Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 (2 page)

Jenna smiled at his mirth, then panicked when she realized Micah’s green eyes were now focused on her.

Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap. She shifted her gaze away, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t noticed her.

“It’s a wonder she’s still employed,” his deep voice rumbled, and the blood rushed out of Jenna’s head, dropping along with her stomach. Was Micah one of those actors Lindsey had warned about who’d get her thrown off set for breaking the
don’t make eye contact
rule? “What will she do if the show gets cancelled? With her reputation, you think anyone will want to work with her? She’s legendary for making every show hell.”

Relief washed over Jenna so fast it left her dizzy. He wasn’t talking about her, he was talking about Crystal. Hands trembling, she headed back to grab her props and get to her starting point.

“Rolling!” was shouted, and the makeup lady stepped away from Micah.

“Speed!”

“Background!”

Jenna repeated the same actions, glad she’d already done it twice before since her mind was still whirling from her close call. Crystal’s unprofessional phone interruption had done one good thing in this case—increased the tension. Both actors were more in the moment, the argument resonating with a stronger passion than earlier.

“I think you’re wrong.” Crystal spun toward Micah, glaring, hands fisted at her hips.

There was less room to get around Micah and Crystal, but Jenna figured she could still ease by without looking too unnatural. If her fake ducking drop before hadn’t been a problem, sliding behind the arguing duo shouldn’t be either.

Micah whipped around to face Crystal. “Didn’t you see—” Punctuating his words, he swung his arm out in a wide gesture.

Jenna tried to duck, but there wasn’t enough time or space. Micah’s arm struck her across the face, and she fell backward, landing flat on her ass, staring up at Mr. Sexy M.D. himself.

Crap. Somehow she didn’t think she would escape unnoticed this time.

Chapter Two

In thirty years of acting Micah had done just about everything…except punch an extra in the face. How great for him that he’d reached a new fucking low.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?” He sank to the floor next to the poor girl while Steve, the First Assistant Director, shouted for a medic. Micah didn’t see any blood, and the girl’s eyes were open, wide open, shining a bright blue right up at him. Before he could offer her a hand, she started scrambling to her feet.

“I’m fine. Really.”

Taking her elbow, he helped her the rest of the way to standing. She was trembling, which made him feel like an even bigger shit. Even the small smile and whispered “Thank you” she gave him before stepping away didn’t ease his conscience.

How could he not have seen her? Had she done the same cross in every take? Dammit, he was as bad as Crystal, ignoring everything outside his little bubble and fucking things up in the process.

Brad put an arm around the extra and led her a few yards down the hallway, where Lynn, the medic, met them, kit in hand.

“I’m okay,” the girl promised. “Can I just go back to one and we can all do it again? I’ll limbo under his arm next time, I swear.”

“Jenna, once Lynn finishes checking you out, go back to holding.” Without another thought, Brad dismissed the poor girl.
Jenna.
The least Micah could do was remember her name since he’d ruined her day. Brad scanned the extras for another dark-haired nurse and told her to see Lindsey for a new cross.

Micah strode toward Jenna. “Hey, Brad, let her stay. Please. I won’t gesture like that again. Problem solved.”

Brad shook his head and put a hand on Micah’s chest. “Sorry, man. You know I can’t do that.”

Micah knew it, but it didn’t make it right, especially since it wasn’t her fault. To prevent a repeat performance, production would remove the
offending
object.

The whole damn industry was offensive.

“We got a show to do, people, let’s go,” Steve hollered as he approached Micah. He took off the straw cowboy hat and wiped his brow. “She’s just an extra. There’s plenty more where she came from.”

Before Micah could respond to that degrading summation, Sayid stepped between him and Steve and tried to turn Micah back toward the cameras. “Let’s get back to work. Your intensity was great in that last take. Finish it out.” Although nearly a foot shorter than Micah, the director attempted to block the view of Jenna disappearing down the hallway. “Micah, c’mon, stay focused. Let’s get this done.”

Dammit. She probably thought he was the biggest asshole in Hollywood, but better she thought him an asshole than her getting blacklisted from the set permanently. Which was exactly what would happen if he took this any further.

“We’ll do a pickup.” Steve looked from Micah to Crystal. “From ‘I think you’re wrong.’”

Micah squeezed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not going to match without her.” He hadn’t known she was there, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t important to the scene. Without extras making the hospital appear fully functioning, he’d look like an idiot standing around with only the two or three other people who actually had lines.

“We’ll go in tighter.” Sayid retreated to monitorland behind the cameras.

“Okay, picking up.” Micah took his place on the green tape T on the floor that marked his final position.

Francine blotted his forehead with a tissue. “She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I know. Still though… Dammit.” He shook his head.

Delilah pushed his hair back into place. “Hopefully it won’t show up on the internet.”

“Oh hell.” Pinching his eyes shut, he exhaled a sharp breath. He hadn’t even thought of that. Could this get any worse? First he was paired with an actress who blew every fourth take by forgetting her lines or taking phone calls. Now he was going to be known as the jackass actor who beat up extras, and he’d have to go on the Great Apology PR tour. It was times like this he wished he could disappear and be anonymous for a while.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up, Micah.” Crystal released an aggrieved sigh, as though him showing compassion was a personal affront to her. “Extras are nobodies.”

He opened his eyes and pinned her with a sharp glare. “They’re here doing a job, which is more than I can say for you.”

Crystal chuckled. “Are you going to knock me to the ground now too?”

Micah looked to Steve. “We need to roll. Now.” Before he added a second woman to his hit list, this one intentional.

“Since when do you care about all the little wannabe actors?” Crystal straightened her coat and checked her mark. “If they were real actors, they’d have lines.”

“Roll, Steve. Now. Or I’m wrapped. Take your pick.”

“Rolling!”

Micah threw everything he had into the last four lines of the pickup. The replacement nurse didn’t cross toward the camera, but he avoided gesturing again anyway. The moment Steve called “Cut!” Micah walked off the set and bolted down the stairs. Maybe no one else in this place cared about what he’d done, but when had he started letting others strip him of his humanity? Oh yeah, that’s right. He wasn’t a man, but he played one on TV.

At the base of the stairs, a bright orange paper sign read
Extras Holding
with an arrow pointing to the right. Hopefully she hadn’t already been dismissed for the day.

She wasn’t gone. He saw her as soon as he crossed the threshold into the giant room full of chairs, tables, bags and clothes. All the other extras were on set, and she’d been banished here, alone.

She sat in the middle of the room, her back to him. Not wanting to startle her, he considered clearing his throat, but stopped when he saw the phone pressed to her ear.

“I’m in holding,” she said, paused. “I don’t think I’ll be here much longer. Can you use me?”

Micah squeezed the doorframe. Was she talking to a reporter? Getting her fifteen minutes of fame by spreading the story of her assault? Or maybe she was talking to her agent, or the union, making a formal complaint.

She laughed, and it sounded genuine, sweet even. Not like a woman who was hurt or holding a grudge. He’d come down here to apologize, not add eavesdropping to his list of sins.

His foot scuffed against the floor, and her ponytail bounced as she jerked her head around. Those bright blue eyes widened again, and as beautiful as they were, he wished it wasn’t shock causing her to look at him that way.

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered into the phone. It disappeared into the bag on her lap.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She glanced back up at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “It’s fine.” She peered past him to the door. He turned, saw no one, and at his questioning look she said, “I’m not supposed to talk to principal actors.”

“That’s okay. I’ll do the talking.” Micah sat on the chair directly across from her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t do any permanent damage, did I?”

“No, of course not. Please don’t worry about it.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I’m the idiot who ran into your arm. I just need to learn how to duck.”

“You wouldn’t have had to duck if I’d been more aware of what was going on around me.” He shook his head. “I really am sorry.”

“Hey, stop that. Accidents happen.” She tossed a hand to the side, like she was sweeping the incident under the rug. “I was flustered after making eye contact with you.” She paused, a soft blush heating her face. “Because I was told I might get kicked off set if I made eye contact with a principal actor, not because…” Wrinkling her nose in a way that made her look adorable and completely unassuming, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Anyway, maybe if I hadn’t been flustered, it wouldn’t have happened.”

How could he not remember seeing those beautiful eyes? When had he gone blind? He’d missed her then
and
when he’d knocked her down. Why wasn’t she blaming him for his obliviousness? Or trying to get something out of him? It would’ve been easier to deal with. But she didn’t seem to want anything from him. It was…odd. Especially since for all her concern that she’d be kicked off set, it had happened anyway.

“You haven’t been in this business long, have you?” he asked, although he’d already figured out the answer. No way would she still be so guileless and untainted if she’d survived a pilot season or two.

“Oh geez, is it that obvious? I mean, I’ve been acting forever, in school, community stuff and dinner theater, but this was my first time on national television.”

“You did great,” he rushed out, and then hated himself for lying. She might’ve done great, not that he’d seen her. At least not until he’d knocked her flat, and if he hadn’t done that, she would’ve gone unnoticed.

That would’ve been a damn shame.

She beamed at him, her eyes shining brighter than before. Not shock this time. Happiness. He’d forgotten what that looked like.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “So, Jenna, when you’re not getting knocked down by people pretending to be doctors, what do you do?”

“When I’m not running into people pretending to be doctors…” she winked, “…I work at Stars. It’s a restaurant in Hollywo—”

“Micah, we’re turned around and ready for you now.” Great. Steve had come to fetch him. And he wouldn’t leave until Micah did.

The smile lighting Jenna’s face had disappeared with Steve’s arrival, replaced with a wary nervousness. He really wanted to see that smile again.

Steve put a hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Now.”

“Okay, okay.” Getting to his feet, he walked over to her and extended his hand. “Jenna, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

She shook his hand. “You too, Micah. Thank you.”

“Micah,” Steve warned.

Regretting that their time had been cut short, Micah released Jenna’s hand and faced Steve. “Don’t send her home. We both know what happened was my fault. She deserves another shot. There’s three other scenes today. I’m not in any of them. She’ll be safe.”

Micah walked past Steve toward the exit. At the doorway he stopped and turned around, needing to see Jenna one more time. When their eyes met, she gave him another bright, beautiful smile.

For the first time in years, when he walked onto set, he was smiling.

Because of Jenna.

Chapter Three

“Hey, Jenna, you ready to go on?”

Pinning her blonde wig into place, Jenna met Ricky’s gaze in the mirror. “Just a couple more pins and I’ll be ready to rumble.”

He stepped all the way into the tiny dressing room and leaned against the door. His hair was slicked up in the classic fifties ’do. The white T-shirt, jeans and leather jacket—collar flipped up—and a cigarette tucked behind one ear, completed the James Dean look. Even the stage manager at Stars got into the act.

“Wasn’t today your TV debut or something? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your
star power
…” he emphasized this with a hip gyration that was more Elvis than James, “…with some hunk you met and wildly seduced on set?”

Some hunk.
There was one in particular she wouldn’t have minded wildly seducing, or at the very least talking with a bit more. Ricky didn’t need to hear her fall-on-her-ass story, though, or about her new, silly crush on a certain sexy M.D.

She pouted at Ricky in the mirror. “You know I save all my star power for you.”

He came up behind her and adjusted a wayward wig hair. “And you know my
James
doesn’t point that way. Such an ill-fated love affair we have here. Luckily you have plenty of other admirers, which is why I’m in here with you. Someone out there’s asking for my favorite star.”

“Really?” She hadn’t been working at Stars long enough to get many personal requests, but Marilyn was a staple in Hollywood, and tourists always wanted to see their idols haunting the boulevard. She shook her head to make sure the wig would stay in place and double-checked her makeup in the mirror. “I’m good to go.”

“Okay. Table 61. And have fun.” Ricky winked and ducked back out as Jenna stood and smoothed hands down to settle her white dress. Over the course of one day she’d played a clumsy nurse named Rina and was now dressed as one of the most iconic women of the twentieth century. God, she loved Hollywood.