The Kathryn Freeman Romcom Collection

Up Close and Personal

KATHRYN FREEMAN

One More Chapter

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Kathryn Freeman 2020

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Emojis © Shutterstock.com

Kathryn Freeman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008365844

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008365837

Version: 2020-06-08

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Kathryn Freeman

About the Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Zac straightened his already straight silk tie, checked his cufflinks were still in position and brushed the non-existent fluff off his Hardy Amies Saville Row suit. Slotting his smile into place, he accepted the proffered glass of champagne and stepped into the impressive ballroom of Heatherden Hall, the nineteenth-century, Grade II-listed mansion at the heart of Pinewood Studios.

As his eyes skimmed the room, noting the faces he knew, he raised the glass to his lips. Dutch courage. His job title might read actor, his online profile might say film star, but he wasn’t the gregarious type and never felt entirely comfortable in film industry crowds. Today’s rather ostentatious gathering had been put on by Vision Films to celebrate thirty years in the business. As it was the film company he was currently contracted to, he’d felt obliged to show his face. Now all he had to do was find the key people to show his face to, and he could be out of here …

What the hell?

Someone careered into him from behind, and champagne that should have been fizzing delicately in his glass now began to run down the front of his white Turnbull & Asser tailored shirt.

‘Shit.’

A pair of hands flew out to grab his arms, presumably for support, and the resulting jolt knocked the remaining contents of his glass down his jacket.

‘Oh, my flaming God, I’m so sorry.’ Two horrified brown eyes locked onto his. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have worn heels, but my niece was adamant I couldn’t wear my boots with this dress. They wouldn’t have got caught in the flipping carpet though, would they.’

‘Err, no?’

Perhaps he should have been more annoyed – champagne was a treat when swallowed, but plastered against his skin, not so much. Yet it was hard to muster any anger when the person he should be directing it against was so apologetic. So amusing. And so … striking.

Her hand flew to her face. ‘Holy moly, listen to me carping on about my shoes while you’ve got champagne dripping down … well, dripping where I’m sure you don’t want it dripping. Hang on a sec.’

Bemused, and yes, dripping, though perhaps a more accurate description would be sticking, he watched as she shuffled off to one of the grandly set tables and snatched a few of the carefully folded napkins.

‘Here.’ She started to wipe the napkin down his sodden chest, then paused and gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m guessing you’d be better doing this yourself.’

‘Maybe.’ Fighting a smile, he nodded down to the napkin. ‘But you seem to be making an excellent job of it.’

‘You think so?’

Chocolate-brown eyes sparked back at him, amusement in their depths, and he found he was unable to drag his own eyes away. Short dark hair framed a face that wasn’t beautiful – it was far too interesting to have such a mundane label attached to it. Sharp edges, yet softened with an easy, unaffected smile.

Abruptly she withdrew her hand. ‘You know what, I have a far better idea. Wait here.’

As if he could do anything else. Enthralled, he waited, waving away those who approached him, explaining he’d see them later, he was waiting for someone. She returned a few minutes later, brandishing a T-shirt.

‘Instead of Turnbull & Asser I get to wear,’ he peered at the logo, ‘Pinewood Studios?’

‘It’ll be a good look on you. Everyone will be after one by the end of the evening.’ A soft sigh escaped her. ‘I really am sorry, though. Can I get your shirt dry-cleaned?’ She winced as she saw the splashes on his jacket. ‘Err, all of you dry-cleaned?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ He could see she was about to leave and realised with a start that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Talking to her seemed infinitely more preferable than polite conversation with studio bosses and fellow actors. ‘You could help me find somewhere to change, though.’

She gave him a wary look. ‘This isn’t some sort of trick, is it?’

‘Trick?’

‘You know, we head off to find a quiet room and when I’m not looking you produce a bottle of wine and pour it all over me to get your own back.’

He searched her eyes, trying to get a read on whether she was joking or not. He couldn’t. They were seemingly bottomless pools of rich, smooth brown. ‘I can think of far better things to do to you in a quiet room than douse you in alcohol.’

Surprise flickered before her guard came down. ‘Oh no, that’s not … we’re not.’ She huffed. ‘Look, I’ll show you to the gents’.’

Great. Now she had him down as some entitled, pervy actor – that’s if she even recognised him. ‘I was hoping for somewhere a little more salubrious,’ he ventured.

‘Salubrious?’ She wrinkled her nose; slim and attractive, like the rest of her. ‘Is that a fancy way of saying a room without urinals?’

‘It’s my way of saying I’d rather not strip off in front of urinating males, yes.’

‘Okay.’ Her face relaxed a little. ‘I guess that makes sense. And my role in this shirt changing exercise would be what, exactly?’

‘Help me find a room. Be on the lookout while I change.’ Keep talking to me, he added silently. And flash me another of those amazing smiles.

‘Fine.’

They began to walk towards the grand wooden archway he’d entered from. ‘Which way, left or right?’

‘Wow, you’re entrusting me with this huge decision?’ Her gaze came back to his. ‘You realise if I get it wrong, you’ll be wearing champagne all evening?’

‘That’s true,’ he agreed soberly. ‘Yet you’re the one who’s got me into this pickle. It seems only right you’re the one to get me out of it.’

‘This pickle?’ She burst out laughing. ‘I guess that’s one way to describe it. Alcohol is a good preservative, after all. And if we don’t get you out of that shirt soon, you might literally be pickled.’

Her laughter fluttered across his skin, leaving tingles in its wake. God, there was nothing sexier than a woman who liked to laugh. ‘I like the we in that sentence,’ he murmured, unable to help himself. His third attempt at flirting. And this time, he couldn’t have been more obvious.

***

For the second time that evening, Kat stumbled over her feet. The first had launched her headlong into the one man she’d come here to see. Yet not be seen by.

Not only had she failed spectacularly at that, he was – unbelievably – flirting with her. The comment about the quiet room had been shocking enough. The last statement, delivered with a low, sexy murmur, had been hot enough to weaken her knees and make her lose her footing.

Awkward did not begin to describe it.

Heavens above, he was gorgeous, though. Some actors, and in her line of work she’d met a few, disappointed in the flesh. They were less; diminished somehow from how they appeared on the big screen.

Zac Edwards was more. Much, much more. Those green eyes of his didn’t just captivate, they snared a woman, making her want to keep on looking at him. Then there was the quirky smile, a sort of tilt of his lips, that had her unwittingly not only smiling back at him but, honest to God, melting.

Yet this man was off limits, out of bounds. Someone she could not afford to flirt with, no matter how much her hormones demanded her to.

He was also someone she could not afford to piss off.

‘I meant we as in me on lookout and you on stripping.’ Hot damn, that wasn’t how she’d meant to phrase it. And the sexy raised eyebrow thing he was doing now, together with the flash of heat in his eyes, didn’t help stop the showreel that had begun in her head.

‘When I’m doing this stripping,’ his gaze drifted across her face before zeroing in on her eyes, ‘where will you be, exactly?’

She’d never felt so flushed, so flustered. Kat Parker, tough as nails, except, apparently, when it came to Zac Edwards. ‘I’ll be outside the door. The firmly shut door.’

‘How … disappointing.’

Was he aware of the effect he was having on her? He had to be. The amusement dancing in his eyes suggested this must happen to him all the time. The realisation was enough to cool her heated skin. Forcing her gaze away, she hurried forward as fast as the annoying heels would carry her. ‘Let’s try in here.’ She didn’t know the building all that well, but she’d visited enough to know this was the smaller of the two boardrooms.

It was empty inside, bar the table and chairs and the stunning wood-panelling. ‘Okay, then. You go and … do your thing—’

‘Strip, you mean?’

That humour again, and the small smile that was possibly a smirk. Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing. ‘Swap shirts, yes.’ Moving towards the antique sideboard, she grabbed one of the bottles of water. ‘You might want to use this to stop yourself getting sticky.’ Damn him, now his eyes weren’t just amused, they were laughing. ‘Oh God, just go and change, please.’

She marched out hurriedly, very aware of the soft, low chuckles that followed her.

Standing guard outside, it was impossible to not think about what was happening behind the big wooden door. She’d seen his last film, the one that had catapulted him into stardom. So she knew what he looked like without his shirt on.

Not helping, not helping.

Shaking the images away, she drew in a breath. Was she right to keep quiet and not tell him who she was? Jerry Collier had been very definite when he’d dished out his instructions. She was here to make polite small talk to a few of the bigwigs from the production company and to watch out for Edwards. From a distance.

Not crash into him.

Certainly not flirt with him.

She inhaled another lungful of air. Okay then, this was fine. She’d walk back with Edwards to the ballroom, and when he was surrounded by the people she’d seen reluctantly hang back while they’d been talking, she’d quietly slip away.

He’d barely remember her when they met again. The odd woman with the short hair who’d barged into him.

The door opened and Zac Edwards appeared, charcoal-grey suit in place, but now with a black T-shirt with the word Pine – part of the Pinewood logo – peeking between the jacket lapels. He slipped the cufflinks and tie he was holding into his jacket pocket, his other hand gripping the abandoned white shirt.

‘You should look ridiculous,’ she commented.

He grimaced, glancing down. ‘If it helps, I feel ridiculous. I suspect Hardy Amies will be turning in his grave.’

‘Hardy Amies?’ God, the man had a weird way of talking. She needed to remember that the next time he flashed her a smile.

‘The founder of the label who made the suit.’

‘Oh.’ She suspected Mr Amies was more likely to be doing cartwheels at the sight of one of his suits looking so … hot. ‘Not Marks and Spencer then?’

Another small grimace. ‘No, not M&S.’

‘I take it you’re not a fan of high street fashion?’ She was deliberately trying to wind him up, because it was safer that way.

‘I like clothes to fit my body. Not perch haphazardly on top of it.’ His eyes dropped to the knee length fitted black dress she was wearing and back up to her face. ‘I’m a fan of clothes that enhance a body’s shape.’

The flutter in her belly was all the warning she needed that it was time to escape. It hardly seemed possible that he was attracted to her. She might be glammed up today, had even managed lipstick and eyeliner, but no way on God’s earth would anyone describe her as beautiful. And a face like his surely demanded beautiful in return.

He was probably just enjoying the distraction. A moment away from an event he’d likely been heavily persuaded into attending. Production company anniversaries might be thrilling for those on the board, but for everyone else, not so much.

‘Time to return to the party.’ She was poised to walk back when she heard him sigh. ‘You don’t want to go back?’

‘I’m not a big admirer of these types of events, no.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘I’d far rather acquire a couple of drinks and take them somewhere quiet.’

She tried to ignore the dip in her stomach. ‘Two drinks? That’s a bit greedy.’

‘They aren’t both for me.’

Kat’s heart jolted. ‘You, me and two glasses of champagne. That sounds dangerous.’ In many ways.

His mouth curved, the result looking so, so sexy on him. ‘I’m willing to risk it.’

God help her, she was massively out of her depth here. He was a master at flirting, and she wasn’t just rusty, she wasn’t supposed to be flirting back. Yet she couldn’t stop the response of her body. The flush she knew was on her cheeks, the breath she knew he’d heard catch in her throat.

‘As tempting as that sounds, Mr Edwards, I’m afraid I have to pass.’ She began walking again, relieved to hear the sound of the music coming out from the ballroom. A few more seconds and he’d be engulfed, and she’d be able to breathe again.

‘Wait.’ Two long strides and he was beside her, his hand briefly touching her arm. ‘You know who I am then?’

‘Sure I do.’ Electric sparks seemed to shoot over her skin where his hand had been. ‘My sister’s a huge fan. She dragged me to see The Good Guy? twice last year.’

He laughed softly, and the sound seemed to reach inside her, tingling parts that hadn’t tingled for years. ‘Dragged? My ego feels crushed.’ His eyes searched her face and Kat felt her pulse start to race. How long since anyone had looked at her quite so intensely? Especially with eyes that were such a pretty green. ‘It seems unfair that you know my name, yet I don’t know yours.’

‘It’s Kat.’ She paused at the entrance of the ballroom. ‘Kat Parker.’

She saw him open his mouth to speak, but then a tall, elderly man walked up to greet him, slapping him on the back, and soon he was swallowed up.

Relieved, yet also utterly unbalanced, Kat slipped away, but not before casting a final glance in his direction.

As if aware of her, he looked over, and when their eyes met, he flashed her that small, sexy smile.

A smile that promised they’d meet again.

Of course, they would, but Kat knew when they did, he wouldn’t feel quite so amiable towards her.

Chapter 2

Zac swung his classic Aston Martin into the Vision Films entrance. For classic, read second hand – though when the car in question was a Vanquish, who cared if it was fifteen years old? After waving his ID at the security guard he scanned the packed car park. Spotting a space, he eased his foot onto the accelerator and headed towards it. He wasn’t late – he never was – but his fear of being late ensured he planned for every eventuality. It meant zeroing in on the first available space he saw, just in case it was the only one left.

As he headed towards it, he became dimly aware of a car hurtling towards him in the opposite direction. ‘What on earth?’

He slammed his foot on the brake just as the Jeep Wrangler slipped neatly into the space. Into his space. Taking a deep breath, Zac slowly, calmly – he refused to rush over anything – levered himself out of the car and slid his sunglasses onto his head so he could get a better look at the driver who’d just jumped down from the Jeep. As the slim, dark-haired female turned to face him, the smile on her face faltered.

‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘Yes, Kat Parker, it’s me.’ Any annoyance he’d felt immediately vanished at the sight of the woman he’d spent a tantalising twenty minutes with last night, before she’d disappeared. ‘Do you have something against me?’

‘Of course not, why?’

‘First you drown me in champagne, now you pinch my parking space. I wondered if this was part of some sort of vendetta.’

She tipped her head back and laughed. A spontaneous sound, as natural as breathing yet startlingly attractive. ‘The champagne I can blame on my shoes. The car park space was entirely your doing. You should have been quicker.’

‘Or perhaps you should have been more considerate,’ he countered mildly.

She shook her head, slamming the Jeep door shut. ‘I saw an empty space and I went for it. If you’d wanted it, you should have put your foot down.’ Her eyes flicked over his car. ‘You’ve got a, what, six-litre engine?’

He was ashamed to realise he had no clue what engine size the Aston had. He only knew it was elegant, and he loved elegant things. ‘Probably.’

A grin settled across the face he’d spent an embarrassing amount of time searching for last night. ‘You don’t even know the engine size, do you? Well, whatever it is, it’s wasted if you don’t use it.’

‘I thought I was in a car park,’ he felt compelled to point out. ‘Not a race circuit.’

She laughed again, this time adding a small shake of her head. ‘I remember that about you from last night. You’re funny.’

‘Thank you. I think.’

She moved away from the Jeep and now he could see her trim figure, dressed today in black leggings, black boots and a plain black T-shirt.

‘I see you’ve got your boots on today. Does that mean the public are safe from flying beverages?’

Another husky laugh. ‘I’m not sure about safe, but I’m certainly a lot steadier on my feet. Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to leg it, I’m late. Good luck finding a place for the Aston.’ Her face lit up with another smile. ‘Fancy cars are a dime a dozen round here, but she’s a beauty.’

Intrigued by her, he watched as she marched quickly towards the Vision Films entrance. What connection did she have to the production company? The fact that she was at the party last night and here again today suggested she worked for them. Film editor? Set designer? She was confident enough to be a director, but he didn’t recognise her. Maybe she was in admin, though it was hard to see her in anything so ordinary. Even dressed as she was, all in black, she was far too … vivid.

Whatever she did, she didn’t have to walk far to it. He, on the other hand, was probably going to end up in the overflow car park. Not that he was against a walk, but preferably not on a hot June morning when he was wearing a lightweight wool suit. Yes, he knew he hadn’t needed the suit. He also knew that linen would have been a more sensible choice. But linen creased, and when Zac didn’t know the person he was meeting, he preferred the armour of a smart suit.

Muttering under his breath, he climbed back into the Aston and blasted the air-conditioning up as he drove slowly around the car park looking for another space.

Five minutes later he strolled through the entrance. Despite the car park altercation, he was still early for his meeting because punctuality was one of his – obsessions was too severe a word – he preferred idiosyncrasies. It was manners not to keep people waiting, just as it was manners to dress well for them and be polite. It was also manners not to tear into someone else’s car park space, but Kat Parker didn’t seem to observe the usual conventions.

Maybe he’d check with reception after his appointment and see if she worked here.

The thought of potentially seeing her again gave his mood a brief, but very welcome lift. Considering everything else that was going on in his life, he could do with another dose of the vital, attractive woman he’d enjoyed verbally sparring with last night.

First though, he had a rather more pressing matter to attend to. Shoulders set, he strode through the swanky marble reception area of Vision Films, trying to ignore the insecurity that pricked, like needles, whenever he was faced with the enormity of the world he was currently inhabiting. His star was on the rise, he was working with a major film production company, yet the doubts and worries continued to plague him. How long would it all last? And when the bubble burst, how damaging would the fallout be?

Christ. He was piling paranoia on top of paranoia. Brushing the negative thoughts aside, he slid a hand into the pocket of his suit trousers and pasted on a smile for the pretty blonde on the reception desk. ‘Good morning, Cassie.’

‘Hey there, Zac.’ Her expression, warm, admiring, was a long, luxurious stroke to his ego. ‘You’re here to see Jerry Collier?’

‘Correct.’ Exactly why the Head of Security had asked to see him, Zac wasn’t sure, though he hoped it had something to do with the note he’d found taped to the door of his apartment yesterday afternoon. Lucky me, it had said. I know where you live. But will it be lucky for you? All neatly signed off with a vivid pink, lipstick kiss. It had been the fifth such note he’d received, each slightly creepier than the last.

Likely it was nothing, of course. By starring in the shock success of last year – the relatively low-budget action film, The Good Guy? – he’d probably simply acquired that miserable celebrity curse: a stalker.