Anna DePalo - Hollywood Baby Affair

“Much to Mom’s belated joy.”

Jordan flashed the famous pearly whites. His good looks had gotten him many modeling gigs, including more than one underwear ad. “Gossipmonger reported you two have been getting cozy, and the story has been picked up by other websites.”

“You know better than to believe everything you read.” If the gossip had reached Jordan, then it was spreading wider and faster than Rick had thought. Still, he figured he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering Chiara’s celebrity.

“Yup. But is it true?”

Frankly, Rick was starting not to know what was true anymore, and it was troubling. “Nothing’s happened.”

Except one kiss. She’d tasted of peaches—fruity and heady and delicious. He’d gotten an immediate image of the two of them heating up the sheets, his trailer or hers. She challenged him, and something told him she’d be far from boring in bed, too. Chiara was full of fire, and he warmed up immediately around her. The trouble was he might also get burned.

Jordan studied him. “So nothing’s happened yet...”

Rick adopted a bland expression. “Unlike you, I don’t see women as an opportunity.”

“Only your female stars.”

“I’m done with that.” Isabel had been the star of Rick’s movie when they’d been snapped together. The fact that they’d both been working on the film—he as a stuntman and secretly as a producer, and she as an actress—had lent an air of truth to the rumors.

Jordan looked thoughtful. “Right.”

Rick checked his watch because he was through trying to convince his brother—or himself. In a quarter of an hour, they needed to head to dinner at Ink, one of the neighborhood’s trendy restaurants. “Just finish your damn beer.”

“Whatever you say, movie star,” Jordan responded, seemingly content to back off.

They both took a swill of their beers.

“So, the new digs treating you well?” his brother asked after a moment.

The apartment had come furnished, so there wasn’t a hint of his personality here, but it served its purpose. “The house is nearly done. I’ll be moving in a few weeks.”

Jordan saluted him with his beer bottle. “Here’s to moving up in the world in a big way.” His brother grinned. “Invite me to visit when the new manse is done.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell the majordomo not to throw you out,” Rick replied drily.

Jordan laughed. “I’m a babe magnet. You’ll want me around.”

Privately, Rick acknowledged his brother might have a point. These days, the only woman he was linked to was Chiara Feran, and it wasn’t even real.

Three

For two days, Rick didn’t encounter Chiara. She and Adrian Collins, the male lead, were busy filming, so today Rick was hitting the gym trailer and working off restless energy.

So far, there’d been no denial or affirmation in the press that he and Chiara were a couple. As a news story, they were stuck in limbo—a holding pattern that kept him antsy and out of sorts. He wondered what Chiara’s camp was up to, and then shrugged. He wasn’t going to call attention to himself by issuing a denial—not that the press cared about his opinion because for all they knew, he was just a stuntman. They were after Chiara.

After exiting the gym trailer, Rick made his way across the film set. He automatically tensed as he neared Chiara’s trailer. Snow White was a tart-tongued irritant these days—

He rounded a corner and spotted a man struggling with the knob on Chiara’s door.

The balding guy with a paunch was muttering to himself and jiggling the door hard.

Frowning, Rick moved toward him. This section of the set was otherwise deserted.

“Hey,” he called, “what are you doing?”

The guy looked up nervously.

All Rick’s instincts told him this wasn’t a good situation. “What are you doing?”

“I’m a friend of Chiara’s.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“I’ve been trying to see her.” This time there was a note of whininess.

“This is a closed set. Do you have ID?” Rick didn’t recall seeing this guy before. He was within a few feet of the other man now. The guy stood on the top step leading to the door of the trailer. Rick could see perspiration had formed on the man’s brow. Was this the creepy fan Odele had referred to?

Rick went with his gut. “I’m her new boyfriend.”

The other guy frowned. “That’s impossible.”

Now that he was closer, Rick could see the other man was definitely not the glamorous or debonair celebrity type that he would expect an actress like Chiara to date.

In the next second, the guy barreled down the trailer’s steps and shoved past him.

Rick staggered but grasped the trailer’s flimsy metal bannister to keep himself upright.

As Chiara’s alleged friend made a run for it, Rick instinctively took off after him.

The man plowed past a crew member, who careened back against a piece of lighting equipment. Then two extras jumped aside, creating a path for the chase.

The guy headed toward the front gate of the studio lot, where Rick knew security would stop him. Rick could only guess how the intruder had gotten onto the lot. Had he hidden in the back of a catering truck, as paparazzi had been known to do?

Gaining on Chiara’s admirer, Rick put on a final burst of speed and tackled the guy. As they both went down, Rick saw in his peripheral vision that they’d attracted the security guards’ attention at the front gate.

The man struggled in his grasp, jabbing Rick with his elbow. “Get off me! I’ll sue you for assault.”

Rick twisted the man’s arm behind his back, holding him down. “Not before you get written up for trespassing. Where’s your pass?”

“I’m Chiara’s fiancé,” the guy howled.

Rick glanced up to see that two security guards had caught up to them. “I found this guy trying to break into Chiara Feran’s trailer.”

“Call Chiara,” her alleged fiancé puffed. “She’ll know.”

“Chiara Feran doesn’t have a fiancé,” Rick bit back.

Someone nearby had started filming with his cell phone. Great.

“We’re together. We’re meant to be together!”

Nut job. Rick was in great physical shape due to his stunt work, so he wasn’t out of breath, but Mr. Fiancé was no teddy bear, either; he continued to put up a struggle.

Suddenly the trespasser wheezed. “I can’t br-breathe! Get off me. I have asthma.”

Great. Rick eased back and let one of the security guards take over while the other spoke into his radio.

Things happened slowly but methodically after that. Police were summoned by the studio’s security, and Chiara’s special fan—who’d given his name as Todd Jeffers—was led away. Eventually Rick was questioned by a police officer. Chiara materialized soon after and was similarly prodded for details by the officer’s partner.

Before the police left, Rick gleaned that Chiara’s overly enthusiastic fan would be charged with criminal trespass, disorderly conduct and harassment. Well, that’s something. But by the time Rick had finished talking about the incident to Dan, the director, Chiara had holed up in her trailer.

Rick eyed Chiara’s door, twisted his mouth in a grim line and made his way to the trailer for some answers.

He didn’t bother knocking—chances were better for a snowstorm in LA right now than for her rolling out the red carpet for him—and simply marched inside.

He came up short when he found Chiara sitting at a cozy little table, a script in front of her.

She was memorizing her lines? He expected her to be rattled, upset...

He looked around. The trailer was a double-decker, and with walnut paneling, it was swankier than his own digs, which were done in a gray monochrome and had no upper level.