Forgetting Jack Cooper: The Starlet Edition

by Lizzie Shane

  “I’m looking for redemption.”

  She frowned. Okay. Not what she’d expected. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m on a redemption tour. Making amends with everyone I’ve ever wronged,” he explained, adorably earnest.

  He really was entirely too good looking for his own good. There was something about him. People just wanted to give him things. Which couldn’t be good for a man’s character. No wonder he was as shallow as a teacup.

  “Are you sure you want to patch things up with me? Being seen with me isn’t going to help your reputation,” she reminded him. A fact which he’d certainly been aware of when he ghosted on her six months ago, right as the shit was hitting the fan.

  “I’m not here for my reputation. Well, not exactly. It’s for a part,” he admitted.

  She listened absently as he explained about his plan to access his character’s inner being. He’d always been annoyingly method. She’d thought it was cute when they were together—his dedication, his passion about becoming the role—but then, she’d thought everything about him was perfection when they were together. Before he vanished off the face of the planet without so much as a see ya round.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  He blinked, startled by her interruption. Which made sense. She’d never have dreamed of interrupting him when they were playing at being the perfect besotted couple. Before The Tape.

  “I’ll play along,” she explained. “Just tell me what role you want me to play. Are you magnanimously taking me back? Are we just friends? What’s my part?”

  She hadn’t been able to figure out what he was doing here when he appeared in the middle of the set, but a publicity stunt to sell his new film made sense. And God knew she could use a little publicity that didn’t focus on the fact that she’d called one of the Grande Dames of Hollywood a raging bitch.

  Concern puckered Jack’s brow. “Were you always this jaded? Or did I do this to you?”

  Ginny barely stopped herself from snorting. He really was sweet, but such a freaking self-absorbed narcissist he never seemed to see the world beyond his own nose. Such a freaking actor.

  “It isn’t always about you, Jack,” she said, as gently as she could. “I’ve had a shitty few months, okay? I screwed up. Big time. That’s on me. And now I’m just trying to pick up the pieces. You wanna help with that? Awesome. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

  A knock sounded on the door as Jack frowned at her. “Two minutes, Ginny!” a production assistant called through the wood.

  “Thank you, two!” she called back, habit from years in theater.

  She smiled at Jack, not without affection. He really was a good egg—especially for an actor. It was a shame things had gone the way they had with them, but she did understand. She didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t have bailed on her like he did when she became career cyanide.

  “I should get back to set,” she said. “This may be an indie film with no budget to speak of, but it’s still a job.”

  A better one than she’d thought she would ever get again when things were at their worst. Sure, the money was virtually nonexistent and her costar was a giant tool who thought he was an Artist because he’d been a secondary villain in a recent superhero movie, but the script was excellent and the director seemed to actually know what he was doing.

  And the subject matter had a certain poetry to it. Fitting that Ginny’s first job after The Tape would be all about redemption and the desperate need to make amends even when you knew there was nothing you could do to undo the past.

  If she was going to be trapped in indie obscurity because of one stupid moment in her make-up trailer six months ago, at least she was doing good work.

  “I don’t want to interfere with your work,” Jack said, his gaze serious—so freaking intent and sweet it reminded her of all the reasons she’d thought he might be The One. “Maybe we can talk tonight?”

  “Sure. Whatever you need.” She gave him a smile and retreated quickly, before the disappointment could overwhelm her that he was another part of her life she’d blown up with one careless diatribe.

  They could have been good. Their relationship had never really gotten off the ground, but there had been so much potential there. It had started out as a showmance. She was playing his love interest—a relatively minor role, considering she was killed off in the first third of the film—but they’d really clicked. They’d spent all their free time on set together—and word had gotten out. Rumors had started in the press and Ginny had read the articles on the two of them as eagerly as a fangirl.

  The onscreen chemistry was electric, but he seemed even more genuine when the cameras stopped rolling. She had visions of smiling coyly on his arm at the movie premiere, blushing and fielding questions about their off-camera affair.

  But it had never made it that far.

  She’d been caught in a moment of incredible stupidity, he’d vanished to film his next movie, and her part in that summer blockbuster had been cut down to nearly nothing after the scandal. She hadn’t even been invited to the premiere, let alone gone as his date.

  Sometimes life kicked you in the teeth. And she couldn’t even say she didn’t deserve it.

  She didn’t miss the irony of Jack’s redemption mission either. Her life definitely seemed to have developed a theme lately.

  Ginny jerked open her dressing room door, rushing out—and nearly mowed down the man hovering outside.

  Chapter Three

  Ginny slammed into a hard chest and firm hands caught her upper arms when she would have ricocheted off. She looked up to see who she’d run into—and up. The man was tall. Admittedly, Ginny was a bit on the short side herself, and she was used to working with actors who tended to be two inches shorter than their bios claimed they were, but this man towered.

  He wasn’t bulky—more David Tennant than the Rock—and then he spoke and her impression of Doctor Who hotness was confirmed.

  “Easy there, luv.”

  His accent hit her in the knees and they wobbled—but luckily the tall, lanky Brit still had a hold of her arms and steadied her. “That accent isn’t from around here.”

  “I’m with him.” He jerked his chin toward her dressing room door and stepped backward after making sure she had her feet under her.

  “Ah. The infamous entourage.” She arched a brow. “Bodyguard?”

  She’d met Jack’s bodyguard back when they were together—some old friend of his from way back who rippled with muscles—but she didn’t see that guy anywhere and a new bodyguard would explain why Tall, Dark, and British had been guarding the door. He didn’t have the intimidating bulk she associated with bodyguards, but now that she thought about it, she distinctly recalled this tall drink of water shadowing Jack as he made his way across the set with her. She’d barely been aware of him at the time, but now she couldn’t imagine how she’d missed him. The man was seriously dishy, in a gawky British way.

  “I look like a bodyguard to you?” he asked, matching her eyebrow for eyebrow as his own left one bounced up.

  “Looks can be deceiving.” A playful smile quirked her lips before she even realized she was flirting. With Jack’s bodyguard. Like that wouldn’t be awkward at all if she and Jack decided to do the relationship thing again.

  As if on cue, the dressing room door opened behind her and Jack stepped into the already crowded space. One of his hands went automatically to the small of Ginny’s back. She wasn’t sure he was even aware of the touch, but the bodyguard certainly was. His eyes flicked down to the contact and the corners of his mouth tugged down.

  Jealous, big boy?

  Jack bent down—he didn’t have to bend nearly as far as his bodyguard would have—and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure,” she murmured, her voice unaccountably hoarse.

  It wasn’t him making emotion lodge in her throat. She hadn’t fallen in love with Jack. They hadn’t known one another
well enough for that. But she’d definitely fallen in love with the idea of him. The fairy tale fantasy of what they could have been together. A Hollywood power couple. The next big thing. Not that she was only in it for the fame, but… hell, she certainly wouldn’t have minded being the girl everyone wanted to be.

  She’d been on the verge. And then she’d been stupid. And petty. And it had all come crashing down.

  “You all right, luv?” that sexy British accent asked as Jack walked away and Ginny quickly wiped whatever he must have seen off her face.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked with a cheery smile. She nodded after Jack’s retreating back. “Shouldn’t you be going with him?”

  “In a minute. It isn’t every day you get ambushed by an ex.”

  “Isn’t it?” she asked cheekily.

  He grinned, going along with her attempt at levity—thank goodness. “Your love life must be much more exciting than mine.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” She had a feeling Tall, Dark, and British could hold his own in the romance department. “Who are you, anyway?” She was sure he hadn’t been around when she and Jack had been sort-of-together—but then the people who surrounded fame tended to be a rotating cast depending on the whims of celebrity.

  “Jude.”

  “Jude, huh?” He didn’t offer anything more, but she was almost glad for that. She liked avoiding the real stuff for now. He could just be Jude and she’d just be Ginny. As if none of the drama around them existed. “Your mom have a thing for the Beatles?”

  His lips took on a wry cant. “If you believe her, my mom had a thing with one of the Beatles—though she would never confess which one.”

  “My, my, that is scandalous.” She grinned, studying his dark, slightly floppy hair. “You do look a little like George.”

  “Here I always thought I was more of a Paul.”

  “Ginny.” A PA appeared at her elbow. “We’re ready for you.”

  “Right. Sorry.” She flashed one last smile up at the Brit. “See ya later, Jude.”

  He nodded and she turned away, feeling his eyes following her as she made her way back to the set. She tried to smother her smile, but she felt like it was bursting out of her. She snuck a peek over her shoulder and found him still watching her—and she had to bite back another smile.

  Obviously their little flirtation couldn’t go anywhere. He was part of Jack’s entourage for crying out loud. But it had still been fun to flirt a little. To forget that she was untouchable in Hollywood and simply enjoy talking to a man. One without an agenda. One who had just wanted to make sure she was okay after her ex blindsided her by showing up on set.

  He was nice. And his accent was sexy.

  It didn’t have to go farther than that. That was enough to have her walking on air.

  Jude frowned after Genevieve as she made her way back to the set to make the crew cry again.

  She hadn’t been what he expected.

  Not that he’d really known what to expect, but he’d formed a certain image of her after listening to her bitch about Agatha on that tape and the playful, mischievous, appealing woman he’d just spoken to didn’t fit into it.

  No one had ever said Genevieve Jones couldn’t act.

  But it hadn’t felt like an act.

  It had felt like a moment. Like they’d connected on a real level—even if they were only playing around. Flirting about the freaking Beatles—not as if he’d never heard that reaction to his name before. But he kind of… liked her.

  He hadn’t been expecting that. He’d always sort of dismissed her as a person, but now…

  Jude swallowed thickly, thinking about his role in her downfall. And she had fallen down. He’d taken a certain pleasure in it when it happened, schadenfreude at seeing her arrogance brought low, but now something queasy and thick roiled in his gut.

  He moved in the direction Jack had gone, remembering the casual way Jack had touched her before bending down to kiss her cheek. Had there been a love connection between Ginny and Jack? Had he ruined that somehow when he made the tape public?

  The idea bothered him, but he didn’t want to look too closely at why. It couldn’t be jealousy. He didn’t want Ginny Jones… even if he now felt a little sorry for her. And for his role in the destruction of her career.

  Jude stepped out of the house where they were filming and into the sunshine beyond. Jack had already vanished, but his publicist was still out front. What was her name? Something old fashioned. Biblical...

  “Ruth?”

  She looked up from her phone, her expression still half-hidden behind her glasses and the fall of hair over her face. She waited as he approached, then informed him, “Jack and Ginny are going to meet after she’s done filming for the day.”

  Goody. Jude smothered the familiar frustration that his life had descended to the point where whether or not two ex-lovers were going to see one another at the end of the day had an impact on his career.

  He wanted to ask who cares? Or then what? He wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here. Why he was covering this redemption tour at all, but he found himself asking something he hadn’t intended to say at all. “What if I could get Dame Agatha here?”

  Ruth’s eyes lit behind her glasses. “Could you? That would be amazing. Jack’s amends to Ginny could be helping her make amends to Dame Agatha Kelly. Do you think you could really get her?”

  “It’s possible. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He slipped away before she could press him for more details—and before he could change his mind. He didn’t want to examine this feeling—he’d gotten good at avoiding introspection these last few years—but for some reason Jack wasn’t the only one who wanted to make things better for Ginny.

  Moving up the sidewalk, Jude pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number he knew by heart, waiting as it rang.

  “Jude, my boy. It’s been entirely too long since you phoned.”

  “Hello, Aunt Agatha.”

  Chapter Four

  Ginny had trouble focusing for the rest of the day—and it didn’t help that her costar still hadn’t learned the finer points of emotion, bellowing his lines at her as if he was shouting a villainous manifesto at a superhero. Which was what he’d been doing in his previous role, so maybe he hadn’t realized he was playing a banker now.

  Thanks to Damien’s dramatics the scene probably would have been a loss even if she’d been on her game, but her distraction certainly didn’t help.

  She hadn’t told Jack when she would meet him. Or where. Admittedly, it was a small town, but it was driving her mad not knowing when or where or what he would expect of her when he did see her.

  And if a part of her hoped that the sexy Brit bodyguard was with him, well. Who could blame her? He was hot. And she was allowed to notice when men were hot. She was a pariah. Not a corpse.

  By the time Klein—their writer-director and fearless leader on this passion project—called a wrap for the day, Ginny was a nervous wreck. Her only consolation was that a lifetime of hiding her emotions meant that no one around her could tell anything was wrong.

  The wardrobe mistress, Monica, walked with her back toward the town’s one hotel, where the entire cast and crew had been put up for the duration. Several of the crew members were stacked three and four to a room in deference to their budgetary constraints, but Ginny, as the star, had scored a room to herself—even if it was the smallest, cheapest room in the hotel.

  Most of the crew piled into vans to return to the hotel, but it was a lovely evening and Ginny was in no hurry to get back and face Jack, so she walked the one and a half miles instead. Monica kept up a running commentary the entire time about how ungodly horrible Ginny’s leading man’s performance was, but Ginny had thoroughly learned her lesson about running her mouth and kept her opinions on his suckitude to herself.

  Right now she could only hope that Klein would manage to get a decent enough performance out of Damien to keep the entire film from being
a joke. She really needed a win right now. Even if it was a tiny little indie film that would languish in obscurity if they didn’t get lucky on the festival circuit.

  “Ginny!”

  Ginny became aware of her surroundings, startled to realize they’d made it all the way back to the hotel already. And Jack had been waiting on the side patio, watching for her.

  “I’ll see you later, Ginny,” Monica promised, her wide eyes locked on Jack—she’d probably never been this close to a bona fide celebrity. He wasn't quite Tom Hanks yet, but he was on the brink of becoming a household name and everyone around him could feel it. This film’s crew was made up of mostly recent film school grads and long-time assistants who were trying to level up—not the Hollywood power players who scored jobs on Jack Cooper films these days.

  “Right. G’night, Monica,” Ginny murmured before dragging her feet over to the patio where Jack waited.

  The hotel didn’t have a pool or hot tub, but they did boast a fire pit and Jack sat in front of it, a glass of something that looked like vodka but was probably spring water in one hand. Most nights since the film crew had arrived, the guys would unwind out here after hours, their laughter lasting late into the night, but tonight the patio was abandoned in deference to the god among them.

  Only Jude and the woman who’d been filming earlier with her cell phone sat with Jack. It was tempting to look to Jude—her friendly face—and try to glean some clue as to what was coming, but Ginny resisted the urge, focusing on Jack as she approached and he stood to greet her.

  “You’re causing quite a furor among the crew,” she commented as he drew her toward the open chair next to the fire pit. “They’ve been playing six degrees of Kevin Bacon all afternoon since they figured out they’re only one link away from you through me.”