Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 Page 2

  Dammit. She probably thought he was the biggest asshole in Hollywood, but better she thought him an asshole than her getting blacklisted from the set permanently. Which was exactly what would happen if he took this any further.

  “We’ll do a pickup.” Steve looked from Micah to Crystal. “From ‘I think you’re wrong.’”

  Micah squeezed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not going to match without her.” He hadn’t known she was there, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t important to the scene. Without extras making the hospital appear fully functioning, he’d look like an idiot standing around with only the two or three other people who actually had lines.

  “We’ll go in tighter.” Sayid retreated to monitorland behind the cameras.

  “Okay, picking up.” Micah took his place on the green tape T on the floor that marked his final position.

  Francine blotted his forehead with a tissue. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, I know. Still though… Dammit.” He shook his head.

  Delilah pushed his hair back into place. “Hopefully it won’t show up on the internet.”

  “Oh hell.” Pinching his eyes shut, he exhaled a sharp breath. He hadn’t even thought of that. Could this get any worse? First he was paired with an actress who blew every fourth take by forgetting her lines or taking phone calls. Now he was going to be known as the jackass actor who beat up extras, and he’d have to go on the Great Apology PR tour. It was times like this he wished he could disappear and be anonymous for a while.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worked up, Micah.” Crystal released an aggrieved sigh, as though him showing compassion was a personal affront to her. “Extras are nobodies.”

  He opened his eyes and pinned her with a sharp glare. “They’re here doing a job, which is more than I can say for you.”

  Crystal chuckled. “Are you going to knock me to the ground now too?”

  Micah looked to Steve. “We need to roll. Now.” Before he added a second woman to his hit list, this one intentional.

  “Since when do you care about all the little wannabe actors?” Crystal straightened her coat and checked her mark. “If they were real actors, they’d have lines.”

  “Roll, Steve. Now. Or I’m wrapped. Take your pick.”

  “Rolling!”

  Micah threw everything he had into the last four lines of the pickup. The replacement nurse didn’t cross toward the camera, but he avoided gesturing again anyway. The moment Steve called “Cut!” Micah walked off the set and bolted down the stairs. Maybe no one else in this place cared about what he’d done, but when had he started letting others strip him of his humanity? Oh yeah, that’s right. He wasn’t a man, but he played one on TV.

  At the base of the stairs, a bright orange paper sign read Extras Holding with an arrow pointing to the right. Hopefully she hadn’t already been dismissed for the day.

  She wasn’t gone. He saw her as soon as he crossed the threshold into the giant room full of chairs, tables, bags and clothes. All the other extras were on set, and she’d been banished here, alone.

  She sat in the middle of the room, her back to him. Not wanting to startle her, he considered clearing his throat, but stopped when he saw the phone pressed to her ear.

  “I’m in holding,” she said, paused. “I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. Can you use me?”

  Micah squeezed the doorframe. Was she talking to a reporter? Getting her fifteen minutes of fame by spreading the story of her assault? Or maybe she was talking to her agent, or the union, making a formal complaint.

  She laughed, and it sounded genuine, sweet even. Not like a woman who was hurt or holding a grudge. He’d come down here to apologize, not add eavesdropping to his list of sins.

  His foot scuffed against the floor, and her ponytail bounced as she jerked her head around. Those bright blue eyes widened again, and as beautiful as they were, he wished it wasn’t shock causing her to look at him that way.

  “I’ve got to go,” she whispered into the phone. It disappeared into the bag on her lap.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She glanced back up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “It’s fine.” She peered past him to the door. He turned, saw no one, and at his questioning look she said, “I’m not supposed to talk to principal actors.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll do the talking.” Micah sat on the chair directly across from her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t do any permanent damage, did I?”

  “No, of course not. Please don’t worry about it.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I’m the idiot who ran into your arm. I just need to learn how to duck.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to duck if I’d been more aware of what was going on around me.” He shook his head. “I really am sorry.”

  “Hey, stop that. Accidents happen.” She tossed a hand to the side, like she was sweeping the incident under the rug. “I was flustered after making eye contact with you.” She paused, a soft blush heating her face. “Because I was told I might get kicked off set if I made eye contact with a principal actor, not because…” Wrinkling her nose in a way that made her look adorable and completely unassuming, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Anyway, maybe if I hadn’t been flustered, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  How could he not remember seeing those beautiful eyes? When had he gone blind? He’d missed her then and when he’d knocked her down. Why wasn’t she blaming him for his obliviousness? Or trying to get something out of him? It would’ve been easier to deal with. But she didn’t seem to want anything from him. It was…odd. Especially since for all her concern that she’d be kicked off set, it had happened anyway.

  “You haven’t been in this business long, have you?” he asked, although he’d already figured out the answer. No way would she still be so guileless and untainted if she’d survived a pilot season or two.

  “Oh geez, is it that obvious? I mean, I’ve been acting forever, in school, community stuff and dinner theater, but this was my first time on national television.”

  “You did great,” he rushed out, and then hated himself for lying. She might’ve done great, not that he’d seen her. At least not until he’d knocked her flat, and if he hadn’t done that, she would’ve gone unnoticed.

  That would’ve been a damn shame.

  She beamed at him, her eyes shining brighter than before. Not shock this time. Happiness. He’d forgotten what that looked like.

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So, Jenna, when you’re not getting knocked down by people pretending to be doctors, what do you do?”

  “When I’m not running into people pretending to be doctors…” she winked, “…I work at Stars. It’s a restaurant in Hollywo—”

  “Micah, we’re turned around and ready for you now.” Great. Steve had come to fetch him. And he wouldn’t leave until Micah did.

  The smile lighting Jenna’s face had disappeared with Steve’s arrival, replaced with a wary nervousness. He really wanted to see that smile again.

  Steve put a hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Now.”

  “Okay, okay.” Getting to his feet, he walked over to her and extended his hand. “Jenna, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  She shook his hand. “You too, Micah. Thank you.”

  “Micah,” Steve warned.

  Regretting that their time had been cut short, Micah released Jenna’s hand and faced Steve. “Don’t send her home. We both know what happened was my fault. She deserves another shot. There’s three other scenes today. I’m not in any of them. She’ll be safe.”

  Micah walked past Steve toward the exit. At the doorway he stopped and turned around, needing to see Jenna one more time. When their eyes met, she gave him another bright, beautiful smile.

  For the first time in years, when he walked onto set, he was smiling.

  Because of Jenna.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Jenna, you ready to g
o on?”

  Pinning her blonde wig into place, Jenna met Ricky’s gaze in the mirror. “Just a couple more pins and I’ll be ready to rumble.”

  He stepped all the way into the tiny dressing room and leaned against the door. His hair was slicked up in the classic fifties ’do. The white T-shirt, jeans and leather jacket—collar flipped up—and a cigarette tucked behind one ear, completed the James Dean look. Even the stage manager at Stars got into the act.

  “Wasn’t today your TV debut or something? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your star power…” he emphasized this with a hip gyration that was more Elvis than James, “…with some hunk you met and wildly seduced on set?”

  Some hunk. There was one in particular she wouldn’t have minded wildly seducing, or at the very least talking with a bit more. Ricky didn’t need to hear her fall-on-her-ass story, though, or about her new, silly crush on a certain sexy M.D.

  She pouted at Ricky in the mirror. “You know I save all my star power for you.”

  He came up behind her and adjusted a wayward wig hair. “And you know my James doesn’t point that way. Such an ill-fated love affair we have here. Luckily you have plenty of other admirers, which is why I’m in here with you. Someone out there’s asking for my favorite star.”

  “Really?” She hadn’t been working at Stars long enough to get many personal requests, but Marilyn was a staple in Hollywood, and tourists always wanted to see their idols haunting the boulevard. She shook her head to make sure the wig would stay in place and double-checked her makeup in the mirror. “I’m good to go.”

  “Okay. Table 61. And have fun.” Ricky winked and ducked back out as Jenna stood and smoothed hands down to settle her white dress. Over the course of one day she’d played a clumsy nurse named Rina and was now dressed as one of the most iconic women of the twentieth century. God, she loved Hollywood.

  “Show time,” she whispered.

  Jenna stepped out of her dressing room which, like the others, had a star on the door that looked like it had come right off the Hollywood Walk of Fame. She prepped by warming up her voice as three little butterflies in her stomach got her adrenaline racing. After walking down the back hallway, she pushed through the performers’ entrance door—also known as the kitchen door since all the servers took the same path to the restaurant floor. No matter the size of the audience, acting, becoming someone else, playing a character—or in this case, a real person—was always a thrill. She loved performing, even at a “cheesy” dinner theater, as some of her coworkers called it.

  The faces of classic Hollywood were plastered in posters along every wall. There was a small stage on one side of the dining room, open seating in the middle and more private booths along the outer rim. Gene Kelly tipped his hat with a wink and a grin as Jenna’s Marilyn passed by. “Go get him.”

  Jenna gave him a hip bump. “You know it.” She had a feeling George and Ricky both knew something she didn’t, but she continued toward table 61.

  A guy sat alone at the table, his back to her, wearing traditional vacation attire—a navy-blue baseball cap, black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Rarely did they get singles in here though. She’d bet ten bucks that his girlfriend—or boyfriend—was in the bathroom.

  Sauntering up to the table, Jenna pouted her lips into one of Marilyn’s trademark sexy-yet-innocent smiles. “Welcome to Stars,” she purred, “where Hollywood…”

  Her mind went blank, the rest of the standard welcome speech forgotten as the man lowered his sunglasses and peered up at her with familiar green eyes. His lips perked at the corners. “Hey, Jenna.”

  “Micah? What are you doing here? I mean, not that I mind. I just didn’t expect to see you. Here. Now.” Was she blushing? Sheesh, she needed to get her brain turned back on pronto.

  “We got interrupted earlier. I wanted to talk to you more, see you again.”

  She smiled at him. No, she was pretty sure she beamed. Like she was radiating light and heat and happiness, stronger than the sun, and she probably looked ridiculous.

  Or maybe she didn’t, because he was smiling right back at her. The press always said he had a million-dollar smile. Clearly they needed to add a few more zeros to that figure.

  “I’m glad.” Talk about an understatement. She was buzzed, jazzed and tickled pink—no, brighter and more lively than that. Fuchsia.

  “Did you get placed in any other scenes today?”

  Oh crud. He still felt guilty. The way his jaw tightened when he asked the question said it all. She lifted one shoulder in a no-big-deal shrug. “No. I got dismissed about twenty minutes after I last saw you.”

  He exhaled roughly, his agitation revealed in the way he skimmed a hand back and forth over the tabletop. “Dammit. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey. No more apologies, remember?” She knelt until she was eye to eye with Micah, resting her arms on the edge of the table. “Today was not a bad day. Not even a little bit. I have no regrets.”

  His hand stopped next to where her arms lay, and fingertips skimmed along her bare forearm in the lightest of touches. Was this touch accidental too, a cosmic reenactment of their first up-close-and-personal moment when they’d tried to share the same space at the same time with interesting consequences?

  No. Because he was looking at her too, staring at her actually, his eyes shining with an intensity that was hard to define. A need.

  A delicious heat curled in her stomach, and her heart started beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

  No doubt about it, this time Micah’s touch was entirely on purpose, but it resulted in the same outcome. It knocked her off her feet—metaphorically at least. Physically she stayed put. It would take an act of God to rip her away from Micah.

  An act of God…or a stage manager on a mission. Clipboard in hand, Ricky approached at a brisk pace. “Marilyn, when you’re done here, the family at table 43 has asked for a photo with you. And I need you on in five.”

  She stood back up and somehow managed to find her voice. “No problem.” The lie was barely past her lips before Ricky made a beeline for another customer. “Guess that’s my cue.” Normally right before going on stage she was abuzz with excitement, but now all she felt was disappointment in having to say goodbye to Micah again.

  “Do you mind if I stick around?”

  The buzz came back, multiplied by a thousand. “I’d really like that. We’re a full-service joint—dinner, drinks, entertainment. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

  “How long are you working?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Then I think that’s how long I’ll stay.” His grin came out for a quick cameo appearance. “And I promise to keep my arms to myself when you walk by.” He held each of his shoulders as though he were wearing a straitjacket.

  She laughed. “That’s a promise I won’t hold you to. After all, I might want to run into you again.” With a wink and a swing of her hips, she went toward table 43.

  Watching Jenna walk away, Micah released a long breath. Damn. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in… He was going to say years, but had he ever been this bowled over before?

  Not likely. He’d never been so caught up in a woman that he’d hunted her down to spend more time with her. Then again, he’d never had to. Women came to him. Women wanted to be with Micah the actor. Micah the celebrity. He got laid because he was Micah Watley, a star.

  What a fucking joke. No, he was a fucking joke. He’d been acting for thirty years—since he was two years old—and somewhere in that time, Micah Watley, the man, the human being, had ceased to exist.

  Until today. For a few minutes, sitting with Jenna in holding then talking to her now, he’d felt like a real person again. Like he was more than just the sum of his parts. More than a fake doctor in a fake world full of fake people who didn’t give a damn about him, only what he could give them.

  It was a hell of a thing, to feel human again.

  He couldn’t forget who he was though. He slid hi
s sunglasses back on and tugged his hat down low. Tonight, he didn’t want to be noticed. Tonight, he wanted to be a normal guy, pursuing a girl. A genuine, honest, compelling, sweet, sexy girl.

  Fuck, was she sexy, and not in the overdone, over-primped, fake-breast, fake-smile, fake-person way the industry churned out. Even dressed as Marilyn Monroe, acting the sex kitten, Jenna emanated an innate sweetness, enthusiasm and passion for life that made him want her more.

  He wanted all of her passion unleashing on him.

  His attention shot to the stage when “Marilyn” was announced. The patrons at the tables applauded, the lights in the room dimmed and Jenna walked out and began to sing.

  Damn. Her throaty, whiskey-whisper voice was the perfect soundtrack to his fantasies. She owned the stage. No, she owned the entire restaurant, him included. The only time he remembered to eat the food he’d ordered was during the few numbers Jenna didn’t participate in.

  To the rest of the crowd, she was Marilyn Monroe. And while she was good—damn good, actually, mimicking the actress, singer, sexpot in voice, body language and nuance—Micah never stopped seeing Jenna. She had it, an energy, a buzz, an enthusiasm for performing that no amount of training could give an actor. She alone lit up the stage more than the bright spotlight beaming down on her.

  That scared him. Because if she continued to pursue an acting career, her spark would slowly fade away. Just like his had.

  Two hours after she climbed on stage, Jenna sang her last song, “Do It Again”. While their eyes had met off and on throughout the evening, this time when she sang to him about her aching lips and taking the kiss that was waiting, he hoped it was more than just part of her performance. Because at the very least he planned on kissing her tonight.

  As the final notes faded away, the crowd filled the silence with their cheers. Micah joined them, rising to his feet, loving the smile that seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. The rest of the cast met Jenna for their final bows, before filing offstage.

  The clipboard-wielding stage manager came up behind her, whispered something and pointed at a table in the center of the room. Jenna nodded, and the man climbed on stage. “I’d like to welcome Ms. Marilyn Monroe back up here for one last special number.”