Starstruck

  A Discovered by Love Novella

  Carla Laureano

  STARSTRUCK

  Published by Laureano Creative Media LLC

  P.O. Box 3002

  Parker, CO 80134, U.S.A.

  www.CarlaLaureano.com

  © 2018 by Carla Yvonne Laureano

  Cover photograph of couple © nd3000/Adobe Stock. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of Westminster Bridge © Hugo Sousa/Unsplash. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Mark Lane II

  Copyedited by Deborah Raney

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-7327940-1-6

  First edition 2018

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  Books by Carla Laureano

  “Connor Bell is in the hospital.”

  Christine Lind stopped abruptly on the jetway at Los Angeles International Airport, causing the passengers behind her to veer past her like water around a rock in a stream. The crackle of static on the phone made her think she had somehow misheard her agent, Noah, even though his words were perfectly clear. “Connor Bell. As in the actor I’m supposed to be on a panel with in less than ninety-six hours. That Connor Bell?”

  “Is there any other? Motorcycle accident in Manchester last night. Word is he broke his leg in three places.”

  A man behind her cursed sharply at her sudden stop, and she pushed herself up against the rickety jetway wall, wheeling her carry-on out of the way. “So what does this mean for filming?”

  “Well, it means he won’t be, naturally. Pretty physical part, and he can’t be scaling Victorian brownstones if he’s in a cast for months.”

  Christine pressed her fingertips to her eyes. This was not happening. In less than four days, they would be announcing the cast of a new cable series—a series based on her best-selling books—to a packed audience at London FanFest. As an executive consultant and co-creator of the show, she would be sitting up there alongside the cast and director, talking about why the English heartthrob was the perfect person to play her hero, Jackson Landry. She had spent days practicing her answers to the questions the moderator would be throwing her way. And now they didn’t have a Jackson Landry at all?

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she finally asked.

  “I’m telling you now. And you’re lucky you’re perennially late to the airport. I called you as soon as I heard so you’d have time to prepare on the flight.”

  “So, they have someone new.”

  “They offered him the role tonight.”

  “Who is it?”

  Noah hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Don’t tell me they went with Rafael Montserrat. He’s completely wrong, and he can’t do an American accent to save his life.”

  “No, not Rafael.” The silence stretched, and it brought with it a new beat of dread in her heart. “They gave it to Nick Cleary.”

  The blood rushed from Christine’s face, leaving only the dull, watery thud of her pulse in her ears. The jetway seemed to waver around her for a moment. “Nick?”

  “Listen, I know you weren’t thrilled with the idea of him in the first place, but you have to admit he’s perfect. And he lobbied hard for the part. He’s exactly like you described Jackson.”

  There was a reason for that, one that Noah didn’t need to know. “Forget it. I’m not coming.”

  “You have to come.”

  “No. No, I don’t. They can do the panel without me.” Christine was starting to hyperventilate, panic tracing an icy line down her back. Passengers began throwing her strange looks, so she turned away and lowered her voice. “I can’t do this.”

  “I know you’re not keen on public speaking, but you have to. That’s why I gave you a few extra hours’ notice. And what about your book signings? Are you going to disappoint all your fans?”

  No, of course she wasn’t. The fans were the only reason she ever left her beautiful little beach house in San Diego, the only reason she’d consider getting up in front of a packed theater. Noah certainly knew how to go for the throat. “How am I supposed to talk about how he’s perfect for the part when I fought so hard against him?”

  “You’re a writer. Make it up. You should be comfortable with fiction. Just get on the plane.”

  “Fine. I’m going. I’ll…I’ll think of something.” Christine clicked off the phone and stared at the screen as if somehow that was going to change the news. He was right. She didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  “Ma’am? We’re finished boarding now.”

  Christine looked up and saw the flight attendant standing at the end of the jetway, staring at her with a mixture of concern and annoyance. Only then did she realize the line of passengers had vanished. She shoved her phone in her purse and strode toward the open hatch of the airliner.

  She could do this. She could get on this plane and make up some line about why she was thrilled that Nick Cleary had gotten the role in her romantic steampunk adventure. She could feign a happy smile without letting on that she hated the man to the very depths of her soul, a conviction dating back to the days when she was a just a struggling, penniless author. The fact was, Nick was perfect to play Jackson Landry because the handsome actor had inspired the character, down to the rich brown eyes and the irresistible dimple in his left cheek.

  Right before he had broken her heart.

  By the time Christine landed in London ten-and-a-half hours later, she had managed to calm herself down. Well, to be fair, it was the sleeping pill her doctor had prescribed that had calmed her down, considering that she liked flying about as much as she liked speaking in front of a live audience. The benefit was that while she would have been chewing her nails to the quick over the prospect of having to face Nick again, she’d instead been blissfully unconscious for most of the flight. The wet spot on the shoulder of her sweatshirt indicated she’d been drooling as well, but as long as there wasn’t any video evidence of the fact, she was comfortable ignoring it.

  “I can do this,” she whispered to herself, then gave a weak smile as the man next to her shot her a funny look. She retrieved her tote—a showy piece stamped with designer initials that she’d bought with her first advance check—and slung it over her shoulder, steeling herself for what awaited her.

  She was over Nick. That wasn’t a question. In fact, her longing had turned to anger when he got on network television and told the world that his first real love affair had ended in heartache because his fiancée just didn’t have the same level of ambition that he did. Apparently, he couldn’t be with someone who “wasn’t constantly bettering herself.”

  Bettering herself. Somehow he thought sitting her butt in a chair for ten hours a day, writing novel after novel while she tried to find an agent or a publisher to take her on wasn’t bettering herself. Back then, Nick had been struggling in his own career as much as she had, but his idea of bettering himself was getting his teeth whitened before yet another open call rejection.

  At least she’d gotten her big break on the merits of her own work. Nick had finally giv
en up and called in a favor from his childhood friend, Derek, whose father was a television producer. He’d been cast in a bit part as an angel or a demon or a vampire or whatever on one of those teen shows, and the female fans had demanded he be given a bigger role. So maybe the “self-improvements” had paid off after all.

  Christine sighed and fell into line as the flight attendants opened the hatch to let them onto the jetway. No, she couldn’t stoop to his level. Despite the fact he may have used his connections to get his break, he actually wasn’t a bad actor. It was the only reason why a director of David Chan’s stature would consider casting him in a series that was poised to be as big as Outlander.

  Too bad the discussion wasn’t over. She’d pulled up the contract for Smoke and Glory on her laptop at the beginning of the flight to double-check the language. Just as she’d thought, she didn’t exactly have the final word on casting—the difference between the words “consultation” and “approval”—but there was a clause that required her to be formally notified of any changes before they were announced to the public. Noah’s call was just a heads-up. Which meant that she still had time to make her case against him and urge David to choose someone else.

  Vindictive? Maybe. But she knew one thing. Working with Nick on this project was likely to turn her dreams into a nightmare.

  This had quite possibly been the longest twenty-four hours of Nick Cleary’s life.

  When he’d gotten the call late last night from David Chan, he almost hadn’t believed it. He’d been about to accuse one of his friends of doing an impersonation—albeit a very good one—of the director when Chan announced that their as-yet-unrevealed leading man had been injured and wasn’t available to take the part of Jackson Landry. Was he still interested?

  After Nick was done gaping like a fish out of water, he’d managed a calm, clear, “Yes, I’d be interested.”

  There was one catch, though, and it was the catch that now had Nick pacing the plush patterned carpeting of his hotel room like a restless animal. It wasn’t a done deal until Christine Lind agreed to it.

  And that was about as likely as him winning the lottery. Funny how he’d never thought that someone he’d hurt with his youthful stupidity would someday hold his career in her hands. He’d like to believe that Christine would be over it, that she’d forgiven him, but when you broke someone’s heart and then stepped on it on network television, you had to be prepared for a little anger.

  Nick pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and when he pulled them away, he saw stars. He’d never been so nervous in his life. As much as he hated to admit it, this was a dream role. Christine’s book series had all the hallmarks of a hit: adventure, romance, steampunk flare set in an alternate history England. And Jackson Landry was a particularly juicy role. These days, the parts that came his way mostly involved looking smoldering with his shirt off—something that had him spending hours in the gym every day—but rarely any kind of character depth. By comparison, Landry was a quintessential anti-hero who found his redemption in the end. Nick knew this because he’d been reading the books as Christine published them. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

  No, he would have to admit that. He had no pride to spare in this situation, not when Chan had made it clear that Christine had to sign off on him. Her executive consultant title probably didn’t come with full cast approval, but everyone knew that all it would take was a casual remark on social media to her millions of fans and they’d never be able to get the series off the ground with him in the role. No, like it or not, Christine had the leverage to make or break this for him. Not only did he have to convince her he was right for Jackson, he had to convince her that he’d changed from the heartless jerk who’d left her for another woman shortly after he’d proposed.

  Somehow, he didn’t think she was going to take his word for it.

  Chan promised that he would talk it over with her first so she wasn’t blindsided by the idea, and then he could come up and make a case for himself. It shouldn’t take long, he’d said. But as hours ticked by and Nick still hadn’t gotten the call, the dread was starting to escape from him in a cold sweat. He was lucky he was already in London for the convention, where he could pitch himself—or beg, if it came to that—in person. If he were back home in Los Angeles, he’d have zero options.

  He was checking his cell phone for the third time in case the call had gone straight to voice mail, when it sprang to life in his hands. He didn’t even hesitate as he swiped to accept. “Nick Cleary.”

  “Nick, would you please join Christine and me in my suite? The Cromwell, top floor.”

  The director’s calm request eased his nerves a bit. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

  Nick took a quick look in the room’s mirror before pocketing his cell phone and his room key, then stepped into the dimly lit hall. He had to take a minute to orient himself. The St. Anselm Hotel was the closest accommodation to the convention center—and as a result, packed with the cast of at least four Hollywood productions—but it was a renovated school turned into a five-star hotel. To call the layout “labyrinthine” would be like calling Hogwarts “a little dangerous.”

  He finally remembered on which end of the hall lay the lift and strode toward it, wiping his damp palms on his pant legs. Chan hadn’t sounded like it was going to be bad news. Maybe Nick was still in the game. He had to be. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the break he’d gotten on Night Music, but he was ready to prove he was more than a pretty face and a set of chiseled abs. Though if the other cable shows produced by this network were any indication, he probably wouldn’t be changing his gym routine any time soon.

  He emerged from the lift on the top floor and found the Cromwell suite, identified by a brass plaque on the extravagantly wallpapered wall. He rapped lightly on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing a pretty middle-aged blonde who Nick remembered was the production publicist.

  “Nick.” She smiled warmly. “Please come in.”

  “Thank you… Remy,” he said, digging her name out of his adrenaline-fogged brain. She offered him a bottle of cold water before leading him into the suite.

  Sitting in a lushly appointed seating area that reflected the historic nature of the hotel was the director, instantly recognizable. Across from him was a beautiful brunette in leather leggings and a lace tunic. Had he misunderstood? Where was Christine?

  David Chan smiled and rose to offer his hand. “Welcome, Nick. I understand that you and Christine already know each other. Which is, after all, the reason we’re here.”

  Nick’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at her, even more shocked than he had been when he’d gotten the phone call last night. “Christine?”

  “I’d say it’s nice to see you, Nick,” she said in a low, almost sultry tone, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, “but I try never to lie.”

  “Shut your mouth, Nick, and have a seat,” David said, not unkindly.

  He did as he was told, still too stunned to form actual words. The Christine he’d dated five years ago had been a mousy brunette who would never have dreamed of wearing leggings, let alone ones made of leather. This woman had glossy chestnut hair that swooped over one shoulder of her lace tunic, drawing attention to the bright red streak that framed her face…which was fully made-up, he noticed, down to a fringe of false lashes. He trailed his gaze down shapely legs to strappy high-heeled booties, then back up to her face. At the moment, her look of amusement said she was enjoying his shock.

  His stomach dropped to his feet.

  He’d been thinking he could win her over with sincerity—and he truly was sorry for having been such a jerk—but somewhere along the line, his ex-fiancée had learned how to play the game. She was no longer the introvert who spent days and nights at her computer wearing a baggy sweatshirt dusted with Dorito crumbs. Now she was half-Hollywood-starlet and half-vixen…and completely in control.

  “Christine has reservations about casting you as Jackson Landry,
” the director said by way of opening. Remy perched on the arm of the sofa beside Christine, clearly throwing her support behind her fellow female. Great. Were they back in elementary school? Girls against boys?

  “I think reservations would be a nice way of saying it,” Christine said, that sultry undercurrent still present in her voice. Or had it been there all along, and he’d merely taken it for granted during the three years they’d been together? “The fact is, while Nick is very good-looking, the role of Jackson is emotionally challenging, and Nick has made it clear that he is highly experiential in his approach to roles.”

  Nick stared. Had she just called him shallow? Had she implied that he wouldn’t be able to connect with the role because he had no experience with actual feelings? He opened his mouth to protest, then realized that heated words would only prove her right. He swallowed down his pride once more and said levelly, “Based on your past experiences with me, I’d say I deserved that. But people change.” He inclined his head toward her. “Clearly you have. Don’t you think I deserve a chance to prove it?”

  Pink colored her cheeks, and she seemed temporarily at a loss for words.

  But David was not. “I think that’s an excellent idea, actually. Christine, you know that I want this show to be as close to your vision as we can make it. But I’ve made it clear from the beginning that Nick is my top choice for this role. I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d at least hear him out.”

  Christine pulled her top lip between her teeth, a movement that brought up a flush of memory, a sign that the woman he’d known still existed inside this toned and polished and made up version. Finally, she nodded. “Of course I will. But you promised me you wouldn’t force this on me.”

  “I did.” David favored her with what seemed to be a doting smile. He rose and they exchanged one of those ridiculous double air-kisses that everyone suddenly favored.

  Christine’s eyes brightened as she turned and crossed the room with a seductive sway that she’d evidently acquired since the last time he’d seen her. She paused and said in a low voice, “Don’t get too comfortable here, Nick. You’re not the only one with friends in this business.”