One Jax Chamberlin wanted to kick this backstabbing bitch’s perfect ass all the way to Malibu. He really, really did. Even though his patience was worn as thin as air, Jax clasped his hands behind his head and kicked his booted feet up on his scarred desk. Renegades’ on-site work trailer was a piece of shit, and he and every one of his stuntmen preferred it that way. Then it didn’t matter if they came in muddy and bloody, wearing biker boots or spurs, dragging along rigging or a saddle. They knew they had a place to relax between takes. Jax was not relaxed now. And Veronica was so obviously out of place in all her classic Hollywood perfection. “We don’t have anything to talk about,” Jax kept his voice even, “and I’m on my way out.” He didn’t want to know why she was still on set at midnight during the week. Didn’t want to know how she’d been since they’d stopped seeing each other—or, more accurately, fucking each other. Didn’t want to have anything to do with this woman. Jax lifted one arm and tilted his head back to look at his watch. Typical of Wes to drag his ass when Jax really needed him. “Have a date?” Veronica crossed her arms. “Who are you seeing now?” He wasn’t