Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T hat was not part of the plan. But with Angela's declaration, there was no way that Holden could go back to his original idea of letting Angela go so that the tape had less value for Kendra. Angela had too much value for Holden.

For the second time today, his boots echoed across the empty soundstage as he strode toward the set. The heavy scent of musk and latex hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint odor of antiseptic cleaner. Each step felt like a descent into a lurid world he was no longer sure he belonged to.

"Ready for your close-up, Mr. Tighe?"

Kendra sat in nothing but a satin robe. Holden knew she was naked beneath it. Her body thrilled thousands. It did nothing for him.

"How did the nerd take it when you broke up with her?"

"I didn't break up with her. She's hiring a lawyer as we speak. You came into my house and stole my property. That could put your pretty ass in jail."

Storm clouds struck in Kendra's cold eyes. "If my exquisite ass lands in jail, it won't be before I press a button that ruins your girlfriend's life and career."

"Blackmail isn't really your style," he challenged.

"No, I like it rough." She pressed her body against his, the heat of her breath fanning across his skin as she leaned into his personal space. "Give me what I want, and the video disappears."

Holden's gaze drifted, unfocused, to the scattering of lights above. The harsh glare of the set's illumination seared through him, exposing every thread of his internal conflict. On one side lay the unyielding image he'd spent years building, brick by brick—an edifice of masculinity that had become his brand in this lust-fueled industry. On the other, nestled within the tender chambers of his heart, was Angela. Her laughter was a melody that danced in his thoughts, her touch a symphony of warmth that knew all the secret chords of his longing.

"Something wrong, Tighe?" The voice cut through his reverie, deep and seasoned with authority. "Why are you still dressed?"

"Kendra and I were just discussing... creative differences."

"Creative differences, huh?" The director's lips quirked in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, make sure those differences don't interfere with the shoot. We've got a holiday special to film, and I want everyone jolly and" — his gaze lingered on Holden, pointed and sharp—"hard at work."

"I can't…"

They both stared at him. The director waiting impatiently for Holden to finish his statement. Kendra glaring at him to shut up.

"I can't do it. I can't do the scene. I can't do any of it. I quit."

Holden's heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal as he watched Kendra saunter back toward him, her phone clutched like a dagger in her manicured hand.

"You need to see this. It's about our star here."

The director leaned his head over to watch what was on the phone. Holden didn't need to see to know what was on display. He heard Angela's sweet sighs from here. He had to hold himself still so he didn't strangle his former costar. There had been a part of him that believed she wouldn't do it.

Holden watched the director's face as he watched the video, saw the initial curiosity in his eyes give way to a furrowed brow, then a lip curling in distaste.

"Jesus, Holden," the director muttered, his voice low and laced with revulsion. "This isn't the guy I hired. This is... soft-core crap."

Kendra's smirk faltered, the triumph in her eyes dimming as she realized the erotic sincerity of the moment caught on video failed to spark the reaction she had intended.

The director's fingers twitched as if he wanted to toss the phone aside, but instead, he turned a steely gaze on Kendra. "You realize what you've got here?" His voice was a low growl, predatory and sharp. "If this gets out, it'll be the softest bullet to ever kill a hardcore career."

Kendra's lips parted, her usual confidence wavering under the weight of his condemnation. She tried to maintain her seductive poise, but it was as if the room had sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

"Come on," she stammered, the ice queen melting into a puddle of desperation. "Holden's fans—they eat up everything he does."

The director snorted, a dismissive sound that echoed off the cold studio walls. "Not this, Kendra. They want the beast, not the poet. If they see Holden making love like some dime-a-dozen Romeo, it's game over for his image. And for yours, if you do a hardcore scene with him. That video is career suicide for you both."

Holden's gaze met Kendra's, and for once, he saw uncertainty flicker in her icy-blue eyes. The tables had turned; her weapon of choice now dangled precariously over her own head. He couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips—a silent acknowledgment of the irony.

"Guess your little ploy didn't quite pan out, huh?" Holden's voice was rough. "Looks like we're both screwed. But, hey, you're used to it."