Second Chance Reunion Read online

  Second Chance

  Reunion

  Irene Vartanoff

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, organizations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  Copyright © 2016 by Irene Vartanoff All rights reserved.

  Published by Irene Vartanoff

  www.irenevartanoff.com

  P.O. Box 27

  Gerrardstown, WV 25420

  ISBN 978-0-9968403-4-7

  ISBN 978-0-9968403-5-4 ebook

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  A Note from the Author

  Also by Irene Vartanoff

  Chapter 1

  She would see Lucas again.

  Sara Finer attempted not to show any reaction as her boss reeled off the details of her next assignment, when all she could think of was her sudden opportunity to reunite with the man she’d secretly loved for six years.

  “Go to New Mexico. Talk Steel into finishing Desert Wind.”

  “I’m only a film editor, not a producer,” she said, as calmly as she could with a racing heart. Lucas Steel had captured her heart during her first intern job straight out of film school. She’d fallen in love. He’d been unhappily married, out of reach. She’d moved on. After the tragedy happened, she’d never expected to meet him again.

  George shook his head. Once a bear of a man, George Ross now was a shriveled shadow of his former self, his failing body attached to monitors and tubes. Yet he took no notice of his dire physical situation. From the moment Sara had arrived at the posh private Burbank, California hospital, he’d loaded her with tasks.

  “You’ve worked with Lucas. You can persuade him,” he said.

  “I was only his intern. He’s a brilliant director.”

  “He hasn’t worked in five years. Practically a has-been by Hollywood standards.” George cackled at his own joke.

  She sucked in a breath. “Since the accident, you mean,” she said. “Being the man in charge when someone was killed during filming must have been traumatic.”

  “So a crane fell and crushed his ex,” George said, with typical callousness. “He should be over it by now.”

  “He was madly in love with Jennifer Barnes,” she said, careful to keep her tone level. She’d always known how hopeless her feelings for Lucas were. Abandoning his career after his ex-wife’s tragic death was proof of his enduring love for the sexy movie star, despite their divorce. Sara had never dared attempt to penetrate what had become his hermit’s life in New Mexico.

  Her boss shrugged. He looked older than his fifty years, what remained of his hair gone grey, his cheeks haggard from pain and medication. Yet his eyes still snapped with determination. “I want Desert Wind finished.” He coughed, and didn’t stop coughing. The paroxysm set off the monitors.

  As Sara frantically looked for the call button, a nurse in a classic white uniform entered the hospital room with a brisk tread. She checked the monitors and reset the alarm. “Five minutes. No more,” she said. “He needs rest.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” George choked out. His face was white.

  The nurse shot him a disapproving look and left.

  After a minute, he regained his voice. “Coax Steel into cooperating.”

  She wanted to see Lucas, but she was afraid. “You’re partners. Old friends.”

  “I’m not getting out of here.” George said, indicating the tangle of wires from electrodes leading to the monitors measuring his vital signs.

  Instinctively, she started to speak, to deny the evidence of George’s illness. He waved away her platitudes before she could utter them. “Finishing Desert Wind is the last item on my bucket list.”

  “But I wouldn’t know what to say to Lucas Steel.”

  George gave her a cynical look. He took a ragged breath. “Don’t pretend you’re not in love with him.”

  She froze. How had he guessed? She’d never said anything about her feelings for Lucas.

  “Got you,” George said, with a shadow of his former wolfish grin.

  “I—I…” The skin of her face felt tight and hot.

  “You’re the one for this job. You worked for him back before he went rogue. Manipulate his soft spot for you.”

  “I couldn’t.” She shook her head.

  “Not even to save him from himself?” George gave her a shrewd look. “Get him out of exile in the desert, back to his brilliant career?”

  As she paced the cramped space in the room, George’s persuasive words followed her, enticing her. “The world needs film artistry like his. He’s throwing his life away.”

  George was right. Lucas had holed up in New Mexico instead of moving on. He’d forsaken his mastery of the film medium and refused all new projects. Perhaps Sara could help him begin again. Perhaps he might find a place for her in his heart at last.

  She turned around to face her mentor. “Supposing I try? How much of the movie is in the can?”

  “That’s more like it.” George shifted in the bed, as if he was uncomfortable. “All but a couple of scenes.”

  “What’s left? The studio bits?”

  George snorted. “That would be too easy. He did those first. Then he dragged his ex-wife, her lover, and the entire crew out to the desert to shoot the location scenes.”

  “Cozy,” she said, trying to hide her interest in details she’d never been privy to. She’d heard all the gossip, but George knew more. He’d been Lucas's partner on films for decades. They were old friends.

  George let out a bark of laughter. “After the accident, David Connor—only Jen’s boy toy then—tried to have Lucas arrested for murder.”

  “I never knew that.” Like someone compulsively probing a sore tooth, she had devoured every word written about how Jennifer Barnes had been crushed by a crane after a freak wind tipped it over.

  “I was able to keep it quiet.” George shrugged. “Forget Connor. Push Lucas to resume the project. If he won’t, bring the film back with you.”

  Sara sat in the chair drawn up next to the hospital bed. It was pointless to pretend a lack of curiosity. “Why has Lucas become a—a hermit?” George might know the truth about his friend’s withdrawal from the world.

  George picked up a plastic cup with a straw in it and sipped. Finally, he put the cup on t
he nightstand, to sit alongside a phone and a small box of tissues. “He won’t talk. The police, the courts, and the insurance company cleared him.”

  “Lucas might blame himself anyway,” she said, thinking of how he must have suffered. How he still suffered.

  George anchored his gaze on Sara. “This is your chance to save him from himself.”

  How could George guess every thought in her head?

  “I bought Desert Wind back from the insurance company,” he added.

  Her eyes grew wide. “That must have cost millions.”

  “What’s left for me to spend my money on? A gold-plated coffin?” His laugh was a mere echo of the boisterous sound it once had been. “I want Desert Wind finished before I die. Make it happen.”

  “But Lucas must have a reason for abandoning his film career.” Was it guilt? Grief?

  “I’m done waiting him out.” George pushed a button attached to a cord wound around his bedrail. “You gonna do this for me, or not?”

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. Did George even care what was keeping Lucas a prisoner in the New Mexico desert? Probably not. “I’ll try.” She stood and took another turn around the room. “Although I don’t know how.” When she faced him again, he was lying back on the bed, his eyelids heavy.

  “You’ll maybe need some help on this project,” he said, slurring his words. “It’s covered.”

  “What kind of help?”

  George didn’t reply. His eyes were closing.

  “George, please, stay awake for just a minute more.”

  He stirred. “Sorry. It’s the morphine. Good for pain, not so hot for conversation.”

  “Get better.” She bent and kissed his forehead.

  He gave a small grunt, his eyes now fully closed.

  As she turned to tiptoe out of the room, David Connor strode in.

  Chapter 2

  “Why are you here?” Sara asked.

  “Who are you?” he retorted.

  They stared at each other.

  David Connor was tall, blond, and lightly tanned in the Hollywood style that suggested surfing or other outdoor pursuits. Despite his casual chinos and pastel polo shirt, he gave off that ineffable something that movie stars had in abundance. Confidence? Animal attractiveness?

  High-wattage appeal was the movie star stock in trade. She should be inured to it by now, but for some reason, David Connor’s maleness got to her. Made her want to hold her breath while at the same time drinking him in. He wasn’t trying to charm her, and his famously blue eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Although it was impossible not to recognize him. His face was plastered on billboards. Tabloids often did cover stories about him and his latest blonde bimbo. What they never talked about was the powerful sensual impact he had on a woman even when he wasn’t trying.

  He didn’t seem fazed by all the tubes and monitors surrounding George. Had David Connor been here before? “George is asleep,” she said in a low voice.

  “Who are you?” David repeated.

  “I’m Sara Finer. I’m a film editor.”

  “You work for George?” He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were a brilliant deep blue, the sky on a perfect day. Their hue exactly matched the color of his polo shirt.

  She felt their blue all the way to her toes. She managed to nod. “Why are you here?”

  His smile was gentle. “If George wanted you to know, he would have told you.” He moved farther into the room, crowding her, invading her personal space by standing too close.

  Despite her many encounters with actors in her years as a film professional, suddenly she was very aware of her body, of how easily they might touch. Her heartbeat accelerated and her skin felt prickly. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her middle, to protect herself from such potent maleness. Up close in real life, without the barrier of film, all the attractive elements of his appearance impacted her at once. His golden hair and blue eyes were startling. He had a classically balanced face, with a strong chin and nose, and lips that were full and soft. David Connor’s reputation as the most beautiful man in Hollywood was well-deserved. What people never talked about was how powerful male beauty could be.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and leave?” he said, still with a smile. “I’ll wait for him to wake up.”

  Sara opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say. He obviously did not plan to explain why he was here. Anyway, she had a mission to accomplish. Save Lucas from himself. Lucas, who needed her.

  She turned and walked out of the room without a word. Her job was to convince Lucas to finish Desert Wind. Why wonder about David Connor? She would see Lucas again. Soon.

  Chapter 3

  George’s arrangements made the short trip to New Mexico easy, but Sara still had to drive fifty miles from the nearest airport. A rental Jeep was waiting for her despite the deserted, broken-down air of the little private field. The town nearby was equally sad-looking. Location shoots were often in forgotten corners of the world, and it was hard to imagine a settlement more desolate that this. One motel off the through road, a diner, and a boarded-up store or two next to the post office that doubled as a grocery. The tiny desert crossroads whizzed by in mere seconds. Obscure locales were often picked for location shoots, but why was Lucas still living here, in the middle of nowhere?

  As she drove the final miles of her trek—a dusty, unpaved drive to Lucas's hermitage—

  her thoughts circled compulsively. Would Lucas be happy to see her? What had he been doing for five years? Why had he bought the rented mansion used during filming? Why had he stayed here after the tragedy? Would he be happy to see her?

  The house she approached was a paean to the modernist movement of the mid-twentieth century, a one-level mansion that was all broad strokes and clean angles. The back story was that an eccentric millionaire had built the home after being inspired by famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright. Why the house was here, in a desert, was anybody’s guess. It hardly matched the few shabby little trailers and shacks she’d passed on the road. Yet the stark design suited the barren terrain completely. At least Lucas was living in comfort.

  Sara sighed as she pulled the Jeep up to the front door. Would Lucas even remember her? They’d shared such a brief time all those years ago. She had been a starry-eyed child compared to his years of maturity and experience. The torment of his wife’s unfaithfulness had brought them together and then wrenched them apart.

  When her internship with Lucas abruptly ended six years ago, Sara had tried to forget him by working hard to prove herself to George, her new boss. He had repaid her loyalty by advancing her career, giving her opportunities, and ruthlessly pushing her to find the best in her abilities. She owed her speedy rise as a film editor to George. She must help him now. She owed him.

  Sara shut off the memories abruptly and exited her vehicle. She pressed the brass doorbell, shaped like the head of a mountain lion. The door was one solid piece of light maple, with a large glass panel next to it. She could see someone moving toward her.

  A middle-aged woman in a housekeeper’s uniform opened the door and asked Sara’s name. On hearing it, she invited Sara inside. “I’ll tell him you’re here,” the woman said. She retreated along a large, well-lit corridor, leaving Sara to contemplate the entrance hall.

  More a room than a hall, it was dominated by a massive painting that had to be by the preeminent desert artist of the twentieth century, Georgia O’Keeffe. Her famous style and elements were on display, a cattle skull floating mysteriously over distant mountains, with a barren desert landscape in the foreground. Probably an original, not a copy.

  “Like it?”

  She turned, and there he was. Lucas Steel, the man of her many hopeless years of yearning. The famous director whose life had been destroyed by an accident.

  He moved with the same grace he’d always had. Whatever his mental state, his physical condition was still superb despite his forty-nine years. His wide shoulders held well-developed muscle. His h
air was still coal black, except for two wings of grey at his temples. But his face was grimmer than it had been six years ago. Lines had formed around his eyes. From sleepless nights? There was no hint of humor or joy in his expression.

  He looked her over, his eyes weary and somber, then reached one hand out toward her cheek. “Sara, after all these years.” He dropped the hand, not touching her.

  “I—I didn’t think you’d remember me,” she muttered, trying not to show how moved she was to be with him again. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and sob out how often she had yearned for him, yet she couldn’t. She wanted him to embrace her, but that common Hollywood greeting among old acquaintances also felt wrong. And Lucas did not move to clasp her, even briefly.

  “I’ve forgotten nothing,” he replied, stepping back. If the words were bitter, his bitterness seemed to be mostly for himself.

  “Come along.” He led the way down the hall, which was lined with other desert paintings by O’Keeffe. His office in Los Angeles had not been decorated with art of such stark symbolism. Here, the art choice seemed intensely personal.

  Lucas stopped at a cool, shadowed room which was obviously his study. Seating himself in a leather armchair near the desk, Lucas motioned Sara to sit down opposite him. She sank into the matching chair.

  “You’ve come to exorcise my ghosts,” he said. “Did you volunteer? Were you hoping to be the one who could hold my hand and bring me out into the sunlight?”

  His words were so close to the truth that Sara flinched despite all her self-admonitions not to be openly emotional when they first met. Sure he’d seen, she nevertheless pretended she was all business. “George thinks I can pull your picture together.”

  He grimaced. “I haven’t agreed to finish it.”

  She smiled tentatively. “I’m here to convince you.”

  “Strictly business?” Lucas raised an eyebrow. “After what we meant to each other?” he taunted. He was out of his chair and leaning down to her, his hand cupping her chin to raise her eyes to meet his.