скачать книгу бесплатно
“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 (#ufff62d07-427b-5780-a059-cafa2dcecc6a)
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.
The balding guy with a paunch was muttering to himself and jiggling the door hard.
Frowning, Rick moved toward him. This section of the set was otherwise deserted.
“Hey,” he called, “what are you doing?”
The guy looked up nervously.
All Rick’s instincts told him this wasn’t a good situation. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a friend of Chiara’s.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“I’ve been trying to see her.” This time there was a note of whininess.
“This is a closed set. Do you have ID?” Rick didn’t recall seeing this guy before. He was within a few feet of the other man now. The guy stood on the top step leading to the door of the trailer. Rick could see perspiration had formed on the man’s brow. Was this the creepy fan Odele had referred to?
Rick went with his gut. “I’m her new boyfriend.”
The other guy frowned. “That’s impossible.”
Now that he was closer, Rick could see the other man was definitely not the glamorous or debonair celebrity type that he would expect an actress like Chiara to date.
In the next second, the guy barreled down the trailer’s steps and shoved past him.
Rick staggered but grasped the trailer’s flimsy metal bannister to keep himself upright.
As Chiara’s alleged friend made a run for it, Rick instinctively took off after him.
The man plowed past a crew member, who careened back against a piece of lighting equipment. Then two extras jumped aside, creating a path for the chase.
The guy headed toward the front gate of the studio lot, where Rick knew security would stop him. Rick could only guess how the intruder had gotten onto the lot. Had he hidden in the back of a catering truck, as paparazzi had been known to do?
Gaining on Chiara’s admirer, Rick put on a final burst of speed and tackled the guy. As they both went down, Rick saw in his peripheral vision that they’d attracted the security guards’ attention at the front gate.
The man struggled in his grasp, jabbing Rick with his elbow. “Get off me! I’ll sue you for assault.”
Rick twisted the man’s arm behind his back, holding him down. “Not before you get written up for trespassing. Where’s your pass?”
