The Accidental Movie Star (4 page)

Petra read the caption. “Depraved young Hollywood. Caspian arrives in LA. Only here an hour, and he’s already partying like a Brit on Ibiza.”

The subject of the photo, Caz, sat silent at the other end of the makeup table with compressed lips and a light frown.

Petra raised her eyebrows at him. When he failed to respond, Petra continued to read. “Blah, blah, then something about an unknown blonde companion.” She held the cover to the light to get a better look at the picture.

Ashley winced. She stood near enough to recognize the back of her own head. While totally annoyed on Caz’s behalf, she felt grateful the article didn’t identify her. Having spent summers with her divorced dad, she grew up around movie people and knew lots of them didn’t want a private life. Dad attracted attention-seeing flakes. Actors were the worst. When Ashley was little, one of Dad’s girlfriends took her to the mall. After Ashley threw a tantrum over leaving the toy store, the actress walked out and left her.

A minor earthquake hit and Ashley hid in the back of the store. Knowing they were at the mall, Dad drove over to check on them, but he found the actress talking to the press rather than looking for his kid. Dad hadn’t dated an actress since. Good policy.
Say no to egotistical actors.

Caz turned his chair away from Petra and looked out at the set. Powder didn’t let his antisocial mood put her off. She moved in front of him and clipped his hair back with a curler clippie. Next, she dabbed at his jaw line with a spongy makeup wedge. Others gave the star and his frown a wide berth, but Powder wasn’t intimidated. She waved a makeup stick at him. “This’ll look great,” Powder said. “Trust me.”

Caz made a disbelieving sound and tilted his head out of her reach.

Ashley, feeling sorry about the embarrassing photo, slipped around to the back of his chair and whispered in his ear, “Do you want me to say something? Explain what really happened?”

Caz turned his head toward her and spoke in a normal tone. “So you can get your name in the press?”

“No,” Ashley said, annoyed. “So you don’t come off as a man-whore who needs to be in rehab.”

His bright impossibly blue-green eyes widened, and he straightened. Powder followed him, continuing to jab the sponge at his face, and Caz snapped, “Can you give us a minute?”

Powder backed off, and Ashley gave her an apologetic look.

Olive snapped to attention and popped over to Caz’s other side. “I can get you whatever you need.”

Caz waved Olive away with a flick of his hand. Olive stomped back to Petra, but she kept her eyes on Ashley and Caz.

Quietly, Ashley said, “If I wanted to be in the paper, I wouldn’t be the ‘unidentified blonde.’”

“No one but you knew I was in that car. I was supposed to be in the Hummer.”

“Like I wanted to be stuck in your paparazzi traffic,” Ashley said. “You fancy foreign film guys.”

Caz grabbed her elbows and pulled her forward, close enough she could smell his cologne and feel his breath when he complained in her ear. “Fancy…”

Powder came back. “Sorry, but we’re going to be behind schedule if I don’t get your eyeliner finished.”

Ashley smirked and pulled back. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your
eye makeup
.” She drawled out the last two words with her most put-upon Texas twang. Nothing mocked fancy better than a Texas drawl.

Caz released her arms, but his gaze didn’t leave hers, even when Powder stepped in with the promised eyeliner. Looking over Ashley, Caz sneered. “Late night with your boyfriend? He seemed a little old to keep you out past nine.”

“That was my dad in the garage, you perv.” Ashley stepped toward the counter. The confrontation with Caz reminded her of her purchase. Going to the end, she scooped out her purple messenger bag. “Um, Caz, what’s your trailer number? I need to drop off a package.”

Powder stepped back and unclipped his hair. The strands fell forward into his eyes. “You’re good to go.”

Caz threaded his hair back with one hand, nodded vaguely toward Powder, and focused on Ashley. “I locked the trailer. Give it to me now.” He eyed her hand atop the messenger bag and held out his own, palm up.

Eyes widening in horror, face heating, Ashley gazed at all the people working nearby.
No way.

“Later is fine,” she said, and scurried away.

Shortly after, Ashley saw Caz act for the first time, not block, not line-read, but actually act. He was amazing, mesmerizing. Now she understood all the attention and the line of fans she’d seen at the gate this morning.

“He’s really good,” she said to Olive, who stood nearby, eager to jump up and kiss someone’s feet the moment the director yelled, “Cut.”

“I know that,” Olive said sharply and moved away.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that the issue of the package came up again. Caz walked straight over to Ashley and asked for it.

Her lips twisted. “What’s your trailer number?”

“I don’t let people in my trailer. It’s my home for now. Are you going to let people walk through your home?”

“I thought you actors had an open-door policy.”

Caz swung a script against his leg. “Some of us are discriminating. For instance,
you’re
not invited into my trailer. So give me the package.” He looked around for her bag, but she’d stashed it in the makeup area rather than carry it around all day.

“Fine. I’ll hang the delivery outside your trailer. What’s the number?”

Caz stretched his arms over his head, drawing her eyes to his biceps. Lean, hard, perfectly on view below the short sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Come on, I’m going there now.”

“So, I’m invited?”

Caz didn’t respond and headed toward the exit. Ashley followed him with slow steps and a small detour by the makeup table to grab her bag.

The security guard let Caz breeze through the exit. Ashley had to show him her identification card. He checked her name, her face, and his list again before he let her trail after Caz. She walked with reluctant, crunching steps, watching him unlock the door to trailer number three.

Caz didn’t stop there; he went in, leaving Ashley debating with herself. Drop the bag here, hang it on the door, or forget about this idiocy all together. The door swung open from the inside, and she took a step around him and into the trailer. The trailer’s interior was small, but nice: leather sofa, flat screen television, and a tiny kitchen. Furnished with a neutral décor, pleasant but lacking personality. Except the air; the air smelled like lemon soap. “Did you clean?”

Caz ignored the question, lifted his eyebrows, and gestured at the bag.

Ashley shifted on her feet. “Is this a trailer for your breaks or do you really live here?”

Caz half sat on the armrest of the couch and rolled his broad shoulders. The fabric of his shirt tightened against his muscles. “For now, I live here, but I plan to buy a place here in the States.”

“Hmm,” Ashley said, delaying the drop-off. This had seemed like such a good idea this morning; now the whole thing felt weird. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t tell if she was nervous or simply hungry. All they’d had for lunch were diet sandwiches and raw veggies. She decided to forget the package and get out. “Okay. I gotta go. I’m starving.” Maybe she’d make pasta tonight. Dad liked Italian, and Alfredo sauce was quick: cream, butter, parmesan. He wouldn’t have to wait long for her to prepare the meal. Or, the sauce would keep in the fridge if he couldn’t make it home in time for dinner.

“The package?”

“I think they put us on a diet because we broke the bleachers,” Ashley offered as a distraction and took a step back.

“No, it’s because we’re on film. Cameras add pounds.” Caz patted his flat stomach.

He had that lean, elegant look, but he’d been heavy against her legs. Her right calf had a sizeable bruise thanks to his poundage. He must weigh more than he looked. Her head tilted to the left as she assessed him. If he took his shirt off, she could really see.

Caz repeated, “The package?”

Ashley tossed him the drugstore bag, face on fire, and darted for the door. “It’s from the studio,” she lied.

Moving fast, Caz caught her arm in a tight grip. He held Ashley in place and upended the bag. The contents fell free.

Thump.

The square, plastic-wrapped box landed face up, centered on the coffee table. The label screamed,
Deluxe Condoms
.

Chapter 4

Ashley swallowed and rubbed her free hand across her warm face. Caz, wearing a struck expression, lifted the box of condoms. The plastic wrapping crinkled against his fingers and he gazed from the box to her. Clearly, she’d surprised him, and if he said anything about the size or type, she’d die. Ashley pulled against his grip, but he held her in place.

Staring at the gift in consideration, he said, “You fancy me?”

She tried to wriggle out of his hold. “What?”

“Are these an invitation?”

Ashley didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder, but the heat in her face almost burned. Clearly, he didn’t buy her story about the studio being behind the purchase.

Her voice rushed out. “No. I heard someone say something about sabotaging them. Yours. And I didn’t think that was fair, so those are sealed. Use those when you…um…when you, you know.”

“Because I’m an actor, I’m off sleeping with everyone?”

Ashley shrugged. “Probably. You movie stars aren’t exactly known for your restraint.”

Caz frowned. “What exactly did you hear?”

She couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe her or just wanted to know the whole story, but she wasn’t gossiping with an actor. Squirming against his hold, she said, “I may have gotten the story wrong, so I’m not repeating it.”

“I want to know what you heard,” his clipped British voice commanded.

“Contrary to what you think, you can’t always get what you want.” Ashley jerked free.

“You’re quoting song lyrics?”

“British ones,” she offered.

A smile edged the corner of his mouth and his grip loosened. “Tell me.” His voice took on a charming, persuasive tone.

Ashley wavered. The tone had the power to make her capitulate far more than his commands. Feeling herself weaken, she turned and escaped.

***

Ashley felt Caz’s eyes on her, but she avoided him. She didn’t want round two of yesterday’s embarrassing scene, so she wasn’t going near him today. Staying busy kept her away for the first hour.

As soon as Caz realized she was avoiding him, he took matters into his own hands. “PA.”

Despite having such short legs, Olive could move quickly. She beat all the other assistants to him. Winning the race didn’t score her the prize, though, because Caz waved her off with one word. “Ashley.”

Ashley couldn’t avoid a direct request; it was her job, so she joined them. “Yeah?”

“I need some assistance.”

“With?”

He raised his eyes as if thinking. “Olive, what do you usually assist with?”

Olive gave a little hop. “Anything you need, Mr. Thaymore. I can arrange for food, a change of clothes, cushions for your chair, foot massages.”

“PA,” the AD called.

Olive looked torn, her eyes darting from the assistant director to Caz, then back, as if trying to judge who was more important. Ashley took a step toward the director and Olive made a hissing sound and pushed past, leaving her with Caz.

Caz chuckled and rose from his chair. He actually had a chair with
Thaymore
embroidered on the back above a shiny gold star. Petra had one too. The rest of the crew took their breaks leaning against the wall or sitting on a crate of equipment, feeling lucky if they were able to grab a crate before they were all occupied.

Caz stretched his arms over his head and leaned side to side. The hem of his shirt rose, showing an inch of his skin. “I probably could use a massage later.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “I have to roll some cable. Your distressed muscles will have to wait.”

This pattern continued for the rest of the morning. If another assistant responded to his calls, Caz sent them away, and because Caz was the star, everyone indulged him. If he wasn’t directly calling her over, he was staring. Ashley couldn’t interpret his looks. Either he wanted to find out more of what she’d overheard, or hook up with her, or maybe both.

During one of his breaks, Caz said, “What’s your phone number?”

Ashley sighed. “You don’t need my number. I’m always here.”

Caz flipped his phone open and examined the screen. “What if I need something after we wrap for the day?”

Ashley bit her lip at what she wanted to answer. Could he do nothing for himself?
Man, these actors were spoiled.
“Guess you’ll just have to, oh, oops, sorry, I need to go help Tom with that—” Surely, someone named Tom worked on set. With those words, she left. Olive glared at her as she trotted off, as if trying to determine her destination.

Ashley hadn’t gotten very far when she heard the director call, “Powder.” A quick glance showed Caz standing in the middle of the set ready for his close-up while stagehands adjusted equipment in the background.

“PA,” Caz said.

Ashley walked over to Powder. “I never knew guy actors wore so much makeup.”

Powder shrugged and handed over a pre-dusted puff. “No more than my last boyfriend.”

Ashley took the powder puff over to the stage area. Holding Caz’s hair back, she carefully adjusted his shine. “You need to carry a hair clip in your pocket.” His hair felt pretty silky for a guy’s and thicker than hers. Idly rubbing a strand between her fingers, she looked over his skin. She couldn’t really see the shine problem, but guessed that with high-definition images, it was better to be safe than shiny. On tiptoe, she dabbed at his forehead with the cotton ball. “There you go, shine all gone,” Ashley said somewhat condescendingly. Why couldn’t he lift the puff to take care of the problem himself?

“Tell me what you heard,” Caz said, as she shoved the puff into her pocket.

Okay. He just wanted to hear the reason she made the condom purchase. Instead of telling him again, she removed a Chapstick from her other pocket and swiped the balm over his lips. “You have a pretty-shaped mouth. Good thing you’re a big guy.”