Red Carpet Kiss

by Melissa Brown

  In fact, their relationship was full of sex, laughter, and not much else. He relaxed her, helped her mind drift away from the stresses of work. She even wondered if one day he could possibly help her become less of a control freak, although that was still very much up in the air.

  The set was all abuzz about episode seven. Rob was pacing the soundstage and Whitney, normally not a fixture on the set, was wandering through the dressing rooms wishing everyone luck. This episode was more than important; it was positively essential for the success of the season. It would air in just over three weeks and audiences had to accept not only the character of David, but also the actor who played him.

  Luke had to make a positive impression on millions of viewers.

  No pressure.

  If Luke was feeling the stress of it all, he hid it rather well. Elle had watched as he took his place on set. He was dressed to the nines in an Armani suit and scarlet-red tie. Since the role of David McKenzie was of the head of security for the casino, he would consistently be seen in such a dapper state. Luke’s normally wavy locks were smoothed back with just enough gel to make him look sophisticated without coming across as creepy. She watched him as he fixed his cuff links with ease and took direction from Rob, who continued to stalk the stage. He appeared to be ready for his close-up. Ready to be welcomed into the homes of millions of home viewers and if his demeanor was any indication, it was going to be a huge success.

  Whitney glided from the dressing rooms, holding a magazine, a huge smile plastered across her face. When she reached Elle, she thrust the copy of Us Weekly into her hands.

  “Great news. Turn to page thirty-five.”

  Elle thumbed through the magazine and landed on the page where the editors polled their readers. This week’s poll focused on the character of Desmond.

  “Desmond of Follow the Sun has been making waves during season four and rumor has it Nolan Rivera is leaving the show. Do you think Desmond deserves to win Molly’s heart?” Elle read the poll aloud.

  “Eighty percent, Elle! Eighty percent of readers don’t like Nolan’s character anymore. That’s golden. Golden!”

  Elle was delighted, looking at the pie chart that depicted just how out of favor Nolan’s character had become. The viewers were ready for a change, and she was ready to give them one. She hugged the magazine to her chest.

  “This . . . is even better than I’d hoped.”

  “Eighty percent is something to celebrate!” Whitney slid into Rob’s chair, right next to Elle.

  “Well, not yet. First, they have to fall in love with him.” Her eyes drifted back to Luke, who was nodding along to Rob’s directions.

  Whitney followed Elle’s stare before leaning back in her chair, placing her hands behind her head. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  “God, I hope you’re right.” Elle’s bottom teeth dug into her lip.

  “You’re still worried he clouded your judgment?”

  Elle nodded, closing her eyes with embarrassment.

  “I was there, too, remember?” Whitney insisted. “He’s a good actor, I promise. I wouldn’t have let you hire him if he wasn’t.”

  “True. And the table read went fine, so that’s a start,” Elle added, trying desperately to match Whitney’s level of confidence and enthusiasm. She knew, however, it would be impossible. No one was as invested as she was in this show, and that would never change. America had to fall in love with David McKenzie and they had to want Molly to as well.

  Elle watched as Gina, her hips swaying in a confident strut, strolled to Luke. She was dressed in a business suit with a skirt that rested a few inches above her knees. The tank beneath her blazer dipped into a low V, exposing a generous amount of cleavage. Normally, Gina’s cleavage would have no impact on Elle, but this time said cleavage was uncomfortably close to Luke—and she didn’t like that. Her teeth clenched and her hands balled into fists as she observed them.

  Whitney leaned in close to Elle. “You have to get used to seeing them like this.”

  Elle’s teeth remained clenched, but she opened her hands and placed them into her lap. “I know.”

  Whitney patted Elle’s leg softly. “Chemistry is good. We want chemistry.”

  “You’re right, I know. This is just . . . it’s all new territory for me, that’s all.”

  “I get it. But this too shall pass.” Whitney stood and blocked Elle’s view of her two leads. “I gotta run. Good luck today and let me know how it goes.”

  “Will do.”

  Elle glanced at her watch, knowing it was time for filming to begin. Rob returned to his chair; his feet bounced against the floor and his knees bobbed up and down. If Elle weren’t consumed by her own anxiety, she would have attempted to quell his.

  “You ready?” Rob asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Elle faked the most confident smile she could muster and patted Rob on the wrist, her signal to get filming started.

  “Let’s do this.” Rob stood, walked next to camera one and gestured for his assistant, Tim, to bring out the marker. “Places, people. I need quiet on the set!”

  Tim, a man in his early twenties, stood for a moment, allowing everyone to settle down and prepare for filming. Then he held the marker for camera one. “Follow the Sun, episode seven, take one.”

  “And action!” Rob yelled, and episode seven was on its way.

  “How did I do?” Luke looked exhausted after ten hours of filming. He wasn’t used to the grueling ten-hour days or the multiple takes every scene required. But to the naked eye, it didn’t seem to faze him. He didn’t hesitate when Rob or Elle requested he change his approach to a line, and he listened intently to all instructions given to him.

  And best of all, his chemistry with Gina was off the charts. Although, that was the most difficult part of the day for Elle—but she was working on it. She couldn’t let her jealousy of his obvious attraction to a Hollywood actress affect her desire for a successful show.

  “You did great.”

  “So . . . we only got through about six pages today. Is that normal?”

  “Of course. I know it’s tedious, but it’s the nature of the beast. It’ll take us an entire week to film this episode. We’ve only just begun.”

  He placed his hands in his pockets, nodding along as Elle spoke. “I’m famished,” he said. “How about you?”

  “Yeah, I avoided the craft services table. I gained ten pounds the first season. They make it way too easy to eat junk.”

  Actually, Elle had gained fifteen pounds, but she thought ten sounded better when retelling the story. Craft services was a staple for any film or television shoot—a catering company provided all kinds of delectable treats . . . sandwiches, doughnuts, bagels and cream cheese. Almost everything but a salad was available for their ten- to twelve-hour shoots. Elle had grown accustomed to bringing her lunch in to avoid eating all of the tempting desserts and pastries.

  Luke rubbed the back of his neck. “I was too nervous to eat.”

  The innocent expression on Luke’s face made Elle’s heart melt just slightly. His honesty and sweetness were endearing and she couldn’t let another second go by without kissing him gently on the lips, not caring who might see the act of PDA.

  Luke grinned. “What was that for?”

  “Nothing, really. I just think you’re pretty great.”

  “I think you’re pretty great too, Ms. Riley. Shall we eat?”

  Elle stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, right. One minute, I just need to find Gina.”

  Luke’s relaxed face contorted slightly. He looked confused. “Gina? How come?”

  “She knows the name of the pizza place.”

  Luke relaxed. “Oh, that. She told me earlier. It’s Anthony’s Pub in Westwood.”

  Elle was puzzled. Why would Gina and Luke be discussing the restaurant? Did Elle mention Gina told her about the place? Her brain was fuzzy. After working ten hours, there was no sense in pushing the issue, so she simply
asked Luke for the address.

  “That I don’t know. But maybe they have a website.”

  Elle retrieved her phone from her purse, typing in the name of the restaurant and town. Westwood was a college town surrounding the UCLA campus, so it didn’t surprise her that a bar and pizza joint would be popular there. When she googled the place, however, no website was listed, only an address and phone number.

  “Shall we?” she asked, leading Luke to her car on the studio lot.

  Anthony’s Pub was a tiny bar and restaurant tucked into a side street just minutes from campus. Elle felt right at home the moment they walked through the door. She was surrounded by Chicago. Chicago Bears banners hung from the ceiling, a framed Coach Ditka sweater-vest was in a glass case behind the bar, and the walls were painted in navy blue and pumpkin orange.

  The place even smelled like home.

  “Do you smell that?” she asked as they walked inside the cozy restaurant, greeted at once by the leather stools next to the thick oak bar. The aromas of oregano, basil, and melted butter saturated the air. Elle breathed in deeply to bask in the comfort the smells brought to her senses.

  Luke placed his hand on the small of her back. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I think I’ll be in love with this place.”

  “I’ve had it. Trust me, it’s to die for.”

  Despite the bar area buzzing with college students, they were able to find a small table near the back of the restaurant. Their waitress, a petite brunette with a dimply grin, took their drink orders while they pondered the pizza.

  “You know I’ll eat anything . . . and you’re the expert. What do you recommend?”

  “Italian sausage for sure. Very Chicago. Do you like mushrooms?”

  Luke scrunched his nose. “They’re not my favorite. But I’ll take one for the team if you so desire.”

  Elle laughed, taking his outstretched hand in her own. “Nah, we’ll skip it. What about pepperoni? It’ll be a meat lover’s pizza.”

  “Ah, now you’re talking. That sounds awesome.”

  Their waitress arrived with a glass of cabernet and a stein of beer. Luke ordered the pizza and they sat back in their chairs, discussing their day.

  “So you really think I did all right, huh?”

  Elle wasn’t sure if Luke was fishing for compliments or if he was really quite so uncertain about his performance, but she found it refreshing regardless. In her experience, he was an anomaly. Nolan and other actors like him were frequently overconfident about their abilities and their egos bruised easily when criticized. Luke, however, was a strong actor considering his lack of experience in front of a camera, and Elle was confident that once he got acclimated to the routine, he’d become a fine actor, perhaps even one worthy of an Emmy nod.

  “You were great.”

  “Back to the grind tomorrow, huh?”

  Elle nodded, taking a small sip of her wine, savoring the notes of blackberry and oak. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, looking as if he was trying to reassure her of his enthusiasm for the show. “I loved it. I think the entire process is fascinating.”

  “Me too.”

  And it was the truth. Since moving to California, she’d submerged herself in every aspect of television show creation. She wanted to know absolutely everything there was to know, and she hoped it showed in her series. She knew the ropes, the process, the rules of executing a quality television program and she was damn proud of it.

  When the pizza arrived, Luke served Elle first before placing a steaming hot piece of deep-dish pie on his plate. Layers of thick melted cheese pooled on their plates and the marinara appeared to be filled with fresh crushed tomatoes and spices. The two moaned their approval of the meal with each bite.

  “How have I never tried this place?” Luke asked.

  Elle shrugged. “Outside, it just looks like a college bar. I’m shocked they don’t advertise their pizza.”

  “I know,” Luke replied. “Clearly it’s the star of the show.”

  Elle chuckled before narrowing her eyes. “Did you just pun on purpose?”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I have television on the brain.”

  Luke reached for Elle’s hand, taking it in his own and kissing the palm.

  “Forgiven.”

  Luke’s mouth fell open as Elle said that simple word he’d said only weeks before. He then kissed her palm again; this time his lips lingered against her sensitive skin. His eyes closed as his mouth seduced her hand. They’d made love dozens of times, but this small act was one of the most enticing things Luke had done in her presence. So intimate, so sensual. She was hooked. Arousal built inside of Elle and despite her fatigue after a long, tedious workday, and despite the fact they weren’t yet finished with dinner, Elle was possessed by a different kind of hunger.

  The hunger for Luke. She wanted him right then and there.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a deep, and oddly familiar, voice.

  “Are you enjoying your meal, folks?”

  She’d know that voice anywhere. It had been ten years, but it was the same. Exactly the same.

  Elle gasped. Her heart sped out of control and a rush of adrenaline flooded her belly. As she mustered the energy to turn to face the man who had stolen her heart years ago, Luke looked at her with confusion in his eyes. When she did turn and look at the man, his mouth dropped and his eyes were wide. He was as shocked as Elle.

  “Rigby?”

  Troy Saladino hadn’t aged much in the ten years they’d been apart. His muscular chest pulled at his crisp white shirt. His olive skin was just as she’d remembered it. His hair was still cut short, with just a touch of gel to create a purposely messed-up appearance near his forehead.

  “Troy?”

  Elle stood face-to-face with the only man she ever loved. But instead of hugging him or greeting him in any sort of amicable fashion, she could only stare at him in disbelief, not knowing what move on her part would be deemed acceptable. He took a small step back, running his fingers through his hair.

  “I haven’t seen you since . . . since—”

  “Vegas.” He finished her sentence for her, then cleared his throat. His cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. His chest rose and fell and he turned away briefly, covering his mouth with his hand.

  “Elle?”

  Luke had risen from his chair and taken Elle’s hand in his own.

  “I’m sorry, what did you call her?” Troy looked down at the joined hands. Elle watched his eyes focus on the simple display of affection.

  “Luke, can you give us a minute?” Elle asked, placing a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

  “Are you sure?” Luke stared at Troy as he asked the question.

  “Yes. I, uh . . . I just need a minute, okay?”

  “Fine. I’ll be here.”

  Luke returned to the table, not taking his eyes off Troy. Elle turned back to Troy, eyeing the bar as if to ask him to talk with her away from the table.

  “What are you doing here?” Troy asked when they reached the bar.

  “I work in Los Angeles, I have a TV show. Follow the Sun. Didn’t you know that?”

  Troy crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No, I didn’t.”

  Elle rolled her eyes, knowing in her gut he was saying that out of spite. There was no way he didn’t know about her show—it was on every week, the characters were draped across billboards, they’d posed for Entertainment Weekly. It was everywhere in the pop culture subconscious.

  “Fine, okay, I’ve heard of it. But I didn’t know it was yours. You’re like, what? An actress or something?”

  Anger was building inside of Elle, an emotion she thought she’d never allow herself to feel when it came to him. Troy knew Elle had wanted to write. Even in college, she’d majored in English with a focus on creative writing. For him to assume she’d abandoned her love of writing to act was absurd. Didn’t he know her better than that?

  “No,
I created the show. They’re based on my novels.”

  Troy licked his lips, looking smug. And for a brief second, Elle wanted to punch him right in the face. But then she remembered what happened ten years ago and she reeled her emotions back in.

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re a writer, I forgot.”

  “Whatever.” Elle tapped her finger on the bar. “What are you doing here? I thought you still lived in Chicago.”

  “Ahh, keeping tabs on me, Rigby?”

  “I stopped asking years ago, Troy. If I had, do you really think I’d be here?” Her brow raised, she tipped her chin. Troy flinched, receiving her unspoken message.

  “How do I know this wasn’t a ploy? You show up with Mr. Hot Shot over there and try to make me jealous or someth—”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Elle’s voice had turned to an agitated squeal. No one knew how to push her buttons like Troy Saladino. Absolutely nobody. When several patrons at the bar turned to glare at Elle, she lowered her voice. “You know that’s not my style. When I hurt people, it’s not intentional. Despite what they might think . . .”

  Troy lowered his chin, pulling back against his neck. “Fine, whatever. So you’re here.”

  “I’m here,” Elle conceded. “And you, what . . . you work here?”

  “Actually, it’s mine. I own it.”

  Elle swallowed hard, remembering how quickly she fell in love with the pizza of Anthony’s Pub. The pizza Troy had created.

  “Why the name? If you own the place, why didn’t you name it Troy’s Pub?”

  “It was my father’s name, remember?”

  “Was?” Elle asked, feeling terrible for a moment as she remembered Tony Saladino, one of the nicest men she’d ever encountered. And suddenly, it all made sense. The smells of home, the delectable homemade sauce and familiar spices. Mr. Saladino was a genius in the kitchen and prepared pizza for his family quite often.

  “He passed away two years ago.”