by Lucy Parker
Pretty Face
By Lucy Parker
Highly acclaimed, award-winning author of Act Like It Lucy Parker returns readers to the London stage with laugh-out-loud wit and plenty of drama
The play’s the fling
It’s not actress Lily Lamprey’s fault that she’s all curves and has the kind of voice that can fog up a camera lens. She wants to prove where her real talents lie—and that’s not on a casting couch, thank you. When she hears esteemed director Luc Savage is renovating a legendary West End theater for a lofty new production, she knows it could be her chance—if only Luc wasn’t so dictatorial, so bad-tempered and so incredibly sexy.
Luc Savage has respect, integrity and experience. He also has it bad for Lily. He’d be willing to dismiss it as a midlife crisis, but this exasperating, irresistible woman is actually a very talented actress. Unfortunately, their romance is not only raising questions about Lily’s suddenly rising career, it’s threatening Luc’s professional reputation. The course of true love never did run smooth. But if they’re not careful, it could bring down the curtain on both their careers…
This book is approximately 96,000 words
One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise! Find out more at CarinaPress.com/RomancePromise
Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Deborah Nemeth
Dear Reader,
I’m practically cackling and rubbing my hands with glee at the amazing books we have in store for you this month. You’re going to fall in love with the newest additions to the Carina Press author lineup while enjoying the very best of our returning authors. Forgive me for saying it but…whee! Read on for the goodness…
This month Lucy Parker brings us her much anticipated sequel to contemporary romance Act Like It. Pretty Face returns readers to the highly acclaimed world of the London stage with laugh-out-loud wit and plenty of drama. Iconic director Luc Savage is in for a surprise with his new show—not to mention a May-December romance with its feisty star!
New-to-CarinaPress author Rhenna Morgan kicks off her new super-sexy contemporary romance series with Rough & Tumble. With his badass don’t-take-no-for-an-answer approach to life, Jace Kennedy is everything Vivienne Moore swore she never wanted in a man—especially after the rough lifestyle she grew up in. But Jace sees the hidden wild side in Vivienne, and he won’t give up until he shows her the safest place is in the arms of a dangerous man. By the way, Jace might be a badass, but he’s no alphahole. This is a guy every inch in love with his lady and willing to treat her like gold.
We return to Lauren Dane’s Cascadia Wolves series with Wolf Unbound. We meet Tegan—a Pack Enforcer who, after the death of her mate, thought she’d be alone forever. Until she meets Ben, handsome, dominant…and human.
Amber Bardan returns with a stunning new stand-alone sultry contemporary romance in King’s Captive. In Julius’s world, on his island, he is King. Money and power mean he rules all around him—including her.
In fan-favorite A.M. Arthur’s newest male/male romance, As I Am, scarred shut-in Taz finally braves the outside world for intensely shy Will, but secrets from both of their pasts could destroy their fragile new love.
Fans of Scott Hildreth’s The Gun Runner be prepared! Michael Tripp is back and as bad as ever in The Game Changer. Tripp and Terra are moving toward their happily-ever-after, but first they have to overcome the secrets they’re still keeping from each other—and her mafia family’s inexorable determination to pull Tripp into la famiglia.
We’re introducing three debut authors this month. First, join Agents Irish & Whiskey in Single Malt, Layla Reyne’s debut male/male romantic suspense. Widowed FBI agent and Irish ex-pat Aidan Talley falls hard for his handsome younger partner, Jameson “Whiskey” Walker, as they investigate cybercrimes and the murder of Aidan’s late husband.
In Mark of the Moon, a hookup with a vampire goes wrong when Dana Markovitz is scratched by a jealous were-cat. You won’t want to miss this sexy new urban fantasy series from debut author Beth Dranoff.
From debut author Sarah Hawthorne comes Enforcer’s Price, book one in the Demon Horde series. In this romantic motorcycle club romance, Colt is just starting to trust again, but Krista is hiding something big. Can he still love her when she reveals sex and money go hand in hand for her?
Don’t miss this amazing lineup of new and returning authors, and look for their next books in the upcoming months!
Next month: Don’t miss Shannon Stacey’s return to the world of everyone’s favorite blue-collar family, the Kowalskis, with a heart-warming and funny all-new romance that also reunites you with all your favorite Kowalskis.
As always, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
Dedication
In memory of Pat, George and Ray, my grandparents. Still missed. Always loved.
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
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Act Like It by Lucy Parker
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Also by Lucy Parker
About the Author
Chapter One
Excerpt from London Celebrity:
Final Curtain Call for London’s Golden Couple
Two months after she called time on her relationship with director Luc Savage, Margo Roy has eloped with Italian tenor Alberto Ferreti. No details have been released as to where the happy event took place, but the couple are believed to be honeymooning in Capri.
Meanwhile, it’s rumoured that everyone’s least favourite TV flapper, Knightsbridge star Lily Lamprey, is considering swapping cocktails, sequins and seduction for a role in Savage’s opening run at the Queen Anne Theatre. His usual line-up draws heavily on veterans of the Royal Shakespeare Company, so it would be a shot-in-the-dark casting, but Lamprey obviously has hidden depths—or perhaps talents of a more obvious variety…
At the time of their split, both Roy and Savage claimed no third-party involvement. We’ll take their word for it.
*
It was the last straw when she seduced the vicar.
In the space of nine painful minutes, the asthmatic blonde had stolen a cheap reproduction of a Gainsborough, mistakenly spiked a martini with arsenic instead of a sedative, and accidentally ploughed a Hispano-Suiza into a Cabinet Minister. In between acts of homicidal lunacy, she fluttered improbably black eyelashes and danced an enthusiastic Charleston.
Luc wasn’t surprised she was continually short of breath. He was pretty bloody speechless himself. He froze the clip on an artistic shot of a suspender belt catapulting towards a crumpled, abandoned cassock, and didn’t waste words. “No fucking way.”
His stage manager tore his gaze from the screen with obvious disappointment. “Not exactly what I was expecting,” David Benton admitted. “Knightsbridge seems to pull a decent cast, in general. My wife’s obsessed with the show. Never misses an episode.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Might do my husbandly duty and keep her company on the couch now. I’ve obviously been missing out.” With a return to seriousness, he added, “Although, as much as I appreciate the young lady’s dexterit
y with feathers, I really don’t think…”
No. Neither did Luc. And nor would any paying punter with functional ears and a brain working somewhere above the trouser line.
It had taken two months and an extortionate increase in salary to coax Amelia Lee away from the casting department of the Majestic and onto his own staff. If Luc had realised she was in the midst of some sort of psychiatric episode, he would have added a few weeks’ holiday to the incentive package.
Seeing his expression, Amelia put down her coffee mug. “I’m assuming you haven’t actually watched the audition reel I forwarded. Three days ago.” She looked dismissively at the large screen where he’d cut short the debauchery of the dog collar. “Obviously you can’t make a judgement on the basis of that performance. The script is pants. And that character is a generic, two-dimensional male fantasy. Bat your lashes, girls, hitch up your skirts, get your tits out and the ratings up. Meryl Streep would be stuck paddling in the shallows, given that material to work with.”
Luc glanced down at the headshot he held. In static black-and-white, the blonde’s face was cast into clever shadows that carved out a few interesting hollows and angles, rescuing the end result from vacuous beauty. Her eyes were dark, and this time appeared to contain at least one thought. He turned it over, looking for the photographer’s credit. He or she might be worth cultivating, if they could coax that from what he’d seen on the screen.
Then he tossed the image onto a growing pile of unsatisfactory faces. “I believe the whole point of—” he checked her resumé without much interest “—Lily Lamprey’s inclusion as a possible was her role on Knightsbridge. What was your helpful contribution, Eric?” He didn’t wait for a reply from his marketing manager, who had reached out to rescue Lily from the slush pile and was staring fatuously at her photograph. “Hottest show on TV? She might attract the younger demographic?” He flicked the headshot out of Eric’s hand. “I see we can add the middle-aged, overworked and easily impressed to the list.”
“Says the man who keeps clutching her photo.” Amelia grinned at him. He’d known her for fifteen years and he could see the gibe coming before it left her mouth. “You might be middle-aged and overworked, but I’d never have called you easily impressed. If I’d realised you were that susceptible, I’d have sent you Lily’s latest magazine spread and considered the matter settled.”
Nothing like working with friends. Everyone appreciated a hint that the Grim Reaper was breathing down their neck the moment they turned forty.
“Remind me again why I wanted you on board.”
“My wit? My charm? My compromising photos of you from The Importance of Being Earnest opening night gala?”
Luc shook his head, reluctantly and only slightly amused. A headache was beginning to form behind his left eye, although his vision was clear so hopefully it wouldn’t turn into a migraine. He’d been woken at six o’clock by a call from his contractor, cheerfully informing him that the delivery of Italian tiles for the theatre foyer was short by about three hundred, which followed the cue of everything else that had gone wrong this month.
He was more concerned about the flesh-and-blood problem than the bricks-and-mortar one. If they didn’t recast this role in the next couple of days, there weren’t going to be any people in the theatre to require a tiled foyer.
Eight tedious days of workshop auditions, sitting through scene after scene of botched Stoppard and stilted Shakespeare, sifting through talent, looking for potential. He could usually tell within five minutes if an actor was suitable for the part they wanted, and which people had the right connection to form a company. Chemistry wasn’t rehearsed; it sparked into life at first contact or not at all. But nobody was infallible, and this casting was vital.
And at this point, he might as well have walked into Piccadilly Circus at rush hour and randomly contracted the first dozen people to cross his path. He’d already lost his first choice for the role of Mary, thanks to Margo acting like an infatuated teenager, and now his Elizabeth had fallen off a stepladder while painting her bedroom ceiling. She’d broken both ankles and would be immobile for at least six weeks. He’d sent flowers from the company, calmly accepted her regretful resignation, and mentally throttled her.
They were starting rehearsals in less than a fortnight. For a number of reasons, the main one being expense, changing the schedule was not an option. His second-choice Mary was already costing a fucking fortune and would happily seize any opportunity to indulge in temperamental bullshit. Luc had no intention of giving her legitimate reason to complain. Next week he was taking the entire cast away for a long weekend in the country. Enforced bonding and a lot of alcohol usually cut several corners in turning a roomful of individual egos into a working ensemble.
It also usually kick-started at least one co-star romance, but sex was an inevitable complication in every production. He seemed to have the unwanted knack of putting together lovesick idiots who laboured under the delusion they were the next Burton and Taylor. It almost always ended in tears, and occasionally meant recasting one of the roles before the end of the run.
In this case he hadn’t even got to the start of rehearsals before he had to recast. Five business days to pick a new Elizabeth I from the reserve list. Which did not include Flapper Barbie, despite the best efforts of the board to convince him otherwise. He had no problem, in theory, using the celebrity pull of a screen actor, providing they were right for the part and could make the transition to the stage, but this was one of the key roles in the play. There was only so far he was willing to compromise artistic integrity for profit.
He hadn’t invested this much time and money into restoring the Queen Anne only to see it founder on the rocks of an opening-night flop.
For the second time, he tossed Lily Lamprey’s photograph aside. “No.”
“If you’d actually looked at—” Amelia was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door.
A catering assistant came in with a trolley of sandwiches, pastries and the makings of tea and coffee. Ibuprofen and a pint of lager would have been more welcome.
“Should I serve, sir?” the young man asked, impeccably polite. He was slightly built, freckle-faced, and Luc couldn’t tell if he was actually fifteen years old or if he himself had just become so fucking old that every person under the age of twenty-five looked as if they ought to be at home playing with blocks.
“Thanks,” he said, keeping his increasing irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t going to vent on a kid earning minimum wage and obviously battling a severe case of nerves. “First day?”
Another quick glance. “Just temping, Mr. Savage.”
When the tea things had been transferred to the conference table, David reached for an eclair and took a large bite. Wiping cream from his mouth, he said, “Where are we, then?”
“Lily Lamprey.” Amelia raised a pointed eyebrow at Luc. “Yea or nay? And nay is an unacceptable answer until you’ve watched the reel, dropped the attitude and given her proper consideration.”
“Yay was certainly my reaction.” Eric was drooling on the headshot again. For the love of God. The guy needed to get out more.
The pressure in Luc’s eye socket was spreading to his temple. “On your recommendation, I sat through almost ten minutes of jazz hands and the corruption of the clergy—”
“Actually,” Amelia said, “you watched ten minutes of one previous body of work, with your nose in the air and your mind on construction bills, and wrote her off after the first simpering thirty seconds.”
Luc took another brief look at the headshot. Lily Lamprey was exceptionally pretty—and, from what he’d seen so far, nothing more. “She has limited stage experience. Her only major role to date is on the worst show on CTV, in a part that could be understudied by a blow-up doll, and vocally she sounds as if she should be charging by the minute. Either she runs up eight flights of stairs between takes or she’s taking the piss out of a character pulled straight from C-grade film noir, in which case I
privately applaud the sentiment, but it’s not exactly a professional approach to—”
There was a clattering sound near the door. The catering kid ducked his head and fiddled with an empty cup. It seemed to be taking an unnecessarily long time to rearrange and remove the trolley.
Pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, Luc let out a short, hard breath. “I do not need a breathy Marilyn Monroe impersonator to add a bit of sex appeal in case the critics get bored. I’m not sure where you got the impression that I’m restoring the Queen Anne as a day-care training scheme for overly ambitious teenagers, or that I would be interested in an escapee from utter shit like Knightsbridge, but—”
“She’s twenty-six years old, Luc, and you’re not a misogynistic prick. You’re a businessman. From a marketing perspective, Lily Lamprey would be a cash cow. Knightsbridge was the second-highest rated show in the country last week—”
“Then in the interests of the viewing public, I truly hope she’s the worst actor on it.”
Amelia continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Her character is…divisive. A lot of fans would like to throw her under a bus, but it’s made her a household name. She’s constant tabloid bait. She’ll fill seats.” She skewered him with a look. “You’ve got an eagle eye for potential. And you know full well I wouldn’t put my reputation on the line by backing a dud prospect. She has something.” She checked her watch. “You’ve been here since seven. Go home, take this—” she pushed an iPad at him “—take something for your headache, and a few deep breaths, and watch the fucking reel. If you still think she’s not worth bringing in, I’ll tell the board it’s a no-go and we’ll make the final call from the shortlist.” Her lips thinned. “Although I’m not sure why you’re paying me such a lovely lot of money if you have no faith in my judgement. If you’re just going to veto me again and cast another overpriced troublemaker like Bridget Barclay…”
