“Ex-girlfriend?” Shit, she was so obvious.
“Yes. Ex. I’m single.” He took a swig from his beer, mesmerizing her with the way his lips circled the bottle. “As are you, if I’m to believe what I read standing in line at the grocery store.”
“Very single.” She might as well have invited him to her bedroom. What the hell was she doing? She knew nothing about the man. Nothing beyond the fact that he was H-O-T hot.
As if reading her thoughts, he held out his hand. “Seth Rafferty.”
His name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She was horrible with names anyway. She gave up trying when his firm grasp closed around her fingers. His touch shot sparks of bliss up her arm and straight down to the warm spot between her thighs. “A pleasure to meet you.”
He held her hand longer than he needed, his rough thumb grazing back and forth against her soft skin. “Not to sound too cliché, but the pleasure is all mine.”
“Good, you’ve met Seth.”
Heather pulled her hand into her lap as Patrick took his seat on the other side of her, setting a glass of wine in front of her as he did. “I was afraid the waitress would take too long to get in here, so I just ordered at the bar.”
Heather barely heard Patrick’s explanation of his delay or how her wine had arrived. What she focused on was his first line, his acknowledgment that he was glad she’d become acquainted with the yummy specimen sitting next to her. That practically confirmed Seth was with Patrick’s team. Not a crewmember then. Thank the Lord.
“Yes, we just met.” She lowered her head, fearing her cheeks were coloring yet again.
If he noticed her blush, Patrick gave no indication. “Have you told her?” He directed his question to Seth.
“Uh, no.” Seth shifted in his chair. “I was leaving that for you.”
Heather’s brow furrowed, confused by the vague exchange between the men.
“Well then,” Patrick said, his eyes lighting up. “Heather, we’re doing something new this year. You know that all the plays performed in the event are written and put together in a twenty-four hour period. This year, instead of just using a projected graphic background, we are also adding set. Whatever pieces can be constructed in the same twenty-four hour period.”
Heather’s brow crease deepened. Set construction? How exactly would that work? Like one of those home improvement shows where a carpenter built items within a limited time? And even if that could work, who would be…
Oh God. No.
But before Patrick continued she knew. She knew and she wanted to die.
“Seth here is going to be building all the pieces for us. It’s very exciting, isn’t it?”
No, it wasn’t exciting. Seth wasn’t a member of Montblanc or Urban Arts. He wasn’t from the Broad Stage. He was a crewmember after all.
Heather Wainwright, Hollywood A-list actress, had been flirting shamelessly with a carpenter.
Chapter Two
Celebrities held no special interest for Seth Rafferty. They were simply people. People he worked with. Nothing exciting. Their shit stank just like everyone else’s. His job kept him in close proximity to them on a daily basis and, while that part of his occupation was what interested his friends and family the most, he’d become immune long ago.
Which was why he hadn’t been prepared for Heather Wainwright.
He first spotted her when she’d entered the private dining room. She’d stood alone, watching the group at the table, not knowing that she’d caught his gaze. She was pretty, yes. All right, she was goddamn beautiful. And sexy. Her legs were long and lean under her knee-length skirt and her breasts pressed nicely against her low sleeveless shirt. But she was a mega-star—those qualities were standard package.
Except there was something about her that Seth hadn’t expected—a vulnerability he’d rarely seen in other actresses. A bewilderment at her place in her world. A softness that he’d thought must be impossible to maintain in Hollywood.
She pulled it all in when she’d been called out. Seth watched her out of the corner of his eye as she put on her celebrity façade and greeted the others at the table.
But when she’d sat next to him and they’d talked, he saw glimmers of it again—pieces of a fragile soul he sensed she kept hidden from other people. A longing to drop the I-got-it-going-on persona and instead let someone else take charge.
And oh, what he’d do to her—for her—if he was in charge of her. His pants had tightened at the thought.
It wasn’t just a sexual attraction. He’d also enjoyed the conversation, even though they hadn’t talked about anything important or of consequence. There was something in her easy tone that made him feel like he could keep talking to her forever. About nothing. And he could certainly keep looking in the deep chocolate pools of her eyes forever.
Prepared for her or not, Seth Rafferty was star struck.
Then she found out what he did for a living—or what she thought he did for a living—and everything changed. The playful sparkle in her eyes vanished while the color drained from her face and her smile curled downward into a look of disgust.
And Seth was struck again, this time with disappointment.
“So what do you think?” Patrick asked, eager for Heather’s reaction to the new event format.
“Hmm,” she said as if trying to decide how to phrase her response. Seth sensed her delay wasn’t about the format at all. She was grappling with the realization that he wasn’t an exec for Montblanc. That she’d been conversing with someone beneath her.
He shook his head slightly trying to shake off the fascination he’d had with her, disappointed to find she was one of those actresses. One with an ego as big as her reputation proclaimed. Too much of a diva to even recognize the names of prominent crew members like himself. What a shame.
He’d been with her type before. His ex-girlfriend—ex-fiancée. Erica. She’d been the type who only cared about him when his status proved worthy. It was bullshit, and he’d changed the way he dated after her, careful to only involve himself with women who liked him when they didn’t know dick about what he did for a living.
After more hemming and hawing and three sips of wine, she spoke. “Actually, Patrick, I think the idea’s terrible.” And once she’d found her voice, she couldn’t stop. “I mean, a set? For the 24-Hour Plays? Why? The lack of a set—the impressionism of the whole situation—that’s part of the beauty of it. Why would you change it? What do you hope to add with this element?”
Patrick’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, well, we just…”
“No offense to you, Seth.” She glanced toward him, not really looking at him and he winced at how arousing it was to hear her say his name. “I’m sure you’re amazing with a hammer and everything. But…it’s just…it’s wrong.”
He shrugged, not daring to talk. He was too appalled and pissed and turned on to speak. Anything he said would just get him in trouble, and not the good kind of trouble.
“I’m so sorry to hear you feel that way, Heather.”
Seth sneered inwardly at the sincerity of Patrick’s amends. Patrick held power in this situation. Why did he feel he had to smooth over the ruffled feathers of some snotty actress? What she needed was a good spanking.
And then thoughts of her creamy skin turning pink under his hand had him needing to adjust himself under the table.
Settle down, boy. She’s not worth it.
“Does Rosie know about this?” Heather jutted her lip out in challenge.
If she’d jutted that lip out to him, Seth was pretty sure he’d have to bite it. Not worth it, remember?
“Yes, and Rosie was completely behind it.” Patrick took a swallow of his martini— more of a gulp. “In fact, Heather, you’re the first person who’s opposed it.”
“Maybe you aren’t asking the right people. I’m sure people like Seth here are all for it because, you know, set construction is his thing and all.”
Set construction really wasn’t Seth’s
thing. Not anymore. He’d moved beyond that years ago, but for some reason, he was strongly opposed to letting Heather know that. She’d probably calm down and relax if she realized his true occupation. She might even pick up the flirting again.
The thought sickened him, mostly because that led to other thoughts of how far their flirting could go. And, to quote Heather, that was just wrong. He had standards. He didn’t need Heather Wainwright. He didn’t need to be a star fucker.
No, it was better that she thought he was a carpenter—a nobody in her world. That way it would be easier to keep her out of his world. He had no interest in such blatant snobbery.
Except Patrick was about to spill the beans. “Actually, Seth’s more about the big picture,” Patrick said. “You know he’s a—”
Seth cut him off before he could say more. “Maybe Heather has personal issues that have influenced her opinion.”
Heather’s head swung to face Seth, daggers shooting from her eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean by that but my opinion is influenced by the fact that I’ve done the plays for five years in New York and three years in L.A. and they’ve been fabulous as is. I don’t understand the idea of fixing something that isn’t broken. But you’re probably a fixer type.”
She crossed her arms, increasing the abundance of her cleavage and he corrected his earlier thought—her breasts were above standard package. Way above.
It didn’t matter. Beautiful tits did not make up for a holier-than-thou attitude.
“Patrick, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Janice Shafer, Patrick’s sidekick from Montblanc, leaned in from the other side of him. “We’re having a small issue with the Urban Arts scholarship performer. Would you mind giving your opinion?”
“Excuse me a moment,” Patrick said to Heather, and Seth detected relief in his voice, as if he were grateful for the chance to end the conversation. Patrick turned his chair toward Janice and the Urban Arts rep who sat beside her.
Seth listened halfheartedly as the rep explained that the teenager scheduled to sing at the plays had a problem with her guitar and that it might not be ready for the show on Saturday and did Patrick have any suggestions for getting a replacement.
But his mind was on the blonde beauty next to him and the tension rolling off her body in thick waves. Her tension fueled his irritation. First, he was just irritated at himself for being reeled in by her, for believing he’d seen something different in her. Then he was pissed at his Johnson for still being very interested in the woman despite her pettiness.
But the more he thought about it, the more he was furious at her. Was she really that shallow? Or was he reading her wrong?
He shouldn’t say anything. He should just let it lie.
But he had to know. “You’re not upset about using a set, are you?” He kept his voice down so that only she could hear him. “You’re upset that you were flirting with someone who builds sets.”
Heather’s mouth dropped open. “I was not…” She lowered her voice to a tense whisper. “I was not flirting.”
“You most certainly were too.” Seriously? How could she deny it?
“I was not.” She stabbed her index finger into the table as if to enforce her point. “I was talking to you like I talk to everyone. I’m very charming.”
“You’re not that charming.”
“I am so charming.” She shifted in her seat and he could see her anger revving up. “How dare you, anyway?” She hissed. “You don’t know. You don’t even know me.”
He wanted to say that he did know her. He knew her type. Conceited, arrogant. She expected the world to fall at her feet, and when it didn’t she demanded an explanation as to why. Wasn’t that what she’d just done with Patrick?
But he couldn’t bring himself to be that honest. It was too cruel.
Still, he couldn’t drop the conversation. Not yet. Not when she’d played with him like she had. “I know that you didn’t flirt with anyone else who talked to you here tonight.”
She sat back, her eyelashes fluttering. “Were you watching me? Are you, like, obsessed with me?” She huffed out a thick breath of air. “Typical.”
“And I know your reputation does not label you as charming.” It was a low blow. Everyone truly in the Hollywood realm knew reputations were often a bunch of bullshit. But he was pissed.
“My reputation? That’s…you can’t believe…”
He had her where he wanted her—flustered and out of defenses. He went in for the kill. “And wasn’t it funny how your charm went away the minute you discovered what my involvement with the plays was? When you figured out you were flirting with a crewmember.”
“I have nothing against crewmembers.”
“Then it’s just carpenters.”
She rolled her eyes. “God, this is ridiculous. You’re totally twisting this around to be about something that it’s not. You’re taking my opposition to using a set and making it about you. Self-centered much?”
Fuck polite. She’d gone cruel first. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black. Stuck-up, much?”
“Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
Her eyes blazed with indignation. Then she scooted her chair back and stood with a hmph before escaping to the corner of the room, phone in hand.
He felt better having spoken his mind, but also worse at the absence of her warmth. And while he’d wanted to slap her with his words, which he had effectively done, another part of him wanted to follow after her and wrap her in his arms.
What the fuck was that about?
For the second time that night, he shook his head. He’d have no sympathy for her. He’d come from nothing, had built himself up from the ground. It had been tough and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but he’d never forsake his roots. That was why he’d been so impressed with the Urban Arts Partnership. They respected the less fortunate and gave kids a chance to shine through art. Art had been his own savior in his early years. It was why he’d approached the organization and offered to contribute a set. So he could give back, could be a part of the good they did.
Heather Wainwright represented exactly the opposite of what he was hoping to accomplish here. He’d made the mistake with Erica, trying to hide his past, but he’d learned. Now he’d rather be associated with the underlings than the highbrows any day.
He took a long pull of his beer and made up his mind to remain anonymous in the production. He needed to get Patrick on board. He focused on Patrick’s conversation, which seemed to be nearing an end. One of the Urban Arts reps had volunteered to find a music store to donate a guitar for the event. Problem solved.
When it seemed like a good moment to cut in, Seth scooted over to Heather’s seat. “Hey, Patrick.” He waited until the exec had excused himself from the others and gave Seth his full attention. “I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Shoot.”
Seth leaned in so he could talk quietly. “I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone that I’m the one donating the materials for the set or that it was my idea. I’d prefer it if everyone just thinks I’m a carpenter.”
Patrick raised a brow. “Well, well. Successful and humble to boot?”
“No, I’m not humble.” He couldn’t make himself a hero in this. That was going too far. He also couldn’t explain to Patrick about his interaction with Heather. “You know how it is. If everyone knew my job title, they’d want me to hire them, all that. It’s best to remain low key.”
Patrick nodded. “I’m with you. Actually, this is easier for me. Because, and I hate to admit it, I still don’t really know what a movie production designer does.”
Seth chuckled. “No worries. Not many people do.” Then, realizing Patrick was waiting for an explanation, he went on. “I’m in charge of everything visual. The costumes, the set, the make-up—the entire aesthetic of the film.”
“Wow. Big job. I heard you could be up for an Oscar nom.”
“I’m not getting my hopes up.” Though he was an early front-runner.
But, while an Oscar would be very exciting, he didn’t need it to feel validated. It was one of the top jobs a person could have on a movie and he’d worked his way up from carpenter to set decorator to set designer to art director before finally landing on production designer. He loved every aspect of his job. He loved working with the director to determine how a movie was supposed to look and feel, then creating it from scratch. He loved overseeing the set and costume design and working with the director of photography to make sure Seth’s vision would show up the way he wanted on film.
He loved that he got to select and hire all the people to get it done right—the make-up artists, the costumers. The carpenters.
“Well, good luck,” Patrick said. “I’d love to see you win a big award. I could say I knew you when. And don’t worry, mum’s the word.”
The sound of a woman clearing her throat drew Seth to look up behind him. Heather stood with arms crossed and a glare on her face. Had she overheard his conversation?
“You’re in my seat.”
No, it didn’t seem she had. He imagined she’d be the type to throw the information in his face if she had.
She raised her eyebrows as if prompting a response.
“Yep, I’m in your seat.” Seth scooted back to his own chair. “And now I’m not.”
Heather slid into her chair and Seth didn’t miss that she inched it away from him as she did.
That was fine. He didn’t want to be sitting next to her either. The sooner the evening was over, the better.
Heather seemed to feel the same. “Patrick, I’m leaving in twenty. If you want me to be here for intros, you’d better do it now.”
Everything on her time schedule. Total diva.
Patrick glanced at his watch. “Yes, that’s a good idea.” He stood and got the room’s attention by tapping his drink with a spoon.
Seth barely listened as Patrick introduced himself and welcomed everyone to the event. Then it was time for introductions, starting with Heather.
Heather’s speech was modest, stating only her experience with the 24-Hour Plays and not reciting her long resume of films and television appearances. She didn’t need to. Everyone knew who Heather Wainwright was.
Star Struck Page 2