Reforming Atlanta’s Rouge: The Trouble with Dating an Actor

by McConnell, Lucy

  It really was too bad Stepmother wasn’t born and raised in Georgia; bless her heart, she’d have been an excellent pageant mother, touting her daughters’ perfections while ripping the other contestants to threads, all with a dazzling smile. Making a scene now would only lead Stepmother to say she was too distraught to go into the office, and she’d be hounded into taking a sick day. She needed to be there when the actors did the first read-through to make sure the right tone came across. Not to mention that Beau would be there. Despite all her personal warnings, she wanted to see him again. She was hopeless. She knew it and she owned it, because crushing on Beau was the bright spot in her day. His invitation to dinner and for kisses after had taken her by surprise, but what had surprised her more was her desire to say yes.

  “No, Stepmother, I’m happy to do both.”

  Patricia pressed her palms together. “Wonderful. After all, what are we paying you for?” Her predatory smile appeared.

  Cindy cringed internally. Half-paying was more like it. They let the housemaids go several months ago, claiming they needed to tighten their belts, and yet they kept the hot tub going twenty-four hours a day because Natalie thought the backyard looked prettier when the bubbles were on.

  Patricia pressed the panties into Cindy’s shoulder. “Replace these.”

  “Yes, Stepmother.”

  “Now.”

  Cindy cursed silently. She had a to-do list longer than the Chattahoochee River. Patricia would expect her regular chores to be done as well as this extra errand. But, a chance to get out of the house on a Saturday was welcome. Who cared if she stayed up until one scrubbing the kitchen floor? Not Patricia, that’s for sure.

  Twenty minutes later, Cindy dug through a bin of bargain undies in Vicky’s Hush-Hush lingerie store at the mall. As long as they had the same label, Drusilla wouldn’t know if they cost five bucks or fifty. Spying a bit of black lace, she hooked it with her finger and yanked it out of the mass of purple and pink. She held them out by the sides, judging whether Drusilla would be fooled into believing they were the spendier brand or if she’d have to keep looking.

  “Nice, but I like the red ones better,” said a familiar deep voice.

  Startled, Cindy yelped, dropping the underwear to the floor.

  Beau Mckay, in all his casual glory, tucked his thumbs through his belt loops and winked at her over a pile of discount underwear.

  Butterflies burst through her stomach. For the love of biscuits, this man was going to be her undoing.

  *

  Beau didn’t bother to check his grin. The flush spreading across Cindy’s fair cheeks and into her hair was fetching—as in it had fetched his attention and held tight. He played dumb. “Did I startle you?”

  She swallowed hard and dropped down to swipe the lacy things off the floor. “Not at all.” She popped back up. “I’m sure you’re used to women dropping their panties in front of you.”

  Beau cleared his throat. “Ouch.” If it had been one of his buddies who made that comment, he would have said something cocky and probably inappropriate back. But for some reason, he wanted Cindy to see a different side of him. Not the playboy image he presented to keep a high profile in Hollywood—which wasn’t easy to do when you lived in Atlanta. The quiet life may have worked for actors like Mark DuBois, but Beau always needed the extra attention to further his career. “I thought you’d be sneaking into someone’s house or falling into a pool or something,” he teased.

  She laughed. “I should be. Instead I’m out here trying to find cheap underwear for Drusilla.” She shrugged. “Welcome to my glamorous life.”

  He looked around for something to say. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms again, but there was this bin of underwear between them. Instead, he asked, “Can I buy you a glamorous smoothie?” while pointing over his shoulder at the Smoothie Shack across the way. “I came all the way over here for them.”

  She eyed the Smoothie Shack. “Seriously?”

  “Why else would I be here?”

  She eyed him. “You could be stalking me.”

  “I am the stalkee, never the stalker.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve got stories.” She grabbed something out of the bin and made her way to the counter. “I’ll take that smoothie.” She smiled.

  Beau grinned. He did that a lot when Cindy was around.

  After she’d made her purchase, he touched the small of her back to guide her out of the store. It fit so nicely in the curve that he decided to leave it there while they ordered strawberry banana smoothies and found a table.

  “Why are you buying Drusilla’s …” He tapped the pink striped bag.

  She twisted the straw wrapper around her finger and unwrapped it again before she lifted her eyes. “Promise me this conversation won’t leave this table.”

  He leaned in, his face serious. “What happens in the mall stays in the mall.”

  She put her elbows on the green Formica, matching his posture. “When my dad died, everything happened so fast, I was in a blur.” She stared at a chip in the tabletop. “He named Patricia president of the company in his will—I was devastated. I thought—”

  Beau’s mind raced. This was Robert Knight’s daughter. Egypt’s Gold was her script. He was enamored with a storytelling prodigy. “You thought he would leave it to you,” Beau finished.

  “I shouldn’t have been surprised. He always said a person should enjoy their twenties and not take on any real responsibility until their thirties, but …

  “Anyway, she started cutting corners, cutting budgets, and cutting scripts. She’s whittling away at my father’s legacy with these teen musical dramas. The last real movie we did flopped because Patricia moved the marketing money over to Drusilla’s latest show.”

  “What movie?”

  “Time and Traveling.”

  “I saw that—it was good.”

  “Well, you are one of a hundred people who knows it exists—and that was my and my dad’s last script.”

  Beau blinked. Cindy Knight. She was all the buzz for months after co-writing her first script with her father. The Bizz named her the number one person to watch in filmmaking three years ago. “The reviews were good,” he offered.

  “My reviews are always good,” she responded in a voice that said she expected nothing less.

  Her reviews weren’t good because her dad’s name was on those scripts, although that may have helped. The films with her name as co-screenwriter had a quality her father’s lone projects missed. And Robert Knight was no slacker. He’d established his foothold in film while Beau was still in braces.

  She sighed. “Reviews don’t pay salaries.”

  Beau twirled his almost empty cup. “Can’t you go to another studio? One where you’d be appreciated for your talent?”

  “I am appreciated—by the people who matter to me. If I leave, the company would crumble under Patricia’s management style. I take her crap to keep it from landing on everyone else and stinking up the place.”

  Beau wanted to sink under the table or crawl under a rock somewhere. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked out for the little guy or cared about anyone—well, besides his closest friends, Mark and Anthony. But if he were honest, they didn’t ask much of him. “What’s in it for you?” asked Beau.

  “Excuse me?” Cindy pushed her drink aside.

  “Nobody gets something for nothing—what do you get out of this?”

  “I get to see Egypt’s Gold on the big screen. Daddy died before he had a chance to read it. I guess I feel like, if it’s projected out there, he might get to see it somehow.”

  Beau covered her hand with his. “I’m honored to be a part of it.”

  Her pinkie finger twitched and then she flipped her hand over and grasped his. “Thank you.” They held one another’s gaze, and that feeling of looking into one another’s hearts was back.

  “What are you really doing here?” she asked with a grin.

  “I need a wedding gift f
or Mark and Allie.”

  She looked at him dubiously. “And you came to the mall?”

  “What?” He shrugged.

  “You are such a guy. Wait—you weren’t shopping for them at Vicky’s Hush-Hush, were you?”

  “What? No! Give me a little credit.”

  “All right, where were you planning to look?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I hadn’t thought much about it, and then I saw you.” He nudged the pink bag. “And I got a little sidetracked.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her cheeks dusted pink.

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Where are they registered?”

  He lifted both his hands. “How would I know?”

  “You could ask.”

  “Right.” He snorted. “‘Hey Mark, would you like the ruffles on your towels to coordinate with your bedspread?’ No way. He’d take away my man card.”

  “Oh my gosh! Just ask.” She slapped his arm. “It’s a perfectly normal question.”

  He made a gagging noise. “Not for a guy.”

  “Pah-leeze!” She swiped up his phone.

  “What are you doing?” He reached for his phone, worried she was calling Mark. Not that he didn’t want the two of them to meet. Cindy would meld into his small social group better than he did. But he wasn’t about to have her paint him as a girlie-man.

  She pulled the phone just out of his grasp. “I’m Googling it.”

  “Good luck—Mark’s never in the press.” The lucky son of a gun.

  “Except for all the photos of him kissing … Is that the woman he’s marrying?” She leaned forward so they could both look at the screen, and he caught a whiff of grapefruit. Not that he knew women’s scents or anything. He was a guy, after all. But Anthony’s wife ran a soap shop, and she’d had him smell five fruity flavors of soap to help her pick her spring scent. He’d chosen the grapefruit because it was fresh with only a hint of fruit and a twist of citrus. Not that he’d noticed … because he was a guy.

  “Yep.” The word came out softer than he’d planned.

  “Do you like her?”

  Beau considered his thoughts. When he’d first met Allie, he thought she was cute. By the end of the afternoon, he’d fallen for her like the sister he never had. “She’s perfect for Mark.”

  Cindy smiled, more to herself than at him, like he’d given just the right answer. He found himself smiling too.

  She scrolled down a few more pages. “Ah-ha! Mark DuBois is officially engaged. Blah. Blah Blah. The couple is registered at William & Patricia, located right here in Atlanta, Georgia.”

  Beau grabbed her hand and the phone in one swipe. “Let’s go.” He pulled her out of her chair.

  She used her free hand to grab her purse and the little pink bag. “Now?”

  “Right now.” He picked up his cup and took a long pull. “Yuck.” The smoothie had disintegrated into water with foam on top. “Right after we stop at the Varsity for a burger. That was not food.” He chucked the cup into an open trash bin.

  Cindy laughed. “I didn’t think burgers and fries were on hot guys’ diets. Don’t you have a movie to prep for?”

  “You think I’m hot?” He bobbed his head. He actually liked working out, liked putting on bulk for the Christian Brockmore role.

  “Every woman in America thinks you’re hot.” She avoided the question and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Beau pushed open the doors. The Atlanta heat sucked at his skin. “Including you?” He opened his car door for her.

  She smiled shyly and ducked into the car.

  Feeling taller, he went around the car and climbed behind the wheel.

  Chapter 7

  William & Patricia was a furniture store. Couches, love seats, bedroom sets, pool tables, vases, accent pieces, and dining room tables were artfully arranged so that if you bought one piece, you’d feel incomplete unless you bought the one next to it.

  Cindy and Beau meandered through the store, looking for just the right gift for Mark and Allie. Cindy didn’t know them—at all—yet Beau asked her opinion.

  “How ’bout this?” He pointed to a stuffed bear, frozen on his hind legs with his paws curled forward.

  Cindy’s eyebrows shot up. “Does Mark like bears?”

  “No, but it would be hilarious.” He went behind the bear, placing his hands on top of the paws. “Grrrr.” He nudged the grizzly forward, leaning into Cindy.

  “Aaah.” She used both hands to steady the monstrosity. Beau growled again. Laughing, Cindy pushed the bear back until it stood upright.

  “No?” Beau asked.

  “No.” She shook her head. Their eyes met and Cindy giggled. “You are a big ol’ goof.”

  He shrugged, and they went deeper into the forest of fabrics and textures.

  On their right was a beautiful bedroom set with a four-poster bed and a chestler—a dresser/chest with funky handles on the drawers. Off to the side was a matching mirror. Running her hand over the ornate frame, Cindy said, “Mirror, mirror on the wall,”

  She caught Beau’s gaze in the reflection. “Who’s the handsomest man of all?”

  Beau wiggled his eyebrows as he came to stand next to her.

  She laughed. Partly because Beau’s neck was turning red, and partly because there was no Drusilla or Patricia or Natalie in sight, and she was shopping with Beau Mckay. He’d been fishing for compliments, and she enjoyed being reeled in by his charms.

  “What did the mirror tell you?” He pulled her to his side and her hand landed on his chest to steady herself. Except touching him and having him close did everything but steady her. She was all sorts of unsteady and weak-kneed.

  “It said …” She took in a deep, lusty breath and whispered in his ear, “Robert Downey Jr.”

  Beau tickled her ribs, holding her tight enough that she couldn’t escape and loose enough that she didn’t want him to let go. Laughing, she twisted to no avail.

  Beau locked his arms around her, and she quit trying to get away. Why bother when she liked where she was so very much?

  “So you’re a rebel-without-a-cause type?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “More like a genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist type.”

  His hands went up and down her back, changing the tone from light and playful to honest with a hint of vulnerability. Like vanilla flavoring in soda, that vulnerability was delicious and suckered her right into wanting more.

  Beau tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The furniture faded away, and somehow all she could see was Beau.

  “Tall order.”

  “Cute geniuses are hard to come by these days.” Hesitantly, Cindy traced her finger over the cleft in his chin. His two-day stubble was rough against her skin. Wondering how it would feel against her cheek, her eyes fell to his lips.

  Beau leaned in and pressed a kiss just under her ear, sending delicious waves of heat coursing across her skin.

  “You’re not looking hard enough.”

  “Maybe not.” She lifted her chin ever so slightly, inviting him to kiss her.

  She expected him to smile that cocky half smile of his that brings in millions of single ladies’ dollars, but he didn’t. He traced her cheek with his fingertips, his gaze much too intense to think this was one of his jokes. And when his lips found hers, they were achingly soft. A barely there brush that left her dazed and dreaming of more. She gripped the front of his shirt in her fists.

  “Cindy.” He whispered her name as if it were the only name he’d ever uttered.

  “Beau?” His name came out as a question. She needed to know what was happening to her, to them, because the feeling was unlike anything she’d experienced before. It was electric and tangible, like she could grab hold of it as easily as she’d grabbed hold of his shirt.

  “Ahem, can I help you?” asked a bald man in a tight pair of pants and bright red sneakers.

  Beau grinned. “I was doing pretty well on my own—but thanks for the offer.”


  “Actually—” Cindy spun so that her back was to Beau. She thought that would make it easier to think, but his arms wrapped around her from behind, and he tucked her against his chest.

  And her brain shorted out.

  “Actually?” asked the clerk or salesman or … waiter?

  Beau chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest.

  For the love…!

  “We’re looking for a gift for our friends,” Beau filled in.

  “His friend,” she clarified. She wasn’t best friends with Mark DuBois. Not that she would mind being friends with Mark.

  Or double dating.

  Or double wedding-ing.

  Beau kissed her neck. For no reason! He just leaned down and kissed her right there in front of the guy with the red shoes. Like they were a couple.

  What is happening?

  “Are they registered here?” asked the salesman, as he pushed a pair of black-rimmed glasses up on his nose.

  “Yes!” She stepped out of Beau’s embrace, and then changed her mind and leaned back against him. “Yes, they are registered here.”

  “That makes it easy, then.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Beau. He gave Mark’s name to the man.

  Red shoes guy, who never did give his name nor did he invite them to sit on one of the many sofas in the showroom, brought them a list. Cindy held it, and Beau leaned over her shoulder to read. She closed her eyes, loving the overall manliness that was Beau Mckay. He was big muscles and spicy scents. Okay, she was kind of glad he guarded his man card.

  “This.” Beau pointed to an item halfway down the list.

  “A pizza artisan kit?” asked Cindy.

  “Yep, that’s the one.” He plucked the list from her hands and gave it back to Red shoes along with his credit card.

  “I’ll have it delivered.” Red shoes ran the card.

  “Are you sure?” Cindy asked again. Of all the items listed, the pizza kit seemed … dinky.