Hollywood Baby Affair

Anyway, with her ebony hair, she’d need to have her roots touched up every other day if she tried to become a blonde. As far as she was concerned, she spent enough time in the primping chair.

She figured He-Stuntman had gotten his education in the School of Hard Knocks. Maybe a broken bone or two. Certainly plenty of bumps and bruises.

Rick stopped in front of her. No one was around. They were near the actors’ trailers, far away from the main action. Luckily she hadn’t run into him after her talk with Odele two days ago. Instead, she’d managed to avoid him until now.

Dusk was gathering, but she still had a clear view of him.

He was in a ripped tee, jeans and body paint meant to seem like grease and dirt, while she was wearing a damsel-in-distress/sidekick look—basically a feminine version of Rick’s attire but her clothes were extratight and torn to show cleavage. And from the quick perusal he gave her, she could tell the bare skin hadn’t escaped his notice.

“So you need a boyfriend,” he said without preamble.

She itched to rub the smug smile off his face. “I don’t need anything. This would be a completely optional but mutually advantageous arrangement.”

And right after this conversation, she was going to have another serious talk with her manager. What had Odele signed her up for?

“You need me.”

She burned. He’d made it sound like you want me.

“I’ve been asked to play many roles, but never a stud.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I have a thing for the doe-eyed, dark-haired look, but since Camilla Belle isn’t available, you’ll do.”

The flames of temper licked her, not least because he was clued in as to her Hollywood doppelgänger. “So you’ll settle?”

“I don’t know. Let’s kiss and find out.”

“If the cameras were rolling, it would be time for a slap right now,” she muttered.

He caught her wrist and tugged her closer.

“This isn’t a movie, and you’re no actor!” she objected.

“Great, because I intend to kiss you for real. Let’s see if we can be convincing for when the paparazzi and public are watching.” He raised his free hand to thread his fingers through her hair and move it away from her face. “Your long dark hair is driving me crazy.”

“It’s the Brazilian-Italian heritage,” she snapped back, “and I bet you say the same thing to all your leading ladies.”

“No,” he answered bemusedly, “some of them are blondes.”

And then his mouth was on hers. If he’d been forceful, she’d have had a chance, but his lips settled on hers with soft, tantalizing pressure. He smelled of smoke from the special effects, and when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she discovered the taste of mint, too.

She’d been kissed many times—on-screen and off—but she found herself tumbling into this one with shocking speed. The kiss was smooth, leisurely...masterful but understated. Rick could double for any A-list actor in a love scene. He touched his tongue to hers, and the shock and unexpectedness of it had her opening to him. As an unwritten rule, actors on-screen did not French kiss, so she was already in uncharted territory. The hard plane of his chest brushed against her, and her nipples tightened.

Think, Chiara. Remember why you don’t like him.

She allowed herself one more second, and then she tore her mouth away and stepped back. For a fleeting moment she felt a puff of steam over his audacity. “All right, the screen test is over.”

Rick curved his lips. “How did I do?”

“I don’t even know your last name,” she responded, sidestepping the question.

“I’ll answer to anything. ‘Honey,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sugar.’” He shrugged. “I’m easy.”

“Clearly.” This guy could charm his way into any woman’s bed. “Still, I’d prefer your real one for when the police ask me to describe the suspect.”

He grinned. “It’s Rick Serenghetti. But ‘darling’ would add the appropriate air of mystery for the paparazzi.”

Serenghetti. She knew an Italian surname when she heard one. “My last name was originally Ferano. You know, Italian.”

His smile widened. “I’d never have guessed, Snow White.”

“They used to call me Snow White, but I drifted,” she quipped. “Not suitable for the role.”

“No problem. I’m not Prince Charming. I’m just his body double.”

She wanted to scream. “This is never going to work.”

“That’s why you’re an actress.” He looked curious. “And, Odele mentioned, a beauty contestant. Win any titles?”

She made a sour face. “Yes. Miss Congeniality.”

He burst out laughing. “I won’t ask what your talent was.”

“Ventriloquism. I made my dummy sing.”

“‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’?”

“Nothing from Snow White! I was also Miss Rhode Island, but obviously that was on the state level.” She’d gone on to be a finalist in Miss America, which was where she’d earned her title of Miss Congeniality.

“Rhode Island is the smallest state. Still, the competition must have been fierce.”

“Are you mocking me?” She searched his face, but he looked solemn.

“Who, me? I never mock women I’m trying to score with.”

“Wow, you’re direct. You don’t even like me.”

“What’s like got to do with it?”

“You have no shame.” When it came to sex, she was used to men wanting to bed anyone in sight. This was Hollywood, after all.

“Is it working?”

“Nothing will work, except Odele convincing me this is a good idea.”

Rick frowned. “You mean she hasn’t already?”

It took Chiara a moment to realize he wasn’t joking. “Please. She may have persuaded you to go along with her crazy scheme, but not me.”

“I only went along with it because I thought you’d said yes.”

Chiara watched Rick’s dawning expression, which mimicked her own. “I believed you’d agreed.”

“Stuntmen are made of sterner stuff.” He threw her attitude right back at her.

Chiara realized they’d both been tricked by Odele into believing the other had agreed to her plan. Rick had dared to kiss her because he thought she’d already signed up for her manager’s plot. “What are we going to do?”

Rick shrugged. “About the gathering media frenzy? We’re already bickering like an old married couple. We’re perfect.”

Chiara’s eyes widened. “You can’t tell me you’re seriously considering this? Anyway, we’re supposed to act like new lovebirds, not a cantankerous old married couple.”

“If we’re already arguing, it’ll make our relationship seem deeper than it is.”

“Skip the honeymoon phase?” she asked rhetorically. “What’s in this for you?”

He shrugged. “Have some fun.” He looked at her lingeringly. “Satisfy my fetish for Snow White.”

Chiara tingled, her breasts feeling heavy. “Oh, yeah, right...”

“So what’s your take?”

“This is the worst storyline to come out of Hollywood.”

* * *

For the second time in recent days, Chiara banged open the door of her trailer and marched in. “I can’t pretend to be in a relationship with Rick Serenghetti. End of story.”

Odele looked up from her magazine. She sat on a cushioned built-in bench along one wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

He was too big, too macho, too everything—most of all, annoying. She still sizzled from their kiss minutes ago, and she didn’t do vulnerability where men were concerned. But she sidestepped the issue. “It’s the pretending part that I have trouble with.”

“You’re an actress.”

“Context is everything. I like to confine my acting to the screen.” Otherwise, she’d be in danger of losing herself. If she was always pretending, who was she? “You know I value integrity.”

“It’s overrated. Besides, this is Tinseltown.”

Chiara placed her hands on her hips. “You misled me and Rick into thinking the other one had already agreed to this crazy scheme.”

Odele shrugged. “You were already open to the idea. That’s the only reason it even mattered to you whether he was already on board with the plan.”

Chiara felt heat rise to her face, and schooled her expression. “I’m not signing up for anything!”

Her conversation with Rick had had no satisfactory ending. It had sent her scuttling, somewhat humiliatingly, back to her manager. Chiara eyed the shower stall visible through the open bathroom door at the end of the trailer. If only she could rinse off the tabloid headlines just as easily.

“Fine,” Odele responded with sudden and suspicious docility, putting aside her magazine. “We’ll have to come up with another strategy to distract the press from your father and amp up your career.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Great, it’s settled. Now...can you gain twenty pounds?” Odele asked.

Chiara sighed. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. “I’d rather not. Why?”

She’d gained fifteen for a film role two years ago in Alibis & Lies—in which she’d played a convicted white-collar criminal who witnesses a murder once she’s released from jail and thinks her husband is framing her. To gain the weight, she’d indulged her love for pasta, creamy sauces and pastries—but she’d had to work for months with a trainer to shed the pounds afterward. In the meantime, she’d worn sunglasses and baggy clothes and had lain low in order to avoid an unflattering shot by the paparazzi. And she’d been disappointed not to get a Golden Globe nomination.

She wondered what movie project Odele had in mind these days... Usually her talent agent at Creative Artists sent projects her way, but Odele kept her ear to the ground, too.

“Last time I was heavier on-screen, I got a lot of backlash.” Some fans thought she’d gained too much weight, some too little. She could never please everyone.

“It’s not a film,” Odele said. “It’s a weight-loss commercial.”

Chiara’s jaw dropped. “But I’m not overweight!”

Odele’s eyes gleamed. “You could be.”

Chiara threw her hands up. “Odele, you’re ruthless.”

“It’s what makes me good at what I do. Slender You is looking for a new celebrity weight-loss spokesperson. The goodwill with fans alone is worth the pounds, but Slender You is willing to pay millions to the right person. If you land this contract, your DBI score will go up, and you’ll be more likely to land other endorsement deals.”

“No.” Her manager was all about Q scores and DBIs and any other rating that claimed to measure a celebrity’s appeal to the public. “Next you’ll be suggesting a reality show.”

Odele shook her head. “No, I only recommend it to clients who haven’t had a big acting job in at least five years. That’s not you, sweetie.”

For which Chiara would be forever grateful. She was having a hard enough time being the star of her own life without adding the artifice of a reality show to it.

“How about writing a book?” Odele asked, tilting her head.

“On what?”

“Anything! We’ll let your ghostwriter decide.”

“No, thanks. If I have a ghost, I won’t really be writing, will I?” Chiara responded tartly.

“You’re too honest for your own good, you know.” Odele sighed, and then suddenly brightened. “What about a fragrance?”

“I thought Dior just picked a new face for the brand.”

“They did. I’m talking about developing your own scent. Very lucrative these days.”

“You mean like Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds?”

“Right, right.” Odele warmed up. “We could call it Chiara. Or, wait, wait, Chiara Lucida! The name suggests a bright star.”

“How much is an Oscar worth?” Chiara joked, because her idea of becoming a big star involved winning a golden statuette.

“Of course, an Academy Award has value, but we want to monetize all income streams, sweetie. We want to grow and protect your brand.”

Chiara sighed, leaning against the walnut-paneled built-in cabinet behind her. There’d been a time when movie stars were just, well, movie stars. Now everyone was a brand. “There’s nothing wrong with my brand.”

“Yes, of course.” Odele paused for a beat. “Well, except for the teeny-weeny problem of your father popping up in the headlines from time to time.”

“Right.” How could she forget? How could anyone fail to remember when the tabloids followed the story breathlessly?

“How about a lifestyle brand like Gwyneth Paltrow or Jessica Alba has?” Odele offered.

“Maybe when I win an Academy Award or I have kids.” Both Alba and Paltrow had had children when they’d started their companies.

At the thought of kids, Chiara had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was thirty-two. She had an expiration date in Hollywood and a ticking clock for getting pregnant without spending thousands of dollars for chancy medical intervention. Unfortunately the two trains were on a collision course. If she was going to avert disaster, she needed to have a well-established career—er, Oscar—before she caved in to the public clamor for her to get a happily-ever-after with marriage and children.

Of course, she wanted kids. It was the husband or boyfriend part that she had a problem with. Michael Feran hadn’t set a sterling example for his only child. At least she thought she was his only child.

Ugh. Her family—or what remained of it—was so complicated. It wouldn’t even qualify as a Lifetime movie because there was no happy ending.

Still, the thought of a child of her own brought a pang. She’d have someone to love unconditionally, and who would love and need her in return. She’d avoid the mistakes that her parents had made. And she’d have something real—pure love—to hold on to in the maelstrom of celebrity.

“So,” Odele said pleasantly, “your other options aren’t too appealing. Let me know when you’re ready to consider dating Rick Serenghetti.”

Chiara stared at her manager. She had the sneaking suspicion that Odele had known all along where their conversation was heading. In all probability, her manager had been set on showing her the error of her ways and her earlier agreeableness had just been a feint. “You’re a shark, Odele.”

Odele chuckled. “I know. It’s why I’m good at what I do.”

Chiara resisted throwing up her hands. Some actresses confided in their personal assistants or stylists. She had Odele.

* * *

“So what’s got you down?”

Rick figured he needed to work on his acting skills if even Jordan was asking that question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They were sitting in his kitchen, and he’d just handed his brother a cold beer from the fridge. He grabbed opportunities with his family whenever he could since he spent much of his time on the opposite coast from everyone else. Fortunately, since his current movie was being filmed on a Novatus Studio lot and nearby locations around LA, he was able to get to his place at least on weekends—even if home these days was a one-bedroom rental in West Hollywood.

“Mom asked me to check on you.” Jordan shifted his weight on the kitchen barstool.

“She always asks you to check on me whenever we’re in the same city. But don’t assume the reconnaissance runs one way. She wants me to keep an eye on you, too.”

“My life hasn’t been that interesting lately.”

Jordan was in town because his team, the New England Razors, was playing the Los Angeles Kings at the Staples Center. He was the star center player for the team. The youngest Serenghetti brother also had movie star looks, and hardly ever let an opportunity pass without remarking that their parents had attained perfection the third time around.

Rick followed hockey—family loyalty and all—but he wasn’t passionate about it like Jordan and their older brother, Cole, who’d also had a career with the Razors until it had ended in injury. Rick had been a wrestler in high school, not a hockey team captain like his brothers.

The result was that he had a reputation as the family maverick. And hey, who was he to argue? Still, he wasn’t intentionally contrary—though Chiara might want to argue the point.

An image of Chiara Feran sprung to mind. He’d been willing to tease her about playing a couple, especially when he’d thought Chiara was going along with the idea. After all, it was nice, safe, pretend—not like really getting involved with an actress. And it was fun to ruffle Chiara’s feathers.

If he was being a little more serious, he’d also acknowledge that as a producer, he had a vested interest in the star of his latest film maintaining a positive public image despite her problematic family members—not to mention staying safe if she really had a would-be stalker.

Still, being a pretend boyfriend and secret bodyguard, if Odele had her way, was asking a lot. Did he have enough to overcome his scruples about getting involved with a celebrity? Hell, even he wasn’t sure. He’d been burned once by an aspiring starlet, and he’d learned his lesson—never stand between an actress and a camera.

For a long time, he’d counted actors, directors and other movie people among his friends. Hal Moldado, a lighting technician, had been one of those buddies. Then one day, Rick had run into Isabel Lanier, Hal’s latest girlfriend. She’d followed him out of a cafe and surprised him with a kiss—captured in a selfie that she’d managed to take with her cell phone and promptly posted to her social media accounts. Unsurprisingly it had spelled the end of his friendship with Hal. Later he’d conclude that Isabel had just been trying to make Hal jealous and stay in the news herself as an actress.

The saving grace had been that the media had never found out—or cared—about the name of Isabel’s mystery man in those photos. It had been enough that Isabel looked as if she were cheating on Hal, so Rick had been able to dodge the media frenzy.

Ever since, though, as far as he was concerned, starlets were only interested in tending their public image. And up to now Chiara had fit the bill well—even if she hadn’t yet agreed to her manager’s latest scheme. After all, there was a reason that Chiara had partnered with someone like Odele. She knew her celebrity was important, and she needed someone to curate it.

But Odele had increased the stakes by referring to a possible stalker... It complicated his calculations about whether to get involved. He should just convince Chiara to get additional security—like any sane person would. Not that sanity ranked high on the list of characteristics he associated with fame-hungry actresses.

Jordan tilted his head. “Woman in your thoughts?”

Rick brought his attention back to the present. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a sixth sense where the other sex is concerned?”

His younger brother smiled enigmatically. “Sera would agree with you. Marisa’s cousin is driving me crazy.”

Their brother Cole had recently married the love of his life, Marisa Danieli. The two had had a falling-out in high school but had reconnected. Marisa’s relatives were now an extension by marriage of the Serenghetti clan—including Marisa’s younger cousin Sera.

Apparently that didn’t sit well with Jordan.

“I’m surprised,” Rick remarked. “You can usually charm any woman if you set your mind to it.”

“She won’t even serve me at the Puck & Shoot.”

“Is she still moonlighting as a waitress there?” Rick had had his share of drinks at Welsdale’s local sports bar.

“Off and on.”

He clasped his brother’s shoulder. “So your legendary prowess with women has fallen short. Cheer up, it was bound to happen sometime.”

“Your support is overwhelming,” Jordan replied drily.

Rick laughed. “I just wish Cole were here to appreciate this.”

“For the record, I haven’t been trying to score with Sera. She’s practically family. But she actively dislikes me, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Why does it matter? It won’t be the first time a family member has had it in for you.” Jordan had come in for his share of ribbing and roughing up by his two older siblings. “What’s to get worked up about?”

“I’m not worked up,” Jordan grumbled. “Anyway, let’s get back to you and the woman problems.”

Rick cracked a careless smile. “Unlike you, I don’t have any.”

“Women or problems?”

“Both together.”

Jordan eyed him. “The press is suggesting you have the former, and you look as if you’ve got the latter.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Who’s the starlet on your latest film?”

“Chiara Feran.”

His brother nodded. “She’s hot.”

“She’s off-limits.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “To me?”

“To anyone.”

“Proprietary already?”

“Where did you get this ridiculous story?”

“Hey, I read.”

“Much to Mom’s belated joy.”

Jordan flashed the famous pearly whites. His good looks had gotten him many modeling gigs, including more than one underwear ad. “Gossipmonger reported you two have been getting cozy, and the story has been picked up by other websites.”

“You know better than to believe everything you read.” If the gossip had reached Jordan, then it was spreading wider and faster than Rick had thought. Still, he figured he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering Chiara’s celebrity.

“Yup. But is it true?”

Frankly, Rick was starting not to know what was true anymore, and it was troubling. “Nothing’s happened.”

Except one kiss. She’d tasted of peaches—fruity and heady and delicious. He’d gotten an immediate image of the two of them heating up the sheets, his trailer or hers. She challenged him, and something told him she’d be far from boring in bed, too. Chiara was full of fire, and he warmed up immediately around her. The trouble was he might also get burned.

Jordan studied him. “So nothing’s happened yet...”

Rick adopted a bland expression. “Unlike you, I don’t see women as an opportunity.”

“Only your female stars.”

“I’m done with that.” Isabel had been the star of Rick’s movie when they’d been snapped together. The fact that they’d both been working on the film—he as a stuntman and secretly as a producer, and she as an actress—had lent an air of truth to the rumors.

Jordan looked thoughtful. “Right.”

Rick checked his watch because he was through trying to convince his brother—or himself. In a quarter of an hour, they needed to head to dinner at Ink, one of the neighborhood’s trendy restaurants. “Just finish your damn beer.”

“Whatever you say, movie star,” Jordan responded, seemingly content to back off.

They both took a swill of their beers.

“So, the new digs treating you well?” his brother asked after a moment.

The apartment had come furnished, so there wasn’t a hint of his personality here, but it served its purpose. “The house is nearly done. I’ll be moving in a few weeks.”

Jordan saluted him with his beer bottle. “Here’s to moving up in the world in a big way.” His brother grinned. “Invite me to visit when the new manse is done.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell the majordomo not to throw you out,” Rick replied drily.

Jordan laughed. “I’m a babe magnet. You’ll want me around.”

Privately, Rick acknowledged his brother might have a point. These days, the only woman he was linked to was Chiara Feran, and it wasn’t even real.

Three

For two days, Rick didn’t encounter Chiara. She and Adrian Collins, the male lead, were busy filming, so today Rick was hitting the gym trailer and working off restless energy.

So far, there’d been no denial or affirmation in the press that he and Chiara were a couple. As a news story, they were stuck in limbo—a holding pattern that kept him antsy and out of sorts. He wondered what Chiara’s camp was up to, and then shrugged. He wasn’t going to call attention to himself by issuing a denial—not that the press cared about his opinion because for all they knew, he was just a stuntman. They were after Chiara.

After exiting the gym trailer, Rick made his way across the film set. He automatically tensed as he neared Chiara’s trailer. Snow White was a tart-tongued irritant these days—

He rounded a corner and spotted a man struggling with the knob on Chiara’s door.