Starstruck

by L. A. Witt

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 6652

  Hillsborough, NJ 08844

  http://www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Starstruck

  Copyright © 2014 by L.A. Witt

  Cover Art by L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editors: Sarah Frantz, Carole-ann Galloway

  Layout: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-170-0

  First edition

  November, 2014

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-171-7

  ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

  We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your nonrefundable purchase legally allows you to replicate this file for your own personal reading only, on your own personal computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing or distributing this book, in part or whole, for a fee or free, without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible, for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

  Hollywood is full of dirty secrets, but Carter refuses to be Levi’s.

  Retired action star Levi Pritchard has made a quiet life for himself in the sleepy logging town of Bluewater Bay, Washington. But then Hollywood comes to film the wildly popular television series Wolf’s Landing, and Bluewater Bay isn’t so sleepy anymore. His retirement doesn’t stick, either, because he’s offered a part on the show—exactly the kind of complex role he’d always wanted, one that would prove him more than a glorified stuntman. The only catch? He has to stay in the closet—no matter how attractive he finds his costar.

  Carter Samuels is the critically acclaimed male lead on Wolf’s Landing. And now, the man who inspired him to take up acting—and made him realize he’s gay—is joining the cast, and sparks fly between them instantly. But Carter is out and proud and determined to stay true to himself.

  Remaining just friends is the only thing to do, as both the studio and Levi’s disapproving, dysfunctional family keep reminding them. Except their friendship deepens by the day, tempting them with what they can’t have but both desperately need.

  To Aleks, for inspiring Bluewater Bay.

  About Starstruck

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Dear Reader

  Also by L.A. Witt

  About the Author

  Enjoy this Book?

  As Levi Pritchard sipped coffee in a window booth at the Sunrise Café, he tried not to notice how many of the cars parked along Main Street had California plates. Or think about the fact that he was here to have breakfast with a producer.

  God. A producer. It was bad enough Hollywood had invaded Bluewater Bay after he’d moved here to escape all that shit. Now Hollywood was calling him. Fuck.

  He put his coffee cup down and kneaded his temples, trying to massage away the headache that was starting to take hold. Why the fuck was he doing this to himself?

  Oh. Right. Because he’d never been able to say no to Finn Larson.

  Finn was one of those producers who had to be the progeny of a used-car salesman and a litigation attorney. No one could sell bullshit like that man. When he’d called last night, Levi’s brain had screamed, “Oh my God, no, I don’t want to see you,” but his mouth had said, “I’ll see you at eleven.” He still wasn’t sure how that had happened, only that he was here now.

  Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Levi knew damn well if he’d said no, Finn would’ve kept after him. Humoring the asshole with lunch was less of a headache than getting a restraining order. Finn probably wanted to resurrect the action hero who’d put Levi on the map. Levi would just politely decline and hope that was enough to get the man to leave him alone, at least until the next two-bit action flick came along.

  A couple of women walked by on the sidewalk, raincoat hoods up and heads down, but he still instinctively turned away. Even though not many people recognized him out here, it was a habit to avoid the occasional stare or, worse, a nervous fan.

  “Are you really Levi Pritchard?” The same question every time.

  “Yeah.” It was getting harder by the year to fake that smile. “That’s me.”

  And then came the inevitable:

  “I loved your movies! Why aren’t you acting anymore?”

  “Will there ever be another Chad Eastwick movie?”

  “Guess ‘actors’ like you have a shelf life, eh?”

  He’d loved acting. Loved it. It was the Hollywood bullshit he’d hated. So he’d walked away from Tinseltown and never looked back.

  And now Bluewater Bay was crawling with everything he’d moved a thousand miles to escape.

  That was why he didn’t come into town much anymore unless he had to. If he’d wanted to be surrounded by directors, producers, key grips, gophers, electricians, set designers, makeup artists, union representatives, cinematographers, and consultants, he’d have stayed in California. His opinionated pair of Maine coon cats were much better company than those fuckers.

  The women in raincoats had to be out of sight by now, so he lifted his gaze to the drizzly scenery. A lot of the businesses on Main Street had come and gone, though plenty had been here forever. He was pretty sure the bakery had occupied the building across the street from the café since this part of town was built in the 1920s. Even the Walgreens they’d opened on the corner had tried to retain some of the small-town charm, keeping the building’s exterior more or less the same pre-Depression façade it had always had and only adding their distinctive red, cursive lettering. The sign stuck out as badly as the McDonald’s a few blocks down, but even they were more welcome additions than the invasion that had begun two years ago.

  Hollywood didn’t belong here. Bluewater Bay was one of those sleepy logging and fishing towns on the northern tip of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, a long-ass drive and a ferry ride away from anything interesting apart from the rain forest, which was exactly why Levi had moved here.

  Oh, if only Hunter Easton had signed that book deal one year earlier . . .

  Right then, a sleek bl
ack Mercedes pulled up—California plates, of course—and despite the glare on the windshield that obscured the driver’s face, he knew. By the time the door opened, his stomach was acidic with self-loathing over letting the bastard talk him into meeting him here. In public. In his town. Hell, meeting him at all.

  But it was too late to change his mind or get the hell out of here because Finn Larson had spotted him and was on his way in, briefcase in hand.

  Stomach roiling, Levi waited for him. With anyone else from that era of his life, he’d have called upon every iota of theater training he could remember to make his smile as genuine as possible. With Finn? His guard was up, and he wanted him to know it.

  As Finn approached the table, he extended his hand. “Levi Pritchard. My God. It’s been—”

  “Do you mind?” Levi snapped, accepting the offered hand, if grudgingly. “I really don’t like announcing my presence in these places.”

  The producer gestured dismissively. “It’s not exactly a big secret that you’re here, my friend.” He set his briefcase on the bench, shrugged out of his jacket, hung it on the coat rack beside the booth, and slid in across from Levi. “So how have you been?”

  “I’m fine. How are things in LA?”

  “Great, great. We’ve got the green light for some amazing films right— Honey, can I get a coffee, please?”

  The waitress paused beside their table, threw Levi an “is he for real?” glance, and then gave an obviously forced smile. “Cream?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you, sweetheart.”

  From the way her eyes narrowed, Levi wouldn’t have been surprised if the cream she sent with Finn’s coffee was comprised of Drano and rat poison. The loggers and truckers called the waitresses “honey” and “sweetheart” too, but from them, it was a more affectionate variation of “ma’am.”

  From someone like Finn, it was like verbally copping a feel.

  “So anyway,” Finn went on, oblivious to Levi’s inner thoughts, “we’ve got some fantastic stuff on the table.” He flashed him that used-car salesman grin. “Couple of roles that would be perfect for you, by the way.”

  “No.” Levi shook his head. “Not interested. Let’s just get that clear right now.”

  Finn gave his trademark exasperated sigh. “I don’t get you, kid. One minute you’re riding the Hollywood wave and loving every minute. The next you’re, well, here.” He looked out the window and wrinkled his nose. “What do you see in this town anyway? It’s got no . . . character.”

  “It’s got more than LA.”

  Finn snorted and plucked a sugar packet from the ceramic box between the salt and pepper shakers beneath the window. Flipping it idly between his fingers, he said, “I don’t get you. I don’t think I ever will.”

  “Well, I like it here. And I like my life, thank you.” Levi shrugged. “I’m starting to think I was an idiot for passing up that place in Forks, though.”

  Finn’s eyebrows rose. “Forks?”

  Levi nodded. “Found a great house down there, but I wasn’t moving there right in the middle of the Twilight fad.”

  Finn cocked his head.

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Levi said, “Twilight was set there. And filmed there. Remember?”

  “Oh, right. Right.” Finn laughed, glancing out at the two-lane main drag. “Not sure why places like this are so attractive to people who write about vampires and werewolves and whatnot, but”—he shrugged—“as long as I keep getting paid to make the shows, I couldn’t give a fuck why.”

  Levi sipped his coffee, hoping it would wash some of the bitterness from his mouth. He really should’ve bought the place he’d looked at in Forks. Then again, even though they’d long ago finished filming the movies, that town wasn’t much better than this one. He’d been there recently—it was only a short drive down the coast—and the stink of Hollywood still hung over the place like LA smog.

  Maybe sleepy little industrial towns were no more immune to Hollywood than any other place. On the other hand, they’d filmed a shitload of movies in Astoria, which was just a few hours from here, and the place still had the small-town charm Bluewater Bay was desperately trying to hold on to.

  Levi liked to think this fad wouldn’t last forever, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

  “Well, maybe all the hype will die down eventually,” he grumbled.

  Finn chuckled. “I doubt it. Have you seen the ratings for the show?”

  Levi bit back a curse. “Great. At least Forks only had to put up with Twilight for a few years. Sounds like the Wolf’s Landing plague won’t be leaving this town anytime soon.”

  “Actually, that’s what I came here to talk to you about.” Finn folded his hands and leaned forward. “I want you on Wolf’s Landing.”

  “You what?” He’d expected an offer of some sort, but . . . Wolf’s Landing?

  Finn sighed dramatically. “Come on, Levi. It’s just a guest spot, and you’d be perfect for it.”

  “I’m retired. Absolutely not.”

  “Levi.” Finn shook his head. “Levi, Levi, Levi. I know how you acting types are. Once you’re bitten by that bug? You’re in.”

  “Yeah?” Levi raised an eyebrow. “That why I haven’t been in front of a camera in years?”

  Finn smirked. “Well, it might explain why you’re spinning your tires and wasting your time at that decrepit community theater.”

  Levi ground his teeth. Leave that group out of this. “Just because I enjoy acting doesn’t mean I want to deal with Hollywood anymore.”

  “This entire production isn’t anything like what you’ve ever worked on.”

  “How so? Aside from the lack of pyrotechnicians?”

  Finn laughed. “Well, there is that. But Anna Maxwell is an executive producer and one of the directors, and I mean, you and she go way back, right?”

  “We do.”

  “So I don’t have to tell you that the rest of the cast raves about her, do I? They say she gives them a lot of leeway to interpret their characters.”

  Levi fought the urge to squirm. He didn’t doubt for a second that Anna gave the cast a shitload of freedom, especially on the episodes she directed. And how long had he wanted to work with a director like that, especially her? The last few had had his character development in a choke hold from the get-go—everything from his mannerisms to his voice inflections had been dictated until he’d had absolutely no room to move. Small wonder critics said his acting had “all the range of an emotionally catatonic Keanu Reeves wannabe” and that he “wasn’t cut out for a role requiring more creativity than the tree in the background of an elementary school play.” He’d been itching for the freedom to show that there was more to him than “at least he does his own stunts, so we know he’s a real boy.”

  Across from him, Finn grinned. “I’m telling you, kid. This would be a good role for you. And Anna agrees. That’s why she’s specifically asked to direct your episodes.” He pulled back his sleeve and glanced at his gold Rolex. “In fact, she should be here any minute.”

  “She—” Levi blinked. “Anna’s coming?”

  “Of course.” Finn shrugged. “She’s been pushing harder than anyone to bring you on board.”

  Levi gritted his teeth. “Has she now?”

  “Absolutely. She— Ah! Speak of the devil.”

  A figure swept past the window. A second later, the diner’s front door opened, and in walked Anna Maxwell.

  Levi stood. “Anna. Long time no see.”

  “Way too long!” She threw her arms around him. “How are you, sweetheart?”

  “Doing all right. You?”

  She released him and quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll be much better when my old buddy explains why he hasn’t once tried to meet up with me for coffee or something.”

  “I . . .” Heat rushed into his cheeks. “Well . . .”

  Anna’s eyebrow climbed.

  “You’re right.” He put up his hands. “I should have gotten in touch sooner. I’ve been me
aning to, but—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Excuses.” She playfully smacked his arm. They both laughed, and he let her slide onto the bench before he joined her.

  Finn folded his hands on the table. “So, I’ve already given him the rundown. About joining the cast.”

  “Good.” She faced Levi. “And?”

  Levi opened his mouth to speak, but right then, the waitress stopped beside the table. She deposited Finn’s coffee in front of him and asked, “What can I get you all to eat?”

  “I’ll just have the special,” Anna said. “And keep the coffee coming.”

  Levi glanced down at the menu. “The special is fine for me too. With a Coke, please.”

  The waitress flashed him a brief smile and jotted down his order. The smile vanished as she turned to Finn. “And you?”

  Finn pursed his lips as he skimmed over the menu. “The hash browns, are those grown organically?”

  Bless her, the waitress managed to maintain a poker face. “No, sweetheart. They’re not.”

  And there was that exasperated, entitled sigh.

  Levi kept his head down, not to hide from her—she knew him—but to keep the producer from seeing him roll his eyes again. Thing #4,781 he didn’t miss about Hollywood—you couldn’t order a meal without someone at the table being an obnoxious activist or adhering to the latest health craze. Or both.

  After she’d patiently explained that no, they had no gluten-free toast, and no, there was nothing organic on the menu, and no, the orange juice was not fresh-squeezed, Finn decided to stick with coffee. Probably a wise move on his part. As it was, Levi still wondered what other substances might be lurking in the man’s cup.

  Finn sneered at the sugar packet he’d been playing with, and put it aside. Probably because it wasn’t certified and notarized as pure organic raw cane sugar harvested from sustainable fair trade fields and presented in a thrice-recycled packet after a virgin sacrifice. He stirred the cream into his coffee, took a sip—no immediate bad reactions, so maybe it wasn’t poisoned—and set it back on the saucer.

  “So,” Anna said to Levi. “Are you in?”

  Levi sighed. “I’m out of this business.”