Reforming Atlanta’s Rouge: The Trouble with Dating an Actor

by McConnell, Lucy

  “Yep, Mark and Allie met over pizza. I was there. It’s perfect.”

  She smiled. “Mission accomplished.”

  After Beau signed the receipt, they went back to his car. Cindy slid into the passenger seat, trying not to think of it as her seat. Beau had kind of blown rule number three out of the water with that kiss. She wasn’t exactly sure what that left her with when it came to her future. She had been okay without a man until she met this man. And what a wonderful specimen of a man he was, too.

  Beau reached for her hand as he pulled into traffic, and Cindy let him take it. She let him take it because in about fifteen minutes he would return her to her car and she would drive away, and her life would turn back into a pumpkin. So for fifteen minutes, she could be the girl Beau Mckay held hands with—and maybe kissed again.

  “Where did you study screenwriting?” Beau asked.

  “Columbia.”

  He let out a low whistle. Cindy smiled. She was proud of her alma mater. He asked another question, and she did her best to keep up her end of the conversation while her pulse pounded in her wrists and warm ooze filled her veins.

  Beau pulled to a stop in front of the Ritz Hotel, and her pulse kicked up a notch. Cindy extracted her hand from Beau’s. Wow—he took one phenomenal kiss and jumped right to this? She knew he was a playboy, but—just wow! Prince Charming was losing his charming title pretty quickly. Le sigh. He’d slid so easily into that role too, with his sable hair and cleft chin.

  She leaned into the door. “I don’t know what kind of vibes you think I’ve been sending, but—”

  Beau threw his head back and laughed. “No. I need a gift card for Mark and Allie—it goes with the pizza stuff. Trust me.” He ran around and opened her door.

  “I’m a little worried to ask how they met.” She took his hand to help her out of the vehicle, and he held on while they walked the sidewalk, went through the double doors, and marched up to the concierge desk.

  “It’s a great story. But kind of a long one. Like, sit at a restaurant and talk while people bring you food long.”

  “Are you trying to trick me into going out to dinner with you?” She grinned.

  “Smart girls are so hard to date.”

  “I—” she started, trying to find a way to tell him no and not shut the door on all that was happening between them. She’d like nothing more than to actually go on a date with Beau, but if Patricia ever caught wind of this, she’d be out of a job and out of a house faster than you can butter a biscuit. Not to mention the problems her absence would create at the studios. She had a family there, and they counted on her.

  “Good afternoon,” greeted the concierge.

  Beau made short work of purchasing a gift card for an overnight stay, and they were back in the car and on their way before he asked again.

  “So … a story and a snack?”

  “I can’t. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” They pulled into the mall parking lot. “It’s that red Accord over there.” Cindy bit her lip. “Thanks—I had fun.”

  Beau hooked his finger under her chin. “You know what else would be fun?” He cupped her cheek.

  “What?” Her breath caught.

  “This.” He closed the distance between them. This time, his kisses were playful, short, but lots of them. They smiled between, teasing one another. Cindy giggled.

  She laced her fingers around his neck and tugged, changing the tempo to slow and sultry. Beau caught on quickly, his hands kneading her back. Melting into the kiss was like being thrown into the swimming pool all over again. Only this time, Beau was right there with her, and they were tumbling together.

  She tried not to look down, to see the inevitable crash where Beau drove off to his mansion, and she returned to the studio. He would star in Egypt’s Gold and move on to the next project, and she would do what she did every day—make it through.

  Where was this supposed to take them? She gasped for air, the interior of the car throbbing with expectations that wouldn’t, couldn’t be fulfilled.

  “I have to go.” She opened the door and almost fell out. Righting herself, she gathered her purse and shopping bag.

  “When can I see you again?” Beau asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I-I’m sorry.”

  “Wait—Cindy, wait.”

  She darted across the lane and into the mall and stood far enough away from the glass doors that Beau couldn’t see her. She could see him, though. Running was the coward’s way out, and she shouldn’t have left him like that. But if she hadn’t torn herself away right then, she never would.

  Beau dragged his hands through his hair and paced in front of his car. A few minutes later, he drove away, and she sagged against the clothes rack.

  It’s better this way.

  It wouldn’t have worked out.

  He’s better off without my family drama.

  I’m better off without his …

  His …

  She couldn’t come up with a single thing about Beau that she’d be better off without.

  She didn’t remember driving home and yet there she was, walking in through the back door, where she was greeted by Drusilla and Patricia.

  “Did you get them?” Drusilla asked. Cindy didn’t even see her. She held up the pink bag.

  Drusilla pulled out the panties. “These are red. You were supposed to get black. Beau will be in on Monday, and I wanted everything to match.”

  “Beau prefers the red,” Cindy answered, staring into space.

  Drusilla’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  Cindy sighed, bringing her attention into the house and away from the feel of Beau’s scruff on her neck. Her hands covered her throat in a panic. Didn’t scruff leave marks? She needed a mirror. That thought took her right back to the furniture showroom and Beau’s soft kiss. Their first kiss. Pressing her nails into the back of her neck, Cindy focused on her stepsister. “Hotcelebs.com.”

  Drusilla did that hand flapping and squealing thing thirteen-year-old girls do when they see a cute guy. “I am so wearing these for Beau.” She ran up to her room, leaving pink tissue and tags in her wake.

  Patricia folded her arms. “You were gone quite a long time.”

  “I had a hard time locating the right pair.” Cindy already hated herself for leaving Beau the way she did. She should have at least explained why it wouldn’t work out between them. But how could she explain why two people who could connect like they did weren’t meant to be together? It wasn’t possible.

  “You’re hiding something.”

  “I ate a banana smoothie at the mall.”

  Patricia tsked her tongue. “You’re turning thirty in four days—you need to watch what you eat. You can’t afford to eat carbs.”

  “Yes, Stepmother.”

  Cindy brushed past her, headed to the kitchen, where she was sure there were several blenders caked with field greens and lemon chunks. It wasn’t until she had filled the sink that she realized Patricia had mentioned her birthday.

  Her dad used to go all out. He’d buy her a special cake, find the one perfect gift, and spend the day with her. Last year, she’d spent the day cleaning out the prop room. Just like everything else that had to do with her father, Patricia was determined to put Cindy aside. So why even mention her birthday at all? Shrugging, she chalked it up to a reminder that at thirty, she would no longer be a spring chicken.

  Instead of thinking about what her birthday wouldn’t include, she let her mind drift back to Beau. Before long, she lost herself in her chores. Not even folding laundry could wipe the smile off her face when Beau Mckay had kissed her there.

  Chapter 8

  The rest of the weekend crawled by for Beau. He paced his living room, going over every moment and wondering what he’d done to chase Cindy off. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her so soon. They hadn’t known each other long—hadn’t even been on one date. Although it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part.
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  And he had to go and kiss her in the front seat of his car too. Could he have shown her any less respect?

  He’d never worried about where he kissed women before. In fact, he’d never really thought much about the women he was kissing. If she was pretty and willing, so was he.

  Kissing Cindy was a whole new ball game. He’d known that from the moment his lips touched hers at the furniture store. The contact wasn’t long enough to be seen as more than a friendly peck, and yet his vision shifted.

  For so long, he had painted himself as Atlanta’s playboy. He dated as many women as he could and never let them get under his skin. He didn’t have that option with Cindy. She was already there; she was everywhere.

  Those were the stairs he had used to take her up to his room—not that that had panned out either. Any other woman at the party would have thrown herself at him in his bedroom doorway, and Cindy walked away.

  There was the envelope Egypt’s Gold came in; the very one she’d held close to her chest the whole walk through the house.

  Her grapefruit scent was on his shirt, taunting him.

  Sunday afternoon, Beau dragged himself through a shower and shave and plopped into his reserved seat at Mark’s theater in time for the curtain to go up. He thought Mark was an idiot to give up blockbuster paychecks for the quiet life of theater ownership with Allie and his daughter Chloe. But now, he understood the guy’s move. Not that he was ready to stop acting—that wasn’t a call he wanted to make.

  However, a quiet life with Cindy would be full of everyday thrills. If shopping for a wedding gift with her was entertaining, imagine how fun setting up a joint cell phone account or browsing a bookstore could be. He wanted those everyday boring moments with her. He wanted to know which book she’d pull off the shelf and put back and which one she’d tuck under her arm to take home.

  By the time Monday morning rolled around, he was excited for the read-through. Whatever had happened with Cindy, he’d find a way to make it right. But first, he had to find her.

  On a whim, he swung into Dunkin’ and picked up five dozen doughnuts. He used to do that for read-throughs—before he got big. He’d hold a box and circle the room, introducing himself to everyone from the executive director to the kid who made copies of the script.

  Knight Studios personnel were as efficient as ever. Since he’d signed the contract, they’d cast Rubi Bergen as his co-star. They’d never worked together before, but he’d seen her films and respected her craft. With her shoulder-length blond hair, brown soulful eyes, thin frame, and adventurous air, she was a good fit for the role.

  Beau made the rounds in the lobby, working to remember names, before handing the doughnuts off to the grandmotherly woman at the receptionist desk. “There is a banana strawberry doughnut in this box—will you make sure it gets to Cindy?” He’d wanted to get her a smoothie as a joking reminder of their time together, but settled for the pastry. A pastry was less threatening than a smoothie anyway.

  He mentally smacked himself for overthinking the situation. Be cool.

  The woman did a double take and then pulled her shoulders up to her ears as she whispered, “I’ll see to it, Mr. Mckay.”

  “Thanks.” He made his way to the conference room, where one long table took up the far end of the room, and three rows of chairs filled the rest of the space. A nametag told him he’d be at the table next to Rubi. People stood in small groups or on their own, perusing a copy of the script—there were copies on every seat.

  The doughnut boxes were brought in, along with napkins, cups, coffee, and tea. He mingled, checking the door every few seconds for Cindy. She would be here. A woman didn’t crash a party to deliver a script and then not come to the reading.

  “Everyone,” Patricia Knight called the room to attention. Her thin skin flapped as she waved her arms. “If you’ll settle down, we’ll get started.”

  Beau pulled out Rubi’s chair before taking his own.

  “Drusilla will be walking us through the script today.” Patricia motioned for her daughter to stand before the group. She rose majestically, winking at Beau before taking her spot off to the side of the table. She remained standing.

  “Please turn to page twenty-five. Bobby, will you set the scene?”

  Bobby put his glasses on top of his head. “We’re in a hotel room and there’s a lot of tension between our leads because they were almost killed in a street fight and Benjamin finds out she’s lied to him about having the map. Besides the anger, there needs to be a sense of sexual tension as well.”

  Beau’s hands grew moist. He absently rubbed his palms against his pants. The kisses he’d shared with Cindy had been the most passionate, the most loving, of any kiss in his life. After experiencing the real thing, he didn’t know if he could fake it with someone else. For some reason, the confident playboy attitude had left him like a butterfly flitting through an open window. Lifting the manuscript up so he could see it better, he waited for a nod from Drusilla before jumping in. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to chase after you. A pyramid is no playground, sweetheart.”

  Rubi gestured as she spoke her line. “I know the treasure’s there. I’ve seen the map.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “A map that mysteriously disappeared with your fiancé.”

  She glared at him. He leaned back in his chair, sinking into Benjamin’s confidence, letting it hold him up. “What’s in it for me?” Beau double-checked his line. He’d asked Cindy the same question. His head jerked up in surprise, and he caught her slipping in through the open door. Dropping his gaze, he struggled to find his place.

  Bobby held up his hand and Rubi broke off. “Maybe a little more pleading. He’s the only one you know who could accomplish this …”

  Bobby’s voice became background noise to thoughts of Cindy. She put her hands behind her back and tried to be invisible, shrinking into herself. There was only one problem with her attempts—she called to him. She didn’t mean to do it—he was pretty sure of that. And yet the moment she stepped into the room, he was hyper aware of her movements, her attempt at going unnoticed, and the small glances she stole his way.

  He missed his next cue.

  Rubi nudged him with her foot.

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned into the pages, searching for his line.

  Patricia stood up from her seat on the front row and turned to face the group. Beau knew the second she saw Cindy because Cindy’s back went straight, and her eyes went to the floor. “That was wonderful, Beau and Rubi. Let’s turn to page … seventy-five.” Her voice had an edge Beau didn’t like. He found the designated spot and squirmed in his seat. The kiss.

  An intense dislike for Patricia Knight built in his gut. Beau didn’t want to kiss Rubi today; he didn’t want to kiss anyone. Except Cindy. Cindy he wanted to kiss a whole lot—every day—for the rest of his life. But this was his job. Stage kisses meant nothing to actors. And that’s exactly what Rubi meant to him; no offense to her. Two weeks ago he would have loved to add Rubi Bergen to his list of women conquered. She was the quintessential California girl with her long tan legs and blond hair, but she didn’t light his fire.

  Not like Cindy did.

  “Of course the director will want to block out the scene, but for now, why don’t you two stand up and let’s see what comes naturally.” Patricia smiled and nodded as if her idea was brilliant.

  The director set the scene, describing where they were, their motivation, and the feeling he wanted. Beau watched as a small smile played at Cindy’s lips, indicating the director had gotten her vision correct.

  “Y’all are in the tomb, torchlight glowing, you’re exhausted after your run-in with Bartlette, and y’all are settling in for the night after just having escaped the caravan.”

  Beau closed his eyes, building the pyramid walls around them and filling the floor with sand. He ran his hand down his cheek and imagined dust on his skin. The observers became statues of Horus and Amun and Anubis. Beau was Benjamin Hartley—e
xcept for one minor detail: the woman with him was not Rubi. No matter how much he tried, the soft glow of torchlight bronzed Cindy’s skin and warmed her cheekbones. When Rubi said her line, it was Cindy’s voice he heard.

  “Do you think we’re safe?”

  “For now.” He opened his eyes and brushed a lock of hair off her face.

  “Thanks for what you did back there. I thought Bartlette was going to let that guy have me.”

  “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about the treasure.”

  “I don’t. I care about you.” The words tumbled easily from his lips. He didn’t have to wish he was saying them to Cindy, because she was there and so was he. He leaned in and kissed Rubi slowly, just the way the cameras loved, the whole time thinking of Cindy’s lips, of her laughter, and the way she fit against him.

  The room erupted in applause. Beau jerked away as he realized the woman in his arms felt wrong, out of place. He let her go and turned to find the real Cindy.

  The back wall was empty. His eyes cut to Patricia, who folded her arms and smiled smugly. She’d set him up—pitted his job against Cindy. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of what Cindy had to deal with every day. A need to protect her from this witch grew within him, as large as the stuffed grizzly in the furniture store. He wanted to storm out of there, find Cindy, and haul her off to his home, where she would never have to face her stepmother again.

  But then he remembered their conversation over smoothies—her dedication to Knight Studios and her desire to save it from ruin. Saving Cindy didn’t mean getting her out of this place; it meant helping her do what she did best—write. And the best way to do that would be to give his best to this role.

  He’d find a time to talk to Cindy, a time when they could be alone and he could hold her close. But now was not that time. Drawing attention to the two of them—witchy attention—would only make her life harder.

  With his determination in place, Beau settled into the rest of the read-through.