Stand-In Star

by Rachael Johns

  “What? Why?” A disbelieving chuckle followed. It was the first time she’d seen him crack a smile. She liked it.

  “I’ve been busy with work. And dress shopping isn’t really my thing. I kind of hoped if I left it long enough it would just fall into place.”

  “You are something else.” From his tone, she couldn’t quite tell whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Likely the latter. “I’ve never met a woman who needed an excuse to buy a dress. But you’ve come to the right place. If you can’t find a suitable outfit in Beverly Hills, there isn’t one.”

  “That’s just it. I’ve spent all day trawling designers and come up with nothing. I’m un-dressable.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Was she imagining his gaze lingering on her dress? On what was underneath? Was she wishing? Dammit, she needed to stop. Daisy may be dead and have stolen her husband, but that didn’t mean Holly wanted to go there. Two wrongs had never made a right and lusting after Daisy’s boyfriend felt incredibly wrong.

  “Believe it. At the moment, it’s looking like jeans and a dressy top may be my only option.”

  Nate opened his mouth as if to talk but the waiter hovered again, this time handing them each a silver-embossed menu.

  “Thank you,” they said in unison and then looked up to listen to the spiel about chef specials. After brief discussion, they ordered and returned the menus.

  She took a sip of her delicious drink—so sweet, yet so obviously potent, she told herself to slow down. One of these would be more than enough. Yet, as they waited for their meals, awkward silence ruled again so she tried for small talk to stop from downing the cocktail in one gulp.

  “How did you become a paparazzo?”

  He choked on a sip of his cola. His eyes were wide as he spluttered. She picked up a napkin and handed it to him. He took it and patted his lips.

  “You obviously like photography,” she mused. “The photos of sunsets and bridges on your walls are amazing. Did they come first or did the invasive photos of celebrities?”

  She saw his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. “Geez, don’t hold back.”

  She shrugged, cracking a tiny smile but seeing no reason to pretend the profession sanitary. “I’m a cultural anthropologist. It’s my job to be curious.”

  “Fine. The paparazzi shots came first. From them I learned I like taking photos. They gave me the wherewithal to travel and the sunsets and bridges began when I did.”

  She knew a person could earn big bucks taking celebrity photos but she also thought it had to be a fairly thought-out career choice. And she wanted to know more. “And now? Do you like taking glamour shots?”

  “Not quite as much as you like asking questions.”

  She got the feeling his words were supposed to be cutting, but they sunk into her, making her bones feel all hot and liquidly instead. For a moment, she forgot what they were talking about, forgot who they were aside from two very sexual beings.

  When she dragged her mind back from the brink, she asked, “So why not take photos of the things you love, then? The bridges? The sunsets?”

  “Glamour photography is where the money is since I ditched the paparazzi. It’s also what gets my name and brand out there. I told you I have a photography school. My reputation as a legitimate celebrity photographer gets Shooting Stars clients. I’m very sought-after now, and all the photos of celebs are like free advertising for the school. They kind of go hand in hand.”

  “I see.” She took another sip of her drink.

  “There’s no money in art photography,” he added as if this explained everything.

  “There’s not a lot of money in what I do,” she bit back. “My parents wanted me to be a dentist because they earn good salaries. But it’s not all about the money.”

  “It is in my world.”

  His tone told her that was the end of the conversation, but she’d never been good at biting her tongue. “Can I ask why?”

  “You can, but I probably wouldn’t tell you.”

  She offered him the sweetest of smiles. “I could look you up on the Net.” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t done it already. Her brain hadn’t been working properly since she’d heard about Daisy’s nomination and been asked to attend. If she were honest, her brain hadn’t been working since Daisy died six months ago. She pushed that thought aside, not ready to analyze what that meant. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

  He looked at her near empty glass, and then past her. “Should I call the waiter for another drink?”

  She smiled. “I’d rather hear your story.”

  “Are you academic types always this pushy?”

  “Always.”

  He picked up his glass and drank some water. “Fine. If you do your research, you’ll find I stole my father’s crappy camera at fifteen and started sneaking out of the house at night to steal photos of celebrities.”

  “Wow. Ambitious.”

  She wanted to know more about the life he mentioned but as if the conversation was over, he signaled for a waiter and asked her, “Do you want the same again?”

  “No thanks.” Her head already felt slightly woozy. No matter how divine that drink had tasted, she couldn’t risk another one. Not in his enigmatic presence. “I’ll have a mineral water please.”

  The waiter came. Drinks were ordered. Holly was desperate to get back to the career conversation, fascinated to know more, to know everything about how he’d started in such an unusual, unpopular career but unfortunately a couple of girls professing to be on their way to a club, passed by the table and shrieked like a pair of fourteen year olds when they noticed Nate.

  He stood to greet them. A lot of kissing and hugging ensued. Holly’s chest tightened as she watched the women wrap their skinny limbs around Nate as if they didn’t plan on ever letting go. He wore a playboy grin, as if he’d happily bask in their attention all evening.

  Holly was about to excuse herself to the ladies’ restroom, when the girls finally looked down at her. She wasn’t surprised when they gave her the once-over head-to-toe. Neither of them tried to hide their sneers.

  Nate’s look of admiration when he’d first seen her in the dress had almost made her feel special, beautiful even. These girls made her feel like Daisy had—chunky, plain, uninteresting. She swallowed, feeling like a stuffed animal in a museum. Their presence put her firmly in her place, reminding her that despite her banter with Nate, he felt nothing but ill-will toward her.

  “Is this…? You’re not…?” One of the women—the most peroxide-blonde of the two—thrust her finger at Holly. “Omigosh, this is Daisy’s sister. Hello.”

  Before Holly knew it, she was enveloped in a hug that felt as plastic as these women looked. She stood like a matchstick being groped by a praying mantis.

  Extracting herself, she offered a “hello” and a polite smile to the women she assumed had to be actresses or models.

  “We’re so sorry about Daisy,” gushed the other blonde. “I’m Sami by the way and this is Sian. Daisy was such a special person.”

  “Oh, so special.” Sian pressed her hand against her heart and sniffed.

  Sami dug around in her tiny purse and extracted a tissue. Holly thought she meant to offer it to her friend. Instead, she buried her own face in the white and sobbed.

  “Did you know her well?” Holly glared at Nate for help and then instinctively reached out to pat the other woman on the back.

  “Oh, well enough.” Another gut-wrenching sob, at least that’s the effect Holly guessed she was going for.

  “Yes, we adored her,” Sian added, blinking as if she were trying really hard to summon some tears of her own.

  Holly couldn’t say the same so she stood there feeling uncomfortable, wishing to hell their meals would arrive. For the first time in as long as she could remember, her prayers were answered. Two waiters came over carrying silver domes, which they laid with flair onto the table.

  Nate took control of the blubbering
blondes. “Lovely seeing you again, ladies. Must be about time we did another shoot. Call me.”

  Eyelashes were batted in unison and the two of them clamored to see who could give him the longest hug goodbye. The lengths of their embraces were almost indecent but Holly couldn’t blame them. She wanted to bump them out of the way with a sharp elbow but she couldn’t blame them because while she looked on like an uninvited third party, her own vivid imagination was thinking about how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around her instead.

  If the warmth flooding her body and the tingling in her limbs were anything to go by, she imagined if he ever hugged her, she might find it hard to pull away as well.

  Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even like you!

  She forced herself into her seat and took a much-needed slug of mineral water. She hadn’t realized her throat was dry but she guzzled the cool liquid. The girls didn’t say goodbye to Holly and she couldn’t say she cared, but her stomach did a little flip when Nate sat back down opposite her.

  “This looks delicious.” She nodded at her lobster mousse and picked up her knife and fork, determined to move past this silly schoolgirl crush-like thing. It was like crushing on the captain of the football team who’d never even noticed you existed.

  “It will be. This place does seafood like none other.”

  “Hmmm.” As amazing as the food looked, Holly’s mind lingered elsewhere. “Do you know Sami and Sian well?”

  “Not really.” Nate rested one elbow on the table and shook his head. “I’ve done portfolios for both of them. That’s it.”

  “And what about Daisy? Were they all friends?”

  “Those two weren’t in Daisy’s league,” Nate said, a serious look coming over his eyes. “They are wannabees, sleeping and schmoosing their way to the top.”

  “But you seemed so happy to see them. So…close.”

  Nate chuckled. “Everyone seems close in Hollywood. It’s a front. They’re clients. They’re easy to photograph and they like what I do. It doesn’t hurt to make them feel important for a bit.”

  “So all that was an act?”

  “Pretty much.” And he didn’t seem to think this was a problem.

  Disgruntled, Holly took her first mouthful and let her taste buds indulge in what had to be the best cuisine she’d tasted. Ever. He ate as well and she openly scrutinized him, trying like hell to work out the puzzle. “Do you like photographing people?”

  “It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I’ve always done.” He took another mouthful of his Atlantic salmon.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  He put down his fork and rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you know you’re the first woman I’ve ever taken out to dinner who isn’t asking me about my clients or trying to become one. Don’t you want to know about the famous people I’ve snapped and what kind of strange, crazy requests they’ve made?”

  “No. If I wanted to know those kind of things I’d read the tabloids. I want to know about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m staying at your house for crying out loud.”

  He reached across the table and placed his index finger across her lips. She froze, realizing her voice had risen with her heart rate. She’d lied when she said she wanted to know about him because of being his guest. She’d stayed at numerous B&Bs before and never wanted to know the life stories of the people that owned them. Sure she liked research, but her interests were generally more on a community level. Individuals were only interesting in the way they fit in the group.

  Yet, here was a man who fascinated her for reasons she couldn’t comprehend.

  * * *

  Nate looked into Holly’s eyes and for one moment forgot about the walls and people around them and the fact he didn’t like her. All he saw was a gorgeous, unique woman who, despite his every intention not to be sucked in, had him hanging off her every word and his thoughts constantly skimming the gutter. He’d never expected to feel such primal things about Daisy’s sister. It felt weird, wrong almost. Like he was cheating on her, which was ludicrous because she’d been the first to admit they weren’t together-together.

  “Nate?” His name was mumbled as she tried to get it past his finger which pressed down on her top lip.

  His crazy trance broken, he yanked his finger back and sat up straight. What the hell?

  “Are you okay?” She looked genuinely worried and a little confused. “You were staring at me.”

  He pulled himself together. “Sorry. I had a photo moment,” he lied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You were so animated and I wanted to capture the expression on camera.” He grabbed for his drink and practically threw some down his throat. For once he wished the glass was filled with something stronger.

  “You wanted to take a photo of my expression?” She sounded offended.

  He saw no reason not to tell the truth. “If you must know Holly, I’ve wanted to take a photo of you ever since you stepped off the plane.” Her eyes widened. He saw anger and horror bubbling. “No.” He held up his palms. “Not like that. I don’t do that anymore. But you have a very photogenic face. I can’t help but want to capture it.”

  She closed her eyes, shook her head a little and then looked back at him. “No one has ever said they wanted to take my photo before.”

  “Surely your parents took lots.”

  “No.” She laughed scathingly. “Well, not that I remember anyway. By the time I’d started school, Daisy’s career was kicking off and they had to focus all their attention on that. On her. No one ever expected the Aussie kid’s film she starred in to be such a hit, but it was and from ten years old, she was sought after. Our parents barely had time to look after me, never mind take photos.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I guess that answers my question then,” Holly said, fiddling with her hair and twisting a chunk around her index finger.

  He cut the last piece of his salmon but, before putting it in his mouth, he asked, “And what question would that be?”

  “About whether you like taking photos of people or not.”

  He chewed. She took another mouthful of her meal, yet kept her eyes on him. Eventually, he answered. “Most of the time I love it. There’s something about taking a photo of someone that they can love and be proud of. Something they’ll treasure as long as they live and will remain long after they are gone. It may not be brain surgery, but I believe what I do serves a purpose. If humans feel good about themselves, then they’re generally better to other people.”

  “I’d never thought about it that way.” She picked up her cocktail glass and drank the last sip. She’d taken almost an hour to consume a drink that other woman drank like juice. He wanted to ask her if she felt good about herself, but that would be crossing into territory he never went with women. With anyone. Emotional territory.

  “Anyway enough about me. I want to hear about your interesting career.” He sounded sarcastic when he didn’t mean to be.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re about the only man I’ve ever heard call it interesting. Do you really want to hear or are you just being polite?”

  He fixed her with a skeptical glare. “I thought we’d established by now that I don’t do polite for the sake of it. I’m interested. What did you say you were? An archaeologist?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a cultural anthropologist.”

  He racked his brain for anything he’d heard about this profession. It wasn’t much. “I stand corrected. Educate me.”

  And while they finished the rest of their main course, she did.

  “I work in the Australian Studies department of the University of Sydney. I’ve always been fascinated by how different cultures interact and experience life. That was one good thing about having Daisy as a sister. Whenever she did a movie, we went on an overseas holiday with some of her earnings. I loved going to exotic places the most, countries that were about a
s different from Australia as you could get. I kept diaries, recording everything we saw, ate and did.”

  “Have you still got them?” He could imagine her as a teenager travelling the globe with a dog-eared notebook and a chewed on pen. He smiled at the image.

  “Oh yeah.” Her eyes lit up at the memory, but she quickly shut them down. “Somewhere or other. I suppose.”

  He frowned, wondering why she appeared embarrassed by this. He’d listened, forgetting he had a bone to pick with this woman, and simply enjoyed her passion. Sharing intellectual conversation with a woman was new and he didn’t want her shutting down. “What’s the most interesting culture you’ve ever studied?”

  She bit her lower lip. “You sure you want to talk about this?”

  “No, I’d rather be talking about lipstick shades and who’s screwing who on the set of the latest bonk buster.”

  “You know what I told you about sarcasm?” She tried to sound stern but her lips gave her away.

  Was she flirting? Conflicted emotions rocked him at this possibility. “I’m a slow learner.”

  “Fair enough. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. When I get talking about this, it can be hard to shut me up.” She leaned forward, lifted her water glass and took a long drink. “It’s hard to pick a favorite but I’ve always found the Chinese culture fascinating. I spent six months of my degree in Longsheng county in southern China living, eating and breathing amongst the women who worked the rice paddies. My experiences formed the basis of my Honors thesis about the comradeship of women who live and work together.”

  “Have you got photos?” He couldn’t help himself.

  “Yes, but back in Australia.”

  A waiter passed by and Nate ordered another soda. He turned back to Holly quickly, eager to hear more. The waiter returned with the drink and cleared up their empty plates. Holly went on talking for another fifteen minutes and, surprisingly, there wasn’t one second where he wished she’d finish up. He racked his brain for the last time he’d actually talked and listened this much on a date.

  Not that this was a date. Pain shot to his temples at the thought.