Accidental Action Star (2 page)

I grabbed to get it back. “Hey.”

She and Candace bolted.

The guard clicked on his two-way again. “We’ve got runners.”

“Copy that,” the speaker said.

My minor frustration escalated a notch with their departure. I pointed after the girls. “Aren’t you going to chase them or something?”

“And leave my post? Right. They’ll get ‘em at the gate.”

I bit back my commentary on Security and turned to go in.

“No badge. No entry.”

Crap. I scanned the concrete pavement. Candace and Kursten hadn’t gone far.

I sprinted after them and caught up to Kursten. I lunged for the lanyard, catching the end, forcing her to stagger to a halt.

Candace kept running.

I jerked on the cord. Kursten held tight. I pulled harder, and the lanyard slid from her grip.

“Ow.” Kursten pouted. Her heavily-mascaraed eyes widened. “Oh. Sorry. Did I take your badge by mistake?”

“Yeah.”

A grin covered her lips. “Sorry.”

“Come on,” Candace yelled over her shoulder without stopping.

Kursten giggled. “See ya later, Hannah.”

“Later.” I put the ID around my neck and tramped back to the guard. This hadn’t been the easiest errand I’d run for the studio, but I would prevail.

The guard examined his screen again. “
Scoop Out?
” His face scrunched up, and his gaze went to my hands. “Where’s my food?”

“In your fridge?”

He wrinkled his nose, sniffed, and jerked a thumb toward the door. “Next time bring one of those pastrami sandwiches with you.”

That’s how Hollywood worked. You scratched their backs; they scratched yours. I could bring him food. Part of my job on
Scoop Out
was to toss the kicked-out contestants’ leftovers into the trash.

I went through the door, checking my jeans for remnants of the deli napkins. I didn’t see anything and couldn’t smell pastrami on myself, just paint.

My cell phone vibrated, and I checked the text. From Mom,
Heading to the set. Dad says ‘hi’
.  Mom was supposed to have been at
Scoop Out
two hours ago but had ignored my calls, and I’d spent the earlier part of the morning covering for her. My head tightened, and I didn’t bother replying.
I
was the college freshman; shouldn’t I be the one receiving wakeup calls? Okay, I was only taking one art class during the optional summer quarter, but it counted.

Dad, Mom, and I always spent the summers in LA while Mom shot
Scoop Out.
But this was the first time I’d officially worked on set. And working at
Scoop Out
was everything I didn’t want it to be. Those cooks could talk about vegetables for hours, and God help me when someone brought up cuts of meat. Working at
Scoop Out
confirmed how much I wanted a job with the Art Department. And to get that, I had to complete this task.

Inside the warehouse, the crew scurried around doing their jobs: checking lights, adjusting cameras, powdering faces. I continued on in like I belonged and rubbed my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans. I did belong. I worked here. I’d been here for two weeks. Hot movie stars were part of my day. Sort of. Well, they hadn’t been yet, but they were about to be. Well, one was. One, really hot, really popular star. Excitement rushed through me. I forced myself to keep an even pace and closed in on my target—Max Stone.

Max Stone stood on a workout mat against a padded wall in the back of Warehouse 47. His morning must have gone like mine because he kicked and pummeled a punching bag as if it had done him a grievous wrong. Maybe it had failed to appreciate his biceps. I didn’t make the same mistake.

His arms were tanned and strong. Tanned, as if he’d spent the first part of summer on a Malibu beach, and he’d run each morning on the beige powdery sand. Or maybe he’d run shirtless and only put his tank on during the heat of the day. Shirtless. I’d like to see that. I’d like to draw that. My heart quickened, something it never did on the set of
Scoop Out
. I stepped toward him. “I’m Hannah from the Art Department.”

Max hit the bag and his bicep extended and contracted with the fast jab. His tank shifted, showing paler skin at the top of his shoulders.

“I brought the character sketches for the
Dragon Night
film.”

Max ignored me, and I moved in. The mat cushioned my steps.

“Oh. No.” A tall blonde lady with a razor-short haircut waved a blush brush to flag me down. “Don’t interrupt Max when he’s working out.” She nodded to the back wall. “Ogle him from over there like the others.”

“Sure.” My lips pursed, but I followed her advice and sank into a crisscross position by the back wall. After watching Max work out for ten more minutes, I removed my pocket-sized notebook and sketched him, broad shoulders, swimmer’s lean waist. Thirty minutes flew past and then Max grabbed a hand towel, wiped the sweat off his face and strode off the mat.

I hopped up, shaking out the foot that had gone to sleep and chased after him. “Wait up.”

Max kept walking.

I caught up to him. “Please.”

Max’s golden brown eyes glinted, and he focused on me with a long stare, saying nothing.

I’d just entered a hot guy staring contest. I blinked first and held out the delivery.

Max frowned at my over-sized Art Department T-shirt and accepted the envelope. The flap yielded to his strong hands. He looked inside, grunted, and handed the papers back. “No.”

I winked, hoping my angelic baby blues would sucker him in. His eyelids lowered, and his dark sooty eyelashes made a shadow across the two freckles on the high edge of his cheekbone. My fingers curled inward, and I was dying to draw the shadow. What a look. No wonder they paid this guy millions.

“Not approved.” Max strode off.

My insides shrank, and my shoulders slumped. This should have been easy but I failed. Nothing was going well today. First Mom. Then the paint. Then the fan-girls. Now Max?

No.

I hurried after him. “Wait.” I got in front of him, forcing him either to stop or run me over.
“Wait.”
I raised my gaze to his and folded my arms over my chest. “You’re
not
leaving until you sign the approval forms.”

The makeup lady behind Max didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t watching. She shook her head and placed her tray on a cart, the whole while smirking as if I was going about this the wrong way. Just one more person telling me I was doing something wrong. Oh. She’d see. They’d all see. “The Art Department can’t proceed without your signature. Everyone’s counting on you.” I deepened my Texas drawl. “I’m not leaving until the approval form is signed.”

Max grinned and bent his knees. I thought he was going to meet me eye-to-eye, but he moved forward, put his shoulder to my waist and hoisted me over his shoulder, holding me in place with one arm around the back of my knees. My breath left my body for the second time today, and I hung there upside down.

My over-large Art Department T-shirt slid down, covering my head. Like when a perp is led down the steps of the courthouse and holds his jacket over his face—but upside down and with white cotton. My lanyard flapped against my chin, threatening to join the white shirt. Laughter sounded across the set as the crew noticed.

Max paused, and I jolted against his warm hard back. My
Scoop Out
T-shirt slid a little but was too fitted to come off, like Mom’s expectations.

“What you got there?” a man asked in a Scottish accent.

I knew the voice. Max had me upside down in front of his co-star Garrett Campbell. Hot, Scottish movie star, Garrett Campbell.

Max shrugged, making me bounce.

He shrugged? As if there was some kind of confusion as to what he had here?
Hello.
I’m an Art Department intern. I’m a girl. I’m—

Max patted my backside.

How dare he?
I’d make him pay. I’d make him let me go. I dropped the envelope and shook out of the blinding, long-sleeved T-shirt. I inched Max’s own shirt up at his waist. I opened my lips.

I put them against his back.

I bit down.

I wanted it to be a ferocious, Cujo-kind of bite. But then, I felt weird. He smelled good, and my lips against his skin felt kind of sexy. Good sexy. But not appropriate in any way. Or professional in any way. I pulled back and my rabid-dog bite turned into a weird upside-down love nip.

Max stilled and then lifted me off his shoulder and stood me in front of him in a whoosh.

The blood rushed back from my head, fast, aided by gravity, leaving me light-headed. I gained my balance, unwilling to risk falling for the second time today. Then I brushed my hair back into place, adjusted the hem of my paint-spattered
Scoop Out
T-shirt, and faced the two mega movie stars.

Garrett’s gaze rested on my chest. “Ooh, there’s a pretty one.”

Second time today I’d gotten a stare. This push-up bra was worth the sixty bucks I’d paid at the mall, no matter what Mom had said.

“
Scoop Out
.” Garrett arched a fair eyebrow. “My cook Marissa’s on
Scoop Out
. How’s she doing? Are you done shooting for the day? Where is she?”

“They’re not done yet. I’m here with the Art Department. Getting Max’s approval on the
Dragon Night
character sketches.”

“
Dragon Night.
Quest for Vengeance.” Garrett used a dramatic voice. “Max is hinting for me to take a role in his dragon animé project. Not that he’s said as much, but his silences speak louder than other mens’ soliloquies.” He held out his palm. “Let’s see them.”

Max made a noise of refusal, but I ignored him. I snagged my Art Department T-shirt from the floor along with the envelope and passed the latter to Garrett. “The Art Department’s been working really hard. These are ready to go. All we need is a signature.”

Garrett walked over to a long table and emptied the envelope. “They’re good then?”

I stopped myself from shrugging. Who knew? I hadn’t seen them. “Stellar. Ready to finalize. I just need that signature.”

Garrett spread the pictures out in an array of colorful 8x10 glossies. The images beamed back at us.

OMG.

An almost-naked cave woman lay clasped in the claws of a ferocious dragon, the back of one hand covered her mouth in a classic damsel-in-distress pose. A tan, dark-haired caveman strained to reach her, and his loin cloth sagged around his taut buttocks. A fair-haired shirtless man wearing a kilt stood atop a cliff, one hand reaching to untie his wrap as he prepared to dive naked into the raging river below.

Heat burned my face, and I stopped looking at this point. The drawings were B-movie crap at best.

“No.” Garrett drew out the O in a long, appalled sound.

Max turned his golden eyes on me. He crossed his arms over his chest. His look blamed me for all the inadequacies of the Art Department’s work. There were many.

I had nothing. I opened and closed my mouth, trying not to picture Max as the tanned caveman. I failed.

“The sight of the boar, roasting on that cave-spit, has got me thinking.” Garrett lifted his phone and swaggered off. “I have to call Marissa about dinner.”

I licked my lips, searching for something to say. Nothing came to me. My mind was as blank as a photo’s transparency layer.

Max’s gaze shifted to my mouth. Possibly thinking of my little love bite. Possibly not.

I palmed the glossies. “So, I’ll just gather these up, and suggest they re-work them a bit. Shall I?”

“Have you even read the script?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “They give scripts to all the interns. Have you given them your feedback?”

“Yeah. And they’ve given me the same crap time after time.” He narrowed his golden gaze on my arms. “What’s on you?”

I examined the green dots on my forearms and didn’t answer. His stare made the dried paint itch, and I picked at a large neon speck on the inside of my wrist.

“Hey, there.” A tall, brown-haired man came over and offered his hand to me. He had a confident stance and a professional tone. “I’m Russ, the director of
Time Kick
.”

Oh no. I’m supposed to be a professional artist, not a play toy for the talent. Please don’t let me be in trouble for disrupting the set.
I wiped my palm on the side of my jeans and shook his hand. “Hannah Sims.”

Russ pursed his lips. “Actor?” He glanced at my clothes. “Reality show star?”

Would I be in less trouble if I lied? Actors got away with a lot. I went for the truth. “Part-time intern for
Scoop Out
and the Art Department.”

Russ nodded. “Great. I want you to meet Guy, the AD on
Time Kick.
That’s assistant director.” He gestured to a pointy-faced man behind the camera. The man came running. “Guy, here, will run some test shots with you.” Russ smiled big. “Guy, I think I’ve got the answer to our Snow Queen problem.” He waved at a small trio of costumed actresses, all my age or a little older. “Lorene. Join us. You’ll love this.”

Lorene Dailer strolled over while the other women watched her with envy. Her slinky scarlet dress shimmered under the overhead lights and complemented her auburn hair. She easily had the best costume of the three actresses. And she knew it. When she reached us, Lorene cocked her hip and tilted her head in question.

The director gestured to me. “We’re going to give the Snow Queen role to Hannah. That’ll leave you to play the larger role of the Summer Siren without distraction.”

Lorene’s amber eyes hardened. “Excuse me?” She spoke in a sultry voice, but her tone had an edge. “I was given both parts.”

The AD shifted forward. “Now, Lorene. You’re great as the Summer Siren, but we both know the dual role’s not working.”

“We need chemistry hot enough to melt ice.” The director pointed from me to Max and back. “These two have it.” He clamped his hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the AD. “Make her a star.”