Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance)

by Christa Wick

Thirty minutes after she first entered the bathroom, she emerged to find her mother and Roger in the kitchen -- alone. Seeing Roger's grim expression and only three plates set at the small table in the kitchen, she knew Declan was gone and wasn't coming back.

  "Where are you going, Melalee?" her mother asked as Melanie started back through the swinging doors.

  "To grab my phone," she called back, picking up speed before her mother could tell her to wait until after breakfast, especially since it wasn't finished cooking.

  She fished the device out of her backpack and checked its battery level. Seeing it at half power, she snagged the charger. Returning to the kitchen, she checked her texts first to find that Cammie had poked her with messages three times, the first time for not letting her know she'd made it to her mom's and twice after that for not responding to the first text.

  Sorry, things got crazy. I have a new stepdad apparently and that's not the worst of it. More when I get home -- news is too big for text!

  Switching over to her mail app, she found some papers she would need to fill out and take with her to the new studio on Monday.

  "Put that thing away and pour us all some orange juice," her mother admonished as she scrambled half a dozen eggs in a bowl.

  Melanie complied after plugging the charger into a nearby outlet and connecting the cell phone. She made it three steps away when a warning tone sounded.

  "The orange juice," her mother said as Melanie turned back toward the phone.

  "That's the weather app--"

  "We all know what the weather's going to be," Nancy snapped, her tone uncharacteristic for talking to anyone, let alone her only child. "It can wait until after breakfast."

  Melanie froze and looked at her mother then at Roger. He had gone from looking grim to mournful.

  "Snow storm this evening," he said, catching her gaze on him. "Big one, although I don't know what that means in this part of the world."

  She snatched her phone up and quickly navigated to the weather app. "It's barely even autumn!"

  "It's Denver, darling," her mother answered.

  "It's freakish," Melanie protested, scrolling through the hour-by-hour forecast. She glanced at Roger and, knowing she absolutely shouldn't, she asked him the question that had been clawing at the inside of her skull since she saw just three place settings on the table.

  "Is that why Declan left?"

  He shrugged and she could see the hurt inside of him despite the bland mask. Seeing past the attempted indifference was part and parcel of working around actors -- she saw simulations of pain and joy, rage and lust, love and agony. And, when she got to work with the best performers, she learned to recognize the feelings better in real life.

  Shoulders slumping, she grabbed the pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator and walked back to the table. Filling the tumblers, she made side glances at her mother and new stepfather. He had moved over to the toaster and was buttering muffins as they popped up while Nancy shoveled steaming scrambled eggs into a serving dish.

  When they looked at one another, all the tension in their faces fell away. Her mom looked a good decade younger when she smiled at Roger. And Roger looked more like Declan's older brother than his father.

  Score one for mom, she thought, putting the juice up and carrying the eggs over to the table. Roger followed behind with the toast. Her mother was at the end of the little procession carrying a plate heaped with bacon.

  "I need to leave today," Melanie said, denting the lighter mood as she forked eggs onto her plate and passed the dish to Roger.

  If she was lucky, her Sunday flight would already be cancelled and the airline would give her a seat in a flight out this afternoon without charging her. Otherwise she was going to lose the first half week of pay at her next job just to get home in time to start it.

  Her mother passed her the plate of bacon. "We were hoping you would take a flight after the storm passes, honey."

  Melanie put three pieces of bacon on her plate and stuffed a fourth in her mouth then handed Roger the dish. Chewing, she shook her head then took a drink of orange juice to wash the deliciousness down.

  "It's daily taping on the soap opera," she started, knowing her mother, who had not once in her life watched a soap, wouldn't understand what that meant in practical terms. "They can't go a day without replacing me. Most sets that's just not going to happen, but definitely not on a soap opera. And I need the work."

  Roger cleared his throat and shifted in his seat but said nothing. Melanie stared at him hard enough that she could practically see words dancing behind his pressed lips.

  He forced the corners of his mouth up in a smile she didn't find genuine.

  "I'm putting the house up for sale, Melalee--"

  "What?" Melanie jerked her attention over to her mom then back to Roger, the bland smile still masking whatever he was feeling at that moment.

  She wanted her phone, which was annoyingly still sitting on the counter, so she could look the man up before she had to get on a plane for L.A. Then it struck her that she didn't even know his last name. Declan carried his mother's maiden name. His IMDB and Wikipedia entries didn't list a father at all, noting only that he'd been raised by his mother.

  "Are you saying you're moving to England?"

  Nancy nodded. "Roger owns a number of bookstores in England, most of them clustered around London."

  She blinked once, emotion flooding her face. Reaching over, she covered Melanie's hand and gently squeezed. "We were hoping you'd come with us."

  Melanie looked from her mom to Roger. The man didn't look like he hated her or anything, but Melanie was pretty sure her mother was the only one nurturing the hope that Melanie would move to England.

  "I'm just getting my foot in the door in L.A."

  "Honey, you're living paycheck to paycheck. Roger can give you a flat to live in and a part-time bookkeeping job with enough flexibility to look for jobs in London's film industry."

  "And stage," Roger added, an annoying amount of joviality in his tone. "Both are very robust in London."

  "So you're rich?" Melanie shot the question at him point blank. Her mom's hand squeezed hers again, this time as a reprimand.

  "Well, a gentleman doesn't talk of such things," he replied.

  Mashing her lips together, Melanie tried to stare him into a better answer. When he remained silent, she took another tack.

  "Declan's bio says he grew up in South Boston. I don't know what you know about the city, but that's not where kids with rich father's grow up -- Sir Roger."

  His face tightened, but instead of the flare of anger she expected, the look of sorrow returned to his gray eyes.

  "That is between Roger and Declan," her mother chided, her tone sharpening before she finished.

  Melanie slid her hand from under her mother's and piled eggs onto her fork.

  "Just as my staying in L.A. is between you and me," she said, sticking a knife in the idea that she would ever move to England.

  Chapter Seven

  "Half the proceeds will be yours when I sell the house," Nancy said ninety minutes later as she followed the airport signs to the JetFly terminal. "For now at least, the rest when...well..."

  Melanie shook her head. She didn't want the money, didn't want the house sold, didn't want her mom moving to England and certainly didn't want to think about the day her mother was permanently gone from the earth.

  "Pull over here," she directed at the first curbside opening she saw.

  Her mother signaled then slowly squeezed the car into the gap. "It's not too late to go back and talk this over."

  "If I don't show up on Monday," Melanie answered, "it will be a long time before I get another job on any production."

  Turning in the front passenger seat, she wrapped a hand around her mother's arm and met the older woman's gaze. "I love you, but I don't want to pick up and move after all the time I've spent trying to get established."

  Nancy's bottom lip began to quiver. Melanie'
s stomach tightened. She really did love her mom, but her father had spoiled the woman, letting her live in her books and library. Up until Melanie had entered high school, George Archer had cooked the family dinner more nights than not and was the one to do the shopping. Cooking duty shifted to Melanie her freshman year and then, when she got her driver's license, she did the shopping, as well.

  She wasn't her father. She wasn't going to yield her life away and move to England.

  "You've survived with me being in L.A.," she reminded her mother. "And you're going to be in such a literature rich environment, it'll be months before you come up for air."

  Her mother smiled at that. "You can always change your mind, honey. Just tell me you'll think on it after the surprise wears off."

  "Of course," Melanie answered, knowing the surprise was never going to wear off. Leaning across the center console, she kissed her mother's cheek as the horn in the vehicle behind them began to sound.

  "I have to go before TSA drags us both off."

  That earned her a rare eye roll from her mother.

  "Go then...and keep your phone charged in case I need to pick you back up."

  Melanie's chest tightened at the possibility that the storm would move in sooner than expected.

  "I will," she said and gave her mother another kiss before sliding out of the car and fighting her way inside.

  Reaching the JetFly self-service kiosks, she swiped her credit card and punched through the options until a red screen came up directing her to see one of the counter representatives. Stomach knotting, she shouldered past the other kiosk users and took up a place in line for the counter.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was bouncing with one eye on the clock as the representative waved her forward. She explained the red screen and the man looked up her name.

  "I reserved the seat online this morning."

  "That was an overbooking, I'm sorry to say."

  She stared at him a few long seconds waiting for him to offer a solution. When he didn't, she stood on tiptoe so she could lean closer over the counter. "How is JetFly getting me home before Monday?"

  "I can put you on a later--"

  She shook her head, her voice rising and catching the attention of everyone around her. She had seen the sky on the drive in and had lived in the area from birth until she had left for college.

  "You and I both know the later flights are going to be grounded."

  "It's overbooked," he repeated with an indifferent shrug. "Last in, first out."

  "Is anything available in first--"

  This time he cut her off with a shake of his head. "Overbooked is overbooked, Miss. Do you want a refund or the later flight?"

  "Refund," she answered flatly and watched as he pressed a few keys then waited for the printer.

  She hadn't been hysterical or exaggerating when she told her mother that missing the assignment would screw her chances of getting future gigs -- at least ones that paid anything. Hollywood was an unforgiving city, especially when you were as far down on the totem pole as an overstuffed wardrobe girl.

  "Here, this is your reference code. Call this," he paused and pointed at a toll free number. "They'll make sure you get a refund."

  "Fabulous," she groaned.

  Now, not only did she not have a spot on the only flight likely to leave Denver for L.A. before Monday, but there was still a hold on her card for the amount of the ticket.

  Walking aimlessly through the terminal, she pulled out her phone and checked to find that she didn't have a signal. She headed toward the exit, stopping when she heard a rising tide of excited female voices.

  Looking behind her, she saw part of the murmuring crowd and followed the direction of their gaze to land on the one person she didn't want to see any time soon, if ever again.

  A crowd of fans surrounded Declan Bain. He had a smile plastered on his face, the expression almost secretive. She'd seen him smile like that a dozen times around the studio's lot and seen the smile drop like a lead weight when the person moved on.

  She turned back toward the exit and made it a few feet before realizing he was her only chance to get home on time.

  Her throat bobbed roughly as she swallowed her pride and marched resolutely up to the crowd of women as Declan gave his last signature warning and told them he had to catch his flight. Melanie waited for him to notice her. She knew he had when his million-dollar smile faltered at one corner and then his lips puckered for an instant before his charm was fully restored.

  "You have a charter?" she asked as he started to walk away without acknowledging her.

  Declan didn't slow at her question. She chased after him.

  She couldn't be sure that he had hired a plane just for him. One of the things she'd heard the actors and actresses brag about was how they were able to skip security on domestic flights when they had hired a private plane. Big or small, those planes usually left on runways away from the main airport.

  "Look," she growled as her rolling suitcase caught the heel of her shoe and she had to limp along with the piece of footwear half off. "I really need to get back to Los Angeles before Monday. If you--"

  The shoe came all the way off.

  "Would you please just stop!"

  Teetering on one foot, she fixed the shoe on the other one and looked up to see that he had not only halted but turned around to glare at her.

  "You do realize we're in an airport," he ground out, his lips barely moving. "And that if we're stuck in some security office for another two hours because of drama you cause, neither of us is getting back to L.A. before Monday?"

  "Yes," she sniped. "But the entire Hollywood world will wait for you to return late. Me -- I can't even get a bus to slow down on Wilshire Boulevard."

  Melanie closed her eyes, trying to calm her temper so she could ask him as politely as possible to give her a lift back to California. She kept them closed as she started to speak even though she knew she should look straight into that dark gray gaze instead of hiding from it.

  "I'll tuck myself in a corner, I promise, and reimburse you the cost of..."

  She faltered, knowing she couldn't reimburse him the price of an equal share. Even a first class ticket would put her in a position where she would be late with rent. Of course, she was going to be late with rent if she didn't show up on the soap's set bright and early Monday morning.

  Finally forcing herself to open her eyes and look at him, she couldn't get any more words out, at least not at first. Anger tightened his jaw, thinned his lips and narrowed his gaze.

  She blinked, her nose beginning to sting.

  "I get it," she whispered. "You hate me. You don't want to have anything to do with anyone associated with your dad, even if I didn't know he existed or that my mom married him until last night."

  Her shoulders bobbed in a broken laugh. "You probably think I'm going to race home and update your Wikipedia entry or sell the story to TMZ."

  His face twisted at the suggestion, the anger already visibly etched on his features deepening.

  The response was like a hard slap in the face.

  "Crap, you really think I'm that kind of bitch?"

  Blinking hard, she didn't wait for him to answer or turn away. She spun, swinging her roll along behind her and heading away from Declan, not caring what direction she walked. A hundred feet on, she looked over her shoulder to see him going through the VIP line at security as casually as if the entire conversation had never happened.

  "Asshole," she whispered.

  Shoving her hand in the pocket of her hoodie, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. She needed to call her mom, but she had to wait until she could talk to the woman without bursting into tears. She sucked at lying and wouldn't be able to pass it off as mere frustration on missing the flight or worrying about the job she was going to lose.

  Pulling her hand out of her pocket, she buried her face against it and took a few deep breaths. She could understand Declan being upset about his estranged father san
dbagging him with a new family. She had also overreacted a little that morning, especially suggesting he might be the kind of person who would try to take advantage of a passed out girl -- whether or not the female was fluffy.

  But how was she supposed to react? She had felt humiliated to wake up next to him in clothes she hadn't passed out in and not knowing what the hell had happened. It was only after breakfast as Melanie packed up that her mother had explained Declan carrying her to bed and leaving the room while her mom put her into pajamas.

  So, yeah, maybe she should have started with an apology instead of a demand. Or maybe he would have been a jerk no matter how profusely and sincerely she had apologized. It's not like he was a nice guy on set. He kept himself cloistered, couldn't bother learning most people's names even after months of working with them, and carried himself around like the world and everything in it was made for him even if he never voiced such an opinion.

  You're not pissed at him, Melanie Lee, you're pissed at yourself for having a crush on a douche canoe.

  She laughed, but knew the realization running through her head was right.

  Through the two months on set of occasionally interacting with Declan, fueled by hours spent watching his old movies when she was home alone and the lights were off, she had been looking for that moment when he would finally recognize her for someone more than the wardrobe girl. But the "cute meet" scenario and its brethren like the clumsy collision existed only on film and in print.

  She was stuck living in the real world, one in which his finally recognizing her for someone more than the wardrobe girl meant he now saw her as an extension of a man he clearly resented.

  "Excuse me, miss, I need to see your identification."

  Hearing the command, Melanie looked up to see who was talking and to whom. The first body her gaze landed on was a TSA officer who was staring directly at her.

  "Me?" she croaked, her throat tight from all the thoughts running through her head and her looming long-term unemployment.

  "Yes." He cast a hurried glance at his watch. "Now, miss."

  She wanted to argue that she wasn't flying, that she had been bumped off her flight, that there was zero reason for him to look at her ID, but then she remembered she was in an airport and the TSA officer didn't need a reason. Plus she had yelled at someone, creating a bit of a scene.