Torn (2 page)

“But Julie––“

“That’s
Ms. Bishop
to you, Miss Thang.” The director’s brow furrowed as she scowled. “Your behavior was completely inappropriate, totally unprofessional, and ––”

“Not to mention,” a male growl interposed, “excessive!”

The enthralled audience sighed collectively when the latest player in the drama joined the scene.

Oscar winner Ty Benson, an actor known for having the quintessential blend of looks, talent and a strong work ethic, walked from the crowd like Moses through the Red Sea. His left cheek bore a vivid, scarlet handprint, and the mark brought a low wave of murmurs from the people around him. While the movie star was jokingly described by peers and friends alike as “diplomatically challenged” –– Ty Benson frequently suffered from open-mouth-insert-foot syndrome –– it was widely agreed that the star’s blunt honesty never warranted an act of physical violence.

Thoroughly disgusted with the scene brought upon by the young starlet, the Best Actor award-winner came to a halt in front of her, and crossed his arms over his chest. He eyed the young woman up and down, took a step back and softly applauded. “Brava, Vivian,” he drawled, arching an unimpressed brow. “I had no idea you aspired to be Erica Kane.”

The beautiful, black actress drew an affronted breath. “Well, I ––“

Ty rolled his eyes. “Good Lord, Scarlet, you’re not going to say ‘I never’, are you? ‘Cause heaving breasts and glycerin tears might work on Daytime, but you’re in the big leagues now. If you want to run with the wolves, Vivian, don’t piss like a pup.”

Hands on her hips, Vivian glowered at the director and her star. “I don’t have to put up with this! My cousin––“

“Your cousin,” Julie interjected smoothly, “is the only reason you were hired for the role. He asked a favor and I tried to accommodate. But your acting is sub-par. Your behavior is outrageous and
completely
unprofessional, and I won’t tolerate either on my set.” The director lifted her chin, pushed her glasses down her nose, and studied the other woman through her gold cat’s eye frames.
“You
may go.”

Vivian’s jaw dropped a moment before she fisted her hands at her hips, and lifted her chin. “You can’t do that! I have a contract.”

Julie crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously mimicking the stance of the famous actor at her side. “Consider it null and void. See what happens when you don’t read the fine print?”

On quicksand and having the sense to realize it, Vivian looked at the crowd around them. A smirk curved her lips upward as she scanned the sea of Caucasian faces. Confidence, smug and brash, stiffened her spine and put her dainty nose in the air. “And you think you can just replace me? The other black actresses you wanted for the role had conflicting schedules and couldn’t take this part. Where,” she asked, stretching her mocha arms outward to encompass the surrounding gawkers into the question, “will you find another on such short notice?”

Julie frowned, her brows drawing low on her forehead. Crap. She scanned the white faces as Vivian Cray had done.
Crap!
She felt a not-so-gentle nudge in her ribcage, and glanced over at her male star.

Ty Benson’s gaze was fixed on something behind Vivian, and Julie craned her neck to see. No. Not something.
Someone
. Ty pointed with his chin for emphasis… and Julie grinned.

~ * ~

Chelsea Morgan took another bite of bagel and blindly reached for the bottle of Coke Classic at her side. Seated with several other extras on the edge of the newly erected boardwalk, her feet tapped the dirt with nervous energy as she watched the unscripted scene play out. Her eyes hurt from staring at Ty Benson. She really needed to blink, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away if her life depended on it. On screen, he was gorgeous. In person, he was
beautiful
. Christ! She took a sip of the sweet, carbonated beverage, washing down the cream cheese, and set the bottle down by her foot. She felt a not-so-gentle nudge in her ribcage and glanced at her friend.

“Well?” Lynn Hoffman braced a hand against the small of her back to support her noticeably pregnant belly as she raised her eyebrows at her friend.

“Well, what?” Chelsea asked, barely sparing the other woman a glance before returning her focus to the actor not twenty feet away from them.

“Did Jake go for it, or is he pulling his ‘The planet has enough human beings to support, we don’t need to add to its stress’ bit again?”

The poppy seeds that decorated the donut-shaped bread suddenly demanded her attention, and Chelsea obligingly picked one seed off, then another, and didn’t answer.

Lynn rolled her eyes. “He
did
, didn’t he. For cryin’ out loud. Doesn’t Jake realize that this baby of mine,” she gestured to her enlarged abdomen, “is going to be old and crusty by the time he gets around to creating another one?”

Chelsea sighed and stopped decimating her bagel. “We talked about it. Jake’s happy with two.”

Lynn’s pale, blonde brows rose to her hairline. “Well, yippee-yi-oh-ki-ay for Jake. What is he, the freaking pregnancy police? Don’t get me wrong, I adore my goddaughters, but isn’t he a guy? Doesn’t he want to go for a boy, spread that Morgan name around? You could name him Jason after Jake’s grandfather, call him Jase, and the two guys could help balance out all that estrogen in your house.”

Chelsea’s lips twitched in an almost smile. “I tried that tact. Jake said there were no guarantees we’d have a boy, and that he was content with our girls.”

Lynn bit her lip, tucked a moonlight blonde lock of hair behind her ear. “Chels…” Her voice was soft, and Chelsea could feel her sympathy cover her like a warm blanket. “What about what you want? Are you content?”

Chelsea took another sip from her soda, another bite of bagel, brows drawn as she pondered her friend’s question. Of course she was content. She was married to her best friend, had a fun career as a freelance web designer, two beautiful children, a house, pets…

Lynn cursed under her breath, and pushed at the almost pointy protrusion from her belly. “That was my liver you stomped on, you micro heifer…”

Shaking off a swift stab of envy with a smile, Chelsea reached and placed a palm on her friend’s stomach in time to feel the baby move again, before she settled into a sweet spot and was still. “Quit picking on my goddaughter.”

“Oh, please. She’s spoiled already. Her father’s just over the moon that he’ll finally have a little girl.”

“Huh. Poor thing won’t ever get a date with three big brothers and Hank as her dad.”

“I know it. We’ll have to invest in popcorn, because I foresee drama at my house in about fifteen years…” Lynn’s voice trailed off, and her elbow jabbed again into Chelsea’s side.

“Ouch!”

“Chels… Ty Benson’s looking at
us
!” Lynn’s whisper had Chelsea whipping her head back around. Sure enough, the actor had taken a step back from the two arguing women and had focused his attention on their audience.

“Oh, damn,” Lynn sighed as the handsome actor glanced in their direction. “He’s even
more
gorgeous in person.”

Chelsea laughed. “Isn’t
that
the understatement of the year. Just remember, Tyler’s
mine
.
You
have George Clooney.” She took another bite, larger than the first.

Beside her, Lynn suddenly stiffened, then jammed her elbow into Chelsea hard enough to leave a bruise. Chelsea started; her foot jerked out, and knocked the bottle over. Soda poured out onto the dirt, running in rivulets into the makeshift road. Crap. She snatched up the clear plastic container, using the heel of her shoe to kick fresh dirt over the spill.

“Chelsea!”

Attention on her task, Chelsea chewed, then swallowed. “What?”

Chelsea didn’t know what made her look fleetingly in Ty Benson’s direction. Perhaps it was habit; she’d been staring at him for weeks now, ever since she was hired as an extra for his new movie. Her heart stopped. His gaze was on
her
.

He nodded, and her heart started beating again.

Way too fast.

Then the director… What was her name? Julie Bishop… looked at her, and a Cheshire grin split through her stormy expression. To Chelsea’s horror, Ms. Bishop started towards her… Ty Benson at her side, and Vivian Cray at her heels.

The trio approached. Julie Bishop left the others to orbit around Chelsea muttering about bone structure and costume alterations. “Ty,” the director called.

The actor did as instructed, taking Chelsea’s hands and pulling her to her feet. He even put an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders, tucking the stunned female into a semi-embrace.

The director circled the pair with eagle eyes. “Right age… excellent coloring… The nose studs would have to go, of course... It could work.”

“You can’t be serious!” Vivian Cray stomped a foot, planting the expensive prop-shoe she wore into the soft-drink mud pie on the ground.

The director glanced pointedly at the actress’ feet. “That will come out of your pay.”

Dismissing both shoe and starlet, Julie Bishop took Chelsea’s trembling hand and tugged her gently from Ty’s hold. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the other extras. “How would you,” she asked, “like to be Ty Benson’s wife?”

Chapter One

H
e’s just a person. Even if he does look like a god and actually once portrayed Apollo on the big screen. No big deal. He has to light a match after he farts like everyone else… Chelsea Morgan rolled her eyes at herself and laughed softly. Yeah, right.

“Share the mirth, darlin’?”

Chelsea looked from the lighted, oversized, dressing room mirror to the dark chocolate-skinned man smoothing cosmetics onto her face. “Just trying to remind myself that Ty Benson’s human like everyone else, Drew,” she said. Her foot, encased in a late nineteenth century shoe, tapped against the wood bar of the stool with each ankle jiggle. “My nerves are shot.”

Drew Maverick –– the so flamboyantly gay he embodied the stereotype makeup artist –– chuckled as he dusted powder across the bridge of her nose. “Girl, first, quit bobbing your foot –– I’m not going for the Egyptian look with your eyes. Second, don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. You
look
fine, at any rate! Those cheekbones! Those lips! They make Angelina Jolie’s look penciled in.” He waved the oversized powder brush. “Top of my head, hon, I know at
least
five A-List celebs that paid big bucks for kissers like yours. And those luscious brown, bedroom eyes … Like wet brown sugar! To die for!”

Arching a skeptical brow at his flattery, Chelsea turned her head to look in the mirror. Her exquisitely made up eyes widened in shock. “Oh, wow, Drew! You are
amazing
! Is that
me
? I look…
Gorgeous
!”

“Thank you, hon, but I only work with what’s available.” He tossed her a saucy wink, and Chelsea grinned.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into staying in Montana when the filming is done.”

Drew laughed. “Girl, it’s beautiful out here, but
hell
no! It’s not nearly…
cheerful
enough here, you feel me?” He winked again and Chelsea laughed.

“I can imagine.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Don’t worry, Girlfriend,” he eyed her up and down as she stood, shaking out her heavy skirt. “You look the part. Now, all you have to do is act it. You’ll do great.” He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Couldn’t be worse than
La Cray
. I mean, that devil spawned bitch––”

Chelsea’s perfectly groomed eyebrows rose. “Thanks, Drew,” she quickly interjected. She wasn’t above gossip, but she was nervous enough already. Any talk about the recently fired actress she was to replace would probably tip her over the edge.

His lips twitched, but he refrained from any further comment about the soap opera star. “You’re welcome. Now you’d best shake a leg before Julie comes looking for you. Jules is a wonderful lady, but
damn
! She can even top a drag queen on the rag when she’s mad!”

“Thanks for the tip,” she murmured dryly.

“Anytime, honey.”

Chelsea walked out into the warehouse, onto the set, where Julie had instructed her to go for her screen test. Looking around, she quickly noticed that Ty Benson hadn’t yet arrived, but some of the film crew milled about a coffee and bagel-laden table, waiting direction. She headed over to the group and introduced herself.

The man closest to her shook her hand. “Welcome aboard,” he said. “I’m Mike. I’ll be shooting your screen test.” His hazel eyes gleamed as he looked her over with professional detachment before he smiled. “You’ll do great.”

Chelsea grinned, rolled her eyes. “
If
I get the job.”

Mike shrugged, popped a large, delicate slice of lox into his mouth, chewed, then swallowed the meat. “It’s pretty much in the bag,” he said, “unless you totally suck. Julie doesn’t want to spend the time or money searching for someone else. So relax.” He picked up one of the freshly baked breads, topped it with a generous portion of cream cheese, and offered it to her. “Have a bagel.”

She declined with a shake of her head. “Not with this face on. Drew would kill me if I ruined his artistry.”

“And take it from someone who knows,” said a voice behind her. “You don’t want to mess with Drew. He may seem angelic, but when he’s mad… look out.”

Oh, God.
Chelsea’s breath caught in her throat. She whirled around, her brown eyes wide and anxious. It was him!

Heart pumping so loud in her chest, she was certain everyone could hear it, Chelsea gawked at the movie star, her eyes opening even wider as she perused his six-foot-plus frame. She didn’t even register the friendly greeting the actor shared with the cameraman. Good Lord, the man was
fine
! Sinfully fine.
Illegally
fine.
No
man on the planet had a right to look
that
fine. And in his historical, wild mountain-man-of-the-west costume, he was every woman’s romantic fantasy come to life.