Darcy in Hollywood

Elizabeth’s head was throbbing, and she was tempted to make him sweat it a little, but she didn’t want to create problems for her father. “Of course not.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Do you need anything else?”

Besides a doctor, aspirin, and a head CT? “No,” she snapped before thinking better of it. “It would be nice not to be surrounded by thirty curious people, though.”

“Of course.” Darcy shot to his feet. “Everyone, clear out!” he bellowed to the onlookers. “The ambulance will be here any minute. We don’t want you getting in the way.”

Incredibly, everyone moved with alacrity. Soon they were all gone except Darcy and her father. Wow, I wish people would listen to me that way. Hell, the family dog doesn’t listen to me like that.

“Thank you,” she said to Darcy. She refused to call him Mr. Darcy to his face, no matter what her father expected. The man was maybe five years older than she was; she refused to address him like a schoolteacher.

The sounds of a siren, faint at first, grew louder as the ambulance negotiated the turns through the studio’s maze of streets.

“Surely someone can accompany her to the hospital,” Darcy said to her father. Elizabeth could have told him not to bother. Her family put the “must” in “the show must go on.”

Tom Bennet shook his head.

“That’s not right,” Darcy started to object. It was kind of cute how he thought they would care, but she didn’t want him to sprain something trying too hard.

“I’ll be okay,” Elizabeth cut in. “They can come to the hospital once they’re finished here.” Actually, she’d probably be better off without them. Jane would be helpful, but she couldn’t leave the table read.

Her father patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “That’s a girl.” He peered at his watch. “We should get a move on. I’m paying for this space by the hour.”

“But—” Darcy frowned in Elizabeth’s direction.

“It’s okay,” she said wearily. An ambulance ride was beginning to sound relaxing compared to these negotiations. “Go ahead.”

Darcy shot a glance at the ambulance, now a block away. “All right.” Her father was already striding toward Building 4, but Darcy hovered awkwardly. Maybe he really is worried about my well-being. “Please don’t say anything about me.” Or maybe not. After those final caring words, Darcy hurried away.

Elizabeth watched him go, realizing that he had never apologized.

The minute the ambulance pulled up at the curb, two EMTs jumped out. A short Hispanic woman immediately hooked Elizabeth up to a blood pressure monitor. The other EMT, a tall man with wavy brown hair who could have been a model, gave her a smile straight out of a toothpaste ad. “Can you tell me what happened?”

As she recounted the incident, not mentioning Darcy’s name, he took her pulse, shined a light into her eyes, and examined the bump on the back of her head.

“That’s a nasty bump you’ve got back there,” he commented. “I think we’ll need to take you to the hospital for a workup.”

Elizabeth nodded and then winced at the pain. “I don’t think I lost consciousness and I’m not disoriented, so if it’s a concussion it’s a mild one. But I should probably have a head CT to be sure.”

He blinked. “Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I was pre-med in college. I’m applying to med schools now.”

“Ah.” He grinned at her as he and his partner pulled the gurney out of the back of the ambulance. “I considered med school myself but decided I liked acting more.”

“Please don’t tell me you only play an EMT on TV,” she teased.

He laughed with big hearty guffaws. Wow, a real, down-to-earth human being despite his acting ambitions. Well, they didn’t usually turn into Darcy-sized bastards until they made the big time. “I am a real EMT. This is my day job until I get my big break. What better place for an aspiring actor than on a movie studio?” He helped her onto the gurney and strapped her down before offering his hand. “George Wickham, EMT to the stars.”

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, George. I’m Elizabeth.”

George and his partner wheeled her toward the ambulance. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth, we’ll take great care of you.”

William Darcy had cared more about his Ferrari and his career than Elizabeth—and her own family had cared more about Darcy. It was nice that someone cared about her—even if it was his job.

The EMTs slid the gurney into the ambulance and locked it into place. George’s partner jumped out and closed the doors; presumably she would drive. After hooking her up to a heart monitor, George strapped himself into an adjacent seat with a clipboard in his lap. “So I’m going to need to fill out a detailed report. What was the name of the person driving that fancy ri

de back there?”