Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 (15 page)

Nothing worse than what he already could be blamed for anyway.

Micah threw open the outer stage door and stepped into the vestibule. An extra walked out of the soundstage, eyes widening when she recognized him.

He held the door for her. “Good morning.” That was some great acting. Lying to the world, but mostly himself. If he pretended everything was hunky-dory, maybe Jenna would call him back and forgive him.

Yeah, right.

“Morning.” The extra hurried out and Micah continued toward the set, waving at the crew along the way. Some of them smirked. They’d probably seen the video. Who hadn’t?

He plunked down in his cast chair, grabbed the bottle of water from the holder in the arm and cracked off the top. As he tipped it to his lips, Crystal slithered into the chair next to him. Whose idea was it to always seat the principal actors together? He pulled the script pages from his pocket so he could go over the scene and ignore her.

“Guess the golden boy isn’t so golden anymore, huh?”

So she wanted to spar today. Fine by him. “Wow, Crystal, you’re here on time today. What’s next? You learn your lines already too?”

“Why yes, and I went through my blocking while waiting for you to get here.
I
am no longer the problem child. And what timing. The writing team is drafting the finale now. I wonder who they’ll write off the show.”

Damn that bitch straight to hell. “You leaked it, didn’t you?” No one else on set would benefit from that video debacle.

“Leaked what?” Her smug grin revealed the lie in her words. “Oh come on, Micah. You know how this business works. If you don’t take everything you can when you can, someone will take it all away from you.”

“You know what, fuck me over all you want. I don’t give a shit. But you should’ve left Jenna out of it.”

“Are you kidding? Your little girlfriend must love me right now and all the press I’m getting her. She doesn’t even have to screw you to get a career boost. I took care of that for her.” Crystal walked away, not bothering with a backward glance.

Micah lifted the bottle to his lips, but it was hard to drink through gritted teeth. Crystal was a goddamn career-advancing hustler. Jenna had never tried to use him like that. Never asked him for anything. Never tried to take a damn thing from him. No. Jenna gave and gave and gave, her smiles, her laughter, her love, and he took her beautiful, giving heart and ripped it to shreds.

How could he ever make that right?

Chapter Twelve

After pushing his baseball cap a little lower on his forehead, Micah grabbed the bouquet of flowers and got out of his truck. He knew the roses weren’t enough. Nothing would be enough. He couldn’t erase what he’d done, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

The parking lot outside Jenna’s apartment was quiet. Almost too quiet.

That changed as he approached the complex. Oscar and company pushed through the outer door of the building. When Oscar saw Micah, his eyes narrowed, he shook his head and snarled, “Motherfucker…”

Micah had hoped the much-deserved ass kicking from Oscar would happen after he’d talked to Jenna so she could take the first swing, but Oscar’s crew wasn’t down with Micah’s plan. As the guys surrounded him, they started dragging their hands from their pockets…and they were fisted.

Fuck. This was going to hurt, and Dr. Dale would need a lot of makeup to cover it.

Oscar pulled off his black jacket like a fighter shrugging off his satin robe. “C’mon, man. You ain’t foolin’ no one. Put this on.” He thrust his coat at Micah.

“What the—?”

“You really wanna fight me on this?” Oscar asked as he stole the flowers and tossed them to one of his friends, who in turn took off his cap and lobbed it at Oscar.

Micah didn’t particularly want to fight Oscar at all, so he did as requested.

“You got a lot to learn, pal.” Oscar removed Micah’s cap and swapped it out with the one from his friend. He threw an arm around newly made-over Micah’s shoulders, lowered Micah’s hat over his own brow, and dragged him, surrounded by the crew, into the building.

The men laughed, jostled each other, made jokes in Spanish, and walked him past the oblivious reporters waiting by Jenna’s door. The crew kept Micah in the middle as they went down the next hallway, cool as ever. They stopped at a door Oscar proceeded to unlock. Once inside what Micah presumed was Oscar’s place, his friends put Micah’s flowers on the kitchen table, fist bumped Oscar and headed out.

“Thanks, man.” Relieved to be standing in Oscar’s tiny kitchen and not being grilled by the reporters, Micah peeled off the borrowed cap, shrugged out of the jacket and placed them on the table next to the flowers. “I thought for sure you were going to kick my ass out there.”

“Who says I’m not gonna do it in here?” Oscar took Micah’s hat off and threw it on top of the jacket. He crossed his arms over his chest, his chin tilted up to look down his nose at Micah, who stood at least six inches taller. Funny how Oscar could make Micah feel damn small though. “I told you Jenna was a sweet girl, and that you’d answer to me if you hurt her.”

“I know.” Micah nodded. “I know I deserve it too.” He pulled off his sunglasses, figuring he might as well give Oscar a cleaner shot at his face.

“Micah Fucking Watley. You need a new trick. The baseball cap and sunglasses aren’t fooling anyone. I knew it was you the first night you showed up with Jenna. You don’t belong here. Go back to your pretty little mansion in the sky.”

“Not until I see Jenna.”

Oscar huffed and shook his head. “She doesn’t want to see you, and I don’t blame her. I came and got her down the street from your place Sunday morning. She was wrecked, man, but she wouldn’t say why. My guess is…” he pointed at Micah, “…you’re an asshole.”

“You’re right.” Micah towered over Oscar, not trying to intimidate him, just proving he wasn’t going to stand down. “But I still have to see her.”

“Well, you’re shit outta luck, man. Jenna’s not here. She’s staying with some guy in West Hollywood.”

At least that was a couple steps above Van Nuys, though he could’ve done without the
some guy
.

An electronic bleeping emanated from Oscar’s pocket, and he dug out a cell phone. “
Bueno… Yenna? No Yenna… No hablo Inglés… Esta bien.
” He hung up as quickly as he’d answered.

Yenna? He meant Jenna. He had to. “Reporters are calling you too?” They’d invaded her life so deeply they were even bothering her neighbors?

“That was
Hollywood Now!
They don’t want me, man. They want Jenna.” Oscar flipped over the phone to reveal a star done in tiny green rhinestones. Jenna’s phone.

Oscar brought the phone back to his ear and raised his voice to a mocking, apologetic whine. “Jenna, I’m an asshole, I’m so sorry. Jenna, let’s talk. Jenna, please don’t hate me forever. Jenna, please call me. Jenna, Jenna, Jenna, I need a new writer because my million apologies are all stale.”

Micah’s heart sank. “How long have you had her phone?”

“Since I picked her up. Reporters wouldn’t leave her alone, and she didn’t know what to do. I told her I’d take care of it.”

“Does she know I called?”

“You really think she cares? Poor sweetie’s being harassed by a bunch of jackasses. They’re calling, showing up at her work. She can’t even go make a buck to pay her rent.”

Micah slumped down onto one of the two chairs at the small fake-wood-grain kitchen table. It was all his fault. He’d done that to her. Forced her to hide from her life. And he couldn’t even apologize or try to make it right.

“I’m a fucking moron. I thought I could just show up here and patch everything up. I figured if I got down on my knees, she might eventually forgive me.” He dragged a hand through his hair and slammed his hat back on. “I don’t deserve it…or her.”

At the sound of a beer being cracked open, Micah raised his head. Oscar set the bottle on the table then opened another for himself and sat in the other chair. He slid Jenna’s phone across the stained and worn surface to Micah, who raised his eyebrows. “Why you giving this to me?”

“Open up the folder labeled notes,” Oscar said. When Micah didn’t do it right away, Oscar growled, “You gonna nut up and do it, or do you need me to read ’em to you?”

Micah snatched the phone before Oscar could take it away. He opened the notes folder. There was a long list of files with names like “moving to Hollywood”, “my new place” and “Stars”. But right on top was his name. He clicked, both dreading and needing to see what was there.

Mom, I’m officially an extra. Worked on
Sexy M.D.
Played a bad game of limbo and got up close and personal with Dr. Dale. (And he’s totally hotter in person than he is on TV and a really nice guy.)

Notes to her mom. Her dead mom. Micah’s gut clenched. This made him feel like an even bigger asshole and now a voyeur into her private thoughts as well.

He kept himself from reading any further and glared at Oscar. “Why did you want me to see this? And why the hell did you snoop in her private stuff?”

Oscar rolled his eyes like Micah was a dumbfuck. He’d been getting that a lot. “Jenna asked me to email her the notes so she wouldn’t lose them, since she’s ditching the phone. Now read the last one, you asshole. And then ask me again why I wanted you to see this.”

Micah dropped his gaze back to the phone, not sure he wanted to know what Jenna’s last thoughts about him were.

Mom, I’m having the best first date ever. He makes me so happy. I’m no longer falling. I’ve fallen. Completely. I’m pretty sure I’m in lov—

The last line was cut off, like she’d been interrupted in the middle of typing it. During their date. When he walked out of the bathroom and saw her on the phone.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She’d been writing her mom that she’d fallen in love with him, and he’d used that against her, accused her of exploiting him.

Oscar wanted him to see this why? So he’d hate himself even more? Done and done.

He lifted the beer to his lips and downed half the bottle. “She’d fallen in love with me. And I broke her heart.”

“Yep. So, you won her love once. What you gonna do to fix that sweet heart you broke, my friend?”

“I don’t know.” He couldn’t call her. Couldn’t text her, and she wasn’t at the only places where he knew he could find her, but he couldn’t give up, couldn’t let himself off that easy. There had to be something he could do to show her how sorry he was and that he’d do anything to make her happy, anything to make her dreams come true.

One small spark of an idea fluttered in the back of his mind, one tiny hope of a way he could reach her, give something back to her. “I have an idea, but it’s a long shot. Might not even work.”

“You better make it work, pal.” Oscar tapped the necks of the bottles, and they both took a long drink.

“Melissa Daugherty? They’re ready for you now. Through the door, third room on the left.”

Jenna glanced up as Melissa, or yoga girl as Jenna had dubbed her, followed the directions of the pretty black woman sitting behind the waiting room’s front desk. Melissa, like the two other actresses before her, disappeared behind an imposing dark wood door. None of the other women had come back out again, so Jenna hadn’t been able to judge by their expressions or demeanor how the callback was going.

This whole audition process had been crazy from the start. Two days ago Jenna’s agent, Rose, had called, and within hours Jenna was reading lines with a stone-faced casting assistant. Apparently she’d emoted well enough for both of them and had earned a callback that had been a hundred times more intensive and downright scary. She’d alternated between thinking she’d land the part and wondering how hard she’d land on her ass when the casting director kicked her to the curb.

Somehow she’d survived the process so far, and here she was, about to read for the producers who’d be making the final decision. This was the prospect she’d been waiting for, the entire reason behind her move to Hollywood. She should be excited, terrified, nervous, focused on showing the producers that she was the right person for this job.

Yet the only thing she wanted to do was call Micah.

Maybe she should do some yoga like Melissa had spent the last forty-five minutes doing, contorting herself and her perfect long blonde hair into what looked to be darn uncomfortable positions. Judging by her technique, downward-facing dog was the key to relaxation and acting success.

Instead Jenna fondled her good-luck charm, the star dangling from her ribbon choker. Thankfully the choker had fit the look the producers wanted. She’d been told to dress like a woman who was going out to dinner with her best friend, casual, trendy and fun.

Jenna flipped through the pages one more time to make sure she could do the reading off book. Calling for a line during an audition was instant death.

The lines themselves wouldn’t be the hard part, as they were fairly straightforward. Her character’s emotional journey, from playful and happy to shattered grief within only two pages, was the true challenge. Nothing like having real-life experiences to pull from though, and thanks to her relationship whirlwind of the last week, Jenna was pretty sure she could nail that particular emotional arc no problem.

Rose had told Jenna that this role had the potential to be a recurring spot in a primetime episodic series, though Rose didn’t know too much more than that. The project was super secret; even the character names and identifying facts in the script had been redacted. When Jenna had arrived for this audition and the earlier ones, she’d had to sign nondisclosure agreements, promising she wouldn’t release any information relating to the storyline. Rose had mentioned this wasn’t that uncommon. In this day and age, with the immediacy and speed of social-media leaks, studios were increasingly paranoid.

Jenna could appreciate and understand that. Thank goodness for Rose, who’d been a godsend during Jenna’s own media crisis. With reporters calling nonstop, tracking Jenna down at work and home trying to get an interview with Micah’s mystery girl—or Micah’s on-set victim, depending on the slant the reporter was trying to take—Rose had stepped in, offering sage advice. Don’t do any interviews. Don’t take the quick money. Solid, long-term careers weren’t built on tabloid trash.