Not a Fairy Tale. Romy Sommer
want to have to smack him. And she didn’t have much energy left to do it.
“I hear you’ve done very well for yourself since we worked together on Pirate’s Revenge.”
She blinked. Not what she’d expected. “What do you mean?”
Aside from a minor role playing Meryl Streep’s daughter and two very long and tiring promo campaigns for her previous movies, she hadn’t worked since Pirate’s Revenge. Even this nomination was for the movie she’d filmed before her jaunt to Westerwald for Pirate’s Revenge, yet another fairy tale re-imagined. The situation was getting dire. She’d needed the award tonight to break the dry spell.
“You landed yourself a little prime A-list steak since then.”
Ah. She smiled. The one thing that was going very right in her life.
These last few months hadn’t been entirely wasted. Dating fellow actor Paul de Angelo had kept her name in the spotlight and he’d introduced her to more useful contacts in the last month than her agent and manager had done combined.
They worked well together, both driven, both serious about their careers, both happy not to get too much in each other’s space.
It was thanks to Paul she’d been invited to read for this year’s hottest role, the lead role in a trilogy based on the bestselling novels that had been so popular people had camped outside bookstores for days to get their hands on the final installment. That Nina had read the books before they’d turned into a phenomenon had to be significant, right? It was kismet.
Strong female lead roles were hard to come by, and she didn’t want to spend her entire career playing someone’s daughter or the lead’s romantic interest. The accessory.
No, this role was hers.
Except the read hadn’t been the golden opportunity she’d hoped for. It had been something of a novelty playing to a lukewarm audience. A not-very-pleasant novelty.
Paul had been supportive and encouraging. “They just don’t see you as tough enough for the role. You need to show them you’re more than just another pretty face.”
It wasn’t her face they’d been worried about. The casting director’s exact words had been “you’re a little too soft for this role.”
Or, as her agent, Dane, had said, a little less diplomatically, “Lose 20 pounds, get some muscle and some attitude, and you might stand a chance.”
She turned now to Dominic. “Can we meet tomorrow?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Mr. A-Lister not ringing your bell?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. Trust him to think everything was about sex. Not that she hadn’t already imagined sex with Dominic a few dozen times. “In your dreams. I don’t want to sleep with you. I have a business proposition.”
“Intriguing.” He rubbed his chin, as if the thought of any woman not wanting to fall straight into his bed was something he hadn’t considered before.
“Lunch at Cecconi’s?” she pushed.
“I have a much better idea.” Dominic’s grin was pure mischief. “25 Degrees at the Hollywood Roosevelt serves the city’s best burgers.”
Great, just what she needed. Not. But any self-respecting LA restaurant would serve salads, too, wouldn’t they? “Twelve too early?”
“Twelve is fine.” Dominic looked over her shoulder. “Your minder’s here.”
She turned to follow his gaze. Her publicist bore down on them.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Chrissie stopped before their sofa and frowned as she looked from Dom’s jacket around her shoulders to Nina’s bare feet, then back to the tumbler in Nina’s hand. Or at least as much of a frown as her perfect, botoxed forehead allowed. “The action is inside.” She waved towards the party. “The cameras are there and all the people who need to be reminded you exist.”
“My feet were sore.” Nina wiggled her bare toes and Chrissie’s frown deepened.
The excuse sounded as lame as it was. Nina was in the illusion business, after all. If she couldn’t stand for half a night in tight heels without hiding the pain, then she didn’t belong here. But admitting to an insane urge to throw something wasn’t going to go down any better.
An actor could trash a hotel room and everyone would call him a rock star, but an actress behaving badly would be labeled as difficult and would never work again. Ask Lindsay Lohan. Nina was struggling enough with the last bit as it was.
With an apologetic shrug for Dominic she slipped her shoes back on and handed him his jacket. He tossed the remains of his burger in a nearby bin and rose with her. “Yeah, this party blows. I’m gonna head over to Elton’s and see if that one’s more fun. Want to join me?”
Chrissie turned narrowed eyes on him. “Who are you?”
“Chrissie, this is Dominic Kelly. He was the stunt coordinator on Pirate’s Revenge. Dom, my publicist, Chrissie.”
Chrissie swept an assessing glance over Dom, her gaze lingering on the muscular chest beneath his dress shirt. A tight and not entirely pleasant smile curved her plumped lips. “You might want to hang around for the next ten minutes. There’s a show you shouldn’t miss.”
It sounded like a warning, but Nina couldn’t fathom why.
Chrissie turned to her. “Be quick. You’re needed inside.”
She hurried ahead and Nina followed more slowly, Dom keeping pace beside her. He sent her a questioning look and she shrugged. Chrissie clearly had something up her sleeve, but Nina had no clue what it was. The only thing she knew was that her stomach had clenched with an anxious sense of foreboding she hadn’t felt in years.
Back in the central party room, her nerves steadied. She looked out across the room heaving with bodies, hundreds of beautiful people making conversation and playing to the cameras. A carnival of glitter.
Party guests came and went from the specially constructed photo booths, and on the far side of the purpose-built, glass-walled structure, a group of dancers gyrated to a rock standard played by the live band.
The party hadn’t yet reached that kick-off-the-shoes-in-abandon phase that happened when celebrities partied together, relaxed in the safety of their own numbers and the absence of fans and hangers-on, but it was headed that way.
No matter which way she turned she saw stars. Actors, actresses, musicians, and singers, supermodels and fashion designers, directors and powerhouse producers. People who were desperate to be loved and admired, people who’d reached the top and who would do anything to stay there. Every single one of them famous and all of them driven. She belonged here and she’d do absolutely anything to stay a part of it.
She caught the eye of an actress she’d worked with a few years ago. The other actress blew her a kiss and Nina waved back. “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
Dominic leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I don’t think that kiss was meant for you.”
“You and Jordan?” she asked in disbelief. Ugh. She thought he had more class than that.
“Most adventurous eight hours of my life. Come to think of it, it was probably while the two of you were playing sisters on that TV show.” His grin widened. “Though that was before she started on the botox. I don’t have many standards, but I don’t do botoxed women. Now don’t frown at me like that. There’s a camera headed this way.”
She smiled as if her life depended on it. The urge to hit or throw something was back in full force.
“Would you like your picture taken?” the photographer asked, waving his camera at them.
She and Dominic did the cheek-press, smiling straight