Darcy in Hollywood

“It’s 7 a.m.”

“Yes, it is. Are you drunk? Or high?”

Damn, you have one scandal…

“No,” he said sharply.

“The car was moving rather erratically.”

“I was…trying to work the stereo. It’s complicated.”

“You almost killed me because you couldn’t work the radio?”

“To be fair, it’s satellite radio. And I didn’t almost kill you!”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”

His jaw clenched so tightly he could grind glass. “This isn’t a matter of opinion! You would have been fine if you hadn’t fallen.”

“I also would have been fine if your Ferrari hadn’t come hurtling toward me.”

Darcy didn’t respond; arguing was futile. After a moment she gave him a sidelong glance. “You don’t need to babysit me; I can call myself an ambulance if I need one.”

“I shouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Oh! You don’t want me talking to the press. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he lied. “My primary concern is your well-being.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you almost run over.”

Darcy stifled a smile. Under other circumstances, he’d think she was funny. “I assure you that you’re the first.”

The woman examined the scrape on her arm. “I accept your apology, by the way.”

“I didn’t apologize.”

Now she turned her blue-green gaze on him. “I noticed that. Why didn’t you? Do you think this is my fault? That your car had the right of way on the sidewalk?”

Darcy would have apologized—if he had thought of it—but now he couldn’t without losing face. “I didn’t hit you. You agreed I didn’t hit you!” I sound like an idiot insisting on that point.

“You. Are. Unbelievable.”

Darcy had heard that before but usually in a more complimentary tone.

“You’re not going to say ‘I’m sorry’?”

His father’s voice echoed through his head: Never admit guilt, never apologize. It’s a sign of weakness. But it was indisputably true that his actions had caused her harm. An apology might soften that contemptuous expression on her face, although he wasn’t quite sure why he wanted her good opinion. “I have to admit that I’m—”

“Oh my God! Darcy?” He turned his head to see Caroline Bingley standing in the doorway of Building 4 on the other side of the street. Great, now the entire cast would know that William Darcy had crashed his Ferrari on the first day of the new movie.

After ducking inside the building—no doubt to notify everyone within earshot that Darcy had experienced yet another car accident—Caroline hurried across the street as fast as three-inch heels and a pencil skirt would allow. Objectively, she was a beautiful woman: tall and slender with blonde hair and aristocratic features that she highlighted with skillfully applied cosmetics. Critics often described her pale blonde beauty as icy, a particularly apt description. Darcy had known her a long time, and she had never excited his interest—not the way the woman beside him made his heart skip a beat, and he didn’t even know her name.

Caroline clattered to Darcy’s side. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”

Finally, someone who was worried about him!

Now people were streaming out of the building and heading in Darcy’s direction. He braced himself for a mob scene.