Love, Lies & Videotape by Kayla Perrin

Author:Kayla Perrin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Allan Jackson slammed down the receiver, then cussed a blue streak loud enough to be heard through the walls. He didn’t give a damn who heard him. His fairweather neighbors had treated him with nothing but scorn since the sex tape of him and Jasmine had been released, as though he were some sick and depraved individual.

There was the occasional guy at Starbucks who gave him a slap on the back and congratulated him on banging such a hot babe. Allan had no patience for such idiots, since they acted like he’d “scored,” when the truth was, he had been in a relationship with Jasmine.

Had been. It hurt more than he ever thought possible to think of his relationship with Jasmine in past tense. Two years down the drain, just like that. How could it be possible?

Clearly he’d made a mistake with the tape. Its existence had angered Jasmine beyond reason, and with the way people were treating him with such disdain, Allan could understand her ire. But did that erase the love they were supposed to share? What ever happened to forgiveness and second chances?

Allan tried Jasmine’s number again, and once again got the message that her voice mail was full. Where the hell was she, and why hadn’t she thought to call him, even to let him know she was okay?

Bitterly, he wondered what her loyal fans would think of the good girl with the stone-cold heart.

Rising from the bed, Allan strolled to the window. He peered outside. Not one person from the media was there. Just as they were no longer outside Jasmine’s house.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that they would be parked outside Jasmine’s house, if she were there. Him—well, he wasn’t the big box-office name. No one cared one bit about him.

Allan swore again.

Though he knew it was pointless, he retrieved his cordless handset from the bed and punched in the digits to Jasmine’s cell number. He got her voice mail, which was, like her home number, full.

He needed to find her. There had to be a way to track her down. She couldn’t just write him off the way she had, all because of a lapse in judgment. It wasn’t as if he’d altered the tape to make the Virgin Mary look like some nasty whore.

Allan trudged from his bedroom to the kitchen, where he had his laptop set up on the table. He sat down in front of it and glanced at the screen. Currently he was doctoring some other person’s script—a pathetic sci-fi thriller that would win awards only in hell. He hated this garbage. He had so much more potential than this. But script doctoring paid the bills, even if he was working on B-list crap that would go straight to video.

Allan opened another file, the one that was really exciting him. Without a doubt, this screenplay could be his big break. He was working on spec, but a friend of a friend knew Will Smith well and thought that Allan’s idea would be right up Will’s alley.

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