Текст книги "Red Carpet Kiss"

Автор книги: Melissa Brown

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Also by Melissa Brown

Love of My Life series

Bouquet Toss

Champagne Toast

Picturing Perfect

Unwanted Stars

The Compound series

Wife Number Seven

His Only Wife

Sorority of Three: Freshman 101

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2015 Melissa Brown

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781477830963

ISBN-10: 1477830960

Cover design by Regina Wamba

For my mom, Deb, who helped shape my love for the Beatles and compelling television dramas.

Thank you for all of your help with this story. I love you, Mom.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Don’t look at me like that.” Gina glared at Nolan, her eyes searing into his. Her hair fell in loose waves, tumbling past her tan shoulders.

“Like what?” Nolan crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, smirking at her, blocking the doorway she was determined to cross.

“Like you have me all figured out,” she snapped. “You don’t and you never will.”

Right on cue, Gina pushed against the taut muscles of Nolan’s arm, attempting to leave the room, the tension, the heat. But instead, she walked right into his embrace. Nolan angled himself properly and wrapped one arm around her tiny waist. She gasped, avoiding his prying stare.

“I think I do, baby. And it scares the hell out of you.” His hand pushed into the curve of her lower back, bringing her closer.

Gina’s eyes softened, and her hands wrapped around Nolan’s neck. Nolan’s lips curled into a satisfied smile before making contact with Gina. He turned her slightly to the left, pressing her into the door frame as he kissed her. Hard.

“Annnnd . . . cut!” Rob, the director, hollered from his chair. “Nice work, people. Let’s do it one more time.” He stood and walked to the actors, rubbing the blond scruff on his chin. “This time, Nolan, be a little more forceful when you turn her. We want the audience to feel the urgency.”

“Got it,” Nolan responded, saluting Rob and returning to his spot beneath the open door frame, standing on the tape stuck to the floor. Members of the makeup team appeared at his side to wipe the lipstick from his skin and to freshen Gina’s appearance.

Everything had to be just right.

Elle Riley wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eleanor “Elle” Riley was the creator, head writer, and show runner of Follow the Sun, the most popular television drama to hit the airwaves in over a decade.

She was also a perfectionist—a complete and total perfectionist. Her director knew it, her producers and crew knew it, and the actors were reminded with each take that Elle would not accept anything but the very best performances for her show. Dozens of names were listed in the closing credits, but the show was based on her novels. It was her baby, her pride and joy—it meant everything to her.

In its first season, Follow the Sun had earned three Emmy nominations, including one for Outstanding Drama Series. When they were cast as the leads, Nolan Rivera and Gina Romano were relative unknowns in Hollywood. But after just a few months on the air, they were plastered across gossip magazines, followed by paparazzi, and raised to celebrity status. Gina embraced her fame—posing for fitness magazines, conducting interviews between takes, and dining at the trendiest restaurants.

Nolan had chosen to be more private, retreating from the attention—he led a quiet life in the Hollywood Hills, only appearing publicly when necessary. Both actors lit up the screen, captivating audiences. Combined with Elle’s writing, Follow the Sun had become the show to beat. And Elle was determined to maintain its spot at the top.

When filming resumed, she pulled her attention away from the actors and thumbed through the script to the next scene to be filmed. Rob returned to his seat next to Elle and leaned his elbow on the wooden arm of his chair. “Thoughts?”

“I’m not sure she’s ready for the next scene.”

They’d been going strong for over ten hours, and Elle was contemplating skipping the scene until the next day. After all, it was a tricky one, and she worried Gina might be too exhausted to nail the emotion required to pull it off.

Rob shook his head and Elle tilted hers, looking at him over her wire-rimmed glasses.

“What?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest as her knee bobbed up and down.

“You’re too hard on her.”

“I disagree.” Her tone was harsh, dismissive.

“She can handle it, Elle. She always does.”

Gina was a good actress. In fact, most of the time, Elle thought she was the perfect match for the character. But there were specific scenes that gave Elle pause. Those were the scenes based on him. Based on the man who had inspired the entire concept for Follow the Sun. The man who had left her heart wounded and exposed.

In the quiet moments, the thoughtful moments, the moments when Elle could tune out the noise of Hollywood, she let her mind drift back to the chapel in Las Vegas. To the man whose heart she had broken, who then stifled hers in retaliation.

Their love affair was her inspiration.

Her muse.

The hidden scar that sat tucked beneath her chest.

And because she didn’t know where he was, having avoided social media like the plague, and because he might be sitting on a couch somewhere, snuggling up to a girlfriend or wife who insisted they watch her show week after week, Elle knew those scenes needed to be just right. Every last one.

If he was watching, he had to know she was strong, that she didn’t need him—or anyone, for that matter—to make her whole, fulfilled, or satisfied.

And that, despite the scar, her heart was, and would continue to be, just fine.

Thick, white buttercream frosting covered the tips of Elle’s fingernails. She popped each finger in her mouth for one last lick and savored the sugary-sweet, intoxicating taste of celebration.

Solo celebration.

Aside from Linus, her sweet terrier, who lay next to her on the couch, and the soothing sound of her beloved Beatles in the background, Elle was celebrating her birthday alone. Her parents raised her on Beatles records, and they quickly became the soundtrack of her life. She listened to different albums for different moods, and her birthday was no exception. She was thirty-five years old and single. And for reasons all her own, she preferred to commemorate this day completely by herself.

Ten years ago, on this very day, she had married. But it didn’t last long.

Thirty-six hours, to be precise.

Because of that impulsive decision, her birthday would be forever linked to him. She didn’t speak his name, especially since moving to California. No one knew him here, their past, their history. Their mutual friends and classmates knew not to bring up his name or ask how long it had been since she’d seen him. She was able to control her curiosity if no one mentioned him. If she caved and learned about his life, inevitably she’d learn he’d moved on when she still could not.

And she preferred it that way.

Her best friend, Whitney, the casting director for Follow the Sun, simply referred to him as “Vegas,” knowing that Elle couldn’t handle discussing her past with Troy Saladino. Even her best friend was on a need-to-know basis about that chapter in her life.

“That was delicious,” Elle said, wiping her mouth and hands with a napkin. She then placed the cupcake liner back into the box from Sprinkles Cupcakes. “Totally worth the money.”

Linus peeked out from the nook he’d created in the pillow next to Elle and tipped his little head to the side.

Elle shrugged before petting him on his snout and giggling. “Okay, fine, maybe not.”

Her laptop beckoned from across the room. She needed to get a head start on the new season, but the impending love scene between Desmond and Molly was stressing her out. She and the network rarely agreed on a suitable level of steam for prime-time television. Elle was all about pushing the envelope, allowing her characters to act on their sexual impulses in what Rob, her director, called “interesting” locales such as utility closets, parking garages, and even a hotel day spa. But the resistance she received often muzzled her creativity. “Do you think I should write that love scene, Linus?”

Linus tipped his head to the side again, looking adorable. She loved when he did that.

“I didn’t think so.” She smiled. “No one likes working on their birthday.”

Elle laughed and reached for the Entertainment Weekly on her coffee table. She smiled as she stared at the cover, savoring the photo of Gina and Nolan, standing back-to-back, with arms crossed. Pride stretched from her head to her feet, knowing her characters were sitting on thousands of coffee tables across the country. Her characters. Her show. Her creation. For just a moment, her normal birthday sadness drifted away as she paged through the magazine and landed on the article devoted completely to Follow the Sun. Her moment was interrupted when her purse began to ring. She retrieved her cell phone and reluctantly answered the call.

“This is Elle,” she said, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Elle, listen, it’s Rob. We’re having a little trouble down at the studio. Any chance you can come down and help us out?”

Elle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rob was a terrible liar. Between the cracking and hesitation lingering in his voice, all signs pointed to some sort of surprise birthday celebration at the studio. Which was nice. Really nice, actually.

But she didn’t want to be around anyone. She wanted to waste away in her own disconnected memories, which had become a tradition over the years. Elle listened to the Beatles’ Revolver album while wallowing in her memories of Troy—the years they’d spent together both as friends and lovers. Over and over again, she replayed the sweet moments as well as the ones that brought nothing but sadness and regret. Despite the pain, it was comforting somehow—as if her memories, and the songs that played in the background, kept them connected. She was listening to the album for a second time when Rob’s call came through.

Elle decided to push the issue, to see how far she could take it. “Um . . . I’m already in my comfies. Any chance we can do this in the morning?”

Rob paused, and then the connection grew muffled. Elle smiled, knowing he’d covered the phone to talk to another conspirator.

“Just get over here,” another voice chimed in, this one feminine, yet snippy . . . and all too familiar. Whitney.

“I knew it,” Elle said, shaking her head, petting Linus as he rubbed up against her leg, and hoping Whitney wouldn’t recognize the album in the background. Revolver, although it was her favorite album, was the album that made her think the most of Troy. “You know I don’t like to make a big deal out of this.”

Whitney sighed. “I know, and it isn’t, I promise. Just get down here.”

“Fine, give me twenty.”

“I’ll do you one better. Take thirty.”

“Wow, feeling generous?” Elle said, placing her pumps, one by one, back onto her tired feet.

“Nah. Waiting on the food delivery.”

“I already ate,” Elle whined.

“Tough.” Whitney snapped, “And run a comb through your hair.”

“I resent that,” Elle responded, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She did look disheveled after a long day at the studio. Her normally curly blonde locks were flat to the sides of her face. She grimaced, gazing at her reflection. “But whatever, fine, I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Elle loved the way her hair felt when it blew through the tranquil California breeze. The crisp scent of the ocean enveloped her in its serenity. Her left elbow rested on the leather interior of her brand-new convertible.

She’d once owned a convertible back in Chicago, where she had spent the majority of her life. In fact, Troy had encouraged her to buy that first convertible. They’d dated for a year in college after meeting and becoming friends in ninth grade. Attached to one another’s sides for most of their teen years, despite the fact that they bickered more than the average friends, they’d spent a few summers driving in Elle’s bright red Sebring, the top down, the Chicago wind destroying Elle’s hair no matter how she tried to avoid it.

When she first moved to Santa Monica, she’d refused to purchase anything that reminded her of him—including a vehicle in which they’d made so many memories. But when Follow the Sun was nominated for its first Emmys, and the producers renewed it for three more seasons, Elle was feeling unstoppable and she managed to forget about him briefly to purchase a brand-new silver Mercedes E-Class convertible.

Each time she slid into the warm leather seat, Elle ran her fingers up and down the cool steering wheel, and a small contented sigh left her lips. She was living the dream.

The twenty-five-minute drive to the studio in Los Angeles was easy and uneventful. When she reached the peach-colored booth at the entrance of the studio, Larry the attendant raised an inquisitive, yet playful, brow.

“Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again tonight.”

“I guess I’m needed.” Elle shrugged.

“Have a piece of cake for me,” Larry replied, giving her a wink. His tan skin, worn and aged like leather, pulled at his cheeks with his smile. In contrast, his silver hair glistened from the top of his head.

“You too?” Elle asked, not completely surprised by the reach of Whitney’s sneaky planning.

“Afraid so.” Larry chuckled.

“I’ll bring you a slice on my way out. How’s that?”

Larry laughed again, raised the gate, and nodded. “Sounds great. Enjoy yourself, Ms. Riley.”

Whitney was waiting for Elle at her designated parking space. Her chocolate-brown curls were pulled up in a loose ponytail. Her nose was scrunched and her arms were crossed in front of her chest.

Elle was confused by her attitude. “What? Am I late?” She glanced at her watch.

“C’mon, let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.” Whitney opened the car door, allowing Elle to step out of the vehicle.

“Seriously, what’s the matter?” Elle was distracted by Whitney’s mood and couldn’t concentrate on the party until she knew her friend was all right.

“It’s nothing, I just—I hate that we have to trick you.”

“You mean about my birthday?”

“Yes,” Whitney snapped, slamming the door shut. “You’re thirty-five today. Thirty-freaking-five! You deserve a celebration and I wish you’d stop convincing yourself that you don’t.”

Elle nodded. She understood where Whitney was coming from. “Sorry.” Her shoulders sank. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, I, for one, am officially tired of it. I want you to live your life, Elle, not tiptoe through it.”

Uncomfortable with the frankness of the discussion, as she often was, Elle pressed two fingers into a salute, attempting to defuse the situation. “Sir, yes sir.”

Whitney’s pale cheeks turned red and Elle knew her best friend was ready to blow at any second. Whitney loved her and wanted her to be happy. She didn’t want to piss Elle off when there were at least twenty people upstairs waiting to celebrate the day she was born.

“Seriously, I’m sorry. I know you’re right. And I’m working on it, I promise.”

Whitney’s arms uncrossed, and she took a deep breath. “Okay, good.”

“Are we okay?”

“Yes, of course.” Whitney linked her arm through Elle’s. “We’re always okay.”

“Good. Because I am seriously in the mood for some cake.”

“That’s coming, but there’s a surprise first.”

“What is it?” Elle dug a finger into Whitney’s side.

“You’ll see.”

When they reached the large conference room, Elle was pleasantly surprised. No lights were turned off, no one hunched behind countertops and tables. Her cast and crew were mingling throughout the room, cocktails and plates in hand.

“Hey, happy birthday,” Rob said, wrapping one arm around Elle’s shoulder. “Did we get ya?”

Elle glanced at Whitney, raising one eyebrow. Whitney closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and nodded.

“You sure did,” Elle said, playing along.

Rob’s smile widened and his chest broadened. Elle couldn’t believe he actually thought she’d been duped. Did he not remember the phone call that took place less than an hour earlier?

Elle turned back to Whitney. “So you mentioned a surprise . . .” Her words trailed off, as she hoped Whitney would end the suspense.

Whitney guided Elle to a long table across the room. Elle thought she smelled marinara sauce. “Ah, yes, well, we have Gina to thank for that.”

“Gina?”

“She told me about this hole-in-the-wall restaurant ten minutes from here, and they specialize in . . .” Whitney stepped to the side, revealing the most delectable table of food Elle had ever seen.

“Chicago-style pizza?” Elle squealed, eyes wide. “Here in Los Angeles? How do I not know about this place?”

“Because it’s a dump,” Gina said, jumping into the conversation. “But it’s the real deal. It’s just as good as anything I’ve had in Chicago.”

Gina Romano had fully embraced her life and stardom in Los Angeles. Most people didn’t know she was a Midwestern girl just like Elle. She was raised in Milwaukee, but dropped out of high school to pursue a career in acting. After several cosmetics commercials, and two failed pilots, she’d been cast as the female lead in Follow the Sun. Since rising to stardom, she’d gone out of her way to distance herself from her Wisconsin upbringing, even hiring a dialect coach to assist her in abandoning her persistent Milwaukee accent.

“Here, let me get you a piece. Sausage and mushroom, right?” Whitney grinned, retrieving a spatula from the table and pushing into the steaming pie covered in thick tomato sauce. The spatula cut through layers of cheese and toppings until it made contact with the thick crust. Elle’s mouth began to water.

“My favorite,” she said as Whitney placed the dish in her hand before grabbing two glasses of red wine.

“Come, let’s sit.”

Elle cut into the hefty slice, steam spilling from the thick layers of mozzarella. She blew on the generous bite before placing it in her mouth. Her eyes closed as she took in the flavors. The flavors of home.

“This,” she said, licking her pink lips. “This was worth changing out of my yoga pants for.”

Whitney lit up, her smile genuine and proud. “I knew it would be.” She raised her glass. “To you, my friend. Happy birthday. I’m blessed to know you.” She glanced around the room, bustling with actors, cameramen, and makeup artists. “We all are.”

Elle placed her hand on Whitney’s wrist, her eyes misting. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ear and locked eyes with her best friend. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you.” She took another hearty bite, pushing away all the feelings of sadness that had gripped her heart earlier that evening. “And I seriously need the name of this place. This is freaking delicious.”

The ladies clinked their glasses together as Elle pondered all the ways in which she would change her attitude to improve her life. She was finished clinging to her past like she had planned to do that night. She was thirty-five now. It was time for her to enjoy the blessings of her life and she vowed to begin the very next day.

You what?” Elle shrieked, rising to her feet. One of her fists crashed into her coffee cup, and it plummeted to the floor. The ceramic cracked into several pieces and the piping-hot beverage spewed onto her floral office rug.

Her assistant, Nicole, flung her notepad and pen into the air and sprinted out the door. Elle and Rob watched as she flew from the room.

“What the hell?” Rob mumbled under his breath, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the open door.

“Focus, Rob,” Elle snapped before glaring at Nolan Rivera, who sat in her office chair, avoiding eye contact. His tan cheeks were turning a dark shade of crimson as his fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. “Nolan, what on earth—”

“Unfortunately, Nolan simply has too many offers on the table,” Shane Crawley, Nolan’s agent, interrupted, instead of allowing Nolan to speak for himself and defend his bombshell of a decision. Nolan was leaving the show, and there was nothing Elle could do to stop it. Hollywood was a machine—one that was constantly changing, evolving, and screwing over television writers like herself.

“What kind of offers?”

“Film mostly.” Shane crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was a portly man with more hair on his arms than the top of his head. His smug demeanor sent Elle’s anger through the roof. She ignored him, turning her attention back to Nolan, who was watching her from the corner of his eye.

“I don’t understand. You’re a star. This show gave you a name.”

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged, pursing his lips together. “It’s time for me to move on.”

“That was a scripted answer. Just be honest with me.”

“My client owes you no explanation. His contract is up this spring and he’s choosing to explore other opportunities. End of story.”

Elle looked to Rob for support. When he offered a meager shrug, Elle was instantly irritated that he didn’t seem nearly as shaken up by this as she was. He was the director of the show—he should have been incensed!

Elle plopped back into her leather chair, her breathing ragged as she struggled to calm down. Nicole whirled back into the room, rolls of paper towels in her lanky, tan arms. She threw herself to the carpet and covered the coffee with towels.

“Sorry I took so long,” she whispered.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Elle responded, holding her hand to her chest, her eyes pressed tight as she struggled to focus. “Well, gentlemen, I guess we’re done here.” Elle stood, walked to the door, and opened it, ready to usher Nolan and his agent out of her office. Her gesture was received loud and clear. Nolan and Shane said their good-byes and left the office. Just before closing the door, Nolan peeked back inside.

“I really am sorry, Elle.”

“Just go.” She knew his apology was genuine, but it was impossible for her not to take his departure personally. This show was her baby, her creation, and he was threatening its success.

“So what do we do?” Elle asked Rob. The idea of Nolan Rivera leaving Follow the Sun made Elle’s skin sweat, her heart race, and her mind swirl. The fourth season was set to start filming in just a few short weeks.

Panic.

Total and utter panic.

“He’s obligated to stay until the end of the season. Then, we’ll just write him off,” Rob said.

“He’s the main character,” Elle snapped, glaring at Rob. Did he not realize that losing the male lead would completely destroy the storyline?

Rob rose from his chair and walked to Elle’s desk, easing his bottom onto the corner of the mahogany wood. He crossed his arms in front of his thin chest and crossed one leg over the other, leaning in toward Elle. She was used to this routine. He’d perch on her desk and act like a wise sage, guiding her to a resolution, then convince her she’d come up with it all on her own. He meant well, but sometimes, Elle just wanted him to be real with her—have a frank conversation, not a politically correct one from a Hollywood script.

“If anyone can fix this, it’s you.”

Yep, right on cue.

Elle inhaled and exhaled deeply, forcing the panic from her chest and out through her mouth. “So I have to change the story? That’s what you’re telling me, right?”

“We have time to bring someone else in . . . let the audience get used to him . . .” His voice trailed off, allowing Elle to process his suggestion. And she did.

“A love triangle,” she murmured, her mind racing. She did her best thinking when she tuned out the world around her.

“Brilliant,” Rob stated and rose to his feet. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

Elle rolled her eyes, knowing Rob had planted the seed. They both knew it.

She searched her brain for another character from her books, but no one came to mind.

The novels and television series were all set in Las Vegas. The two main characters, Desmond and Molly, worked for a hotel and casino—both striving to replace the owner when he retired. The two bickered, argued, and sabotaged one another to impress the boss. Hijinks ensued and their chemistry was undeniable. The couple dated, broke up, tried to be friends, dated again, etc. The characters belonged together. And everyone could see it but them.

There were twists and turns, of course. Side characters tempted the two leads and increased the drama. But in her novels, the two had never cheated while together, and neither had ever walked away completely. And part of her felt that was the appeal of the novels. People wanted to believe in soul mates, in true love, in forever. So how the hell would she maintain that appeal if she had to replace the male lead?

“Can we recast him?” Elle said, deliberately veering off course from her original idea.

Rob sighed, and she knew he was disappointed in her sudden change of heart. “The network won’t allow it. It’s in their contracts. Nolan and Gina are the only two who can portray Desmond and Molly.”

“Ughhh.” Elle pushed back in her chair, which teetered up and down, up and down.

“But that love triangle thing. That could work.”

Of course it could work. But it would deviate from the story Elle had written. It would no longer be a variation on their story. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she and the show needed.

A fresh start.

Elle stood, walked around Nicole, who was still blotting the already ruined rug, and began to pace. As the ideas built within her brain, the office seemed to grow bigger, allowing her the space to brainstorm, to create a character out of thin air.

“There was this one character—”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. Whitney peeked her head in before Elle could respond. Her cheeks were flushed. She knew.

“I just heard.” Whitney walked to Elle’s side and wrapped one arm around her friend’s waist. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Elle was doing just that,” Rob interrupted. Elle glared at him. Didn’t he realize by now she didn’t want, or need, her ass to be kissed on a regular basis? She was just a writer from the Midwest—despite her new Hollywood name and image, she was just a normal person who appreciated honesty and authenticity—two things Rob lacked. He was way too Hollywood for Elle to handle sometimes.

“We were figuring it out, yes,” she corrected him.

“What can I do?” asked Whitney, a look of worry painted on her face. Her cinnamon eyes narrowed, her cheeks still flaring with heat, and sweat forming on her brow. Elle knew Whitney had run from her office downstairs.

Elle took another deep breath before placing her hands on her hips and summoning all the confidence she could muster. “Find me the hottest actor you can. One who can act circles around Nolan.”

Whitney drew back in surprise. She crossed her arms in front of her, but the corner of her mouth perked up into a slight smile. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”

“I’m serious. I’ll create the character—you get me the actor.”

“On it.” Whitney nodded. “One condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You attend the auditions.” Whitney knew full well Elle never missed an audition. Aside from the extras who were chosen for brief moments on screen, Whitney and Elle had always agreed on every actor who was cast in Follow the Sun.

“You got it.” Elle smiled. “We’re going to have the biggest love triangle this network has ever seen.”

Thumbing through the head shots of the actors who’d auditioned that week, Elle wasn’t convinced any of them could portray the new character of David. They were all attractive, that she could admit. She’d seen a few of them in commercials and sitcoms. But none of them were speaking to her as David, and none of them were good enough to read with Gina. Only the best of the best would reach that stage, and at this point none of them would. Not one had the appeal of someone like Nolan. He was difficult to top.

After seeing dozens of men that week, she’d been hopeful that morning.

Today’s the day, she’d said to herself. But the morning proved to be a bust.

The first actor of the day was gorgeous—seriously attractive. But when he read with Elle, his delivery was flat, seriously lacking any type of charisma. Elle and Whitney had shared a glance of agreement. He would need an acting coach to make himself convincing as David, and even then Elle was hesitant.

The next guy was average looking—attractive in all the typical ways, but nothing head-turning—nothing that made him stand out from any of the other secondary characters on the show. His delivery was fine. His voice was fine and his demeanor was (once again) fine. He wasn’t a definite “no,” but they would need to consult the makeup department to spruce up his overall appearance and he’d need several coaching sessions to improve his delivery. Elle didn’t want fine, she wanted fantastic.

By the time they’d tested seven more actors that day, they were feeling defeated. Elle didn’t want to settle and she knew Whitney was in complete agreement. They needed to find the perfect combination of devastatingly handsome and ridiculously talented. And if that meant they needed to see dozens more candidates, then that was fine. It was worth it to find the perfect fit.

When actor number seven left the room, Whitney followed him out to check in with her secretary. Actors were notorious for jumping in on auditions at the last minute and they were willing to stay late if needed.

“Add one more to the pile,” Whitney said after returning to the room, handing a head shot to Elle. “He’ll be here in a few.”

Elle’s breath caught as she looked at the eight-by-ten head shot of Luke Kingston. He was handsome, appealing, sexy. Wavy hair, square jaw, a perfectly shaped nose. His smug grin made adrenaline spike in her abdomen.