She gave a quick thought to the actress she hoped to replace. The first words that sprang to mind were tall, blonde, and goddess. In other words, the perfect height to stand alongside William Blaine’s six-foot-two. The duo had possessed an unprecedented balance of sexual tension and competitiveness, a brand of on-air chemistry that had skyrocketed the home improvement show to the pinnacle of primetime ratings. If Olivia stood ramrod straight, she could feign five-seven. But in these heels she might get away with stretching a bit taller.
“Five-seven and a half,” she embellished.
“That’s perfect,” his voice appeared equally pleased. “Okay, let’s start with where you’re from.”
Olivia pursed her lips, portraying a wistful longing for home. “Well, I grew up in Brentwood… Tennessee, that is,” she said, allowing the overhead mike to amplify the way she drawled her home state. She always began a screen test by taking her southern twang out for a spin—testing the water, so to speak. She’d been through enough auditions to know that her natural way of speaking could be an asset as easily as a liability.
The casting director leaned into Ms. Hightower. “She’s absolutely precious,” Olivia heard him whisper. Ms. Hightower nodded in agreement. Olivia smiled on the inside. Today it looked as if her country-speak fit nicely in the asset category.
He straightened and asked, “And where did you go to college?”
Olivia shifted her weight to one foot, striking a pose that accentuated her toned thighs. “The University of Tennessee—Go Vols!” she said, slathering her twang on thick. “Graduated magna cum laude with a double major in theater and art with emphasis in design,” she added, which was mostly true. The honors, art, and theater part, at least. And though she’d perused Home Decorating for Dummies, cover-to-cover, she’d never had one ounce of formal design training.
But then everyone in Hollywood lied about themselves, and not only about weight, age and sexual orientation (when necessary), but regarding accomplishments as well. Except she’d been raised in a Christian, God-fearing home where honesty, along with the golden rule, had been drilled into her conscience since birth. Consequently, she had yet to grow accustomed to telling half-truths, and every time she did, she felt the dimmer switch on her countenance slip a bit more.
Sometimes she really hated this business.
The director’s assistant added a piece of paper to the stack in her boss’s hand. He quickly scanned the content. “Says here you’ve done some commercials?” he asked.
Olivia considered whether or not she wanted to elaborate. Her “starring” roles consisted of, among others, playing a young woman with a bladder control issue. Another where she’d portrayed a co-ed with a nasty toenail fungus who was viciously mocked while attending a beach party in white sneakers and athletic socks up to her knees. The one where she’d donned a furry suit in order to play a constipated dog, too miserable to even chase its ball, had been her longest running, and most humiliating. But given the prestige of cohosting a show like Home Matters, she was hesitant to own up to it.
“Yes, I’ve been in approximately a half-dozen,” she said, and left it at that.
“Excellent,” said the casting director. He turned to his assistant. “All right, let’s bring in William.”
If it were possible for a man to strut and swagger at the same time, William Blaine would have that particular gait down to a perfect science. With good looks that rivaled movie icon Rock Hudson, and a strong yet quiet demeanor to go along with them, it didn’t surprise Olivia that prior to his career in television, he’d earned millions buying and selling real estate. In the words of her mother: “That man could sell a cage to a lion.” And most American women would agree.
Stopping a comfortable distance from Olivia, he extended a hand. “William Blaine,” he said, the words floating over his lips in a symphony of syllables.
Olivia lifted her eyes to meet his. Fringed in a curtain of dark lashes, his brown gaze smiled back at her, his small mouth, plump with two perfect pillows for lips, twisted up at the corners. The spicy, sweet scent of his cologne drifted to her nostrils. A smidge strong for her taste. A flaw she could overlook.
Slipping her hand into his, she felt the cool smoothness of his palm against hers, his grip on the soft side of firm. “Olivia,” she responded, trying to appear in control.
Their gazes held long enough for the cameras, the lights, the executives, to all melt away, disappearing like tissue paper left out in the rain. Her thumping heart steadied, the soft beating of butterfly wings tickling her chest. Picture-perfect images of beautiful, brown-eyed babies set against the backdrop of a sparkling, million-dollar Malibu address danced before her eyes. William’s reputation is well earned, she decided. Whatever he was selling, she’d buy it all, no questions asked.
The director called out, “All right, now that everyone’s acquainted.”
His voice was like a rusty key unlocking the spell cementing Olivia’s gaze with William’s. She pulled her hand away, her mind unable to fathom why anyone would deign to ruin such a perfect moment.
The director shared a look with Ms. Hightower. “Shall we get started?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Let’s begin with the two of you reading from the prompters.” He pointed to one of two screens affixed to each camera. “Just be natural.”
A camera loader stepped forward and dropped the stick of his clapboard. “Action!” he called out.
Olivia jumped, but then quickly collected her nerves, firmly reminding herself—first things first.
Pulling in a steadying breath, she turned her full attention back to the matter at hand.
William gave the camera a suave smile. “Good evening, and welcome to another episode of Home Matters.” He oozed charisma out to an imaginary audience. “For our first project of the year, our teams will be heading to the Deep South—Savannah, Georgia, to be exact—where we’ll meet a desperate young family whose unfortunate renovation mishaps have left their once lovely plans for a historic home, victim to some fairly ugly, and rather pervasive dysfunction,” he finished, his attention flipping ever so slightly to Olivia.
Not daring to miss even a nano-beat, she used her peripheral vision to consult the monitor. Assuming a professional yet amicable air, she spoke into the camera.
“For two long years now, the Calhoun family has struggled with the question, ‘should we stay in this home and continue to renovate, or should we cut our losses and sell, find a move-in ready home instead?’” She looked back to William.
“Such a dilemma is not an easy one to sort out,” he said, throwing a compassionate glance for the family Olivia’s way.
She nodded her agreement. “No, it’s not,” she responded, turning back to the camera. “Especially when the home owners can’t agree on the best solution for their family.” She sent the audience a bewildered look. “Mrs. Calhoun is desperate to go, while Mr. Calhoun is determined to stay.”
“And that’s where we come in,” William stated, then issued a good-humored challenge. “Over the next two weeks, I’m going to do my very best to find this young couple the perfect turn-key property for their growing family.”
Olivia added a flirtatious edge to what she said next. “And, I’m going to do my best to redesign their existing home, thus reigniting the love they once felt for this historic property, making it the perfect space in which to raise their young family.”
William shook his head in simulated protest. “But in the end, there’s only one choice to be made.” His lips pulled into a deft smile. “Will they choose relocation?”
Olivia raised a questioning brow. “Or, renovation?”
William sent Olivia a playful wink. “I’m William Blaine… Realtor.”
Olivia volleyed back with a coy smirk. “And, I’m Olivia Pembroke… Designer.”
William held his final line a dramatic beat before saying, “And you’re watching the only primetime television show that understands…” following the directions on the
prompter, they turned their backs to each other, their heads to the camera.
“Home Matters,” Olivia and William finished in unison.
“And cut!” The director clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “You two look perfect,” he said, and then proceeded to dismiss William. “Thanks, Billy. See you next week in Savannah.”
Olivia’s heart soared. Every word, every expression and gesture, she and William’s timing, it all had been flawless, natural. And on the very first take! She’d nailed this portion of the screen test. She could feel it. The perfect start to a New Year.
William tipped an imaginary hat to the director. “Sure thing, boss.” He turned to Olivia with a smile that was part seduction, part anticipation. “Hope to see you there.” Taking her hand in his, he turned it over, and pressed his soft lips to her palm. A shower of sizzling sparks exploded from her skin, the heat shooting all the way to her cheeks. With a bow, he backed away and disappeared from sight.
Olivia pressed the back of her hands to her flushed face. Was that William Blaine’s way of subtly giving her his seal of approval? Might he even be looking forward to working with her? Was it possible to live a more wonderful dream?
“Pete. Where’s Pete?” The directors hurried voice jolted Olivia from her William-induced haze. “We need him now,” he insisted, to which his assistant scurried off. He turned to Ms. Hightower. “They look good together, don’t you think?”
Ms. Hightower crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her chin. “Yes, I believe so,” she said. “She’s blonde and attractive like Nicole, but that bob-cut and southern accent adds just enough contrast to make the change interesting.”
“Agreed.” The director nodded. He said to Olivia, “While we’re waiting on Pete, I wanted to explain the particulars of the show. As you know, Home Matters airs on the last Wednesday of every month in the form of a two-hour special. That means, from now until June, starting on a Tuesday, ending on a Tuesday, the cast will be on location for two weeks out of each month—fourteen days total for each show. While on location, your segments will shoot on weekdays only. The weekends are reserved for Pete and his crew to focus solely on completing renovations. The segment revealing the couple’s final decision will be taped live, the final morning on location, and spliced onto the end of previously recorded segments. Any questions?” he asked, but didn’t give her time to answer. “Good, Pete’s here. Let’s get this done.” He consulted his watch. “I have a conference call in ten.”
The presence of a man—this Pete—Olivia presumed, joined her under the lights, but before she had a chance to glance over, a frustrated voice snagged her attention.
“Hold up.” The cameraman waved his arms. “Camera Two’s jacked-up again.”
Throwing a fistful of papers in the air, the director yelled a string of unsavory expletives followed by, “Don’t just stand there. Fix the blasted thing. And before next Christmas, if it’s not too much trouble.”
An instant of silence filled the studio before everyone flew into action. Doing what exactly, Olivia wasn’t sure, but suddenly the room was a hub of activity, a school of minnows invaded by a shark.
Not sure what she should do while she waited, Olivia turned to the man at her side. An audible gasp blew through her lips at seeing the very last person she’d expected. He had that mystified look on his face again, like he was seeing something—or someone—he couldn’t make sense of.
“You.” She wiggled a finger in his general direction. “You’re that creepy janitor who was eavesdropping on me in the ladies’ room,” she accused. “What are you doing here?”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Janitor?” He shook his head. “No, Peaches. Try Lead Contractor,” he corrected, then waited while Olivia considered the possibility.
Messy brown hair, wide-set blue eyes, full lips and a capable build all brought actor Chris Pine springing to mind. Except this man’s face was thinner and nowhere near as striking. And now that she was looking, really looking, she could see that if you slapped a backwards ball cap on his head, and sprinkled him with sawdust, he could possibly be the construction guy she mostly ignored while watching Home Matters at home.
He pointed to the show’s logo on his shirt then motioned around the studio. “Home Matters. Ringing any bells?”
Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. “Then why were you holding a plunger… and in the ladies’ room?”
“The plunger was on the floor. I picked it up after almost tripping over it. And I wasn’t in the ladies’ room.” He motioned to her. “You were in the men’s room.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “That’s absurd,” she snorted. “I would never…”
He sent her an indulgent look. “Actually, it happens all the time around here. Nervous, aspiring starlets, brains full of caviar dreams while their stomachs ache from too much fasting, get turned around and end up in the wrong place. ” He held a hand out. “Name’s Pete, by the way.”
She didn’t want to, but she reached out a cautious hand and took his. “Olivia Pembroke,” she offered. The instant his chapped fingers closed firmly around hers, a sense of warmth advanced up her arm, lighting a glow to her heart. Not sparks like when she and William had touched, but more like the feeling she got when returning home after an extended absence. Nice, reassuring even, but disturbing when emitted from the likes of this man.
Jerking her hand away, she rolled her fingers into a fist to squelch the sensation.
Pete scratched the scruff on his chin. “Olivia Pembroke,” he repeated, as if giving her name some serious thought. “Sounds like a character from a Jane Austen movie.”
Olivia responded with a dour look. “You a fan of classic romance films?”
Pete shrugged off her comment. “I have three older sisters,” he said, his eyes studying her from head to foot. “Except, the more I’m getting to know you, with that fiery disposition and those Bambi eyes, you’re reminding me more of a feisty little Disney fairy than a demure lady of class.” He lifted his thick eyebrows, curious. “Is that your real name, or some sort of made-up stage name?”
Just because a girl had a heart-shaped face, turned-up nose, and bow mouth, didn’t make it okay for people to tease her about resembling any sort of cute little pixie. She hated when people made the connection. He was really starting to annoy her, which was obviously what he intended, so she refused to allow him the satisfaction of knowing just how much.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but both.” She idly examined her manicure. “My momma named me Olivia because she thought Olivia Pembroke would look good all lit up on a marquee. She knew I was going to be a big star when I grew up.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You, and about a few thousand other pretty faces in this town.”
Olivia shot him a withering look. “What’s your point?”
Pete shrugged. “Why waste your life chasing what will likely amount to no more than two minutes of fame when there are nobler causes out there worth pursuing?” He almost sounded genuine. “After all, love and fame can’t live in the same place.”
Olivia’s hands curled into tight, angry balls. Who did this man think he was to lecture her on the nobility of her ambitions? The most infuriating man she’d ever met, that’s who. “Says the man who was obviously born to clean toilets.” Taking a step closer, she faced him straight on and planted her fists on her hips. “And just a tip, Socrates. The next time you go all philosophical on a girl, and you expect her to take you seriously, try not using movie quotes to prove your point.” She slid him a superior glance. “Like I wouldn’t recognize a line from Country Strong.”
Pete moved closer as well. Their noses were barely inches from touching. She could actually feel his breath on her face, and for some unconscionable reason, she found the sensation oddly tantalizing. Then he opened his mouth to say something else. But before he could get a word out, a voice from the near distance interrupted.
“And, that’s a wrap!”
Olivia j
erked toward the casting director. “What?” she questioned, though she knew full well what “that’s-a-wrap” meant. “I’m sorry, but unless I’m mistaken, we haven’t begun shooting yet.”
The director rolled his hand through the air. “Yes, well, we’ve seen all we need to,” he said, his attention already diverted to the phone his assistant was handing him. “Thank you for coming down today, Olivia. We’ll be in touch.”
Olivia’s gaze seesawed between the two doors. The once familiar stick images indicating one entrance for women, the other for men, were currently as indecipherable as piecing together how a screen test—one that had begun with such promise—could have taken an abrupt turn toward unimaginably wrong, and without warning. How her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove she had talent, to show herself and the world she hadn’t squandered her youth in pursuit of some unattainable dream, that her adult life so far hadn’t been a farce—a folly—had been spent in the blink of an eye? Gone forever.
“See, I told you,” Pete’s voice accosted her from behind. “You were in the men’s room.”
Olivia spun to face him, murder in her eyes. “Get away from me.”
“Hey.” Pete raised his hands and took a step back. “What did I do?”
Olivia stuck a finger in his face. “You ruined everything.”
Pete circled his hand around Olivia’s, carefully removing her finger from his nose. “How’s that?”
Olivia yanked her hand away and stabbed her outstretched finger to her temple. “Are you slow or something? My screen test, you moron,” she practically yelled. “You came in all smarmy, a-and ‘you look like Tinkerbell—’”
“I never specifically mentioned Tinkerbell—”
“Got me all fired up… hostile-like, in front of the director,” Olivia interrupted. She wasn’t interested in his clarifications. “No way will the show sign me now.”
Pete shook his head like she couldn’t be more wrong. “Are you kidding me?” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That’s what they’re looking for—tension and drama. If we can create it organically—like we did—then the show comes off more authentic. Viewers eat it up.” He took Olivia by the shoulders, captured her gaze in his. “We gave them exactly what they wanted.”
Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) Page 2