Darcy in Hollywood

Darcy stood to greet Caroline, but that didn’t prevent her from standing too close and regarding him with a “caring” expression that would never win her an Oscar. She was a legit movie star in her own right, although not as well-known as Darcy. Her constant invasion of his personal space represented either a genuine attraction to him or a cold-blooded desire to hitch a wagon to his star. Either way, he was not interested, but she was his costar—playing his love interest—so he tried to remain cordial. “I’m fine. The airbag deployed.”

Oblivious to his body language, she reached out and stroked his cheek. “The airbag? Oh my! Maybe you should be examined by a doctor, just as a precaution.”

“I feel fine.” He turned toward the woman on the bench as a way of evading Caroline’s grasp. “I’m more worried about this young lady—”

Within seconds they were surrounded by curious, chattering people—mostly actors from the table read that had yet to begin, but some were obviously members of the film’s production crew.

The movie’s producer, Tom Bennet, a portly man in his sixties with thinning, frizzy brownish hair, pushed his way through the crowd. Darcy had only met the man a handful of times, but he never exhibited the kind of focus and energy you would expect from someone who could raise millions of dollars for an independent film.

“Ah, I see you’ve met my daughter, Elizabeth.” After a cursory glance at the woman on the bench, Tom gave Darcy a v

ague smile as if they had encountered each other at Starbucks. “Now I see what held you up.”

His daughter? Wasn’t he…you know…worried about her? Blood stained the front of her shirt. If that had been his sister, Darcy would have been…

Of course, if that had been his sister, his parents wouldn’t have noticed from Europe.

Darcy struggled to recall what he knew about Bennet’s family, information he’d never considered of much importance. Bennet had a lot of daughters. Five? Six? He was notorious for casting family members in his movies to cut back on expenses.

“Elizabeth will be one of the PAs on the set,” Bennet told Darcy.

PA. Production Assistant. Oh God. This woman would be on the movie set every freaking day. She’d bring him props and sides from the screenplay and call sheets—with a glower that reminded him that he was a terrible driver and impossibly vivid eyes that he couldn’t ignore…

That is, if she didn’t die from a concussion on the studio sidewalk.

A short, voluptuously built blonde who had been squeezed into a bright floral form-fitting dress teetered up to Elizabeth on three-inch heels. “Oh my God! Lizzy! What happened?” Throwing her arms around Elizabeth, the blonde pulled her head against her generous chest.

“I fell when—” Elizabeth started to say.

“You shouldn’t be so careless!” the blonde chastised. “I only have four sisters. What would I do without you?”

So this was another of Bennet’s daughters? There was little resemblance. The blonde had all the conventional beauty that Hollywood craved: bee-stung lips, big blue eyes, and a curvaceous figure. By comparison, Elizabeth was no more than passably pretty, yet Darcy couldn’t drag his eyes away from her.

“What happened?” the sister demanded again.

Elizabeth leaned heavily against the back of the bench. “He almost hit me with his car.” She gestured to Darcy.

The other woman’s gaze darted to Darcy, and she did a double take. Darcy stifled a curse; he knew what was coming now. “Oh my God! William Darcy! Lizzy, you almost got run over by William Darcy!” She emitted a high-pitched shriek. “What an honor! Did you get an autograph? Did you get a selfie?”

She handed her phone to Elizabeth, careful not to disturb her fake nails. “Here, take a picture.” She snuggled up next to Darcy, who grudgingly cooperated with his first selfie at the scene of an accident.

But her sister shook her head. “Lydia, it’s a selfie. Do it yourself.”

“But I don’t have my stick!” Lydia wailed. “And I’m sure my hair is a mess, and I have coral lipstick on! Coral! Don’t you see what a disaster that is?”

Lydia grabbed Darcy’s arm, apparently urgently needing to make him understand. “I don’t usually wear coral; it makes my lips go all fishy. But Max, the makeup assistant, wanted to try something…”

Darcy tuned out her babble. She was just another wannabe movie star with more beauty than talent. Eager to move her along, he plucked the phone from Elizabeth’s grip and handed it to Lydia. “There will be plenty of time for pictures. We’ll be working together.” He gave her the killer smile, the one that always made the women melt. The one he secretly dubbed “set phasers on stun.”

Lydia was not immune. “Sure. No problem.” Her eyes remained fixed on his face while her voice became high and breathy.

A knot of gawkers had formed around the Ferrari and its lamppost. Finally noticing, Bennet stared at the accident for a few seconds before turning back to Darcy. “Do you usually park it that way? The studio might not like that.”

“That’s not my customary method. It was an accident.”

Tom turned his gaze back to the car as if it were a strange piece of modern artwork that he was trying to understand.

“I thought your license was suspended,” Lydia said.