SUGAR, Book #1 in the FATE Series by Jenna Jameson & Hope Tarr

Whoever he was, he was definitely old school: cream-colored vellum stationery, calligraphy penmanship-the strokes bold but methodical, always in classic black ink with a broad nibbed pen. Quaint--and creepy.  

Martin unfolded the paper and gave it a glance before refolding it and slipping it inside his jacket's breast pocket. "I'll take care of it."  

Sarah set down her glass. "You said that before. Shouldn't we . . . I call the police at this point?"  

He answered with a ferocious shake of his head, sending salt-and-pepper bangs flying. Despite repping her as well as several other notable adult actors, his hairstyle was circa 1960s Beatles. "You report this to the LAPD and every crackpot in the city is sure to come slithering out of his shit hole to take credit or worse, copycat. Is that what you want?" He paused, sucking at his top teeth. "Besides, what if it's Danny?"  

Danny, the B-list TV actor with whom she'd spent four years, the last year devoted almost exclusively to waging a losing war to get him sober. Only Danny hadn't been interested in giving up the booze  or the drugs, hadn't acknowledged he had any problem beyond her bitching. She'd put up with it all-the mood swings, the lies, the theft even-until one night eight months ago when their "difference of opinion" had exploded in a backhanded blow across her face. After throwing him out, this time for good, she'd picked up the phone and called Martin. He'd taken one look at her puffy face and pulled out his iPhone. Standing by while he made one call after the other, canceling her following day's shoot and rescheduling a week's worth of appointments, she'd acknowledged there was only one person she could possibly save: herself.  

The next day she'd had all the locks changed.  

Even if the culprit was an ex, standing by and doing nothing didn't sit well with Sarah. It took her back to that terrible time as a teenager when she'd sat by her mom's bed in hospice and watched, helpless, as day by day the cancer won. The grief had fueled her determination to live life on her own terms and to the fullest, which had meant pursuing her dream of stardom on the big screen. Leaving her native New York and driving cross country to LA in a beat-up Volkswagen with a single suitcase and a couple hundred bucks to her name had been one ballsy big risk. The move had paid off, albeit not in the way she'd intended. At casting calls, she'd been told she was too striking for commercials and too all-American for film work, where a more multicultural look was sought. Unlike her competition, she'd had no college degree and no acting credentials. Without money or experience, getting a SAG card was about as easy as hitching a ride to the moon.  

Unable to make rent despite working numerous part-time jobs, sick of using pilfered ketchup packets and mugs of hot water to make "soup," she'd accepted a walk-on role in a porn film. At the wrap party, she'd met her future manager, Martin Levine. Under Martin's guidance, her walk-on part had led to a callback for a feature role in another adult film, and then another . . . Before long Sarah was reborn as the adult  film sensation, Sugar, with more fans and more money than she'd ever  dreamed possible.  

Ten years later, she liked to think that gutsy, take-no-prisoners girl  lived on inside her, but lately she wasn't so sure. Had success made her soft? Having a manager and a posse of publicity professionals was standard for someone who'd attained her level of stardom, but had all the support blunted her instincts and made her less than self-reliant?  

Determined not to back down this time, she demanded, "Then what do I do? And Martin, whether or not it's Danny, at this point I have to do something."  

He blew out a breath. "Relax, I have a guy on it."  

"You hired a private detective!"  

"Security professional," he amended, expression sheepish. "Former FBI, been working the private sector since he retired from the agency. Has an extensive background in executive escort. You couldn't be in better hands."