A/N: Hello! This is going to be just a fun, fluffy, summertime read, not much in the way of angst or suspense, just a bit of humor and romance. IT IS AU! There will be some mild sexy stuff down the line; and, many of the CM folks will appear as their AU selves.

In this first short chapter, we will meet Derek Morgan, a low-budget martial arts film star, and his agent, Penelope Garcia. Chapter 2 will introduce Prof. Reid!

Please review, buttercups.

xoxoxox

In a tiny Glendale apartment a few miles outside Hollywood, Penelope Garcia sat at her desk, eyes intent on her computer screen. She was wearing lime-green flannel pajamas printed with yellow and purple kitty-cats, and her fuzzy pink bunny slippers were by her bare feet. She was working her way through emails, and the expression on her face morphed from disgust, to interest, to puzzlement. She finally settled on annoyance as she rapidly clicked her way through the cyber-mountain of correspondence. But, when Derek Morgan walked out of her bathroom, still damp from a shower and clad in only a towel, her frown dissolved into an appreciative grin.

"Hey there, hot stuff."

"Hey, babe. Man, that shower hit the spot. Now, where'd I leave my clothes?"

"I put them over there." She gestured to a table. "Didn't want the cat shedding on them." Her eyes returned to her computer screen.

"Thanks for letting me get cleaned up."

"No problemo, beefcake." She looked back at him, staring pointedly at his rippling abs. "I do like the side benefits of being your home-away-from-home."

"Ha ha." He grabbed the pile of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom again. When he emerged, he was dressed in slacks, a button-down shirt, and a sport jacket, and was wrapping a tie around his neck. He glanced in her direction.

"So, you going to give me a ride?"

"Sure. Just a sec." She did some rapid-fire typing then wiggled her toes into her slippers, stood up and straightened her pajamas. "Ok, let's go."

"You're going like that?" Derek asked in amusement.

"Yeah, why not? I'm just doing a drive-by Derek-delivery, right?"

"Yeah, but what if you have a wreck?"

Garcia made a phtt noise. "If I'm unconscious, what difference will it make? Otherwise, I'll just flirt with the EMTs-maybe I'll get a date out of the deal."

"Ok. Garcia always knows best."

"That's right."

"Except about stupid things like screen-writer appreciation luncheons. I hate stuff like this."

"Yeah, I know, I know. The only way I'd appreciate a screen-writer is if one of them ever came up with a new idea. But, trust me, angel, it's good to make nice."

"So you say. I don't know what the point is, though, it's not like any of these damn rubber-chicken affairs ever pay off."

Garcia leaned down to close her email program, but just before her mouse landed on the "x" key, a brand new message appeared. The sender's name sounded familiar, and vaguely important. She clicked the message open. She skimmed the content, and her eyes widened more and more, and her mouth dropped open. When she recovered sufficiently, she asked, "What was that you said, choco-hunk?"

Derek was standing in front of a mirror, ostensibly putting a knot in his necktie, but he was actually practicing his "interview face," in anticipation of getting caught by a reporter or two on his way into the luncheon. Garcia's absent tone caught his attention, and he glanced at her over his shoulder. "I said, it's not like these rubber-chicken affairs ever pay off-"

Garcia straightened and the look of wonder on her face reminded him of a child at Christmas. "I wouldn't be so sure. Guess who just emailed me."

"Who?"

"Ramesh Chavan."

"Never heard of him. Who is he?"

"He's a casting agent."

"Yeah, ok, so...?"

"Guess who he works for."

"Who?"

Garcia frowned. "How is that guessing?"

"Come on, baby girl, I'm going to be late. Who does this cat work for?"

Garcia's excitement level, which she had been consciously squashing, suddenly bubbled to the top, and she fairly squealed.

"Damon Steinberg!"

Derek paused in tying his tie and turned to stare at her. "What?"

"I said, Damon Steinberg!"

"You're kidding."

Garcia melted into giggles. "No! Apparently, he's sick of doing meaningful crap and wants to get back to making real movies-action thrillers with a sci-fi slant. And, he's got you in mind for the next one-as the leading man!"

"Leading man. You mean, like, the hero?"

"Exactly! None of that black-guy-who-gets-clobbered-in-the-third-scene BS for you! You'd get top billing!"

"Top? In a Damon Steinberg flick. You're trippin'."

"Negatory, my bronze celluloid god. Ramesh said Damon wants to take a meeting with us! Us, Derek, you and me! For a Damon-freakin'-Steinberg movie!"

"Garcia-damn, girl, this is the big time, isn't it? This is, like-huge. Damon-freakin'-Steinberg. Damn." Derek had a dazed look on his face. Garcia's grin broadened.

"Well, come on, Hollywood. Don't want to be late for your rubber chicken, do you?"

She grabbed her purse and bounced along, chattering at full speed as she led Derek out to her car. She had to remind him to buckle his seatbelt, then the two of them zipped off to Hollywood.

Well, Burbank.