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hurt.”
    “What?” Robin said. Mr. Innocent. He made that sound that was half laugh, half indignation. “Come on. I was just smiling at her.”
    One thing was certain: Her too-handsome half brother was a brilliant actor. If they could get this movie made, and—most important—if they could get it distributed and seen, he was going to be a star.
    “Besides,” he added, “you of all people shouldn’t be making idle death threats.”
    That was supposed to be funny. Jane didn’t crack a smile.
    “That wasn’t a threat,” she said. “It was a promise. Let me put this in terms you’ll understand, Sleazoid. If you sleep with her, she’ll think she’s your girlfriend. And when she finds out that she was merely your Friday night distraction, she’ll be badly hurt. Now. Maybe you don’t give a rat’s ass about Patty’s feelings, but I do. And I also know what you do care about, so listen close. If you break her heart, she will quit. And if she quits, you will take her place and become my personal assistant, and you won’t have a single minute to yourself from that moment until we are done making
American Hero.
Which means in Sleazoid-speak that it will be two months before you have sex again. Two. Months.”
    Her little brother laughed. “Relax, Janey. I’m not going to sleep with her.”
    Jane just looked at him. She liked Patty. A lot. The girl was smart, she was sweet, she was way overqualified for this glorified gofer position. The lack of backbone could be worked on—besides, Jane had plenty of that to go around.
    Best of all, though, despite being paid only a stipend, Patty liked Jane. It was a win-win situation.
    As long as Robin kept his own little win zipped up tight inside his pants and out of the equation.
    Problem was, Patty had a serious crush on Robin. Which meant it was going to have to fall to him to keep his distance.
    God help them all.
    “You need to lighten up,” her brother told her now. “What is it
Variety
calls you?” He reached for a copy of the trade magazine that was out and open on her desk and started to read the latest section that Patty had highlighted. “ ‘Never too serious, party girl producer and screenwriter J. Mercedes Chadwick heats things up at the Paradise.’ ” He looked at her over the top of the oversized page. “Who are you, you too-serious she-bitch, and what have you done with my real sister, the party girl producer?”
    Jane gave him the evil eye that she’d perfected back when she was six and he was four.
    It didn’t scare him as much anymore. “Look,” he said, “I know you’re freaked out by these e-mails—”
    “But I’m not,” Jane interrupted. “I’m freaked out by the fact that the studio’s freaked out. I don’t need a bodyguard. Robbie, come on. It’s just a few Internet crazies who—”
    “Patty told me you got three hundred just today.”
    “No,” she scoffed. “Well, yeah, but it’s, like, three crazies each sending a hundred e-mails.”
    “You’re certain of that?”
    “Yes,” she told him.
    Robin was silent, obviously not believing her.
    “Really,” she insisted. “How could this possibly be real?”
    More silence. “Who’s paying?” Robin finally asked.
    “For my lifetime of sin?” Jane responded. “I am, apparently.”
    He gave her a get serious look—which was vaguely oxymoronic. Robin—telling someone else to get serious. “For this added security that HeartBeat Studios wants to set up,” he clarified.
    “They are,” Jane said. Her budget for this film was already stretched thin. She was using her personal credit cards to pay for craft services. No way could she afford round-the-clock guards.
    “Then I don’t see what the big deal is,” Robin said.
    “You don’t understand,” Jane said. And he didn’t. Her brother, while not exactly simple, presented his true self to the world at all times. Well, except for lying to her about his intentions toward Patty . . .
    Robin was a player and he