Darcy in Hollywood

by Victoria Kincaid

  She didn’t want to be seen with him.

  Nobody had ever rejected him because he was a celebrity, and he struggled to wrap his mind around the idea. Even women who weren’t in the movie business were thrilled to be on a movie star’s arm. He had just assumed…

  His eyes took in the dark blankness of his flat-screen television. God, he had all this stuff…leather sofas, cutting-edge appliances, a watch worth a cool fifteen thou. And it all meant nothing. He had thought she’d be impressed. He’d assumed…

  There was that word again. Assumptions had gotten him into a hell of a mess. He thought he knew her, understood her. But he was ignorant of even the most basic things. Medical school? What the hell?

  Upon reflection, though, he could see her becoming a doctor. She was smart, determined, and passionate about helping people. The real mystery was why he had ever thought she would fit into Hollywood.

  He assumed that’s what she wanted because that’s what he wanted. Everyone wants to be us. He winced as he recalled the conversation by the swimming pool. Another assumption that had come back to bite him in the butt. In fact, she actively didn’t want to be part of his world.

  He had unwittingly made the worst sales pitch in the history of dating.

  Although if he was completely honest with himself, he hadn’t made much of a pitch at all. He had assumed that his appearance, his wealth, and his fame would seal the deal. He had presumed that there was no need to woo her. How arrogant could he be?

  Pretty damn arrogant, apparently.

  When she had warned him that he was skating on thin ice, he had thought she was playing devil’s advocate or fooling herself. But she had meant every word, and Darcy had been too blind to see it.

  I really don’t even know who she is.

  All the self-doubt, the miscalculations, the despair pressed against him, impossible to ignore. Screaming, howling demons mocked his arrogance. Mocked the idea that she would ever find him desirable.

  He should give up—for the sake of his dignity and his sanity. Her feelings were clear. Shatteringly clear. She would never have romantic feelings for him. He would be fortunate indeed to rise to the level of mild distaste. Surely that was reason enough to surrender.

  He would never lack for companionship; she could easily be replaced.

  But, but…

  Somehow this whole disaster had rendered her more intriguing. What kind of a woman turned her back on Hollywood? Nepotism was rampant. She could waltz into a filmmaking career, but instead she had chosen ten years of backbreaking education.

  Elizabeth hadn’t dissembled. She hadn’t flattered him. She hadn’t tried to use the situation to her advantage. Instead, she had told him exactly what she thought of him—giving him something he rarely got: bare honesty. Right there. Damned if it didn’t make her even more attractive.

  I am really screwed.

  A smarter man would cut his losses. A red-haired extra in the cast had sidled up to Darcy more than once. He could bring her back to the trailer for an afternoon of fun, to fuck Elizabeth Bennet out of his head.

  But he already knew it wouldn’t work.

  All his life he had only been passionate about acting, his career, being a success. Unexpectedly, Elizabeth Bennet had roused a passion that Darcy hadn’t even known about. He was scared that he couldn’t put it back under wraps. He was scared that he didn’t want to.

  He could recall the fire in her eyes when she’d yelled at him. The way they’d sparkled. His body responded to the mere memory.

  Whatever he inspired in Elizabeth, it wasn’t indifference. Maybe she felt passion for him, too?

  There was a perfunctory rap on his trailer door before Charlie yanked it open. “Hey, do you want to rehearse the office scene?”

  Darcy tried to drag his mind back to the film, but it wouldn’t stay there. “Did you know that Elizabeth isn’t planning to work in Hollywood?”

  Charlie leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, Jane said something about her sister wanting to be a doctor, of all things.” He made a face. “It takes forever, and you have to carve up dead bodies. No, thank you!”

  Did everyone know about Elizabeth’s plans except me? “I’ll be out in ten minutes, and we can run the lines,” Darcy said absently.

  “Okay.” Charlie left as noisily as he had arrived.

  Darcy continued to sit on the sofa, staring at his empty trailer, the blank television screen. I should just let her go. Look for someone else.

  The mere thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted her. Only her.

  Shit.

  Darcy cradled his head in his hands.

  He really was screwed.

  ***

  Elizabeth rushed away from the trailer, eager to put as much distance between it and her as possible. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  William Darcy just tried to kiss me.

  He did kiss me.

  For a moment she considered whether this was really happening. Yes, it was too real, too solid, too strange to be a dream or a fantasy or even a damn movie.

  Now that she had established that, she didn’t know which was crazier: that he had kissed her or that she rejected him.

  People’s Sexiest Man.

  Had kissed her.

  And she had pushed him away.

  Told him she didn’t like him.

  And ran out of his trailer.

  Because he had invited her to a film premiere.

  Of course, when I put it like that it sounds crazy.

  It didn’t just sound crazy; it was crazy. There were thousands of women who would have killed to be in Elizabeth’s position, and she had turned him down.

  Suddenly light-headed, Elizabeth sought out the nearest bench and dropped onto it at an awkward angle. She wasn’t even sure where she was on the studio lot, having walked as far and as fast from Darcy’s trailer as possible.

  She waited to be attacked by pangs of regret and self-doubt. After all, a trip down the red carpet with William Darcy was definitely a grandchild-worthy story for her old age.

  Nothing.

  No regrets. No recriminations.

  Yes, thousands of women would want to be in her position, which just made her wonder: Why couldn’t he have hit on one of them?

  She buried her head in her hands, wishing she could somehow erase the last fifteen minutes from her memory banks. That had to have been the most awkward proposition in the history of romance.

  Except for the kiss. The kiss had been hot. The kiss had been scorching.

  Elizabeth actually wouldn’t mind kissing him again—if he were a nicer person. Which wasn’t going to happen, of course.

  What a shame.

  Just because of the kissing.

  Caroline Bingley got to kiss him three times during In the Shadows, lucky woman. Not that Elizabeth cared.

  It was rather a shame. They’d get along great if they just kissed and never uttered any words to each other. She enjoyed that fantasy for a few seconds.

  Seriously? she chastised herself. Now I’m objectifying him?

  Resolutely, she wrenched her thoughts back to the current dilemma. Why had he picked her for this dubious honor? Couldn’t he tell that she didn’t really like him? But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He actually thought I had a crush on him. Maybe she had been giving off mixed signals. Maybe he noticed longing in her eyes. I must have done something—

  No, this is not on me, she told herself firmly. This is on him. Maybe I thought he was attractive, but I never even hinted that I was available. He thought I’d be so grateful for an opportunity to go on a date with him—to sleep with him—that he didn’t need to bother to be pleasant or speak to me like a human being.

  She’d rather be single for the rest of her life than date someone with so little respect for her.

  Feeling a little better about her decision, Elizabeth raised her head, idly watching people hurrying around the studio lot. She needed to get back to Buildin
g 4.

  This sucked. Now she and Will would be awkward around each other. He might even try to get her fired. She’d hate to leave the movie, but if it came down to a choice, she knew who her father would choose. Nausea roiled her stomach.

  Movie stars really did get the best of everything. Will could flirt like he breathed, have women fall at his feet, and not worry that he’d be fired if things went south. He didn’t need to suffer a moment’s concern that a quick fling would leave him heartbroken and alone.

  Annnd now she was back to being angry at Will. She embraced the rage; it pushed out the other emotions, particularly anxious thoughts that she might have made a mistake.

  When her phone buzzed, she pulled it out to see a text from Roberta: Where are you? I needed those papers two hours ago.

  Oh yeah. Three urgent things she needed to do in the next hour. Maybe she should focus more energy on not losing her job and less on her personal life. She pushed Will from her mind and headed for the script supervisor’s office.

  Thank God principal filming was nearly finished. Afterward she would never need to see William Darcy again.

  ***

  That evening Elizabeth was trying to muster the concentration to work on med school applications when an email popped up in her inbox. When she saw the sender’s name, she nearly sent it to the trash, but a combination of curiosity and lingering guilt compelled her to read it.

  Hello Elizabeth,

  Don’t worry, I’m not going to importune you once more about joining me for a date. I understand your position on that matter quite clearly. However, I do want to set the record straight. When you mentioned my treatment of Wickham, I was so flabbergasted that I didn’t know what to say, but it’s important to me that you know the truth.

  I don’t know what Wickham told you about my family, and it probably doesn’t matter. All I can do is tell you what actually happened. My family was close to Wickham’s family when I was growing up. My father had invested in a chain of health clubs operated by Wickham’s father, and they became friends. Wickham was particularly close to my sister, Georgiana, since they were close in age.

  And then—when she was fifteen and he was sixteen—we discovered he was giving her drugs. Opioids. He was selling them at his fancy prep school and had gotten Georgiana hooked so she’d be one of his regular customers—all while telling her that he loved her.

  When I learned the truth, I punched him. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been the better man. But I can’t bring myself to regret it. I warned him to stay away from Georgiana and my family. I shared what I had discovered with my father, who confronted Wickham’s father, but he defended his son and denied everything. My father withdrew from their partnership, and Wickham senior blamed him for the collapse of the chain and subsequent bankruptcy. I don’t know if that’s true since I understand that the clubs were having financial difficulty before this occurred.

  My parents sent Georgiana to a residential treatment facility where she got clean. After intensive therapy, she began to understand that Wickham had been using her as a quick and easy source of money. She’s had some difficulties since then, but she’s doing well now.

  I wanted my parents to have Wickham arrested, but unsurprisingly they couldn’t agree what to do. They don’t agree about much except that they both want to avoid negative publicity. I don’t know if Wickham is still selling drugs, but I wish my parents had reported him.

  Over the years, Wickham has told all sorts of lies about my family. We haven’t said anything because Georgiana is mortified by her struggles with addiction. Unlike the rest of the family, she doesn’t relish the limelight, and she’s terrified at the thought of losing her privacy.

  So rather than confronting Wickham, I have simply tried to avoid him.

  I cannot defend myself from the other charges you leveled against me. I should not have made those remarks about you to Charlie. They were thoughtless and cruel—and worse, untrue. You are one of the prettiest and most interesting people I have ever met, and I find myself more intrigued every time I see you. I never intended to hurt you, but that is hardly an excuse.

  Then I made the egotistical assumption that you were infatuated with me, and a great many egregious errors were the result.

  For what it is worth, I think you will make a wonderful doctor. Please accept my best wishes for your future.

  William Darcy.

  After reading the email several times, Elizabeth slumped into the sofa, staring at the laptop and trying to make sense of the new information. How could she have been so mistaken about George’s character? And Will’s? She had always prided herself on her discernment, but it had failed her badly when it came to both men. She would never have suspected that George was the kind of person who would deliberately get someone addicted to opioids. Nor would she have expected such brutal honesty from William Darcy, no matter the provocation.

  What else have I been egregiously mistaken about?

  When Jane returned home from her run, Elizabeth was still immobile on the sofa. “What’s wrong, Lizzy?”

  Too emotional to speak, Elizabeth merely gestured for her sister to read the email. “Wow!” Jane breathed when she was finished. “That story about George…is it possible it’s all a mistake?”

  Elizabeth nearly choked on a laugh. “Oh, Jane, you always want to see the best in everyone. I don’t think it’s possible for both Will and George to be telling the truth. This isn’t a matter of interpretation.”

  “Who do you believe?”

  Elizabeth tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. “One of them has been lying, and I’m afraid it’s been George.”

  “Will’s story certainly has a ring of truth.”

  “And it’s hard to believe he’d make something like that up about his own sister.”

  “But George seems like such a nice guy. So caring and sincere. When he talks about being an EMT…”

  “I know.” Elizabeth closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think that it was all an act.

  “What about Lydia? She seems to like George.”

  Elizabeth brushed hair from her eyes. “I thought of that…and I don’t know. I’d like to think she’s too smart to take drugs.”

  Jane sighed. “I’d like to think that, too, but this is Lydia...”

  “I suggested she go slow with Wickham…and it just fell on deaf ears.”

  “I haven’t seen them together recently. Maybe she wised up and moved on to someone else.”

  Both sisters were silent for a moment. “What do you think the odds are of that?” Elizabeth finally asked.

  “Not good,” Jane admitted.

  “Yeah.” Elizabeth retreated further into the corner of the sofa. “I guess I’ll have to talk to her about him tomorrow.”

  Late that night when Elizabeth had trouble sleeping, the words in Will’s email ran through her mind. Only then did she realize that he had never really apologized.

  Chapter Eleven

  The final scene had been shot, and the caterers had assembled long tables of hors d’oeuvres for the wrap party on what was left of the set: only the bare walls of Thorne’s office. Elizabeth’s father gave a rambling speech and then popped the cork on the first bottle of champagne. The mood was convivial, and the space was crowded—not only with actors but also crew, additional producers, studio personnel, and just about anyone else who had a hand in creating the movie.

  The prospect of a party had even enticed Catherine de Bourgh; she held court in one corner of the set, complaining about the quality of the food while feeding stuffed mushroom caps to Cecil B. DeMille. Bill Collins flirted with Charlotte when he wasn’t keeping Mrs. de Bourgh cool with a giant palm-frond fan.

  Elizabeth expected to feel relief at the end of filming. At least she wouldn’t have to continued avoiding William Darcy. But she was surprised by a vague sense of nostalgia. The rhythm of Hollywood was a familiar part of her life, and she had difficulty imagining her life without it.

&
nbsp; Elizabeth and Jane had invited Ricky to the event, so she checked for him at the entrance every few minutes. Most screenwriters were eager to see their screenplays being filmed, but Ricky had refused multiple invitations. Perhaps he feared he would have “creative differences” with Roberta, or maybe it was some kind of social anxiety issue.

  On the other side of the set, Darcy laughed at something Caroline said, and Elizabeth’s eyes automatically darted in his direction. It’s like I’m tuned to his exact wavelength. But she deliberately turned her back on the sight. There were a lot of handsome guys at the party; this was Hollywood after all. Why couldn’t my hormones have targeted someone else for an obsession?

  Still, his email had altered her perspective. You are one of the prettiest and most interesting people I have ever met, and I find myself more intrigued every time I see you. It wasn’t every woman who heard those words from a Hollywood icon.

  I need a distraction. And there was Lydia, crossing the room toward the hors d’oeuvres table, her single-minded focus on a chafing dish of Swedish meatballs. Fortunately, George Wickham didn’t seem to be in attendance, making now an excellent time to warn Lydia about him.

  Her sister had scooped some meatballs onto a plate but was just staring at them. “Lydia?”

  “Every time I see meatballs, I think of George’s movie.”

  Elizabeth had forgotten about the movie. “Er…right.”

  Her sister stuck a toothpick in a meatball and held it up to the light to examine. “I’m trying to picture the scene where the Martian meatballs float through the streets of San Francisco. Can you just imagine it?”

  “No.”

  Lydia’s shoulders slumped. “Neither can I, but I guess that’s why we have the miracle of special effects.” She popped the meatball into her mouth and chewed. “I hope the movie’s meatballs aren’t so bland.”

  “I didn’t see George here tonight,” Elizabeth said neutrally.

  “No, he’s at a meeting of his cult,” Lydia said through a mouthful of meatball.

  “His cult?”

  “Yeah.” Lydia waved airily. “They worship eggplants or giraffes or something. He said they spend a lot of time cleaning windows.”