His Larkville Cinderella. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
from his college quarterback days and a classically handsome face. The guy also had a habit—perhaps a hobby—of having flings with his leading ladies. Or so the grocery store tabloids reported.
She nodded.
Most women would call the actor hot, but she preferred guys who were more … cerebral. Guys like her best friend, Rob. Her Mr. Right, if ever one existed. All she had to do was wait it out until he realized she was his Ms. Right.
A squawking noise sounded overhead. She looked up to see two seagulls. Their white feathers were almost lost against the cloudy sky. Very cool. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen this type of bird.
“We don’t have all day,” Eva said.
Megan ran down the deck’s staircase to the beach.
Eva’s cackling laughter followed Megan onto the sand.
Her cheeks burned. Compassion and understanding didn’t seem to exist in Hollywood. No one cared if she felt like the proverbial fish out of water, overwhelmed and exhausted. They only cared that she got the job done. If she couldn’t, ten others were waiting to take her place.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
She would do whatever it took to succeed in this business. Not that she had seen any costume designs other than those hanging on the walls, storyboards and drafting tables at the work space at the studio. She’d touched only clothing and fabric bolts needed by the staff. But she knew how each coworker took their coffee or tea, what they ordered for lunch and that “Firebreather,” Eva’s nickname, wasn’t an exaggeration.
Megan’s tennis shoes sunk into the sand.
Her internship was nothing like she thought it would be. Girl Friday seemed too glorified a term for what she did. That was run errands, emphasis on the running. Gophers got more respect than she did. And she was doing this all for free … for the experience.
But paying her dues was required in the film industry. Costume designers worked their way up in the food chain. She had to start somewhere. Whatever she was doing here was better than being stuck back in Larkville and using her sewing ability to make alterations at the nearest dry cleaners. If only Rob had wanted her to move to Austin instead of encouraging her to take this internship …
She stumbled over a piece of seaweed. Sticking her arms out to keep her balance, she managed to stay upright. No doubt she looked like an idiot. As usual. She was all limbs and hair. Always had been.
A few people stood at the water’s edge. In spite of the gray sky, women wore tiny strips of fabric that showed off their toned and honey-gold tanned bodies. Megan would never have the nerve to wear a bikini like that even if the temperature had been warmer and the sun shining.
Men wore board shorts and no shirts. Muscular physiques abounded. One thing was certain. The beach was a magnet for attractive men. But she’d still take Rob over any of them, even if he were thinner with not so many muscles. He wanted to spend time with her. He was always there to give advice, offer support and hang out with. Guys like him were hard to find.
She looked at each of the men. None had Adam Noble’s trademark tousled brown hair and loose curls.
Megan dug the toe of her shoe into the sand.
Where could he be?
She noticed everyone was looking at the water. A lone surfer rode a massive wave. He did a fancy move with his board. She thought he might wipe out, but he somehow stayed on his feet.
Two women cheered. Another clapped. One man whistled.
A different woman sighed. “Adam is so hot.”
Megan studied the surfer, who wore some sort of wet suit. It didn’t take her long to realize Adam Noble was the one riding the wave. He cut back and forth on his board, across the rolling wave, doing tricks and inspiring oohs-and-aahs from the captivated crowd.
Show-off.
She wasn’t impressed. Okay, she would give him a few props for making the women drool and the men stare at him with envy. But Adam could have ridden the wave without doing so many risky moves. The guy had a starring role in a new feature film, one she would work on as part of her internship. He should be more careful, not out there endangering himself and possibly the entire production so he could perform for his adoring fans on such a big wave.
Talk about an idiot.
He reminded her of those cowboys back home who risked their lives for an eight-second ride on some bucking bull named Diablo. The guy was all brawn. He didn’t have a brain cell in that handsome head of his.
No wonder his costars slept with him. They probably couldn’t find anything to talk about with him and figured sex was an easy way to fill the time between scenes.
Thank goodness Adam was riding the wave to shore. The sooner she could get him to the villa, the sooner she would be able to get back to the studio.
Megan might be a lowly intern with only more errands to run, but she had better things to do than stand around and wait for a self-indulgent, stupid movie star like Adam Noble.
As Adam walked to the beach with his board tucked under his arm, waves lapped around his calves. Water dripped off his hair and ran down his lite three/two full suit. He couldn’t wait until summer, his favorite season of the year, when he wouldn’t need protection from the cold water.
He smiled at the small crowd watching him. Being a star meant putting up with fans wherever he went. He didn’t mind. Fans were the ones who paid to see his movies. Without them, he’d still be doing stunts and going home with sore muscles and bruises.
He’d gotten used to the invasion of privacy except for the paparazzi. Those vultures lurked everywhere with their digital cameras and high-powered lenses, waiting for a chance to capture him looking or doing something stupid. He always had to be on guard and make everything he did appear effortless.
Like surfing.
Even if he thought he would wipe out. Twice.
Adam would hate to see a picture like that plastered over the internet and tabloid covers with a “shocking” headline blaming alcohol or drugs or some mysterious woman for his fall. The tabloids exaggerated and blew everything he did out of proportion. But not this time.
He’d stayed on his feet. Once again. And gotten a much needed rush. He loved surfing on the Fish, a light and maneuverable surfboard. Few things in this world beat taking a risk, whether it was with surfing or acting, and succeeding.
As he hit the sand, three women thrust out their chests barely covered by bikini tops and sucked in their stomachs.
His gaze ran along the line; the blonde had a pretty smile, the brunette had exotic looks and the auburn winked at him.
One thing he could say … his job didn’t suck. But he wondered if any of the three women didn’t use the word like in every other sentence and could have a conversation that lasted more than five minutes.
Men extended their arms to shake his hand. Other women said breathy hellos, tilted their heads coyly and touched his arm.
He continued through the crowd, acknowledging each person. Okay, the women. He preferred more of a challenge than many female fans offered, but he was still a man.
Nothing wrong with looking.
He could invite a couple women to Chas’s villa, but he doubted the producer would want the meeting turned into a party. It had been delayed long enough due to the costume designs not being here. He should get back and see if they’d arrived.
His gaze left a zebra-striped bikini-clad Sports Illustrated–swimsuit-issue-worthy body and saw pink. He jerked to a stop so hard he thought he might get whiplash. Instead of soft skin and delectable cleavage, he saw a baggy pink T-shirt hiding every feminine curve he might want to check out. Jeans? baggy, as well?covered her legs except for white calves. Not the hint of a tan—or even a fake one—on her legs or