Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed, alone, I wonder if anything between us was real. Maybe I’d imagined it all, under the haze of first infatuation and then love. But then I remember how Simon looked at me, how he kissed me, and I know Dad is right; it wasn’t fake. No man can be that good of an actor.

  But it doesn’t matter. Simon and I are over. He’s not going to come crawling back to me no matter how much I dream about it. I have to focus on my new business and on myself.

  I hear my phone sound, and grabbing it, I see another text from Charles. I roll my eyes. The man has been relentless ever since he found out Simon and I are over. He thinks that if he bothers me enough, I’ll take him back. I’m this close to blocking his number, but he’d probably just show up at my doorstep.

  Leave me alone, I reply.

  Within seconds he messages, Can we just talk? Please?

  NO!

  I turn my phone on silent.

  Two months ago, I was engaged to that man because my family thought it was the best I could ever do. And I believed them. I truly thought he was the only man on this earth who would want to marry me. How depressing is that? But Simon showed me how wrong I was. He may have broken my heart, but he also gave me the courage to transform my life. It’s funny how things work out like that.

  With that realization, I can look back on my time with Simon as one that was too short, yet at the same time something I will never regret. I learned how to love, and I learned how to appreciate myself, too.

  I’m startled when my doorbell rings. I frown, convinced it’s Charles. I throw open the door. “Charles, please. I—”

  My words falter when I see who’s actually on my doorstep.

  Simon.

  He’s wearing an open-collared shirt and dark pants, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up his forearms. His hair is longer and he has stubble on his cheeks.

  He looks beautiful. I stare at him, like he’s a ghost come to haunt me.

  Then I see a dozen reporters, waiting across the street. I blink as a flashbulb goes off.

  Simon curses softly and braces his hands on either side of the doorframe. “Damn it, Marissa. I can’t believe you’ve actually taken The Prat back. Are you insane, woman?”

  What in the world? He thinks…? And he has the nerve to tell me I’m…?

  “For your information, I’m not back together with Charles. He’s tried to see me, but I’ve told him the same thing I’m about to tell you. Go away.” I move to slam the door in his face, but he catches it in one strong hand even as relief washes over his expression.

  “Thank God. Declan told me you were back with him but I couldn’t believe it. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I snort. “Yeah. Apparently there are plenty of guys who don’t deserve me.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken. May I come in? Please?”

  He gives me a look, and it’s a look that’s both hopeful and despairing. It melts my heart. My stupid, betraying heart. I have no willpower with this man but somehow, I have to find it.

  “What would be the point? Just say what you need to say and then go.”

  He glances over his shoulder. Cameras flash wildly, and I can’t help but wonder what story they can possibly come up with over the star of Perfect Union showing up at my little cottage. With his new role, long gone are the days when he’d been able to avoid the paparazzi. I’m sure he fills every gossip magazine now, which is why I’ve been avoiding them and the television at all costs.

  “Please, Marissa. I need to talk with you, and then I’ll go if that’s what you want.”

  I stare at him, then sigh, realizing what’s going on. He wants to apologize. Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but the other part of me understands that the better course is to be the bigger person, if only to show him he didn’t break me. It isn’t quite true but he doesn’t need to know that. “Fine. Come in.”

  When I shut the door, he doesn't sit down. Instead, he stuffs his hands into his pockets, clearly antsy. Oddly enough, his nervousness calms me.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “No, I’m good.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Although maybe I should. Do you have red?”

  “Only white, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s fine. White is fine. I like white.” His cheeks flush as he realizes he’s babbling.

  Simon Richards-Dale is discombobulated, I realize. Around me. Is it Opposite Day?

  I go in the kitchen, pour him a glass of wine, then come back and hand it to him. Our fingers brush. It’s like an electric shock. Our gazes meet, and I have to look away.

  The tension only lengthens. I’m about to ask him why he’s here when he says, “I needed to see you, Marissa.”

  I stare at my own wine glass, because suddenly it’s too much to look him in the eye.

  “I needed to see you because I’m a right bastard. I bolloxed everything, didn’t I?” When I don’t reply, he sighs. “Don’t answer that. I know I did. You shouldn’t have let me in at all. But I’m so glad you did. I have been a miserable, useless, stupid, pathetic mess without you. I’ve been hopeless. You know, I think of you every time I wake up? When I drink coffee? When Greg drives me somewhere? When I take a walk? It’s you I think about. You’re this constant presence and bloody hell, it’s driving me insane.”

  He sounds so despairing and so frustrated that I have to fight the urge to laugh. But as he steps closer to me, all laughter disappears. I can feel his body heat. It takes everything in me not to launch myself into his arms.

  “I’m bungling this,” he mutters. “I’m here because I love you, Marissa Woodcrest. I adore you. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. You make me want to be a better man.”

  Now I feel the tears coming. I’m still staring at my wine glass because it’s all too much. His words, his presence. Is this just a dream? I’ve had this dream so many times that I’m not sure anymore.

  “God, Marissa, look at me. Please look at me.”

  I take a deep breath, and I meet his gaze. His blue eyes are haunting and yet brimming with love. It makes me gasp.

  He takes my hand. “Darling, did you hear me? I love you.”

  I stare and stare because my voice is gone. Words are lost. I can only feel my heart pounding in my chest.

  “You’re scaring me.” He kisses my fingers. “Please say something.”

  I inhale. “You really love me?”

  He nods. “God, yes, I love you. And I’m so sorry for everything. I was so convinced that I couldn’t be the man you needed and deserved, and when your mum came to see me…” He squeezes my hand. “But I didn’t count on being so in love with you that when you walked away, you took my very will to live. Nothing means more to me than you do, and if it means I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you and to your mum, I’ll do it.”

  I’m crying, I realize. Big, sloppy tears are falling, and I cover my mouth to keep the sounds from filling the kitchen. Simon hugs me and I cry into his shirt.

  I barely hear what he’s saying at first. “I’m giving up the part. If you tell me yes, I’ll stay with you. Nothing would make me happier than to just be with you.”

  I force myself to stop crying, or at least to stop crying so hard. “What?” I ask in a watery voice. “What are you talking about? Why would you give up the part?”

  “The role isn’t worth it, not if it comes between us. Being an actor isn’t worth it, either. I never thought I was good enough to do anything else but act, but there has to be other options out there for me. I’ve already told Declan to talk to Noble and Spires. See if I can get out of my contract.”

  I’m so confused. “But everything you worked so hard for! You don’t have to give up Perfect Union—and why would you want to give up acting?”

  “That day your mother came to see me? She told me she’d use her influence in Hollywood to make sure I never worked again if I kept pursuing you,” he says intently, and when I open my mouth, he waves
a hand and continues, saying, “I was between a rock and a hard place—without a career, I wouldn’t have been able to provide for you. But mostly, I believed her when she said I didn’t deserve you. I thought the fact I’d used you to get the role, my shitty upbringing, the chance I might never work in this town again, all of it made me think I didn’t deserve you.”

  “But you—”

  “But I realized you deserved better than the life your mother was forcing you to live. I don’t want either of us to be guided by our past mistakes any longer. You and I? This has to be your decision. I just took your mother’s power out of the equation.” He shakes his head. “No career is worth not having you in my life.”

  I’m dumbfounded. He would give up the role of a lifetime for me. He’d give up his career—the thing he loved to do—for me. For us. It’s unbelievable. And yet it fills me with such awe and love for him that I finally throw my arms around his neck.

  “You do love me!” I cry into his shoulder.

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?” He laughs and holds me tighter.

  “I love you. I still love you, even though you drive me insane.” It’s true. I’d told myself I needed to move on, but who was I kidding? There’s no moving on from Simon Richards-Dale.

  “God, Marissa.” He tilts my head back and then his mouth is on mine. I gasp as he kisses me. I’ve missed this so much, too: the feeling of his lips moving against my own, his tongue tangling with mine. Coming together and feeling our passion burn like this.

  But before we get too carried away, I break the kiss and say, “You can’t give up that part, Simon. You have to tell Declan you changed your mind.”

  He gives me an odd look. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. You were born to play that part. Noble and Spires need you, clearly. No one, not even Liam, could fill that part like you. And you were born to act. Let me handle my mother and her threats.” I give him another smile. “You should always listen to me, you know. Because I’m clearly the smartest person here.”

  He doesn’t laugh. He just smiles and whispers against my mouth, “Darling, I never had a doubt that’s true.”

  Epilogue

  Simon

  “I think I’m going to cry.”

  I look over at Declan. I’m not sure if he’s joking or not.

  “No tears, man. At least not until after the ceremony,” I tell him, adjusting my bowtie.

  It’s been an entire year since Marissa and I got back together, and now it’s our wedding day. I can hardly believe it. I’m here, standing in front of the mirror at the church, dressed in a tux, waiting for the ceremony to begin. I haven’t seen Marissa since this morning, when her family whisked her away to get ready. It turns out her sister Larissa isn’t as horrible as I (or Marissa) thought. She’s actually been making an effort to be closer to Marissa, something Marissa is visibly happy about, and when I last saw them together, I heard something about curling irons and manicures and waxing and quite frankly I didn’t need to know any more than that.

  I’d popped the question after six months of dating. Marissa’s mum wasn’t exactly overjoyed when we told her, but it was actually her father I’d had the hardest time winning over. He’d had the most hope for Marissa and I in the beginning—even going so far as to not reveal who I was even after he recognized me—therefore he’d needed the most convincing that I truly loved her. After I’d proposed, however, and Marissa’s mum had suggested a long engagement, Raul had shaken his head. “Marissa doesn’t want a long engagement and neither does Simon, do you, Simon?”

  “No, sir, I don’t,” I’d replied. “I want your daughter to be my wife as soon as possible.”

  “Well then,” he’d said. “Make it happen. Make my daughter happy.”

  “I will,” I’d replied. “I’ll spend my life making her the happiest woman on this and any planet.”

  At that, Raul Woodward had smiled, and I swear his wife had sighed, and it had mostly been a happy sound. June Woodward will never be my biggest fan, nor will I ever be hers, but my enormous success after the premiere of Perfect Union, and the fact my name’s being batted around as a contender for an Oscar, has raised my worth in June’s eyes considerably. And the truth is, now that Marissa’s father is taking Marissa’s back more often, June has started to soften toward her daughter, as well. She’d even expressed outrage that Charles The Prat’s parents had sought an invitation to the wedding, stating she’d never let that “horrid man” back into her good graces after the way he’d tried to come between Marissa and me.

  Kenny, Marissa’s brother, is slouched in a chair across from us. I didn’t really want him as one of my groomsmen, but I thought I’d be nice and ask him. Luckily, he’s been too preoccupied with not getting kicked out of school—again—that he hasn’t been much trouble. Right now, he’s messing around on his phone, completely oblivious to anything else around him.

  “What time is it?” I ask Declan.

  He glances at his watch. “1:30. So about a half hour to go.”

  I know a lot of guys get cold feet at this point. They think commitment is terrifying, and that the last thing they want to do is become a husband.

  Me, though? I can’t wait. Ever since I realized that I could be a boyfriend, then fiancé, then husband to Marissa? I’ve only wanted to do more and become more. I can’t wait to put that ring on her finger and I can’t wait for her to put the ring on mine.

  Dana pokes her head in. “You guys ready?” She’s wearing a strapless red gown along with the rest of the bridesmaids, her hair up in some complicated bun thing. I’m so happy my sister and my bride-to-be hit it off so well.

  “Ready as ever. How’s Marissa?”

  Dana smiles. “She’s good. Actually, you can ask her yourself…” She motions, and then Marissa—in her bright white wedding dress—comes into our dressing room.

  I gape at her. She’s absolutely stunning. Her dress is some kind of lacy chiffon number and her dark hair cascades down her back in ringlets. She smiles at me.

  “What are you doing here? If your mum finds out you’re in here…”

  She laughs. “What, she’s going to call off the wedding? Unlikely. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

  Silence descends. Declan goes over to Kenny, saying, “Let’s give these two some privacy.”

  Kenny looks at us, his brow furrowed. But then Declan won’t let go of his arm, so he’s forced to get up.

  After everyone leaves, Marissa comes toward me. She looks radiant. There’s no other word for it. For the first time, I’m afraid that I’m going to be crying before the wedding even starts.

  “You look beautiful.” I lean down to kiss her, but she turns so I kiss her cheek.

  “Sorry!” She laughs. “Lipstick.”

  I nod sagely. “Of course. We can’t have you looking smudged going down the aisle.”

  “Besides, we have to save something for the ceremony.” She reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a folded piece of paper. As she unfolds it, I realize it’s a glossy magazine page. “Look. I’m famous. Well, at least Marissa with one ‘s’ is.”

  There is a small picture of the two of us, taken while we were out visiting wedding venues. We’re both in jeans and sunglasses, looking very relaxed, and so very happy. A small caption underneath says, “Females of the world weep! Droolworthy Borg of Alien Love and now the Oscar-contending star of Perfect Union Simon Dale prepares to wed his long-time girlfriend, Marisa Woodcrest.”

  I wince, but when I look at her, she’s laughing. “Never in my life did I think I would be in a tabloid magazine. Even though my name is spelled incorrectly.”

  I laugh at her. “How does it feel?” I ask. “Dreadfully dull, right?”

  She nods. “Compared to some things, most definitely.”

  We gaze at each other. Her engagement ring sparkles on her left hand, and the sight makes my heart fill with happiness.

  “Are you ready for this?” she asks me.

  I w
onder if she’s testing me, or maybe she’s getting cold feet. But her expression is excited, even calm, and so I exhale.

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” But I say it with a smile. “I’m completely ready. I’ve been ready. You know I would’ve married you ages ago.”

  “I know. I feel the same. But you know my mom would never have wanted me to get married down at the courthouse. This was the least I could do for her, now that she’s welcomed you into our family.”

  “So if you didn’t come here to let me kiss you,” I say as I lead her to sit down on a small couch, “why did you? To make sure I wasn’t going to be a runaway groom?”

  She seems nervous all of a sudden. She wipes her hands on the couch cushions. Maybe she does have concerns about this next step in our lives? I wait, hoping she’ll tell me before we sign our marriage license.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you this for the past few days, but there never seemed to be time.” She bites her lip, which I tap, because she’s smudging her lipstick.

  “And you keep falling asleep before 9:00.”

  I know she’s been tired lately, from the wedding planning and festivities. We’d get home and she would collapse before I could kiss her goodnight.

  “Well, there’s a reason for that.” She looks away, but she seems to force herself to catch my gaze again. “Is there a good way to say this?” She takes a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting those words. I was expecting something about how she’s worried about our future, or maybe she’s not sure about where we’ll end up living. But this? This is shocking.

  This is amazing.

  “You are?” I look at her abdomen, which is still flat. “How long have you known?”

  “Only for a week. I wanted to tell you on Sunday, but then we had our fittings…”

  “God, darling. Oh my God.”

  She looks up at me through her lashes. “Are you happy?”

  I stare at her, astonished. “Happy? Marissa, I’m bloody ecstatic.”