Chapter One
Davin
Of all the days to be late. Davin adjusted the strap of her waxed canvas messenger bag and lengthened her stride towards the backlot. She brushed imaginary wrinkles from the front of her fitted white t-shirt as her Converses scuffed the heat-sticky black top. In the distance, the security booth sat sandwiched between a pair of yellow concrete poles and the gate that surrounded the lot. Grey. Squat. Lots of windows. Davin hoped the poor soul inside had air conditioning. She shielded her eyes against the sun glaring off the expanse of asphalt and squinted through the heat rising in wavy stripes towards the clear Los Angeles sky. Only June, but the summer promised to be a scorcher.
A gaggle of fans milled about the booth, but Davin slid past them and knocked on the booth door. She hissed and pulled back when the metal burned her knuckles. A guard, burly and flexing, opened the door, and glowered at Davin. He wore all black. Air conditioning or not, he had to be melting.
“You need something?” he barked above the fans’ chatter as his bald head glinted in the light.
“I’m here for a producer’s session. In the bungalows?” Davin’s voice quavered. She so did not sound like a professional who was supposed to be there. Despite wearing a messy top-knot, beads of sweat formed around her hairline, curling her fly-a-ways, and a drop trickled down her back.
“What’s the name?” He snatched a clipboard from a desk inside and ran a meaty finger down what Davin assumed was a list.
“Davin Jones?” Someone let out a shrill laugh and Davin rubbed her ear. “Or it might be under D.C. Jones?”
He pushed out his lower lip, his eyes narrowing behind his shades. “Which director?”
“Kevin Murdock.” Davin ran a shaking hand over her faded denim jeans. This is what I get for not dressing my age. Her classic-yet-casual attire made her look seventeen instead of thirty. Kelsey had been right; Davin should have worn a suit dress. She sighed and tried to check the annoyance building inside her. Now she was ten minutes late.
Finally, he looked up and frowned at her. “You’re not on my list. It’s a no go.”
“What?” Davin stepped forward, tried to glimpse the clipboard, but the guard pressed it to his chest. “Can you check a different list or something? I swear, Kevin said you’d have a pass for me.”
The guard scoffed but reached for a mouse and the tiny computer on his desk sprung to life. Davin shifted her weight as he clicked and scrolled. The sun felt like a bully, breathing right down her neck, and she wiped a drop of sweat from the tip of her nose.
“Still nothing,” he grumbled.
Davin groaned. This couldn’t be happening. “Can you call Kevin or something? Just talk to him. He’ll tell you, I am supposed to be here.” It took her over an hour to get to the lot. No way would she turn around and go home without at least talking to Kevin.
Though the guard looked as annoyed as Davin felt, he conceded and pulled out a cell. Davin turned as she waited, inspecting the throng of people closer to the parking lot. The tittering fans wore costumes from popular films, and waved homemade signs with things like ‘I’ll do unspeakable things’ or ‘Let me have your babies’ written in bright pink block letters. Davin cringed. Thank goodness none of her fans were that enthusiastic. She turned back.
The security guard repocketed his cell, his face an unreadable canvas. “No answer.”
Davin swore and wiped her forehead. “Can you take my word for it? Seriously, I’m very, very late right now.”
“I can’t.” Low. Immovable. “No teen fan has gotten through before, and the first time won’t be on my watch.”
Davin shifted her weight, her hands tightening on her bag, and turned hard eyes on him. If only he knew she had twin boys at home and a husband buried back in Pennsylvania. Teen fan, my foot. “I’m an adult.”
“Still doesn’t give you permission to be back here. Cleared personnel only.” He pointed at a sign hooked to the gate; KEEP OUT. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. “Now move along.”
Oh, for hell’s sake. She ought to punch his little biscuit dough face. “Excuse me, but I don’t have time for—”
A motorcycle roared into the lot and the fans lost their minds. The screams set Davin’s teeth on edge, and as whoever drove the bike climbed off, the excitement grew arms and squeezed Davin around the middle. She turned back to the task at hand.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Sir, I’m not here for… whoever that is.”
“What?” The guard made an over exaggerated show of pointing to his ears. “I can’t—sorry—you’ll have to go home.”
This security guard had about spent the little patience Davin had left over from a rough morning with the boys. If he didn’t let her in soon, he’d be in for a taste of Mama Bear, and then everyone on the lot would rue the day Davinder Jones simply came to help with callbacks. She briefly envisioned grabbing the man by his ear and hauling him all the way to Kevin, but she doubted she could even reach it. He had to be six and a half feet tall, much taller than her five-foot-three. She exhaled, but her face stayed scrunched with ire. “I’m sorry you’ve had issues before, but I was supposed to be in there twenty minutes ago, and if you don’t let me pass right this second, I swear, I’m going to—”
“Steve!” bellowed a husky voice from somewhere behind Davin.
She turned… and a knot of dread formed in her already tight throat. The crowd parted as the ebony haired man with a worn leather jacket and a stylish pair of Ray Bans approached them. She spotted a tattoo climbing the side of his neck and another peeking from his wrist beneath the left coat sleeve. Zachery Blazer. The Zachery Blazer—actor, former-alcoholic troublemaker and Hollywood’s favorite bad boy. When Davin learned Zach had been slated for a role in her book-turned-movie, she hadn’t been thrilled. The man might be talented and, she hated to admit it, gorgeous, but her particular sensitivity towards DUIs made Davin doubt she’d ever be comfortable around him. So of course, he had to be the one to show up when she was stuck at the gate. Fan-freaking-tastic.
“What’s going on?” Zach rested his hands on a set of trim hips clad in distressed denim.
Davin raised an eyebrow. At least I won’t be the only one underdressed for auditions.
The security guard jumped to attention and the booth door banged against the side of the building. “Nothing, sir. Just stopping this fan from sneaking inside. You saw how the others were behaving.”
At that, the fans made various sounds of hurt and dispersed.
Davin rolled her eyes. “I am not a fan.” The words dripped with enough anger to make Zachery wince. Too bad. This had to stop. Davin pushed through her hesitation and turned to the A-List actor. “Mr. Blazer—”
“Call me Zach.” He offered a hand and she hesitated. Davin hadn’t touched a man—let alone a celebrity—in years. But if she wanted help getting into the backlot, she couldn’t snub him. When their hands met, a jolt of static electricity ran up Davin’s arm and she pulled back, concerned.
“I’m, um, D.C. Jones.”
“The author?” Zach rubbed his hand against his shirt, laughing nervously, as his face split into a pearly-white smile. “Well, your book was electrifying but I didn’t expect you to be, too.”
Davin nodded, but what on earth had built the static? She shocked her boys on the playground all the time, but she’d touched no plastic here. Zach’s smile faltered and he swallowed. Oh, great, she’d snubbed him anyway. What should she say now? “I’m—glad you enjoyed it.” Back to business. “The thing is, I’m late for the producer’s session and apparently I’m not on the list.”
“Oh. No problem. She’s with me, Steve.” Zach gestured to the gate, and placed a gentle hand on the small of her back.
Steve’s posture hardened, but he touched a button and the gate buzzed open. It took forever.
“Right this way,” Zach said, and they headed into the lot.
When they’d left Steve far behind, Davin mumbled, “Thanks,” and stepped out of Zach’s reach. While she didn’t mind the touch itself—in some ways Davin sorely missed small acts of affection—no way would she let Zach get cozy. Letting him touch her would set a bad precedent. Davin needed to keep a strict level of professionalism while on set—Converses and jeans aside.
“You’re most welcome. Least I can do for my favorite author.” Zach ran a hand through his hair, setting it to spiky off-angles.
Wait, did he say… Davin cleared her throat. “I’m your favorite author?” Was that some kind of line? “Are you much of a reader?”
“I never leave the house without a good book.” He lifted the side of his coat to reveal a beaten copy of Great Expectations peeking out of the inside pocket.
Huh. Davin felt a tingle, more a hint than anything substantial, pass through her middle. She tamped it down. So the guy had good taste in literature. That wasn’t enough to counter the barrage of terrible things she’d read about him. She would be polite, but unimpressed. “I see.”
If Zach noticed Davin’s determination to be aloof, he didn’t show it. As they walked towards the bungalows—Davin taking two steps for every one of his—he continued to shower praise on her work. “If there’s time after the session, I’d love to ask you a couple of questions about Mystified. The themes you explore, and the depth of character you created, even in the side characters. You’re amazing, I mean—”
Was he for real? As he spoke, Davin glanced at Zach, comparing the man before her with the one she’d seen on screen. His eyes shone a deeper brown in person. He had broader shoulders, and leaner, more defined muscles across his strong chest. His lips reminded her of something, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. And he towered over her. Easily six-foot-two, if not taller. Still, he reeked of trouble. Like it seeped out of every pore and Davin let her path drift farther away. She didn’t want or need any of that. Pity he had to be in the film at all, really. What if he messed it up?
Zach caught her staring and his cheeks flooded with red. “I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I? You’re trying to get to the session, and I’m talking your ear off. Sorry, I’ll check my fanboying. I just…loved the book. Loved it.”
Davin had to look away. She’d had a handful of surreal moments in her life. Laying on the ultrasound table as she found out she was having twins. Standing over Chris’s grave on the day of his funeral, with a handful of dirt. The day her agent called with the news her book had made it to the bestseller list. But having The Zachery Blazer fanboy over her work took the cake.
If only he wasn’t such a jerk in real life. “Um. Thank you, Zach. You’re…kind. I’m just nervous about this movie making business and I’m late. I hate being late.”
Zach’s skin returned to its natural hue. “I’m always late. Don’t worry too much, they won’t start without us.”
Davin hoped not. The decision on who got cast as what had nothing to do with her and she wouldn’t get a real say in the matter, but she appreciated the invitation and wanted to see how the figments of her imagination would be brought to life. Freaking Steve, taking all the joy of the moment.
“Here. This way.” Zach turned a corner and she followed suit. “So, may I ask what the D stands for? In D.C. Jones? I mean, I’ll call you D.C. if—”
“No, not D.C.” It’d remind her of the capital every time someone said it. “D is for Davin. Well, Davinder, like lavender but with a D and an I after the V.” Shut up. Ugh, she needed chocolate. And maybe a nap.
“Davinder. Haven’t heard that one before. Is it a family name?”
“No, not at all.” She generally didn’t share personal stories, but this one didn’t give away much. “I was born in the car right on the side of the street. King Street. I guess my mom figured she ought to honor my choice to arrive there. Davinder means King in Hindu. And no, my ancestors aren’t from India, she just fell in love with the name.”
Zach pursed his oddly familiar mouth. “I would’ve guessed Mexico. For your ancestry.”
A blip of surprise passed through Davin. A lot of people caught sight of her tawny olive skin and mahogany hair, and threw verbal darts at the world map. But here, Zach had nailed it without her giving him a hint. So there was something perceptive beneath all the trouble and tattoos. “Yeah. On my dad’s side.” She conceded and gave him a little extra. “My mom’s family are all from Ireland.”
“Ahhh. That explains those green eyes.” Zach dropped his gaze to his feet. “They’re startlingly beautiful, if that’s okay to say.”
The pleasant surprise from his correct guess turned heavy and awkward, like a stone lodged in her chest. Chris had loved her eyes, too. He sometimes called them her leprechaun eyes, because certain lights made them glow neon. They were an unusual shade, deep jade ringed with pale emerald, but she so often kept them downcast these days no one had complimented her on them in years. Why did remembering have to hurt so much?
“Thank you, but maybe don’t say it again.” A sadness crept in when anything reminded her of Chris. She pushed it away.
“Oh. Okay. Sure.”
They walked by a handful of sound stages, heading for the tiny bungalows at the end of the drive, and crossed a sign which read, “HUSH! Filming In Progress.” Zach had grown quiet, and in the quiet, Davin grew self-conscious. Given his reputation, he didn’t mean anything by the compliment. That was just his way. So why was she upset with him? He’d helped her past the gate, the least she could do was turn down the hostility.
“You’re—you’re older than I thought you’d be.” Nice, Davin. Nice. Why did she say that? What kind of person said things like that? So much for being cordial.
“What?” Zach laughed, deep and unabashed, as they hit the sidewalk which led to the bungalow doors. “You didn’t think I was actually a teenaged heartthrob, did you?”
To be fair, Zach had played no other kind of character for years. While his jawline looked baby-skin smooth on the big screen, up close, stubble covered his cheeks and chin. Faint lines showed at the corner of his eyes as did a hint of dark circles beneath them. He must play characters much, much younger than he was. Still, “I wouldn’t put you older than twenty-five. And that’s only because of the five-o-clock shadow.”
“I’m twenty-eight, thank you very much. I’ll be twenty-nine in October.” Nothing in his face showed any annoyance. In fact, he’d moved closer. Tipped his head to get a better look at her face. “Dare I ask if you’re as young as you look?”
Damn it. Davin’s steps slowed on the sidewalk. She wanted to keep things professional and detached, but she’d walked into an open invitation to ask about her age. Now she deeply regretted the converses.
“No. And I wouldn’t tell you if you did.”
“Oh.” He frowned and scratched at the back of his neck.
Now she felt mean. Again. Maybe she didn’t have to be quite so put out with him. There had to be a middle ground here. Distant but not rude. Kind but not friendly. She cleared her throat and whispered, “I will admit I’m older than you.”
A bit of his mischievous smile returned. “I doubt it’s by much, but I won’t press.”
When they reached the bungalow, Zach opened the door to the waiting room, and Davin stepped into the fluorescent lit space. She blinked in the brightness. A cool blast of air conditioning hit her damp skin, causing a full body shiver. As things came back into focus, two familiar faces stared back at her. She’d seen them in countless movies, plastered on billboards, and spilled across tabloids in the checkout line. Will Tegan, a tall lanky redhead, and Jack Kerby, a towering blonde Scandinavian type. Two of the most famous men in Hollywood stood three feet away from her. The door closed behind Davin with a thud.
“D.C. Jones.” Will’s cheeks turned pink beneath his freckles.
“The author.” Jack straightened his posture and tie at the same time.
The men rushed forward and crowded around her.
“I loved your book.”
“I didn’t like books until I read your book, but my girlfriend and I loved it.”
“When I got the call about this audition, my first thought was, I hope I get a chance to meet her. You, I mean.”
“I promised my girlfriend I’d get an autograph, so maybe after this—”
Davin’s head spun. When ordinary Janes and Joes did this—and it was seldom this aggressive—she could handle it. But this? This couldn’t be real. She was supposed to be the star-struck one! She gripped the strap of her bag and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. Thank you both. I’m happy to sign—”
“Yes!” Jack, the blonde one, pumped a fist in the air, and searched his pockets for a pen. “Her name is—”
“Guys.” Zach gestured to the door of the main room. “Hold up. She’s got to get in there.”
“Of course.” Will pushed a lock of his red hair out of his face, showing all his teeth. “Sorry to bombard you. We’re huge fans.”
Oh. My. Word. Kelsey would die when Davin told her. Kelsey always had a thing for Will Tegan, but they didn’t talk about it in front of Kelsey’s husband, Harris. For obvious reasons. All the flattery almost made up for Steve holding her up at the gate. Almost.
The main room door popped open and Kevin’s signature floppy hair and bespectacled face peered out. “There you are, kid. Where you been?”
“I had some trouble at the lot gate. Zach got me through.”
“Ah.” Kevin waved her over, his gaze darting between her and Zach. “Well, get on in here. The suits won’t wait much longer.”
“Good luck.” Zach gave her a big thumbs up. When he smiled, so casual and offhand, the recognition hit Davin like a wet slap in the face. The strange familiarity, the thing she couldn’t pinpoint about his lips—he smiled just like Chris.
Well, that was going to be awkward.
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