Malibu, California, was a long way from her family's
ranch in Larkville, Texas.
Tension bunched Megan Calhoun's shoulder muscles. She
would be impressed with the exclusive gated beach community
if she weren't under so much pressure. She exited her
car, parked on the driveway of a beachfront mansion. The
breathtaking Mediterranean-inspired villa belonged to an
award-winning film producer.
A breeze rustled the palm tree fronds. Gray clouds made it
look more like winter than springtime, but the temperature
was warm. Or maybe she was working so hard she didn't
have time to feel cold.
Interning for a film costume designer in Hollywood was
supposed to be a dream come true. So far this first week on
the job had been nothing but sixteen-hour-long days filled
with driving, picking up and delivering things and running
countless other "errands."
Intern and indentured servant seemed to
mean the same thing with production to begin next week.
Sleep was now considered optional. If this was life before
filming, she couldn't imagine what working on an actual
movie set would be like.
She jammed her car keys into the front pocket of her jeans,
then grabbed the large leather portfolio from the backseat
of her car. Eva Redding, the woman who held the fate of
Megan's internship and possibly her future career, had
left the studio this morning with the wrong portfolio. That
delayed a meeting with a couple of Hollywood's heavy
hitters. Now everyone was waiting for Megan to arrive with
the correct designs so they could continue discussing
costume concerns with the proper visuals.
Hurrying toward the villa's entryway, her comfortable
tennis shoes felt more like cement blocks encasing her feet.
No way would she let her nervousness about coming
face-to-face with the producer and director get the best of her.
Failure wasn't an option. She was not returning to
Larkville. Her family might be there, but no one else. Not
even Rob Hollis, her best friend for as long as she could
remember; he had taken an engineering job in Austin, Texas.
Her fingers tightened around the portfolio.
She stepped onto a large, tiled entryway. In the corner, a
green leafy potted plant stood as tall as her. A hanging
vine with fuchsia flowers scented the air. A wrought-iron
tiered shelf held terra-cotta pots filled with various
flowering plants.
What if film costume design wasn't where she belonged,
either? Her stomach churned as uncertainty threatened to get
the best of her.
No. She had a job to do. Megan's father had always told
her to do the best job possible no matter what.
She felt a pang of grief. If only her dad were here so he
could give her a much needed confidence boost. She took a
deep breath to calm herself and jabbed her finger against
the doorbell.
As melodic, multitoned chimes rang inside the villa, she
remembered the instructions given to her by the costume
supervisor.
"Hand Eva the portfolio and get out of there without
saying a word."
That would be no problem. Megan excelled at being silent and
fading into the background. She'd been doing it most of
her life. She'd never fit in at the ranch. Her dad had
been the only one who seemed to get her and really care, but
he was
gone.
A lump burned in her throat. Her dad, the larger than life
Clay Calhoun, had died of pneumonia in October, seven months
ago. She was on her own in more ways than one now.
The ten-foot-tall wooden door opened.
"About time." Eva snatched the portfolio away. In
her early forties with a flawless ivory complexion and
jet-black hair styled into a French twist, the woman wore a
black tunic, pants and heels. African-inspired jewelry added
a funky and unexpected twist to the stylish and elegant
clothing. "What took you so long?"
On Megan's second day in Tinseltown, she'd learned
one of the only acceptable answers for being late.
"Traffic."
Her boss's hard, assessing gaze ran the length of Megan.
Eva's red-glossed lips pursed with disapproval.
"You're slouching. Stand straight."
Megan did.
"Is this how you dress on the ranch?"
A plain pink T-shirt, faded capri jeans and comfy tennis
shoes weren't going to put Megan on any of
Hollywood's best-dressed lists. But her clothing
wouldn't draw any attention to her, either. Well, except
for now. But she imagined nothing she wore would live up to
Eva's exacting expectations. "Yes."
The word ma'am sat on the tip of Megan's
tongue. She'd used the term with Eva on Monday, the
first day of the internship. Megan wouldn't make that
mistake again.
"I don't suppose you have any other clothes in your
car," Eva said.
Megan had grown up on a ranch in middle-of-nowhere Texas and
graduated college less than two weeks ago. All her clothing
was casual except for a few of her own creations she'd
never had any reasonor courageto wear outside
her bedroom. Not after being made fun of freshman year at
high school for the way she'd dressed. After that
happened she'd adopted Rob's and his friends'
geek look as her own style. "No."
"Then let's go." Eva motioned her inside.
"Everyone's out on the patio."
Panic rocketed from the brown hair piled on top of
Megan's head to the tips of her canvas sneakers. She
wasn't supposed to speak, but she wasn't supposed to
stay, either. "I'm, uh, supposed to head back to the
studio."
"Not anymore."
The cartwheels turning in her stomach would have made
Larkville High's Cheer Team proud. Not that any of those
girls had ever given Megan the time of day except when they
were trying to fundraise for new uniforms or a competition.
"My car
"
"
isn't going anywhere without you," Eva
said. "Come on." Megan stepped inside the villa. The
door closed behind her with a thud.
Goose bumps covered her skin.
Trapped, except she wasn't standing in some dark, musty,
Gothic manor. This mansion was bright with big windows and
gleaming floors. The air smelled fresh, flowery with a hint
of citrus. The temperature was cooler than outside.
Air-conditioning. That explained the goose bumps.
Glancing around the foyer, she pressed her lips together to
keep her mouth from gaping in awe. To the right, an
elaborate wrought-iron chandelier hung over a huge dining
table that seated twenty. The living room on the left was
filled with expensive furnishings and fancy artwork with
huge windows that showed the breathtaking ocean view.
Eva strode across the gleaming wood floor at a rapid clip,
an amazing feat considering the high heels on her shoes.
"Don't dawdle."
Megan quickened her pace. She had no idea what was going on.
Pretty much if it wasn't illegal or immoral, she would
do what was asked of her. Anything to secure a full-time
position.
Eva glared back. "Don't talk unless someone
addresses you directly."
Megan nodded. That suited her fine. She followed her boss
through glass doors out onto a massive deck overlooking the
beach and ocean. A breeze carried the salty scent of the
sea. The sky looked like yards of gray flannel spread out to
the horizon.
The patio stretched across the backside of the house and was
decorated as nicely as the interior. Seating arrangements
had been set up with comfy pillow-covered chairs and chaise
longues. One corner had a built-in barbecue and a bar with
stools. There was even a hot tub.
Two men, who she didn't know, sat at a table. Both wore
light-colored short-sleeved shirts, slacks and dark
sunglasses even though the sky was overcast.
Another man and woman, both wearing sunglasses also, stood
at the railing. She recognized them from the wardrobe
department. The man looked all business in his dark,
tailored pants, white long-sleeved dress shirt and
multicolored silk tie. The cut and line of the woman's
salmon-pink above-the-knee skirt and cap-sleeved jacket
reminded Megan of a designer from Milan she'd written a
paper on at college.
No one acknowledged her presence. Megan wasn't offended
or surprised. Invisible could be her middle name.
Most people had been calling her "hey, you" or
"new intern" since she arrived at the studio on
Monday morning. She was, in a word, forgettable. Nothing
special, as her late mother continually reminded Megan,
whereas her three siblings Holt, Nate and
Jessdefined the word. Megan wondered if their new two
half siblings, the Patterson twins, fathered by her dad
before he married her mom, were more like Megan's
brothers and sister than her.
"I finally have the designs." Eva's tone made
the delay sound like Megan's fault. "We can get
started now."
"Hey, you," a male voice said. "Girl in the pink
T-shirt."
Megan looked at one of the men sitting at the table. He was
handsome in a distinguished-gentleman sort of way. His tan
skin and sun-bleached hair made her think he spent a lot of
time outside. She guessed he might be the producer who lived
here.
"Go get Adam," the man said.
Adam? The blood rushed from Megan's head. She had no
idea who the guy was talking about.
Eva laughed. "Megan is new in town, Chas. She's from
Texas and my latest intern. One of her former professors is
a very close friend of mine who has an eye for raw talent.
Emphasis on raw."
The man and woman standing at the rail looked at Megan for a
nanosecond, then returned to their conversation.
Megan tried to let it roll off her. The way she used to do
back in Larkville.
Here in Hollywood, she had no choice. Getting your foot in
the door was all about connections. A few people managed
positions on their own, but it wasn't easy. Professor
Talbott had secured this internship for her. But nothing was
guaranteed. She would have to prove her worth or she would
find herself back at the ranch before the annual Fall
Festival in October. Who was she kidding? She might be home
by Fourth of July, or worse, Memorial Day.
A heavy weight pressed down on her. She struggled not to let
her shoulders droop.
"Texas, huh?" the blond man Eva had called Chas said.
Megan nodded.
He gave her the once-over, but with his sunglasses on she
couldn't tell what he thought about her. "Dallas or
Austin?"
"Larkville."
"Never heard of it."
"You're not missing anything unless you like pickup
trucks, cowboys and the smell of cow manure," she replied.
Her comment drew a wide smile full of straight, white teeth.
"Sounds like lyrics to a country song."
"Megan," Eva said sharply. "Run down to the
water. Tell Adam it's time for him to join us.
That's Adam Noble, our star actor. I'm sure even a
small-town Texas girl like you knows who he is."
Megan had seen some of his movies, action-adventure flicks
that required him to take off his shirt as many times as
possible. Adam had a killer, athletic body still toned from
his college quarterback days and a classically handsome
face. The guy also had a habitperhaps a hobbyof
having flings with his leading ladies. Or so the grocery
store tabloids reported. She nodded.
Most women would call the actor hot, but she preferred guys
who were more
cerebral. Guys like her best friend, Rob.
Her Mr. Right, if ever one existed. All she had to do was
wait it out until he realized she was his Ms. Right.
A squawking noise sounded overhead. She looked up to see two
seagulls. Their white feathers were almost lost against the
cloudy sky. Very cool. She couldn't remember the last
time she'd seen this type of bird.
"We don't have all day," Eva said.
Megan ran down the deck's staircase to the beach.
Eva's cackling laughter followed Megan onto the sand.
Her cheeks burned. Compassion and understanding didn't
seem to exist in Hollywood. No one cared if she felt like
the proverbial fish out of water, overwhelmed and exhausted.
They only cared that she got the job done. If she
couldn't, ten others were waiting to take her place.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
She would do whatever it took to succeed in this business.
Not that she had seen any costume designs other than those
hanging on the walls, storyboards and drafting tables at the
work space at the studio. She'd touched only clothing
and fabric bolts needed by the staff. But she knew how each
coworker took their coffee or tea, what they ordered for
lunch and that "Firebreather," Eva's nickname,
wasn't an exaggeration.
Megan's tennis shoes sunk into the sand.
Her internship was nothing like she thought it would be.
Girl Friday seemed too glorified a term for what she did.
That was run errands, emphasis on the running. Gophers got
more respect than she did. And she was doing this all for
free
for the experience.
But paying her dues was required in the film industry.
Costume designers worked their way up in the food chain. She
had to start somewhere. Whatever she was doing here was
better than being stuck back in Larkville and using her
sewing ability to make alterations at the nearest dry
cleaners. If only Rob had wanted her to move to Austin
instead of encouraging her to take this internship.
She stumbled over a piece of seaweed. Sticking her arms out
to keep her balance, she managed to stay upright. No doubt
she looked like an idiot. As usual. She was all limbs and
hair. Always had been.
A few people stood at the water's edge. In spite of the
gray sky, women wore tiny strips of fabric that showed off
their toned and honey-gold tanned bodies. Megan would never
have the nerve to wear a bikini like that even if the
temperature had been warmer and the sun shining.
Men wore board shorts and no shirts. Muscular physiques
abounded. One thing was certain. The beach was a magnet for
attractive men. But she'd still take Rob over any of
them, even if he were thinner with not so many muscles. He
wanted to spend time with her. He was always there to give
advice, offer support and hang out with. Guys like him were
hard to find.
She looked at each of the men. None had Adam Noble's
trademark tousled brown hair and loose curls.
Megan dug the toe of her shoe into the sand.
Where could he be?
She noticed everyone was looking at the water. A lone surfer
rode a massive wave. He did a fancy move with his board. She
thought he might wipe out, but he somehow stayed on his feet.
Two women cheered. Another clapped. One man whistled.
A different woman sighed. "Adam is so hot."
Megan studied the surfer, who wore some sort of wet suit. It
didn't take her long to realize Adam Noble was the one
riding the wave. He cut back and forth on his board, across
the rolling wave, doing tricks and inspiring oohs-and-aahs
from the captivated crowd.
Show-off.
She wasn't impressed. Okay, she would give him a few
props for making the women drool and the men stare at him
with envy. But Adam could have ridden the wave without doing
so many risky moves. The guy had a starring role in a new
feature film, one she would work on as part of her
internship. He should be more careful, not out there
endangering himself and possibly the entire production so he
could perform for his adoring fans on such a big wave.
Talk about an idiot.
He reminded her of those cowboys back home who risked their
lives for an eight-second ride on some bucking bull named
Diablo. The guy was all brawn. He didn't have a brain
cell in that handsome head of his.
No wonder his costars slept with him. They probably
couldn't find anything to talk about with him and
figured sex was an easy way to fill the time between scenes.
Thank goodness Adam was riding the wave to shore. The sooner
she could get him to the villa, the sooner she would be able
to get back to the studio.