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He bit back a laugh. “Not quite, but putting on the glitz isn’t my thing.”
“Odele just mentioned we have a big fund-raiser to attend tomorrow night,” she countered. “And since you signed up for the boyfriend gig, you’ll need to put on a tux.”
“Trust me, you’ll like me better naked.”
Chiara felt her cheeks heat, and on top of that, her manager was tracking everything like a talent agent on the scent of a movie deal.
She narrowed her eyes at Rick. “Oh? Is that the usual attire for reclusive stuntmen?”
He gave a lazy smile. “If we live together much longer, you’ll find out.”
She hated his casual self-assurance. And what was worse, he was probably right...
Chiara gave her manager a what-have-you-gotten-me-into look, but Odele returned it with a beatific one of her own.
“I came to tell you that you’re needed. Dan wants to reshoot a scene,” Odele said.
Chiara wasn’t normally enthusiastic about retakes, but right now she thought of it as a lucky break...
* * *
Hours later, during some downtime in his schedule, Rick sat in a chair outside the gym trailer, his legs propped on a nearby bench. He consulted his cell phone to make sure he was caught up on work.
Often his emails were mundane matters sent by a business partner, but today, lucky him, he had something more salacious to chew over. All courtesy of Celebrity Dish—and a specific actress who’d occupied way more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.
After his encounter with Chiara in her exercise room yesterday afternoon, he’d done the only thing that he could do in the face of frustration and lack of consummation: he’d taken a cold shower and then sat alone at a nearby sports bar to have dinner.
Still, now that the story had progressed in the media to him and Chiara shacking up, Rick knew he’d better tackle his family. In the next moment, his cell phone buzzed, and Rick noted it was Jordan before answering the call.
“Wow, you move fast,” his brother said without preamble. “One day you’re denying there’s anything going on, the next you’re moving in together.”
“Hilarious.”
“Mom asked. Has she rung you yet?”
“Nope.” Camilla Serenghetti was probably vacillating between worry and being ecstatic that her middle son might have gotten into a serious relationship—preferably one heading toward marriage and children.
“She’s concerned some temptress has worked her wiles on you, and not just on the big screen, either. I told her that you’re not innocent and naive enough to resist a beautiful woman.”
“Finger-pointing never got you anywhere, Jordan.”
“Except for some scratches and bruises from you and Cole in retribution. But don’t worry, I bounced back.”
“Clearly,” Rick responded drily.
“Mom is talking about coming to the West Coast to tape an episode of her cooking show. You know, do something different and expand the audience, and if I’m not mistaken—” his brother’s voice dripped dry humor “—she wants to check up on you.”
No, no and no. The last thing he needed was for his mother to add a sideshow to the ongoing drama with Chiara—though Camilla Serenghetti would no doubt easily become best buds with Odele. Two peas in a pod. Or as the Italians liked to say, due gocce d’acqua—like two drops of water. In a pot of boiling pasta water. Still, the thought gave him an idea...
“Mom can’t come here.”
“She’s worried about the show. The station is under new management and she wants to make a good impression.”
“Fine. I’ll go to her.”
The idea was brilliant. If he delivered Chiara Feran to his mother’s show, he’d drive up ratings for a program that was only in local syndication. And it would add steam in the press to his and Chiara’s supposed relationship. All while getting Chiara out of her house in LA and away from her crazy fan.
It was fantastic...clever...an idea worthy of Odele.
