Starstruck Read online

  She made her way toward them, a bright smile forming on her face as she approached, but they were both too engrossed in their conversation to notice her arrival. And then she caught Remy’s words.

  “—have to hand it to you, Nick. You worked this thing hard. I had my doubts it could be done.”

  “Well, you almost blew it by posting the photo. But you are the one who told me to talk about the books. She just needed to be convinced that I was committed to the spirit of the role. She takes her characters pretty seriously.”

  Remy laughed, but it had a bit of a vicious undertone. “Writers, am I right?”

  Nick cracked a vague smile, but Christine must have gasped or made some sound of outrage, because they both swiveled toward her. Remy recovered faster than Nick, smoothing over her surprise. Clearly she thought there was a chance that Christine hadn’t heard anything.

  “Hey, there you are.” Remy smiled between Nick and Christine, but her eyes never landed on their faces. “I’ll leave you two to your dinner plans. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” She gave a little wave and then click-clacked across the atrium in her heels.

  Scratch that. She knew full well what had been overhead, but she was leaving Nick to deal with the fallout. Classy.

  Nick’s expression showed he knew exactly how bad things looked. “Christine, it’s not what it sounded like—”

  “Oh no? Because it sounded like you and Remy have been working together to make sure you get this role. Pretending to be my friend—handling me—since the beginning.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Chrissy, I swear.”

  “Then what was it like?” She crossed her arms over her chest and waited while Nick’s mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing resembling an explanation spilled out.

  She shook her head in disgust. “I’ll make it really easy for you. You did what you had to do to convince me that you were right for the role. And you know what? You’re a brilliant actor, Nick. You actually made me believe that you still felt something for me. That deserves some sort of reward. So congratulations. You’re every bit as much a con artist as Jackson Landry.”

  She turned on her heel and took a few steps away from him before she spun back. “But I wouldn’t count on Jackson making it through book six if I were you.”

  The words seemed to unfreeze Nick. Typical. A threat to his career was always more effective than any appeal to his sense of personal integrity. He rushed toward her and scuttled next to her like the cockroach he was as she strode toward the lift. “Chrissy, I screwed up. Let me make it up to you.”

  “What could you possibly do that would make it up to me?”

  Nick deflated. “Chrissy, I never meant to hurt you. Yes, Remy coached me on what to say to you. But the rest… the Soane House, the kiss… that was all sincere. I did that because I wanted to.”

  The lift doors slid open and Christine stepped on. “Remy was right. You were trying to seal the deal. Consider it done.” She punched the close button and the doors slid together, shutting him out. For good this time.

  Nick watched as Christine disappeared behind the lift doors, his heart in his throat, dread sitting squarely where his stomach used to be. Had someone tried to script a heart-wrenching betrayal scene, they couldn’t have done it any better than what Christine had just witnessed. From her perspective, it looked like he’d manipulated her from the start.

  And she wasn’t entirely wrong.

  Nick punched the lift’s up button and tapped his foot impatiently while the car delivered Christine and then returned to the lobby. He had to explain. He couldn’t leave her thinking that he’d betrayed her again for the sake of his career. It would taint this whole production, something that was supposed to catapult both of them up the next rung of their careers.

  Even worse, it would ensure that she’d never speak to him again.

  The car finally arrived, and he stepped on and pushed the button for Christine’s floor, his gut churning the whole way up. Funny how only a few days ago, it was the idea of losing the role that had him in knots and now it was the thought of losing her.

  The idea stunned him before it was chased by a secondary thought: he’d never really had her in the first place. He’d given up any right to her affections five years ago due to his own selfish stupidity. He’d cast himself as the wronged party in this situation, but he’d been the one who’d gotten scared and fled the relationship only weeks after proposing. The fact she’d even consider forgiving him should have come as more of a surprise that the idea she might jump to the worst possible conclusion.

  The lift dumped him off on her floor, and he slowly approached her door as if she might sense him coming and flee the scene. Don’t be stupid. Just knock.

  As soon as he did, he heard a rustle behind the door, followed by a muffled, “Go away.”

  “Christine.” He leaned closer to the door. “I need to talk to you. I want to explain.”

  “We’ve got nothing to say to each other.”

  Nick sighed, then raised his hand and knocked harder. And kept knocking until his knuckles throbbed. Finally, the door jerked open and Christine stared at him.

  Dry-eyed and furious.

  Somehow he imagined her at least sniffling a little, but right now she looked to be contemplating how best to murder him and throw his body into the Thames.

  But she’d opened the door, so he asked meekly, “Can I come in?”

  She turned on her heel. “Fine. Whatever. But make it quick.”

  Nick caught the door before it slammed and followed her in. When he saw the suitcase lying open on the bed, he faltered. “You’re leaving already? Fanfest isn’t over yet.”

  “My part is.” She went to the wardrobe and began extracting her steampunk wardrobe carefully from the hangers. Everything else looked to have been shoved haphazardly into her luggage, but now she took special care with the corsets and petticoats. “So? What is it you wanted to say?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Good to know. There’s the door.” She didn’t even look at him, just kept packing with those spare, precise motions.

  “Remy did tell me that I needed to show you I had a personal connection to the character. She did tell me I needed to win you over. But I swear to you, Chrissy, everything I said to you was the truth. That’s why I want the role. I do love the character. And the fact that I would recite the Gettysburg Address in a bunny suit should tell you that I would do anything to play it.”

  “Even get cozy with the author for a few days,” she said flatly. “No one is questioning your commitment here, only your motives.”

  “Why would I need to manipulate you? I’d already been given the role.”

  “Because it hadn’t been announced yet? And until I publicly endorsed your involvement, you couldn’t be sure you really had it?” She fixed him with a pointed stare and a raised eyebrow.

  “Wow. That’s cynical, even for you.”

  “What can I say? I’ve learned from my past experiences.” She straightened from the suitcase and tried to brush by him. “If that’s all—”

  He grabbed her arm. “Chrissy—”

  She sighed. “Look. We both know you’re only here to assuage your guilt and make sure things aren’t awkward on the rare occasion we cross on set. So consider it mission accomplished. Yes, I’m furious. I think you’re a jerk. But I’m more convinced than ever that you’re perfect for the role.” She threw him a smirk. “I know it’s hard for you to wrap your ego around the idea that two kisses with you didn’t ruin me for all other men, but I’ve made a pretty good life for myself. I’m not the same naive girl whose heart you once broke. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an early flight to catch.”

  A flicker of memory nagged at him as he peered into her eyes. Doubt surfaced in them before she steeled herself against his gaze. And then he realized why the words sounded so familiar. I know it’s hard for you to wrap your ego…

  It was a line directly from book four, right before Jack
son was taken off to prison, when Livia decides to punish him for his string of betrayals. Where Livia puts aside her conscience and her soft heart and reaches for vengeance instead, making herself into the person she’d been resisting all along. And at last he thought he understood.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Chrissy. Then and now. But if you’re dealing with things so well, maybe you need to ask yourself why you felt the need to create a whole new personality.”

  The doubt changed to fury in a flash. “Get out.”

  He nodded slowly. “For the record, I take full blame for what happened between us. I was an immature, cowardly jerk. But no matter how much you may try to make yourself into Cressida, there was never anything wrong with Chrissy.”

  He didn’t look at her again, just slipped out of the room and stood for a long moment, stock still, in the hallway.

  It was time to finally take responsibility, show her what she didn’t seem to comprehend from his words. He knew what he had to do.

  * * *

  Christine stared at the door, trembling but unable to put her finger on what infuriated her more—the fact that Nick thought a simple apology could erase her anger or the implication that he knew her better than she knew herself.

  She went back to the bed and laid out her long velvet overcoat. How dare he imply she was hiding behind Cressida because she was still broken-hearted over him? The pen name had been a strategic decision, nothing more. She’d known from the beginning that this series would someday generate its own fandom, one that would appreciate the tough, sexy Cressida Lyons. Her popularity at this con clearly proved she’d known what she was doing. European businessmen didn’t stop Chrissy Lind for photos in a hotel lift.

  Her hands stilled on the coat, rolled into a neat cylinder, when she realized what she’d just thought. It was one thing to cosplay for fun, even to keep her public and private lives separate, but she’d clearly taken it further than that. Didn’t she mentally don Cressida when she couldn’t deal with an uncomfortable situation? Hadn’t she created the pen name because she knew that crushed, pathetic Chrissy who couldn’t keep a man certainly wasn’t capable of writing a bestseller?

  Of course, the pen name had also been intended to shield her from the speculation of friends and family when she rewrote her Nick Cleary/Jackson Landry character with the sole intention of making him suffer.

  Could Nick be right about her?

  Christine sank down on the edge of her bed, confronted by a reality she’d always instinctively known but never wanted to address. Her being over Nick, her triumphant single life—all of it—had been the biggest fiction of all.

  Tears welled on her lower lashes and she swiped them away before they could trickle down her face. If she could admit that, she could admit that she had been hoping for a different outcome with Nick, not because she wanted a relationship with him, but because she wanted to prove to him that he’d made a mistake leaving her all those years ago.

  After all her successes, she still wanted his approval.

  She sat there frozen, stunned by the realization. Stunned by her own weakness. Stunned that two days with Nick had revealed an entire facet of her life to be a huge lie. What was she supposed to do now?

  The answer came to her instantly: nothing.

  Or rather, she would do exactly what she had already planned. She still had a book to write. A TV series that would begin shooting in five weeks. And a few more cons this year, where Cressida Lyons would have to make an appearance in her full steampunk glory. There would be no grand, external transformation that would signal to her friends and family that she was Moving On, that she’d had a Revelation.

  Just a quiet olive branch to the broken-hearted girl named Chrissy, what she should have told herself long ago: failing didn’t make her a failure and grieving didn’t make her weak. And just because the love of her life couldn’t see what he’d had didn’t mean she needed to be anyone other than who she was.

  Christine had asked her assistant to book her the first flight out of Heathrow, but she hadn’t taken into account that she’d have to be at the airport by five a.m. She made it through security bleary-eyed and yawning and feeling like the messy bun on top of her head was only one sharp move from sliding to her ear. She liked to travel comfortable, but even for her, this was taking things too far.

  She went off in search of coffee and then made her way to her gate with plenty of time to spare. She pulled out her laptop, set it up on her knees, and opened her file to the last page she’d written.

  The kiss between Jackson and Livia.

  Christine flushed as she read it, recognizing the similarities between the fictional interlude and the kiss outside her hotel room door. Remembering Nick’s lips on hers, the feel of their bodies pressed together. Realizing that as amazing as it had been, it would remain merely a memory.

  She might have once been tempted to break apart the heroic couple, but that wasn’t the right thing for the story, no matter what she’d said to Nick in anger. This was their time to put aside past differences and work together for the greater good. She was so engrossed in the story that she didn’t notice the man who sat down beside her until he peered over her shoulder to look at her screen.

  “Well, that’s a relief. I thought for sure Jackson was going straight back to Newgate.”

  Christine jerked her head up to look directly into a pair of familiar brown eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  Nick settled back again the seat. “Going home, same as you.”

  She blinked. “Don’t you have press panels and photo calls?”

  “Nope.”

  Christine stared at him, uncomprehending.

  “I take it you haven’t checked your messages.”

  She glanced at her phone, which was still on silent, and saw she had several voice mails. Looking back at Nick, she punched speaker.

  David’s voice streamed out, tight and bewildered. “Christine, call me. Nick backed out. Do you know anything about this?” The next two messages were more of the same.

  Christine lowered the phone, unable to process what she’d just heard. “You quit.”

  He nodded placidly. “I did.”

  “But… why?”

  “Because this is your big break, what you’ve always dreamed of. You don’t need me to spoil what should arguably be a highlight of your career.”

  “But we’ve announced. Your fans—”

  “—will get over it.” Nick folded his hands and looked into her eyes. “Do you really think I could enjoy the role knowing I’d hurt you to get it?”

  “I’m thinking the huge salary would probably go a long way to dampen the guilt.”

  That got him. He shifted in his seat and rubbed the side of his nose. “That’s true, it would. But I’m hoping now that I’m not attached to the project—thus proving I have no ulterior motives— you might be willing to have dinner with me.”

  Christine blinked. “Let me get this straight. You quit the role that could make your career in order to have dinner with me. Are you insane?”

  “Beginning to think so, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  He reached out and caressed her cheek like he’d done that night after their field trip, his expression softening. “Because I’ve always wondered what might have been, had I not been such a jerk. I knew I made a big mistake. And I was hoping maybe you would be willing to give me another chance to prove myself. To maybe go back to the way we were.”

  Christine took a deep breath and curled her fingers around his hand, then lowered it to the seat between them. “We can’t go back to how we were.”

  His hopeful expression faded, and he turned an unnatural shade of pale. He pulled his hand away. “I see. Well, I always knew there was a chance I’d messed up too badly. I’m sorry, Chrissy, I really am.”

  “We can’t go back to how we were, because we’re not the same people we were. Would you really want to go back to a place where we both were so afraid to say what we were feeling
that we let it drive us apart? Is that the kind of relationship you want?”

  Hope rekindled on his face. “What are you saying?”

  She licked her lips and took a deep breath, unable to believe what she was about to propose. “I’m saying that if we want to give this a shot, we need to start over. From the beginning. No assumptions. No shortcuts.” She drilled him with a look. “I don’t kiss until at least the third date.”

  “Can we count the one in London as our first, then?” At her stern look, he smiled. “Okay. Three dates. I can live with that.”

  “Also, you’re going to have to pick up that phone and tell David that you made a terrible mistake and you do want the role. Blame it on a hangover or the fact that you’re an idiot, but just get it back.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. No matter how this, us, turns out, you were born to play that role. I’m not letting you give it up.”

  “Is that all?” Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

  “One last thing.” She held out her hand. “I’m Christine. Not Cressida, not Chrissy. Just Christine.”

  A slow smile spread over his face as his fingers closed around hers, warm and firm. “It’s nice to meet you, Christine. I’m Nick. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”

  Eighteen months later

  “Cut! I think we’ve got it now. Reset for number thirty-nine.” The first assistant director, Levi, pulled off his headset and stepped away from the monitor. Under his direction, crew members began to rearrange furniture and props for the next interior of the Victorian drawing room.

  They were on location today at a Mayfair row home, something Christine was thoroughly pleased about considering the fine snow that fell gently like sugar from a giant sifter. She removed her own earbuds and hopped out of her chair for a stretch. Had she been back home in San Diego, she’d be recovering from turkey overdose on this Friday after Thanksgiving. Instead, she was in London, witnessing what would be the last day of shooting before they wrapped season two of Smoke and Glory.