Not a Fairy Tale: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

by Romy Sommer

  Not a Fairy Tale

  ROMY SOMMER

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperImpulse an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

  Copyright © Romy Sommer 2015

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2015

  Cover design by HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd

  Romy Sommer asserts the moral right

  to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

  the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

  entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International

  and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

  the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

  and read the text of this e-book on screen.

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

  downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

  stored in or introduced into any information storage and

  retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

  whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

  hereinafter invented, without the express

  written permission of HarperCollins.

  Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

  Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780007594641

  Version 2015-01-23

  For my mother, a pillar of strength to so many people.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Also by Romy Sommer…

  Romy Sommer

  About HarperImpulse

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  If just one more person congratulated her on her loss, she would smack them. Nina gritted her teeth and smiled like a crazy person as she threaded her way through the crowd and along an outdoor walkway. Out on the terrace, she breathed in deeply. Not exactly fresh – no one would call LA air fresh – but the crisp February air was better than the suffocating warmth inside.

  This was as close as she could get to crawling into a corner and letting the tears flow.

  It’s just an award. It’s an honor to be nominated. There’s always next year. You’re in great company.

  The platitudes were meaningless. Everyone in this town knew you were only as good as your next job and right now she didn’t have a next job. The history books were littered with the names of has-beens who came close but never won. And who remembered them now?

  But put “Oscar-winner” in front of your name and everyone knew who you were. Oscar-winners didn’t need to screen-test for coveted roles along with every other hopeful in a town filled to bursting with the hopeful, the pretty, the thin.

  The bowl of west Los Angeles sprawled beneath her feet, a carpet of lights. No longer needing to keep up appearances, she dropped her smile and rubbed her aching facial muscles.

  “Drink this.” Someone pressed a glass into her hand. She sniffed at the dubious liquid before raising her eyes to its donor. Or rather to the wall of chest at eye level, before she looked up higher into a pair of amused green eyes.

  She would have smiled again if it didn’t hurt so much.

  Dominic Kelly. Even when he wasn’t clowning around, Dom always made her want to smile. He had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel special and beautiful. As if he could see through the hype to the person lost inside.

  She didn’t care that he had that effect on all women. She did care that he slept with all the others yet had never made a move on her.

  “It’s brandy. It’ll make you feel better,” he said.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You’re in recovery?” He frowned, no doubt remembering an evening or two during the filming of their last movie when she’d danced the night away with a lurid cocktail in hand.

  “Of course not!” She didn’t blame him for the assumption, though. At least half the people at this party were probably in recovery from one addiction or another. And even though they’d partied together throughout production on the one movie they’d worked on together, she and Dominic really knew nothing about each other.

  For that matter, there was no one here tonight who really knew her. They only knew the public image, the person they wanted her to be. The lie.

  She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. Fire burned down her throat and brought tears to her eyes before the alcohol settled in her belly. He was right. It did make her feel better, if for no other reason than that it made her feel like a giddy teen at the prom again. That had been a good night. She’d been a winner that night.

  She sniffed, inhaling the decadent scent of her favorite meal a moment before she spotted the In-N-Out box in Dominic’s hand. Her stomach flipped.

  “Want to share?” He held up the burger box from the food truck parked outside the party venue.

  Her stomach flipped again, but she suppressed it. Ruthlessly. “I only just managed to fit into this dress. One bite and I might split the seams.”

  Dom’s gaze swept over her, settling on her hips. Her very-far-from-size-zero hips. She sucked in her stomach, but he only grinned. “That’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

  “Yeah, you and every camera in there. I don’t think so. I need to sit.”

  She wove her way between the sofas scattered around the deck, leaving Dominic and his burger to follow in her wake. A few of the sofas were occupied by people in serious conversation and at least one by a couple making out. Despite her curiosity, Nina refrained from looking too hard to see who they were as she led Dominic toward an unoccupied area of the terrace, shielded from view by potted palm trees.

  The scarlet shoes with their three-inch heels were killing her feet. She kicked them off and wiggled her toes. Bliss!

  Then she sagged down on the sofa and breathed a dramatic sigh of relief as she put her bare feet up on the glass coffee table.

  Dominic’s eyebrows lifted as he sprawled beside her, slinging an arm across the back of the chair, but he said nothing. Though he wasn’t close enough to touch, she could feel the heat emanating off him, and he smelled of the sea. Not the storm-wracked waves that made her stomach clench, but lazy holidays and suntan lotions and laughter.

  She resisted the crazy urge to lean in closer to breathe him in. There were cameras everywhere at this party, and that was so not a picture she wanted to see online in the morning, either.

  In the town where gossip was a billion-do
llar industry, she’d worked hard to keep her image clean. Nooky in a corner of a party was definitely a no-no. Which put it up near the top of the list of things she most wanted to do.

  Right behind ‘Eat a burger with all the trimmings!’

  She tried not to drool as Dominic tucked into his, and instead looked out at the view and sipped the fiery brandy. Down there, below the roving spotlights that illuminated this party-to-end-all-parties, were real people living real lives. She could hardly even remember what that felt like. As much as she envied their anonymity, their freedom to come and go without their every move scrutinized and torn apart, she wouldn’t swap her place up here on the hill with theirs for anything.

  That was her addiction: fame. Being admired, being loved, was something she’d worked very hard for. And while losing might not be fun, at least she’d never need to worry about a mortgage payment again. She was living the fairy tale, with more money than her teen self could have imagined, doing what she loved. And she was adored. She had everything she’d ever wanted.

  Almost everything.

  If she could just get the one role that would make people sit up and notice, which would make people see her as something more than the ditsy rom-com heroine…

  Dominic stretched and propped his expensive Italian shoes on the glass table beside her bare feet. “Last year’s Vanity Fair after-party was a complete crush, but it was much more fun.” He sighed. “Or maybe I’m getting jaded. Nothing is ever as good as it was.”

  “I didn’t see you here last year.”

  “You didn’t know I was alive last year.”

  “That’s not true.” She’d known who he was long before they’d been introduced. She still remembered the first time she’d seen him at some party a couple of years back and asked the hostess who he was.

  He was an impossible man to miss. Impressively built, a little rough and rugged in the looks department but gorgeous enough to make most women look twice. Muscled, without looking like one of those malformed bodybuilders. He looked more like a dancer. Of the stripper kind.

  But it wasn’t his looks that made Dominic stand out among the crowds of beautiful people in this town. It was his attitude. Though he partied with celebrities, he wasn’t one of the usual sycophantic hangers-on, basking in reflected glory. It was as if he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. There was the hint of aggression lurking beneath his surface, like a Navy seal or a nightclub bouncer. What woman could resist that bad-boy streak?

  And then he’d smile that naughty, crooked smile…

  He hadn’t even looked her way that entire night. She’d been stopping traffic since she was 16 and he hadn’t even noticed her. Admittedly, there were so many beautiful people in LA that women who turned heads in London or New York – or Cedar Falls, Iowa – barely warranted a second look here.

  She rubbed her bare arms. Wordlessly, Dominic set down his burger and shrugged out of his evening jacket to wrap it around her shoulders.

  “Thanks.” She smiled, the first genuine smile since she’d heard the words ‘and the Oscar goes to…’ followed by someone else’s name.

  Dom lazed back and contemplated her. “Where’s your entourage tonight? Don’t you usually hunt in a pack?”

  She didn’t need to see them to know where they were. Her stylist was taking a well-deserved rest after a hectic day. She’d left her PA, her ‘plus one’, back at the Governors’ Ball. Her agent was inside, working the room, schmoozing all the producers and hopefully trying to get Nina a job that wasn’t yet another rom-com. Her publicist, Chrissie, who’d conned her way into a VF party invite by promising a story to a sub-editor, would be getting her picture taken with as many somebodies as she could.

  “Congratulations, by the way.”

  Oh no, not Dominic too. She really didn’t want to have to smack him. And she didn’t have much energy left to do it.

  “I hear you’ve done very well for yourself since we worked together on Pirate’s Revenge.”

  She blinked. Not what she’d expected. “What do you mean?”

  Aside from a minor role playing Meryl Streep’s daughter and two very long and tiring promo campaigns for her previous movies, she hadn’t worked since Pirate’s Revenge. Even this nomination was for the movie she’d filmed before her jaunt to Westerwald for Pirate’s Revenge, yet another fairy tale re-imagined. The situation was getting dire. She’d needed the award tonight to break the dry spell.

  “You landed yourself a little prime A-list steak since then.”

  Ah. She smiled. The one thing that was going very right in her life.

  These last few months hadn’t been entirely wasted. Dating fellow actor Paul de Angelo had kept her name in the spotlight and he’d introduced her to more useful contacts in the last month than her agent and manager had done combined.

  They worked well together, both driven, both serious about their careers, both happy not to get too much in each other’s space.

  It was thanks to Paul she’d been invited to read for this year’s hottest role, the lead role in a trilogy based on the bestselling novels that had been so popular people had camped outside bookstores for days to get their hands on the final installment. That Nina had read the books before they’d turned into a phenomenon had to be significant, right? It was kismet.

  Strong female lead roles were hard to come by, and she didn’t want to spend her entire career playing someone’s daughter or the lead’s romantic interest. The accessory.

  No, this role was hers.

  Except the read hadn’t been the golden opportunity she’d hoped for. It had been something of a novelty playing to a lukewarm audience. A not-very-pleasant novelty.

  Paul had been supportive and encouraging. “They just don’t see you as tough enough for the role. You need to show them you’re more than just another pretty face.”

  It wasn’t her face they’d been worried about. The casting director’s exact words had been “you’re a little too soft for this role.”

  Or, as her agent, Dane, had said, a little less diplomatically, “Lose 20 pounds, get some muscle and some attitude, and you might stand a chance.”

  She turned now to Dominic. “Can we meet tomorrow?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Mr. A-Lister not ringing your bell?”

  She rolled her eyes dramatically. Trust him to think everything was about sex. Not that she hadn’t already imagined sex with Dominic a few dozen times. “In your dreams. I don’t want to sleep with you. I have a business proposition.”

  “Intriguing.” He rubbed his chin, as if the thought of any woman not wanting to fall straight into his bed was something he hadn’t considered before.

  “Lunch at Cecconi’s?” she pushed.

  “I have a much better idea.” Dominic’s grin was pure mischief. “25 Degrees at the Hollywood Roosevelt serves the city’s best burgers.”

  Great, just what she needed. Not. But any self-respecting LA restaurant would serve salads, too, wouldn’t they? “Twelve too early?”

  “Twelve is fine.” Dominic looked over her shoulder. “Your minder’s here.”

  She turned to follow his gaze. Her publicist bore down on them.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” Chrissie stopped before their sofa and frowned as she looked from Dom’s jacket around her shoulders to Nina’s bare feet, then back to the tumbler in Nina’s hand. Or at least as much of a frown as her perfect, botoxed forehead allowed. “The action is inside.” She waved towards the party. “The cameras are there and all the people who need to be reminded you exist.”

  “My feet were sore.” Nina wiggled her bare toes and Chrissie’s frown deepened.

  The excuse sounded as lame as it was. Nina was in the illusion business, after all. If she couldn’t stand for half a night in tight heels without hiding the pain, then she didn’t belong here. But admitting to an insane urge to throw something wasn’t going to go down any better.

  An actor could trash a hotel room and everyone would call hi
m a rock star, but an actress behaving badly would be labeled as difficult and would never work again. Ask Lindsay Lohan. Nina was struggling enough with the last bit as it was.

  With an apologetic shrug for Dominic she slipped her shoes back on and handed him his jacket. He tossed the remains of his burger in a nearby bin and rose with her. “Yeah, this party blows. I’m gonna head over to Elton’s and see if that one’s more fun. Want to join me?”

  Chrissie turned narrowed eyes on him. “Who are you?”

  “Chrissie, this is Dominic Kelly. He was the stunt coordinator on Pirate’s Revenge. Dom, my publicist, Chrissie.”

  Chrissie swept an assessing glance over Dom, her gaze lingering on the muscular chest beneath his dress shirt. A tight and not entirely pleasant smile curved her plumped lips. “You might want to hang around for the next ten minutes. There’s a show you shouldn’t miss.”

  It sounded like a warning, but Nina couldn’t fathom why.

  Chrissie turned to her. “Be quick. You’re needed inside.”

  She hurried ahead and Nina followed more slowly, Dom keeping pace beside her. He sent her a questioning look and she shrugged. Chrissie clearly had something up her sleeve, but Nina had no clue what it was. The only thing she knew was that her stomach had clenched with an anxious sense of foreboding she hadn’t felt in years.

  Back in the central party room, her nerves steadied. She looked out across the room heaving with bodies, hundreds of beautiful people making conversation and playing to the cameras. A carnival of glitter.

  Party guests came and went from the specially constructed photo booths, and on the far side of the purpose-built, glass-walled structure, a group of dancers gyrated to a rock standard played by the live band.