Stand-In Star

by Rachael Johns

  Shopping! Her heart pounded at the thought.

  Somehow with all the chaos of yesterday, she’d forgotten she desperately needed to find a dress for the blasted Awards. The thought of walking down the red carpet and immediately being compared to Daisy sickened her. She could pay through the nose for some fancy frock and still not measure up.

  “Dammit, I can’t believe the damn chef Awards were scheduled for this week as well. Damn Simon. I should be there with you. You need me. You’re absolutely hopeless.”

  “Thank you very much.” Although she wished her friend along for this crazy ride, too, she understood Stella had to be with her long-time fiancé, who’d also been nominated for a prestigious award in Australia. “You’re going to marry Simon. It wouldn’t look good if you weren’t there for him on his night of nights. There are more important things than fashion.”

  “Not when it comes to the Academy Awards, there’s not. It’s all about the dress. Even you should know that. What have you been doing all morning? Isn’t it lunch time already there?”

  Stella wasn’t the type to waste time lying around and looking at the scenery. If she had six days in Hollywood, she’d be milking every hour and to hell with sleep. Holly glanced around at her scruffy looking lodgings, her traitorous mind thinking about how different this morning could have been if she’d woken up in Nate’s mansion.

  “Hellooooooooo? Are you still there?”

  “What? Oh yeah, sorry.” She’d been off in some ridiculous fantasy land when really what she needed to do was focus on the facts. Fact One: Stella had a point. She did need to find a dress. Her parents, overjoyed that Holly had agreed to make the trip, had promised to pay any price for the perfect dress. There were all kinds of legal things going on with Daisy’s estate settlement, but they’d inherit all of Daisy’s money eventually. Holly refused to take her share, seeing it as guilt money, but she’d had to concede she did need some help for this trip. She wasn’t destitute herself, but she had a mortgage that she didn’t want to fall behind on.

  “I’m on it,” she promised Stella. “Even someone as hopeless as me should be able to find a dress when money isn’t a worry.”

  “Exactly. That’s the spirit. And since money isn’t an issue, I’ve taken it upon myself to do you a favor. I’m about to email you a list of boutiques on Rodeo Drive that sell designer gowns off the rack. You don’t have time to have one made especially.”

  Rodeo Drive? Good God. She’d never been big on shopping, but even she knew that Rodeo Drive housed some of the most expensive shops in the world. With expense came glamour and status. Two things she didn’t have.

  Reading her mind, Stella practically cooed, “You can do it. I’m at the end of the phone line when you need a second opinion.”

  “Thanks Stella. What would I do without you?”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” replied her best friend. “Now, I’m gonna go so I can send this email. Promise me you’ll send me a photo of the dress before you commit.”

  “I promise. Speak soon.”

  Holly disconnected, took a deep breath, then picked up her handbag and sunglasses off her bed. She slipped the sunglasses atop her head and gave herself a talking to. She would go to Rodeo Drive. She was here to attend the Oscar Awards for crying out loud. In this city, that was status.

  She made her way to the local bus stop—reasoning if there were any media-type people watching, they’d expect her to take a chauffeured car. Head down, she paid the driver for a ticket and then slunk into a seat in the middle of the bus. To her benefit, the bus was filled with tourists. Young couples wrapped in each other with the glow of love on their faces. Gray-haired duos with cameras round their necks and money belts round their waists. And at the back a group of what had to be private school teens playing hooky. Most of them were too consumed in staring out the window to take any notice of the girl who’d just boarded the bus, although she guessed she was probably the only one with an Academy Awards invitation in her bag.

  She relaxed into her seat enough to look out the window and take in the sights. As they passed the famous Beverly Hills sign, Holly snapped a quick pic on her phone and sent it to Stella. This time she noticed so much more than she had when driving in the car with Nate. Then she’d been consumed by his overwhelming presence and also the presence of the paparazzi. Now she had time to really take things in.

  As the bus crawled along the busy street Holly saw shops and restaurants but no industry or advertising billboards, parks and the odd church but no sign of a hospital or cemetery. Perhaps people around here preferred to pretend death didn’t exist. Her stomach twisted as she thought of Daisy. A cold feeling washed over her but she couldn’t tell if it was due to thinking about her sister or the fact the bus had stopped.

  Lost in her thoughts she almost missed her stop. She jumped up and nearly tripped as she hastened down the aisle. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Holly glanced ahead of her and gulped. She could already make out the names of elite boutiques. Familiar not because she’d ever shopped in any of them—her most expensive outfit ever had been her wedding dress and she’d been conservative compared to most—but because they were simply international icons. Versace. Ralph Lauren. Prada. Dolce & Gabbana. These were only the start.

  Oh. Lord.

  It would have been so much easier if Stella were here.

  * * *

  It had taken years but Nate Devlin pretty much had everything he’d always wanted. He no longer lived in a rundown shack in actual Hollywood but outright owned his architecturally-designed, environmentally friendly house in Bel Air. He had so much money he couldn’t imagine ever being poor again. He had a successful and sought-after business taking photos of the best subjects around—people who loved themselves enough to like being photographed. Neither him, his mom nor his sisters had seen his scumbag of a dad for over a decade. He had overseas vacations whenever he pleased, not only one but two cars worth more than some people’s homes, and a number of women who were happy for him to call on them whenever the urge struck but who no more believed in commitment than he did.

  He had it all. Life was sweet. At least it should be, but lately he’d been feeling unsettled.

  Not one to usually spend much time analyzing anything, he’d made an exception and tried to work out what the hell was wrong with him. Was it the futility of life? The fact that no amount of money, status or success could stop him getting some terminal illness or being hit by a bus (or in Daisy’s case, a car).

  It would be easy to attribute this dissatisfaction with his life to Daisy’s death, only when he started to think about it, it had been gathering steam a good few months before his friend died.

  His solution? Work the hell even harder. Learn a new technique, expand the services or courses offered by his off-shoot company, Shooting Stars, or simply take on more clients. He found this worked most of the time. He was ruthless with himself, and if he didn’t want to think about being dissatisfied, he didn’t. But today when he woke up with the alarm and went for his usual morning run, the gnawing emptiness inside him was stronger than it had been in quite some time.

  And he couldn’t stop thinking about Daisy’s sister sleeping in that hovel in a shady part of town.

  No matter how much he told himself Holly McCartney wasn’t his problem, he couldn’t put her out of his mind.

  Things hadn’t improved. He’d snapped through his last session on auto-pilot. Luckily the C-list soap opera actress who had ambitions to hit the big screen big time had barely noticed, so consumed with herself she hadn’t realized he wasn’t a hundred percent on the job. And she’d been an easy subject, pretty thing with all the looks and not much actual talent, so he’d be able to create a superb portfolio for her with what he’d got. That would get her into auditions but after that, she’d be on her own and he didn’t much like her chances of getting any further.

  Then, he’d eaten lunch in—take out Thai collected by his PA, Louise—and tried to focus his energies on mentally p
reparing for the afternoon session. This celebrity was a big one and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Like Madonna and Cher, she went by first name only. Noella. She’d been the star in the movie Daisy was nominated for Best Supporting Actress for and she was up for Best Actress. She didn’t want these shots for publicity, she wanted them for her fiancé and planned to give them to him as a wedding gift. She wanted intimate, tasteful shots and he knew at least three other top-notch celebrity photographers had failed to please her. He’d allocated all afternoon to shooting her in the studio and the next two days were booked for location shots.

  When she’d finally arrived, he’d made all the right gushing noises and ensured every member of his staff fussed over Noella as if she were the Queen, but he couldn’t bring himself to give her the attention she deserved.

  He wanted to scream and shout and let out all the tension and anxiety that riddled his body. What the hell was he thinking, worrying about Holly? She was a grown woman who’d thrown his offer of hospitality in his face. Fact she was gorgeous didn’t make up one tenth for her hoity-toighty temperament and her shocking treatment of her sister.

  Determined to get his focus back on track, he lifted his camera for the hundredth time that day and prepared to shoot the best photo of Noella she’d ever seen. As his finger pressed down on the shutter, Louise broke through the door.

  He glared at her. She knew better than to interrupt him during a session.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Devlin but you’ve got an old friend on the phone and he says it’s urgent. I’ve already told him no a couple of times but he says you’ll want to hear about this.”

  “Does this old friend have a name?”

  “Big Dog?”

  Noella raised her eyebrows at Louise’s response. Nate’s heart slammed into his chest cavity.

  “I’ll take it in my office,” he said, knowing Louise would look after Noella. Putting his camera down on a stand, he exited the studio.

  “This better be good,” he said five seconds later when he picked up his office phone. He’d worked with Big Dog on the streets when he was a teen. Dog had been all over the globe shooting photos since—still enthralled with celebrities and royalty—and was the only person Nate made an effort to keep in contact with from those days.

  “I thought you’d want to hear the latest on Holly McCartney. Isn’t she staying with you?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “I see.”

  That anxiety Nate had been feeling all morning suddenly rocketed to almost unbearable proportions. He gripped the receiver tighter. “Why? What do you know?”

  “She’s been spotted on Rodeo Drive. Everyone’s after her.”

  “Fuck.” Nate thought of Noella out there expecting him to spend the next two days shooting to her whims. And then he thought of Holly. The little sister Daisy still adored despite their falling out. The least he could do for his best friend—a friend he’d let down when it mattered most—was to make sure Holly was okay. “Dammit.”

  He disconnected the call and summoned Louise. “Something’s come up. I’ve got to go. Tell Noella I’ll reschedule. Her shoot and all prints will be free.”

  “Reschedule? Free?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  * * *

  Holly all but ran out of another cream-of-the-crop big name fashion boutique. Talk about an experiment in self-torture. Clutching her boutique bags to her side, she walked briskly, keeping her head down and barely taking in any of the neat displays on the sidewalk. Her heart slowed with her steps and she took a moment, leaning against a palm tree and taking a deep, regulating breath.

  Shopping wasn’t supposed to be this hellish. Sure, she’d been able to appreciate the splendid-ness of many of the buildings—Ralph Lauren looked so much like a high-class hotel with its hooded awnings out front and cool, welcoming courtyard—but the buildings weren’t the ones trying to sell her stuff. The cold drinks in crystal cut glasses had been lovely (and much-needed) in Versace and most of the stores’ attendants had fallen over themselves to be helpful when they’d realized she was Daisy McCartney’s sister, but they’d all been so fake. She’d seen the looks of disdain as she’d crossed over their thresholds and could guess what they thought of her un-designer clothes. All had the head-to-toe surreptitious onceover down to a fine art. But they hadn’t been quite so good at masking their surprise when she’d confessed who she was and what she needed.

  Sighing, she dug her mobile phone out of her bag and put in a call to Stella. It would be very late in Australia but this was an emergency and Stella would want to be woken from slumber.

  “Hello,” came her friend’s sleepy voice after a number of rings. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I hate shopping.”

  “What’s new? Have you found a dress yet?”

  “Aren’t you listening to a word I say?” Holly noticed the door man at Cartier peering suspiciously at her. She turned away from him and lowered her voice. “I can’t do this. I’ve already maxed out my credit cards on two ridiculously over-priced hand bags, sunglasses with frames so large and yellow they make me look like a bumble bee, and an array of scarves. I hate scarves. And I’m supposed to be doing this trip on a budget.”

  “Slow down. You’re supposed to be buying a gown.”

  “I know. But you should see the frocks in these places. They’re either too short or if they come past my knees, they have holes in very unfortunate places. And I’m not used to having three or four people pamper my every need when I’m in a dressing room.”

  “And let me guess, the dressing room is the size of a house, yet, when you’ve wasted their time, you feel bad about not buying something.” Holly could almost hear her friend shaking her head.

  “You know I do, but I can’t afford much more of this, not if I want to actually buy a dress.” She glanced at her impulse buy bags, her head, hands and feet aching from the exertions of the day. “I think I’m going to find a cab and go back to the hostel and work out some sort of better shopping plan.”

  “Holly,” Stella groaned, “you can’t just give up.”

  Right now that seemed like a perfectly fine plan. She’d eyed another person across the road who looked suspiciously like someone from the airport. He wouldn’t be the first she’d seen and managed to escape today. “Yes I can. When I find out how to catch a taxi in this place, that is.”

  “It’ll be expensive.”

  “That’s the least of my worries right now.” She disconnected and started walking briskly. Less than three meters down the sidewalk, the hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Was someone watching her? Or was this place simply making her paranoid? She glanced around and sure enough the guy from across the road was less than ten meters behind her. She didn’t think it was paranoid to say his eyes were trained, almost aggressively, on her. He lifted a mammoth black camera. And aimed.

  Instinct took over and Holly’s legs charged ahead of her. Bags swinging at her side she ran as fast as she could but the sound of her heart break-dancing in her chest was overridden by feet pounding the pavement behind her.

  Was he chasing her?

  Stupidly, she looked behind—horrified to see she was being stalked by not one but three crazed-looking men, closing the distance between them far quicker than she liked. If they weren’t carrying cameras, the world would be horrified by this scenario. She was horrified.

  She glanced sideways trying to read the sign of the store closest to her. Surely the designer shop assistants would come to her aid.

  She made the decision to turn into one but somehow her foot slipped and, bags and all, Holly went crumbling to the ground. She clutched her foot, crying out in agony as she looked up to see cameras flashing inches from her face.

  Mortification swallowed her whole—she wanted to sink into the pavement and time-travel away from this absolute nightmare. With her foot unable to take any pressure that might be her only chance of escape.

  Then, just when she t
hought her situation couldn’t get any worse, she raised her head again and came face-to-face with Nate Devlin.

  Chapter Five

  Nate knew the exact moment Holly saw him. Her eyes widened, then narrowed and an impressive scowl twisted her perfect red lips. She was obviously in pain but he guessed the scowl was for him.

  Well, he had a glare that could give her scowl a run for its money. Rescuing this clueless damsel for the second day in a row hadn’t been in his game plan. If only she knew how out of character it was for him to just cancel a client on a whim.

  He knelt down on the pavement beside her. “Where does it hurt?”

  “Nice to see you too, Nate.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do you want more photos shot in this compromising position?”

  “No.” This one word was barely audible, but he looked into her eyes and saw the bravado was all show. Her bottom lip quivered as she pointed to her ankle. “Right here.”

  He slipped his hand under the bottom of her calf, lifted her foot as gently as he could and slipped off her sturdy flat pump. He ignored the flash of cameras going off around them. “Geez.” Already her foot had swelled badly around the ankle. Without thinking he ran his thumb up under the arch. Her foot tensed and he heard the intake of breath. “Sorry. That hurt?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Did that mean she’d felt it too? The unwanted spark that zapped between him when his fingers had touched her bare skin. Fabulous.

  “Hold on to your bags.”

  She did as instructed. He tucked her shoe into the top of one bag and then slipped his arms beneath, lifting her quickly and heading for his car illegally parked on the side of the road. Cameras flashed in his face and he could already picture the headlines that would accompany their photos tomorrow morning, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. Having her soft body pressed up against his chest was causing distractions aplenty. He needed to get her in his car, out of his personal space, so her alluring vanilla-something smell stopped wreaking havoc with his hormones.