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Charlotte spied the subject of their conversation heading their way with two drinks in his hands. “And did you notice that shirt?” She sighed. “I just love a guy who’s willing to make bold choices!”
“He is…ah…noticeable.” He could moonlight as a traffic cone.
“Ladies.” Bill grinned broadly at Charlotte as he handed Elizabeth her drink.
“Hi, Bill.” Charlotte blushed and actually giggled—a sound Elizabeth hadn’t known her friend was capable of making.
As they gazed into each other’s eyes, Elizabeth realized that they didn’t need her anymore. “Actually, I see someone I should talk to.” She gave her drink to Charlotte, who accepted it without taking her eyes from Bill. “Charlotte said she had a dog-related question for you.”
Bill’s eyebrows shot upward. “My knowledge of dogs is encyclopedic, I assure you.”
“Oh, I know…” Charlotte breathed.
Before she was forced to hear anything else, Elizabeth made good her escape.
***
When Darcy had arrived at the party, Charlie had welcomed him with a beer in one hand and an arm around Jane Bennet. He always worked quickly. Darcy just hoped she wasn’t expecting any kind of long-term relationship; Charlie wasn’t built that way.
Darcy wandered through the house, nodding to acquaintances and shaking the occasional hand. His manager and agent would expect him to work the room, forging connections with the producers, directors, and fellow actors. He was also supposed to be on the hunt for the next woman to be his arm candy—some gorgeous up-and-coming starlet who would be thrilled to attend industry events with him.
But just thinking about those things exhausted him.
Actually, what do I want to do? Darcy hadn’t asked himself that question for a long time—at least at a party, which always seemed to be more about networking than…well, partying. People thought Hollywood parties were full of booze and cocaine and scantily clad women (which they were), but they were designed for the denizens of Hollywood to schmooze and impress so they could line up their next project. It was really a bit depressing.
Darcy realized that the answer to “what do I want to do?” was “leave the party.” But he couldn’t do that yet; he had just arrived.
He spotted Bill Collins only seconds before the man saw him—not enough time to initiate evasive maneuvers. Huh. He had Charlotte Lucas on his arm. Darcy didn’t know the woman well, but she seemed sensible—too sensible to hang with Collins.
Collins sidled close to Darcy as if he planned to show fake Rolex watches on the inside of his trench coat. “Mr. Darcy, I wanted to make an offer, sir.” His eyes scanned the area to ensure they weren’t being overheard. “If you need anyone for your posse—or as the French say it, ‘entourage’—I would be most pleased to take part. I make an excellent lackey. Your aunt rarely requires my presence at night, so there would be no need for her to even be aware of my activities.”
Darcy felt oddly as if he were being propositioned by a cheating spouse. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied coolly. “I don’t actually have a posse.”
Collins’s eyes widened. “But a man of your stature! Surely…who do you take to clubs?”
Darcy began to suspect that Collins’s understanding of Hollywood, despite his employment, was primarily based on television shows. “I rarely go to clubs,” he said shortly.
“But-But you’re a movie star.”
“Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing.” With these words, Darcy stalked to the nearest set of French doors and pushed through. He was done with that idiot. In fact, he was done with all the idiots who believed that making movies involved no work, just glamour.
Maybe I should just go home. I’m not exactly in a party mood. I don’t even know why I bothered to come. But he knew that was a lie even as he thought it.
He scanned the pool deck, telling himself that he wasn’t searching for anyone in particular without really believing it. There was the usual contingent of Hollywood power brokers trying to appear relaxed while they sweated bullets over million-dollar deals. In the Shadows cast members flirted or laughed and splashed in the pool. He had once been part of that crowd, but it held no appeal now.
There was also the customary bevy of bathing beauties, the models who somehow managed to wrangle invitations to every Hollywood party. Several eyed him speculatively, but he resolutely refused to respond. Past experience had taught him that they were good for a roll in the hay but were rar
ely interested in good conversation, which was what he craved more than anything.
His heart thumped against his ribs when he finally spied Elizabeth Bennet. He should avoid her, but he increasingly wondered if that was even possible—or desirable. He had given her a concussion and insulted her. She wasn’t arm-candy material and was nursing a crush.
And yet…he’d had such intriguing conversations with her; she seemed to understand him so well. A little banter with Elizabeth could take this party from bearable to entertaining. What could it hurt?
Most of the women clustered around the pool wore daring, fashion-forward bikinis. Why attend the party if you weren’t planning to display your assets? However, Elizabeth wore a rather short purple sundress. By comparison with the bathing beauties, she should have appeared drab, staid, stuffy. Instead, she drew his eye like a magnet.
What a shame she wasn’t starlet material. She would be great company for the long parade of industry events Darcy was forced to attend. He could imagine her snarky comments throughout the Golden Globes. It would make them almost bearable.
But she couldn’t be his date. She didn’t have the beauty, the presence, the figure. No, she was the wrong type. He didn’t have a lot of hope for her acting career. She might play the brainy girl who helps the jock pass chemistry, but that kind of role could only take an actor so far.
