Careless: A Movie Star Accidental Marriage Romance (Santa Barbara Secrets Book 2)

by Marcella Swann

  “So, what’s for dinner?” I asked, peeking into a bowl on the counter.

  “That’s black bean and corn salad.” She pointed to the bowl. “This is Spanish rice, and that’s spicy grilled shrimp.”

  “Someone’s a fan of Mexican food.”

  “Hey, it’s cook’s choice and I love Mexican. For the next month, we’ll be eating it a lot.”

  “The next month?”

  “That’s how long I’ll be working with you,” she said, loading up two plates with food. “Didn’t Daryl tell you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m moving to New York in a month. So this is a temporary arrangement.”

  “You never know, you might get attached to me and never leave.” I winked at her.

  “If you’re not going to follow the rules, I’ll leave right now. I’ve been tired of Santa Barbara for nearly a year already.”

  “Okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’ll behave.”

  That was easier said than done. Dinner was an awkward affair. I wasn’t used to being around women that I couldn’t hit on. I didn’t know what to talk to her about, everything seemed like forced small talk and it made me squirm.

  So we mostly ate in silence. I didn’t mind once I dug into the food. It was delicious, and I’d be happy to keep her around for her cooking skills alone. Flavors exploded in my mouth and I groaned in delight.

  “That good?” she asked with a small smile. It enhanced those dimples and I stared at her for a long moment. She was stunning.

  “It’s amazing,” I said, coming to my senses.

  “Thanks.”

  There were a few more minutes of silence until curiosity got the better of me. “So these rules of yours. What are they?”

  Lyssa set down her fork and cleared her throat. She leveled me with a serious look.

  “First of all, no flirting.”

  “We already covered that one.”

  “Yeah, but I have a feeling you just can’t help yourself, so it bears repeating. Also, no drinking.”

  “At all?”

  “Yep. Daryl told me that you insist you don’t have a drinking problem, so you should be able to handle it, right?”

  She raised one eyebrow and there was a challenge in her voice that called to some primitive part of me. I felt an almost undeniable urge to prove myself.

  “Of course, I can handle that,” I said, knowing full well that I didn’t want to give up my partying ways. I would find a way to cheat. “Anything else?”

  “Work is a priority. I have your shooting schedule and we’re going to follow it. That means showing up on time and sober every day.”

  “You’ll be coming to the set with me?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Anything else, Captain?” I asked.

  “Captain?”

  “Well, it seems you run a tight ship, so I thought it was appropriate.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Finally, no random hook-ups. They can turn sour real quick and damage control isn’t always possible. It’s best to avoid them altogether.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from making a flirty joke about how she wanted me for herself. It was surprisingly difficult to rein in the flirting. Lyssa went back to her food and I mulled things over. She was an enigma; so controlled and graceful about everything, even the way she ate. Did she ever do anything spontaneous in her life?

  “How old are you?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “Twenty-four.”

  The same age as me. I could have guessed as much based on physical appearance alone, but she acted much more mature than I would’ve expected from someone in their mid-twenties.

  “Have you always been like this? So mature for your age?”

  Lyssa gave me a little half-smile. It was just a small tilting of one side of her mouth, but there was something incredibly sexy about it.

  “Yeah, my mom always called me an old soul when I was a kid.”

  “Maybe you just need to let loose a little,” I suggested, grinning wickedly.

  Her smile vanished instantly. “I don’t think so.”

  I just nodded and turned back to my food. Back to uncomfortable silence it was.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

  Lyssa stood in front of the door with my car keys in her hands, refusing to give them back. “I said no partying.”

  “No, you said no drinking,” I replied. “I can go to a club without drinking.”

  “I find that impossible to believe.”

  “Come on, I’m bored.”

  “Watch a movie or something.”

  Lyssa folded her arms across her chest and the strangest heat filled me. I liked that this woman was so stubborn. So many people in my life tried to impress me, to kiss my ass just because I was a famous actor, but not Lyssa. She wasn’t afraid to put me in my place and that was so hot.

  It was also annoying. I had a real paradox on my hands.

  “Fine,” I grumbled and strode away from he. I plopped on the couch, grabbed my PlayStation controller and started a new save file on Doom, my favorite video game at the moment.

  From the corner of my eye, I tracked Lyssa heading to the patio with a glass of orange juice and her phone.

  Time flew as I worked my way through the game and I was so caught up in it that I jumped when Lyssa’s hand touched my shoulder hours later. I hadn’t even heard her come inside.

  “It’s time for bed,” she said.

  “What?” I paused the game a looked at her incredulously.

  “It’s eleven. We have to be at the studio by eight tomorrow morning. You need to sleep.”

  “Okay, this is too much. A bedtime? I’m not ten years old. Hell, that’s probably how old I was the last time I went to sleep at eleven.”

  “Staying up late is only going to make you tired tomorrow.”

  “I’m not a child. Stop treating me like one.”

  “Stop acting like one,” she retorted.

  “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m the person charged with saving your career before you throw it away on a bender.”

  “My career is fine. I don’t need some uppity know-it-all telling me how to live my life.”

  “You know what?” she said, her voice impassive. “I don’t need this. I don’t care enough about you or your career to fight you every day for a month.”

  Without another word, she grabbed her purse and headed out the front door. I was left on the couch, feeling guilty about being pissed and pissed about feeling guilty.

  That spiraled so quickly, I couldn’t help thinking that it was a sign of hot passion between us. That thought had me hurrying to the door catching up to her. I grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

  “Listen, don’t give up just yet, okay? I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help and I’ll do my best to behave.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, I’ll go straight to bed. I promise.”

  She bit her lip in contemplation and I had the insane urge to kiss her.

  What was wrong with me?

  “Okay, fine. I’ll be here to make breakfast at seven sharp.”

  I agreed, and she left. True to my word, I headed straight to my bedroom. I was astonished to see new sheets on my bed, not a trace of sand left behind.

  I wasn’t sure when Lyssa had changed them, but I was thankful. I pulled out my phone and laid down, taking a picture and forwarding it to her. She had given me her number after dinner, and this was our first communication. Now she had proof that I was behaving. Typing out a quick message, I sent that as well.

  Goodnight boss-lady

  Eight

  Lyssa

  I had just slid an omelette onto Callen’s plate when he walked in to the kitchen the next morning. His hair was still damp from his shower and the smell of cologne permeated the air around him. He took a seat at the kitchen island and I pushed the plate toward him.

 
“You know, I’ve never woken up to a woman that I didn’t sleep with,” Callen said, taking a big bite of his breakfast. “Makes me feel like I didn’t earn this breakfast.”

  Heat flared in my body. My mind conjured unwanted images of us together like that, but I pushed them aside. I was here to do a job, nothing else.

  “You’re paying me,” I answered shortly.

  We were on the road fifteen minutes later. I figured that Callen would insist on taking his fancy Porsche, but he seemed content with riding shotgun in my little convertible.

  “So, what’s in New York?” he asked as I navigated through traffic. It seemed that everyone was headed to work at this time of day.

  “My best friend, Shayla. She grew up here but moved across the country about a year ago to chase her dream job,” I said. I saw him looking at me questioningly out of the corner of my eye. “She writes for The New Yorker.”

  “Ah, a smarty pants.”

  “Oh yeah,” I laughed, “and she’s been trying to get me to come out there ever since. She says I need a change of scenery.”

  “What’s wrong with the scenery here?” He held his arms out in a grand gesture to indicate the sunny California day.

  “Don’t be so literal. I’m just burnt out on the lifestyle, the partying, mostly.” I shot him a pointed look. “Besides, I don’t have anything keeping me here.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No, I dumped the last one nearly a year ago.”

  “Yeah, I’m single, too,” he said. I stifled any reaction my body might have to that statement.

  We arrived at the set ten minutes early and it was clear that everyone was astonished to see Callen there on time. I trailed along behind him as he walked through the set, waving a little too cheerily at the director, who frowned at him.

  “Callen,” a voice called out from our right. An older man strode toward us. I felt like I had seen him before. He was tall and carrying around a little extra weight, but it certainly didn’t slow him down. He was at Callen’s side in seconds.

  “Hey, Bruce.”

  The sound of the man’s name reminded me who he was; Bruce Cunningham, one of the hottest producers in television right now. Last year, I had worked with an actor that guest-starred in a few episodes of a comedy where Bruce had been the executive producer. Watching the two men interact, I quickly picked up on the tension between them.

  “How are you, today?” Bruce asked, but it was clear what he really wanted to know. Was Callen hungover?

  “I’m fine,” Callen said, an edge of defensiveness in his voice. “Ready to get to work.”

  Bruce narrowed his gaze, taking Callen in with a shrewd look. The moment was tense. Then, finally, he nodded and his face relaxed.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, clapping Callen on the shoulder before walking away.

  Callen kept walking without a word. I wondered if he was noticing a difference in how people were treating him. I hadn’t been on set before, but there was clear evidence that his behavior had been erratic. Crew members were staring at him with apprehension as we passed, looking relieved when they saw that he was clear-headed.

  Callen led the way to his trailer, the inside decked out with every amenity you could imagine. It had clearly been made just for him and the style of the design was reminiscent of his home. There was a full kitchen on one end and a bedroom on the other, the door of which was open, so I was able to see that most of the room was taken up by a king-sized bed. In between there was a sitting area with bench seating around a small rectangular table and a couch built into the side of the trailer. A flat screen TV was suspended from the ceiling.

  It felt like a true home away from home, which I supposed was the point. Filming could take all day, sometimes twelve hours or more. Callen excused himself to the bathroom. I headed to the couch, but before I could take a seat, there was a knock at the door.

  I opened it, surprised to see Daryl standing there. He had a coffee in one hand and sunglasses on his face.

  “Hey, Lyssa. Where’s Callen?” he asked, stepping inside. “He didn’t ditch you already, did he?”

  “He’s in the bathroom.”

  “I ran into Bruce on the way over here and he seems to think that Callen is clean and sober. Said he didn’t even seem hungover.”

  “That’s right. I nagged him into staying home last night and we even arrived on time this morning.”

  “You’re brilliant,” he said with a wide grin.

  “Thanks, but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. It’s been one day. I imagine he’ll be harder to keep on track in the next week or so. He’s going to miss his carousing ways.”

  “I’m back in the room, so you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Callen said, appearing beside us.

  I shrugged. “It’s the truth and I’m not going to pull my punches with you.”

  “You know what? I think you should stay at his house while you’re acting as his handler,” Daryl chimed in.

  “What? No way,” I said. Celebrities could be demanding enough as it was, I didn’t need to be on-call around the clock.

  “It’s just for a month and I think it’s the only way to keep Callen in line.”

  “Again, I’m right here,” Callen snapped.

  “Sorry,” Daryl said, looking him in the eye. “But I’m looking out for you.”

  “Whatever.” Callen stalked over to the couch and sat down, sulking.

  “I don’t know…,” I said when Daryl looked at me.

  “We’ll increase your pay. Double it. That’s fair for a full-time gig like this.”

  My eyes widened. Increase my pay? I had already doubled my normal rate when I took the job.

  Then again, I had come across a report in my research about Callen making nearly a million dollars an episode. What was a couple thousand dollars to him, anyway?

  I was also planning to move in a month. But if I left my apartment now, I could avoid another rent payment before leaving.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “I’ll stay at the mansion.”

  “Do I get a say in this?” Callen asked sardonically.

  “’Fraid not,” Daryl replied, that wide grin stretching his face once more. “For the next month, you’ve got a new roommate.”

  One thing that I had learned from working with actors over the years is that filming is a lot of “hurry up and wait.” Callen donned his wardrobe and got his hair and makeup done right after Daryl left the set. He had been pronounced ready to go almost an hour ago. He had yet to film anything though.

  There were so many aspects to consider when filming, things that had to be perfect before the actors ever stepped foot on set. Lighting had to be just right, sound mixed correctly, props in place, special effects carefully planned.

  We headed to the setup for the first scene of the day, which was supposed to be an argument between Callen’s character, Kyle, and his father. There were people being directed around the set to stand in various places so that the lighting could be adjusted as needed, based on shadowing.

  Callen walked toward a seat with his name on it, then stopped a couple feet away. He looked around with a frown on his face. My experience as an assistant told me that he wanted something, and I’d better it provide right away to avoid drama.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, stepping forward with my professionally neutral mask slipping right into place effortlessly.

  “There’s only one chair here,” he said, as if that was an obvious problem.

  “And?”

  “There’s two of us.”

  His concern was so unexpected that it took an inordinate amount of time for my brain to even understand what he was saying. My eyes grew wide and my eyebrows arched as it hit me.

  “You’re worried about a seat for me?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said, lines creasing his forehead.

  An unstoppable wave of affection washed over me. I had been in this business for a while and come to realize that even the most re
asonable clients tended to put themselves first. It wasn’t malicious in most cases, they just had a line drawn between themselves and “the help,” which is how they thought of me.

  My neutral expression slipped, and I smiled at him brightly. Callen stared for a long moment, then blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. The spark that arced between us was my cue to create some distance.

  “I’ll go find a chair,” I said and walked away before he could respond. Because if he offered to get the chair himself, I’d really start thinking something was wrong.

  I shook my head to clear it. These feelings were crazy. Callen, despite his sexiness, was not my type. Well, not anymore. I couldn’t get entangled with another wild partier, not after my last relationship. Besides, he was my client, which made these thoughts a horrible idea.

  By the time I returned with a chair, I had successfully compartmentalized my feelings and regained my perspective. I settled beside him as he read over his lines, clearly having not memorized them over the weekend. We’d have to work on that.

  The director called Callen over a few minutes later and the actor playing his father joined them. After a moment of conversation, they were ready to film.

  I hadn’t given much thought to Callen as an actor. I had just assumed that most of his success came from his looks. Watching him now, shame warmed my cheeks.

  He was incredibly talented. As the scene progressed and the argument between the characters escalated, I was tempted to cower away from the raised voices. The hurt and anger Callen portrayed as he embraced his role and stood up to the man playing his father caused my heart to twinge. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t real.

  I admired his skill, and it occurred to me how much was really on the line with this assignment. Callen was a successful actor, but this role showcased a talent that he hadn’t been able to demonstrate in the past, with his comedies and action flicks. The depth of emotions he was drawing out of himself were so real that I could see this being his chance to break out of typecasting.

  After that scene was filmed, we took a break for lunch. The production company had an assortment of sandwiches and salads brought in for the cast and crew, so we all converged on the table laden with food.