Swiping her fingers along her cheek, she said, “I should take this off.” She also needed a change of clothes. Before she caught the train tomorrow, she’d swing past Declan’s place and pick them up. She’d rather not go to the station in this costume again. “I wish I hadn’t left my stuff at Declan’s house,” she mumbled.
Nancy handed her facial cleansing wipes and asked, “Who’s Declan?”
“Thanks,” Holly pulled two from the plastic packet and got to work scrubbing her face. “He’s a friend. I thought we were going to be more than that then things changed when I found him making out with a nun at a party a few hours ago.”
“A nun?” Nancy’s mouth dropped open.
“It was a fancy-dress party.” Holly held out her arms and done a spin. “The reason I’m dressed likehooker number three.”
“Ahh, now your costume makes sense. What a dirtbag. I hope you kicked him in the nuts.”
Holly gave a surprised laugh.
“Are you okay?” Nancy asked.
“Yes, I’m more mad, than upset for falling for his lies.” Actually, it was a relief. Deep down she knew it wouldn’t work. Declan was a rebound from Oliver. A band aid covering the wound Oliver had left. “We were friends in high school until he moved to Sydney. When I arrived here five months ago, I didn’t know anyone, so I looked him up.”
“What brought you to Sydney?”
“A change of scenery.” A cheating fiancé and a family with too many conditions. Tension squeezed the back of her neck. She shrugged it away, balled the dirty wipes in her hand and tossed them into the bin under the bench.
Nancy must have sensed Holly’s reluctance to talk about it and changed the subject. “Where did you learn to do makeup like that?”
“YouTube tutorials. By the way, this room is amazing, I’d kill to have your job.” Picking up a bottle of lotion, she gave it a quick sniff, squeezed a dollop on her fingertips and massaged the cool moisturiser onto her face.
“Your makeup was perfect. Whyaren’tyou doing this for a living?”
Before Holly had a chance to respond, a knock sounded at the door and a beat later, Ethan Doyle’s head popped through the doorway. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realise you had company.”
“Come in,” Nancy waved her hand for him to enter, “You’ve met Holly. Very intimately according to the script.”
He nodded a greeting and said, “My job’s tough, but someone has to do it.”
Nancy rolled her eyes.
Still feeling a little starstruck, even though she’d had her hand on his dick half an hour ago, Holly felt awkward still dressed as a prostitute exposing a lot of skin. She wrapped her arms around her waist.
Nancy picked up on Holly’s discomfort. “Here, put this on. You can’t stay dressed like that.” And handed Holly a dusty pink Burberry trench coat hanging on a hook. She had a similar one in ivory in her walk-in-robe at home in Melbourne. Now, here she was broke, homeless and wrapped in money. She mentally shook her head at the irony as she tied the belt in a knot around her waist. Once secured, she glanced up and caught Ethan Doyle staring at her with a flare of heat. A woman wearing a trench coat and stripper heels was probably every guy’s fantasy. And even though he’d insulted her acting skills and had been a bit of a jerk, when she met his gaze, her breath caught.
“Will you be sticking around while I finish up?” Nancy asked her son as she wiped down a bench unaware of the blazing exchange.
Turning towards his mother he said, “Sorry I can’t, Victoria is waiting outside. We’re going for a drink.”
With his attention off her, Holly took a moment to get her heart rate and body temperature under control. And to shake the confusion over her reaction away. It’s not every day you meet a Hollywood actor. Which explained the cause of her jitteriness.
Nancy blew out a breath and pointed a blending brush at him. “Why are you interested in her? Yes, she’s gorgeous, that’s all she has going for her.”
He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you really want to know?”
“No, I don’t!” Nancy shuddered. “I already know too much about your personal life. Don’t stay out too late, you have an early shoot in the morning. I’m good at my job but it’s difficult to conceal undereye bags.”
Captivated by the teasing exchange between mother and son, Holly wished her relationship with her mother was that casual. Their conversations revolved around a career in the family’s company and marrying their wealthy friends’ son.
“What about hooker number three, will I be seeing you in the morning too?” he asked. A mocking smile slid across his face.
With as much dignity as she could muster while dressed like she was on her way to meet her pimp, Holly pulled her shoulders back. “No, you won’t.”
“That’s a shame.” Was he being sarcastic or was there a note of disappointment? Before Holly had the chance to work it out, he left the trailer.
