Page 29 of His Girl Hollywood

Don had the audacity to look chagrined. “The part where I saved your job, you mean?”

“We should’ve told him the truth. You practically implied that we didn’t kiss. Now if rumors keep flying, he’ll think we’re both liars.”

Don ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it in a way Arlene had once found irresistible. Who was she kidding? She still did, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. “I didn’t tell him anythingthat wasn’t true! I just omitted the parts he doesn’t need to know about. You said yourself you’d rather pretend it didn’t happen. And youdidgive me exactly what I needed. I was making a hash of things, and you helped me work through it.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms. “I helped you work through things…with my mouth?” She couldn’t suppress a smirk.

Don blushed deeply. “Yes, well, I must admit it was a rather unconventional method…but it worked!”

This man! He was impossible. “Well, there won’t be any more of that line of assistance from here on out. Let’s forget it.”

“That’s what I was trying to do! By assuring Harry that everything was fine and there’s nothing to see here.”

She sighed and slumped down. “You’re right.”

Why was it that every conversation with Don since he’d jeté’d back into her life left her feeling so wrong-footed? Why couldn’t she forget what he’d meant to her and treat him like any other actor, with respect and a healthy degree of skepticism? She knew who she was. She knew what she wanted. Yet it seemed to get all jumbled around Don. But was that his fault?

She patted the segment of the countertop next to her. He eyed it suspiciously as if to ask “Who, me?” but crossed and took a seat next to her. She turned to face him, fighting against the fluttering situation in her chest every time she looked into his warm brown eyes. It was too much, so she looked at his scar instead. That perfect imperfection. Strangely, it calmed her.

“Thank you. For protecting the picture.”

“I did it to protect you.”

She dared to look away from the scar, flitting her eyes back to his face. He looked as serious as the grave. She felt the beginnings of the involuntary little crinkle she often got between her eyes whenshe was trying to work out a difficult problem. He reached his hand out and smoothed it with his thumb, making her shiver.

She hadn’t asked him why, but he answered all the same. “I’ve been a bad friend. I know that. But I do still care about you. I’ve always cared about you. Even when my actions didn’t make it seem like it. And I’m sorry that I didn’t understand the kind of pressure you were under from the moment I arrived. I’ve been so wrapped up with my own problems, my own fears, my own need to make this a success, that it didn’t occur to me that you would feel the same. You’ve won an Oscar. You’ve got the world at your feet.”

He looked at her meaningfully, and it occurred to her that it would be so easy to lean over and kiss him again. To forget Eleanor Lester, to forget that they had a movie to make and sink back into that cloud of warmth and desire. But no, she couldn’t do that. Losing him before, seeing how little she and her entire family had actually meant to him, had hurt too much. She couldn’t let him break her heart again. The old scars were enough. Only a fool would invite fresh wounds.

And what if someone walked in right now and saw them sitting side by side so cozily? It would only add grist to the rumor mill. She’d avoided serious repercussions for the kiss by some sort of miracle. But she wouldn’t be so lucky twice. She had a job to do. She’d pulled him aside to talk some sense into him, to remind him that with Harry observing there was no margin for error or nerves today.

She stood abruptly and crossed back to the door, putting as much distance between them as she could manage in the tiny space. “The thing about being a woman in Hollywood is that no matter how many times you prove yourself, you have to start over the next morning.”

“I see that now.”

She needed to tell him what she’d come here to say and then get out. Settle her mind before they officially began filming. “I need you to not make that harder for me.”

He gulped and nodded, and she continued.

“I know you’re nervous. I know you’re new to all this. But Harry Evets is out there watching us. And any mistake you make is my mistake too. You told me you want to prove yourself. So do it. Go out there and prove to Harry Evets that he didn’t make a mistake taking his new wife’s advice that he sign you to this picture. We both know he didn’t. But you need to show him why.” She turned to go, calling over her shoulder. “Be back on set in ten minutes.”

She should look back at him, give him some reassurance, remind him that they were in this together. But she couldn’t shake the suspicion that if anyone was capable of ruining everything, it was Don Lamont.

Chapter 12

“And 5, a 6, a 5, 6, 7, 8!” Eddie bellowed from behind the camera. Don launched into his dance, slipping and sliding in Rita’s arms, pretending to be a terrible dancer.

“No, Mr. Garnett! Ouch, you’re stepping on my feet!” Rita pretended to grab at her foot, and the number ground to a halt as she hopped up and down. From here, the music was supposed to change and Don would transform, his Danny Garnett turning into an expert hoofer, taking the lead and dazzling both Rita’s character, Lee, and her boss—the stern Mr. Offenheimer, watching from the corner.

But it wasn’t working. All the comedic business with stepping on Lee’s feet was stopping the action dead in its tracks. The gag of Danny only pretending to be a bad dancer to win Lee over, when he was actually a professional, didn’t work if the number wasn’t fluid. Don looked desperately over at Arlene, standing sentinel at her post next to the camera. He moved his eyebrows up and down, trying to plead with his eyes to get her to cut. They had to work this out. He knew she wanted to look good in front of Harry—and it was his job to make sure she did.

She shook her head, her eyes darting to Harry, still sitting in her director’s chair, the fabric straining under him.Damn.This wouldn’t work. Couldn’t she—and Harry Evets for that matter—see that thescene would never come off if they continued in this fashion? Fine. He’d promised to stop doing things that appeared to undermine her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Hold on,” he whispered in Rita’s ear.

“What?” But he didn’t answer and she gripped him tighter, as he spun her into a circle and then carefully maneuvered them into a fall that brought them both crashing to the ground in an artful move that allowed him to cushion the blow by landing on his backside, dragging Rita down on top of him. It was a choreographed version of the real spill they’d taken last week.

“Cut,” yelled Arlene.

“If you wanted to feel me up, you could at least buy me dinner first,” Rita drawled, trying to extricate her limbs from the tangle they’d fallen into on the floor.