Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) by Elizabeth Harmon Read Free Book Online

talked, but it wasn’t a good time to pitch.” He didn’t mention that hearing his teenage crush talk about lacy panties left him too flummoxed to get the job done. “I gave her my card.”
    Cody snorted. “Your card? We’re running out of time, my man. Look, I had no problem with you going to Chicago to recruit your dream girl, but we need results. If you can’t do it, say the word and I’ll take over.”
    It was tempting. Eric had felt in over his head since the day the network green-lit
Last Fling
. He was the idea guy, happiest when he was alone at his computer, creating. People intimidated him. Women who looked like Alison Michaels definitely intimidated him. Cody deWylde was better suited for wheeling and dealing. He wouldn’t have gotten tongue-tied and made an ass of himself.
    But Eric couldn’t back out now. This was his big break, and making
Last Fling
a success would mean he could get his real ideas—the ones he was actually proud of—to the screen. He’d used a precious weekend of preproduction time to come here, and Alison Michaels was on the other side of the convention hall...waiting to say yes.
    “No, dude. I’m good,” Eric said. “I’m going back to talk with her, and once she hears the pitch, she’ll jump at it. No doubt in my mind.”
    “Sweet. So what’s she look like? As hot as her poster?”
    At last, a question he could answer truthfully. Eric smiled. She was gorgeous as her poster, but a photo didn’t capture the warmth, humor and intelligence of the real-life woman. “Better.”
    “All right. So let’s make ol’ Chris’s wet dreams come true. And yours. Call me when the contract is signed.”
    “Will do.” Eric shut off his phone and stuffed it in his pocket.
    When truck driver Chris Tucker had put Alison on his fling list, they hadn’t thought about how they might persuade her. Her career had crashed and burned a decade ago, and now she was working the convention hall circuit. She’d jump at the money. Eric was an up-and-coming Hollywood wunderkind, and a washed-up starlet turned car-show attraction should have been putty in his hands.
    He took out the brochure she’d signed and something fell out of the bottom. His business card, which she’d returned without him realizing.
    Putty in his hands, all right.
    He took another sip of scotch and let thoughts of another woman push aside his failure with Alison Michaels. Her name was Dr. Pamela Chandler, and Eric had created her.
    She was the central character in a new series he was developing; working title
St. Nowhere
. The concept was a hospital drama set in an eerie netherworld. As beautiful Dr. Chandler and her colleagues worked desperately to save lives, an endless, catastrophic storm raged outside the hospital. Would the storm ever stop? Where were they anyway? Another dimension? Hell?
    He began making notes on cocktail napkins and before he knew it, the bar was emptying out. He’d been here too long and needed to talk with Alison before some hunky boyfriend showed up to whisk her away. He was about to leave when raucous laughter rang out on the other side of the room.
    It was the men who’d harassed Alison. The camera guy was telling the story to another loser, while Hooters T-shirt protested loudly. “I didn’t do anything. I shoulda smacked that little bitch! Make her show me some respect.”
    Eric hurried from the bar and went straight to Alison’s booth, where only a few autograph-seekers remained. Alison greeted him with the sexy, knowing expression he’d once associated with Missy Goldsmith. “So, Galahad? Did you change your mind about having me sign those panties?”
    He blushed again, but there was warmth, not malice, in her voice. “You gave this back accidently.” He held out his business card.
    “Who said it was an accident?” She glanced at the card, squinting slightly. “Eric Conrad, Renegade Productions.” Her smile was gone and her blue eyes were cold. “You’re a producer,” she said