Lost and Found (books 1-3): Small-Town Romantic Comedy

by Elizabeth Lynx

  In order to get her to leave, he has to promise to marry her.

  ONE

  Iona

  “No one ever told me dying was easy.” His over-the-top southern drawl was accented with a deathly gurgle.

  I stared down at the man. His soft brown curls were sticky and smeared red. He was classically handsome, the perfect love interest. Hence, why he was dying in my lap.

  He reminded me of my hometown bully. I hated that guy and this one, well . . . I didn’t feel much better about him.

  The smell of cigarettes and coffee—a lethal aroma—puffed in my tear-stained face as I held his head in my hands.

  “No, Jim, don’t leave me. You’re all I have in this forsaken, dusty town.”

  My head felt heavy as if something was pulling it down. I knew what it was—the dialogue.

  “Oh, Darleeee . . .” He reached for me, but it was too late.

  His arm fell to the ground. A puff of dirt rose and he closed his eyes. My tear landed on his nose, smearing a trail into his thick makeup. I knew he wanted to itch his nose but couldn’t move.

  Play dead, you hack, until the director yells cut.

  It was my turn to give it my all. Could I do it? Only time and thoughts of my trainer waving a chocolate bar in front of me as I did burpees could produce the level of pain required for this moment.

  “No! Oh, Jim . . . You were my whole being!” I raised my fist to the sky. A little improv on my part, but believable nonetheless. To produce any emotion for the man in my arms took award-winning talent.

  “Cut!” a thick, booming voice said about five inches from my ear.

  I gritted my teeth as the dead man opened his eyes. “Was it as good for you as it was for me, sweetheart?” He winked, causing some inner furnace to ignite deep in my belly with a strong desire to burn him alive.

  “Get off me, Albert. When was the last time you brushed your teeth? Wednesday?”

  Sitting up, his hand shot into the air. “Dee Dee!” Groaning when his assistant didn’t instantly appear with his iced coffee, he turned his wrath toward me. “I thought about brushing today, but then I realized we had this pivotal scene and I knew my character wouldn’t brush his teeth. To feel him . . .” His fist pounded his chest before raising and loosening his fingers to snatch the coffee from his assistant, who finally showed up. He gave Dee Dee a scathing look before turning back to me. “My teeth had to suffer.”

  More like my nostrils had to be incinerated.

  “Everyone take twenty. The producers wish to speak with me,” the director, the once great Chilton Hensley, said before turning and stomping away, muttered obscenities floated in his wake.

  The heat was dry like opening an oven door on Thanksgiving, and I was the turkey. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and looked up. Cara stood over me as strands of her auburn bob drifted into her eyes. She shook her head and that perfected smile appeared, comforting me during the awful shoot.

  She was overly sweet, knew all the best places to eat in LA, and understood who the right people to meet for potential roles were. In other words, Cara was the perfect assistant.

  This was my first starring role in a big-budget Hollywood film. The script for Hell Fire needed work, my costar was a notorious man-child, and the location was brutal.

  But the dehydration and daily irritation with the star was all worth it. To work with the director of my dreams and finally get to play a lead . . . I’d do a twenty-four-hour shoot only inhaling Albert’s breath through an oxygen tank if I had to.

  Cara’s usual eager smile was replaced with a frown. “Let’s head to your trailer.” This was curious. Getting out of the heat to the cool air-conditioned room of my trailer should light up her wilted features. Maybe the heat was exhausting her? I made a mental note to get her water as soon as possible.

  “Yes. And away from you-know-who before he gets bored and decides to play one of his hilarious pranks on me.” I rolled my eyes.

  I motioned toward Albert Harston and stood with Cara’s help. My costar believed he was clever, relatable, and fun by playing jokes on people. Only, the pranks weren’t smart or funny. One landed his stunt double in the hospital with third-degree burns on the set of Shadow of Light. Honestly, he’s a liability and lucky to be working on this film.

  When I met him at the cold reading my eyes couldn’t help but soak up the tall, trim body dressed in a perfectly molded vintage T-shirt he probably overpaid for and skin-tight jeans. He was hotter in real life than what I saw on screen and I was giddy at a possible on-set fling. I mean, we have to pass the downtime somehow, right?

  But when he wrapped the toilet seat in my trailer in plastic wrap and a few other tricks he pulled on the other actors, I wrote him off as a dud. A pretty dud, but a dud nonetheless.

  Not brushing his teeth today when he knew we had a scene to shoot where I would be close to his face was just another one of his jokes.

  “And out of the heat,” she said in a pitch higher than usual.

  “Is something wrong?” I pulled at her arm, causing her to stop.

  She winced, and I was surprised I hurt her. My grip wasn’t tight. I wondered if I’d have to call for the on-set nurse if she was too dehydrated.

  Right at that moment, a flash went off. I turned and found someone with a camera standing between the trailers.

  Just what I needed, the paparazzi. Despite whatever was bothering Cara, she flew into action.

  “Hey,” she said and ran after the cameraman. Within seconds, they were gone in between the maze of trailers. Maybe she wasn’t as sick as I thought.

  Just about everyone had a trailer while filming during the middle of August in the California desert. The director wanted the oppression of the heat to show on our faces. He felt it made every reaction more realistic, but it also made it more dangerous.

  I was sure I already drank my body weight in water today, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

  I knew this role was a big step in the direction of my dream—being a real player in Hollywood. Where I could pick and choose my projects and never have to worry about a paycheck like my mom did when I was young. As much as I wanted to star in a big Hollywood movie, it was only a stepping stone to running the show.

  I headed off without Cara. As I reached for the door handle of my trailer, I heard someone inside. A cold shiver ran down my spine and what little moisture was left in my mouth evaporated at the sound of the female voice on the other side of the door.

  I admired and feared her at the same time. One day I hoped to be strong, powerful, and maybe even a little feared like the woman yelling at someone inside my trailer.

  I’d recognize that loud, southern drawl anywhere.

  My agent, Babette Gotti. Why was she here? The only time she went to see clients on set was to inform them she would no longer be representing them.

  I tried to tell myself I’d been through worse, which, of course, was true. There were other agents in Hollywood. Good agents. Talented agents. But the more I willed my brain into looking on the bright side, the truth weaseled its way inside and took root. Babette was the best.

  Her younger sister loved my videos back when I was a Vidtube star eight years ago. I was different, talented, and like nothing she had ever seen before—Babette’s words, not mine.

  We met when I was a naïve twenty-one-year-old with hopes of stardom. I had been in Hollywood for two years at that point with only a few commercials and the Vidtube channel to show for it.

  It wasn’t the fame I was after, but the money. My mom and I never had any. I remember the day she had to sell what few possessions she had from her family back at the reservation she grew up on, just so we could eat and pay rent.

  That was the day I started my channel back in my hometown. It took a few years to make it a success and move out West to Hollywood, but I was determined to make money and ease my mother’s burden.

  Both my mother and I moved to Hollywood right after I graduated from high school and I hadn’t been
back since.

  Here I was with everything I wished for—fame, money, finally a leading role in a big-budget movie. I knew what stood behind the door would cause it all to slip away. I understood nothing was forever. I just figured that I’d have a little more time before it all vanished.

  A cool puff of air hit my face as I opened the door and climbed the three steps into my trailer.

  “And I said he makes at least five mil or so help me, Jonathan, I will haunt you. You know what I mean,” Babette said into the silver bracelet on her wrist.

  She always had the latest gadgets from Silicon Valley. Babette was the kind of cool that was effortless but striking. The woman walked through a desert set and there wasn’t an ounce of sand on her. Even the dirt knew to keep its distance from her.

  I stood there like a guilty child in the principal’s office. My heart pounded in my ears as I studied her, still dumbfounded that the woman was only ten years older than me. She barely looked a day over thirty. Her skin pale, freckled, and radiant.

  Her icy gray eyes flickered over to me. A stabbing pain hit my heart, and I knew this was the moment when my career skidded to a halt, dying a bloody death in the harsh California desert. The past eight years rolled through my head like an old movie.

  Eight years! So many people told me to give up and go back home. They told me it shouldn’t take this long to make it. Even a year ago, my mother explained that it wasn’t meant to be, but I refused. I knew patience and hard work would lead to success.

  Apparently, I was wrong.

  “My client’s here. I’ve got to go.” She tapped her bracelet and turned to face me.

  Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a tight bun. I believed she was wearing the same navy pantsuit as when I first met her, and it still appeared flawless.

  “I.D., it’s so lovely to see you again. Please, have a seat,” Babette said as her blood-red lips curved into a warm smile. She waved at our surroundings as if this was her trailer, not mine, with such a flourish that I almost believed that I was a guest inside this trailer.

  I swallowed but did as she said. There was a small built-in couch with a tan zigzag pattern along the wall nearest to me. I settled on the farthest cushion from her.

  She sat at the other end, and her eyes scanned the room. “I specifically requested a double-wide for you. You were the star of Hell Fire, therefore, you deserved the best. I’ll have a word with Hal.”

  I blinked a few times letting her words sink in. “Were?”

  Her body shifted as she did her best to face me. “Hell Fire is being shut down. The producers are telling Mr. Hensley right now.”

  “But . . . but how do you know if he’s finding out at this moment?”

  “I know everything in Hollywood, my dear. I know what people want before they realize they want it themselves. It wasn’t due to chance that I have been a top agent for over a decade. I was twenty-two when I became an agent. Twenty-four when I became a partner. Do you think that was luck?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

  I shook my head.

  There goes my only starring role. Perhaps Babette’s here because she had even better news for me. Maybe she had a starring role in the latest comic book franchise just waiting for me to pounce on it.

  The door swung open and a blast of heat came with it. Cara bounced up the stairs, panting as she closed the door behind her.

  “I didn’t catch him,” Cara said between breaths.

  “There should be a few water bottles in the fridge.” I pointed to the three-foot-tall black fridge in the tiny kitchenette. “I’m worried you’ll pass out.”

  Cara’s eyes widened when she noticed Babette on the couch. “Would you like a bottle, Ms. Gotti?” Cara asked with a bowed head as if she was addressing the Queen.

  “I bring my own.” Babette reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a leather flask.

  So that’s how she survived in Hollywood. Something smooth to coat the rough life.

  After the respite where both women drank a healthy dose of their beverages, I knew it was time to get back to the harsh reality of my career. Or lack thereof.

  “I told I.D. about the movie being no more.”

  “You can call me Iona.”

  I mean, that’s my name after all. Iona Dell but everyone, outside of the people who I grew up with, Cara, and Babette knew me as I.D. When I was fifteen, I thought it was so cool to use an acronym as my name. It worked for Vidtube, but once I wanted to be taken seriously as an actress, the name began to irritate me. Babette swore it would bring the younger crowd to the theaters, and the producers agreed.

  “It doesn’t matter what I call you because no one will work with you anymore. You are the reason this production got shut down.”

  I remained still as Cara’s gasp echoed around the room. Part of my acting was learning to appear calm when all I wanted to do was scream and cry. I remembered the first time I had to use that talent. A boy broke my heart when I opened mine to him. I was nothing to him after I fell for all his promises. I learned to never trust people, no matter how beautiful they painted the world around you.

  I didn’t cry then, and I certainly won’t now.

  “Technically, you aren’t the only reason. The budget is getting out of control. I love Mr. Harston’s work, but he’s not immune to the bottom line. Also, Albert doesn’t have much credit left in this town.”

  With every bit of resolve in me that hadn’t been melted away, I said, “So, what now? I assume you didn’t come here to inform me of something the director will announce to everyone soon. If you plan to drop me as a client, please let me know.”

  She reached across the couch and patted my hand. “And that’s why I love you, I.D. You are strong and determined. You remind me a bit of myself when I was your age.” My heart did a little flip at her assessment but soon returned to steel as she continued, “Even this setback won’t keep you down for long. While the last two movies weren’t that successful, you didn’t star in them, which won’t hurt your career as much as if you did have the lead. But the accident . . .”

  I closed my eyes for a moment to will back the tears. Don’t show weakness, Iona. You are better than that.

  “Yes, the accident,” I said in the monotone voice I perfected over the past few months.

  Babette squeezed my hand, and I felt Cara’s warm touch on my shoulder causing me to open my eyes. Her grip a bit tighter than I expected. That girl must be working out.

  They stared at me with pity, and I wanted none of it.

  “It made you a liability. But if you think I came here today to drop you as a client, then you don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m the best agent in Hollywood, not because I leave people having a rough patch but because I know the greats in the world. The superstars before they barely begin to shine. That’s you, Iona.”

  A tear slipped from my eye, and I nodded with relief. For a brief moment, I believed I’d have to go back to my hometown with my tail tucked between my legs. Maybe even start up my Vidtube channel again.

  I couldn’t go back to my old life. I never wanted to step foot in my hometown of Fire Lake, again. Good memories in that town were like shooting stars. You hear about other people seeing them but when you glance up at the night’s sky, there were none to be found.

  The memories of that place consisted of hearing my mom cry herself to sleep at night because she struggled to provide for me, someone who I thought was my best friend was nowhere to be found when I needed him the most, and the kids I grew up with who taunted me because I didn’t look like them.

  I busted my ass to get away from that world. If I stuck with Babette and had Cara’s help, maybe I’d never be the girl with holes in her shoes or an ache in her belly from hunger ever again.

  “You need a comeback.” Babette flared her hands in the air.

  “Wouldn’t I have to go away for a comeback?”

  She nodded and glanced over at Cara as if encouraging her to join in on the head bobbing pa
rty. Like the dutiful soldier, I watched as Cara, without a word from Babette, agreed with everything my agent had said. Cara must have known Babette was in my trailer as we walked back from set. That’s why she was acting strangely.

  “Oh.” Was all I could say. This must be my agent’s way of getting rid of clients—not firing them but telling them to disappear for a while.

  “Only for a few months. Look at what it did for Mckale Jackson, who was caught in a brothel in Nevada. He spent a few months at a rehab facility and the next movie he did won him an Oscar.”

  Despite having a few starring roles under his belt, I remember when the press labeled him the comeback king. Perhaps there was something to this plan.

  “What would I have to do? Go to some fancy rehab slash resort for a month or two? I could do that.”

  It might be nice to relax for a while.

  “I have the perfect plan. It does involve travel, but not to a rehab facility. You will recover in your hometown, in a home I just bought.”

  No! Oh, God . . . no.

  I gritted my teeth and forced my lips to curve into a smile. “Okay.”

  TWO

  Tyler

  “Is that Hello Kitty?” Austen asked as I held up the key ring.

  Puckering my lips, I cradled the metal in my fingers and leaned forward. I held the key of my dreams in my hand and I was about to kiss the hell out of it. I didn’t care if my friend stared at me as I made out with a metal cartoon cat.

  “I’m a vet,” I said, lifting my head from the sloppy kiss.

  Austen Goode covered his mouth as a chuckle escaped his lips.

  “Laugh all you want, but it makes sense. This shiny Japanese cartoon cat is my spirit animal. All vets have spirit animals, and today, it’s my lucky charm.”

  I waved my hand toward the large picture window in the front of Fire and Ice Diner.

  “The sun is out. It’s a perfect seventy-six degrees outside without a lick of humidity. This day was meant to be.”

  My smile was wide as I gripped the key in my hand. I’ve waited almost my whole life for this moment and nothing would cause the grin to fall from my face.