in her nearly bare cupboards to stare at him. Surely she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Me?” she said eventually.
“Don’t look so shocked. Word is that the woman Jason Kane is so hot to sign had a bit part on the show that aired a week ago. It just occurred to me. That fits you, dearie. I’m sure of it.”
Callie had pretty much blocked the memory. The walk-on had been Terry’s bright idea, another of his maddening attempts to get her out of her apartment and back into life. Stumbling from four decorator-designed rooms on the Upper West Side onto a soundstage filled with set-designed rooms in the fictional town of Glen River Falls hadn’t struck her as a giant leap back into reality, but it had made Terry happy.
It had also killed ten hours that otherwise would have been spent bemoaning her fate and considering whether murder was too good for her ex-husband and her ex-boss.
The possibility that anyone had noticed her on-screen seemed completely ludicrous. Even Eunice claimed she’d blinked and missed it.
It hadn’t exactly been a star-making role. Callie had walked from one corner of the dreary police headquarters set to the other. She had accomplished it without falling on her face or tripping over a cable. She had paused on cue and given one long, lingering look toward the camera, a look that supposedly conveyed all sorts of dire portent. Aside from shoving Terry out of the way of an unscripted falling file cabinet, that was it. The sum total of her acting experience, now and forever, amen. She had every intention of keeping it that way.
“You’re delusional,” she said just as the phone rang. “Work on getting back to reality while I grab this.”
Five minutes later, head spinning, she hung up and stared at Terry.
“What is it, dollface? You’re white as a sheet. Was it bad news? Did something happen on the farm?” He pushed her none too gently onto a chair. “Head down. Don’t faint on me, please. As cute as some of those paramedics are, I really hate to cause a commotion by calling 9-1-1.”
He hunkered down in front of her, hands on her thighs. “Callie, sweetie, are you okay? Talk to me.”
“You...” Hysteria bubbled up in her throat. “You were right.”
“Well, hallelujah! The girl finally sees what a genius I am!” He gave her a puzzled look. “Right about what?”
“It appears that Within Our Reach wants to hire me back.”
“There now, see? I told you so,” he exulted. “For another walk-on?”
Still dazed by the obscenely generous offer that had been rattled off, Callie could only shake her head.
“Recurring status?”
Apparently not even the ever-optimistic, ever-supportive Terry had bought that stuff about her being a femme fatale. Boy, was he in for a surprise.
“On contract,” she said in a squeaky voice that would have made the producer who’d given her the news shudder. She gazed at Terry in total bewilderment. “It seems they want to make me a star.”
“What do you mean she said no?” Jason Kane shouted at Freddie Cramer, who’d opted for a very sober navy suit to deliver his bad news. “What kind of actress says no to a chance to become a television star overnight?”
Freddie swallowed hard but didn’t back up so much as an inch. “She’s not an actress.”
“Then what the devil was she doing in the middle of our soap?”
“It’s a long story. At least, she says it’s a long story,” he added in a rush. “She wouldn’t explain to the producer. She wouldn’t explain to me. In fact, she hung up on me. Twice.” He sounded stunned and a little hurt by her audacity.
Jason felt his blood begin to pump a little faster. The producers at Within Our Reach, despite their admirable award-winning track records, were wimps. He knew that firsthand. They’d been so busy bowing and scraping the last time he’d visited the set, it was a wonder they hadn’t tripped over their own feet.
Freddie was made of tougher stuff, but he was at heart a gentleman. If a lady slammed a phone down in his ear, he would take that as a final answer.
Jason was not so easily intimidated. He had learned long ago to fight fiercely for what he wanted. Nothing had ever come easily. He actually thrived on hard, demanding work. Resigned that this was going to be up to him, he held out his hand.
“Give me the address and the phone number for this—what did you say her name is?”
“Calliope Jane Gunderson Smith, according to the call sheet they finally found for that day’s taping.”
“My God!”
“She prefers Callie,” Freddie said helpfully.
“I imagine she would.” Jason tucked the address into his pocket and buzzed for his secretary. “Call this number and see if anyone answers. If they do, let me know and tell my driver to be down front in ten minutes.”
“You’re going to see her?” Freddie asked, looking a little awed that Jason intended to personally handle what was essentially a casting matter.
“I’m going to see her,” Jason confirmed. Obviously no one else could be trusted to get the job done. And experience had taught him that the element of surprise was a distinct advantage.
Assured that Miss Calliope Jane Gunderson Smith was indeed at home, Jason set out to make her his.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, after belatedly realizing it would have been faster to walk the twenty blocks than to deal with Manhattan’s midmorning gridlock, he emerged from his limo. In front of him was an elegant old brownstone that had apparently been converted into apartments during the ongoing gentrification of the Upper West Side.
“Should I wait, sir?” Henry asked.
“Please,” Jason said, then added with grim determination, “This won’t take long.”
He stood for a minute and assessed the building, its facade primped up by paint and a recent sandblasting. Living there had to cost a pretty penny. It increased his speculation about Miss Calliope Jane Gunderson Smith, who had dared to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime.
He glanced at the slip of paper in his hand. Naturally the irritating woman lived on the top floor. There was no elevator. He trotted up the four flights of stairs and leaned on the buzzer, already thinking of what a pleasure it was going to be to tame her.
Correction, to hire her, he reminded himself sternly.
“Who is it?” a muffled voice inquired.
That voice had a nasal quality that was worrisome, but an image of that incredible face, which he’d viewed again and again since first discovering it, stopped him from bolting.
“Jason Kane.”
“Who?”
Clearly this woman wasn’t going to do a lot for his ego. Fortunately, it was healthy enough without her adulation, or even her recognition, for that matter. He reminded himself once again that he was here to hire her, not to seduce her. Although in this business the two sometimes seemed a lot alike, he conceded.
“Jason Kane, president of TGN.”
He thought he heard her sigh.
“Miss Smith?”
This time she did sigh. “Yes,” she conceded with unmistakable reluctance.
“I’d like to talk, if you have a moment,” he said, thinking of all the other women in the world who would have had the door open in a millisecond just at the sound of his voice or the mention of his name. The fact that he had to cajole