Denzil Raines, boss of the Sandora Studio in Los Angeles, snapped out the command and tried to control his temper. It was hard because Travis would try anyone’s patience.

The studio produced several money-making television series, but none of them raked in the wealth as fast and gloriously as The Man From Heaven, starring Travis Falcon, and protecting that investment was a major operation.

The young man enduring the lecture seemed to sum up the whole of the investment in himself. Travis’s body was lean and vigorous, his face was handsome, his air charming, his smile devastating. It spoke of eagerness to enjoy life to the full. Late nights, curiosity for new experiences, untiring energy for a vast range of pleasurable activities. They were all there in the quirk of his mouth, the gleam in his eye, and they caused much hair tearing among those who needed to keep him in check.

Denzil reflected that he’d picked the right word. Sleazy. That was it. Sleazy nightclubs, sleazy pleasures, sleazy Travis. But he knew it was precisely the hint of a ‘bad boy’ lurking in the shadows that hit the magic spot with the public. And it would go on doing so as long as it stayed in the safety of the shadows. If it was allowed to escape… Denzil groaned.

Travis was standing by the window, looking out over the view of Los Angeles. Clearly visible in the distance was the huge gleaming sign, HOLLYWOOD, that for ninety years had symbolised the city where glamour, entertainment and money united in brilliant supremacy. His gaze was fixed on the sign, as though to remind himself of the achievements he was fighting to keep. He stood, bathed in sunlight, apparently nonchalant, but actually alive to every threatening nuance.

‘I didn’t know it was sleazy,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My friend chose it for his stag night.’

‘Stag night?’ Denzil echoed in outrage. ‘Then you might have guessed there’d be half-naked dolly birds prancing around. What else are stag nights for? You should have got out of the place instead of…this!’