Baby by Contract (Harlequin Super Romance Series #1492)

Malibu, CA PAY UP OR DIE. Cooper Lindstrom stared at the memo line of the e-mail and fought the urge to put his fist through the screen of the desktop computer. One, he couldn't afford a broken hand. Two, he couldn't afford a new computer. And three... He didn't know what three was. He deleted the message without reading it. There would be others. So far he'd received half a dozen, each one escalating the level of violence that would befall him if he didn't make good on his mother's online gambling debt. "I wonder what comes after death?" he muttered. "This moron isn't a deep thinker. He should have hung on to loss of life until he'd exhausted the removal of all body parts." He sighed and shook his head. He hated the way his brain worked. When he was supposed to be concentrating on the weighty matters of his life--of which there were many at the moment--his "butterfly brain," as his mother often referred to his mind, would flit off to another, more interesting flower. His mother. Lena Lindstrom. Powerhouse backstage mom who had watched after her only child and his career with a devotion most people found...unusual, if not faintly disturbing. But not Cooper. He'd loved her--even when she'd hovered. He'd loved her enough to overlook her faults. Until she suddenly collapsed in a casino in Vegas, then died the following morning, hanging on just long enough for him to reach her, touch her hand and say her name. But not long enough for anything else he'd wanted--needed--to get off his chest. That had been eight weeks earlier. Eight life-altering, eye-opening, icon-shattering weeks. He could no longer say he loved his mother. He looked at the four-inch stack of bills that had accumulated on his desk. The ten-thousand-dollar piece of acrylic topped by a fake surfboard was designed to look as if it were bouncing on the waves just beyond his floor-to-ceiling Malibu window. Prior to Lena's death, he'd only sat there twice--for photo shoots. Sighing, he pushed away from the screen and rocked back, plopping his bare feet on a footstool that looked like an elephant foot. He hoped to God it hadn't once belonged to a real elephant, but this is what happened when you gave a set designer full reign and an open checkbook to decorate your home. At the time he bought this house, his prime-time, mid-season fill-in reality show called Are You Ready for Your Close-Up? had just moved into the top slot in the ratings. Viewers couldn't seem to get enough of watching semi-talented aspiring actors go head-to-head--or "chest-toboobs," as one critic called it--competing for a studio contract and a chance to appear in an established network show. As its host, he'd been raking in the dough. Life had been good. But that had been two seasons ago. Even with the carefully hinted-at scandal that made headlines at the beginning of the viewing year, the show now routinely scored in the bottom half of the numbers. The same celebrity gossip magazine that had teased readers with hints about Coop's supposed affair with one of the contestants was now predicting this would be the last year for Close-Up. Which was fine with him. He was tired of arbitrating the nasty infighting between the celebrity judges, two of whom were actually having an affair. And he'd had it up to here dealing with the inflated egos of the young actors who were put through a grueling pace to learn lines and perform scenes that the judges critiqued and the viewing public voted on. He closed his eyes to the pacifying view beyond the window. The waves, which usually grounded him, now felt as though they might swamp him. He could almost picture a giant tsunami that retreated for a couple of miles, then nailed his three-million-dollar beach bungalow, leaving every other celebrity's house intact. "God, what a drama king," he muttered, shaking his head and forcing his eyes open. WideSalonen, Debra is the author of 'Baby by Contract (Harlequin Super Romance Series #1492)', published 2008 under ISBN 9780373714926 and ISBN 0373714920.