwards were plastered all over the supermarket tabloids.

  After coughing and clearing his throat, Flynn readjusted his glasses and glanced over at her. He was back in control. "Sorry about that." He gave her his unopened water. "Here. We'll trade."

  "If you insist, although I'm sure no self-respecting germ would dare invade your system." She took the water. "So, as I was saying, I have a proposition for you."

  The discussion wasn't improving. He tried to stay calm but decided against another bite of the hot dog at this juncture. "Such as?"

  She turned to him, bringing all the beauty of that fabulous face into play. Those turquoise-blue eyes had bewitched millions, and those full lips had made grown men weep with longing. If Helen of Troy had launched a thousand ships, Zoe could launch five thousand, easy.

  "I desperately need some help," she said. "I'm hoping you don't have any plans and can spend Friday night through Sunday night working with me."

  A man would have to be made of stone to refuse a woman who looked like Zoe. Flynn wasn't made of stone. But first he had to make sure of the details. He pulled an ultrathin PDA from his breast pocket and flipped it open.

  He loved this little technological toy, partly because it was state-of-the-art and sheathed in space-age titanium, but mostly because Zoe had given it to him for Christmas. It was a perfect gift, which meant she understood him, and that was gratifying. "Are we talking about day after tomorrow?"

  "That's right. I know it's short notice."

  He checked his electronic day planner. "It is, but I don't have anything pressing. Nothing I couldn't cancel." Kristen had a conference in Chicago, so he'd planned to spend the weekend running errands. He shouldn't be so happy to be spending time with Zoe, but he
'd work on that problem. He closed the PDA and returned it to his pocket. "What do you need?"

  "I've booked a little cabin in Long Shaft, and I wondered if you would go there with me so that I can—"

  "Excuse me—Long Shaft"? Where the hell is that?"

  "Northern California. We'll fly to Sacramento and then you'll rent a car. Can you go?"

  He felt as if he'd walked into the middle of a movie. Nothing made sense. "Why? Why would you want the two of us to go to a cabin in a place called Long Shaft? And what kind of a name for a town is that, anyway?"

  "Long Shaft is an old mining town. This place is totally off the map, and I don't want anyone to know we're there. I... uh ... need some coaching."

  "On what? Trust me, I'm not a dramatic coach, and I can't think of a single thing I know how to do that would come in handy in your line of work, unless you've suddenly accepted a role that involves contract law."

  "No, that's not it." She seemed uncertain, as if she couldn't figure out exactly how to explain herself. "I don't suppose you saw two copies of a script lying on the passenger seat of the Boxster."

  "No. I was too busy making sure the paparazzi didn't vandalize the car."

  "I'm auditioning for a part next week. It's a romantic comedy with some action/adventure thrown in, and the female lead is a chemist."

  He still didn't get it. "I passed chemistry, but I wouldn't say that's my area of expertise. If you're looking for a chemist, maybe you should consider someone from UCLA. I can't imagine that you'd have to be secretive about it, either. Any chemistry prof down there would love to—"

  "It's not the chemistry part that I'm worried about. So long as I follow the script I'll sound like I know my chemistry. It's the character of Vera who worries me. She isn't like any of the others I've played. As you might have noticed, all my roles so far have been glamorous and sexy."

  "And that works, Zoe." It was working on him right this minute. The conversation was weird to begin with. All their meetings until now had centered around contract clauses and legalese, and he didn't think she'd ever been dressed quite this provocatively for those meetings, either.