style="font-size:15px;"> “Man problems have defied pharmacology for decades, honey,” Odele replied in her throaty, raspy voice.
Chiara blurted out the gossip about her and Rick, and the stuntman’s reaction. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to actresses!”
“You need a boyfriend,” Odele responded cryptically.
For a moment, Chiara had trouble processing the words. Her mind, going sixty miles an hour, hit the brakes. “What?”
She was one of those actresses who got paid to be photographed sporting a certain brand of handbag or shoes. She glanced around her trailer at the gleaming wood and marble countertops. She had more than she could possibly want. She didn’t desire anything, especially a boyfriend.
True, she hadn’t had a date in a long time. It didn’t mean she couldn’t get one. She just didn’t want the hassle. Boyfriends were work...and men were trouble.
“We need to retain a boyfriend for you,” Odele rephrased.
Chiara gave a dismissive laugh. “I can think of many things I need, but a boyfriend isn’t one of them. I need a new stylist now that Emery has gone off to start her own accessories line. I need a new tube of toothpaste for my bathroom. And I really need a vacation once this film wraps.” She shook her head. “But a boyfriend? No.”
“You’re America’s sweetheart. Everyone wants to see you happy,” her manager pointed out.
“You mean they want to see me making steady progress toward marriage and children.”
Odele nodded.
“Life is rarely that neat.” She should know.
Odele gave a big sigh. “Well, we don’t deal in reality, do we, honey? Our currency in Hollywood is the stardust of dreams.”
Chiara resisted rolling her eyes. She really needed a vacation.
“That’s why a little relationship is just what you need to get your name back out there in a positive way.”
“And how am I supposed to get said relationship?”
Odele snapped her fingers. “Easy. I have just the man.”
“Who?”
“A stuntman, and you’ve already met him.”
A horrifying thought entered Chiara’s head, and she narrowed her eyes. “You put out the rumor that Rick and I are getting cozy.”
OMG. She’d gone to Odele with the rumor because she expected her manager to stamp out a budding media firestorm. Instead, she’d discovered Odele was an arsonist...with poor taste in men.
Odele nodded. “Damn straight I did. We need a distraction from stories about your father.”
Chiara stepped forward. “Odele, how could you? And with—” she stabbed her finger in the direction of the door “—him of all people.”
Odele remained placid.
Chiara narrowed her eyes again. “Has he said anything about your little scheme?”
“He hasn’t objected.”
No wonder Rick had seemed almost...intimate a few minutes ago. He’d been approached by Odele to be her supposed love interest. Chiara took a deep breath to steady herself and temper her reaction. “He’s not my type.”
“He’s any woman’s type, honey. Arm candy.”
“There’s nothing sweet about him, believe me.” He was obnoxious, irritating and objectionable in every way.
“He might not be sugar, but he’ll look edible to many of your female fans.”
Chiara threw up her hands. It was one thing not to contradict a specious story online, it was another to start pretending it was true. And now she’d discovered that said story had been concocted by none other than her own manager. “Oh, c’mon, Odele. You really expect me to stage a relationship for the press?”
Odele arched a brow. “Why not? Your competition is making sex tapes for the media.”
“I’m aiming for the Academy Awards, not the Razzies.”
“It’s no different from being set up on a date or two by a friend.”
“Except you’re my manager and we both know there’s an ulterior motive.”
“There’s always an ulterior motive. Money. Sex. You name it.”
“Is this necessary? My competition has survived extramarital affairs, DUIs and nasty custody disputes with their halos intact.”
“Only because of quick thinking and fancy footwork on the part of their manager or publicist. And believe me, honey, my doctor keeps advising me to keep my stress level to a minimum. It’s not good for the blood pressure.”
“You need to get out of Hollywood.”
“And you need a man. A stuntman.”
“Never.” And especially not him. Somehow he’d gotten his own trailer even though he wasn’t one of the leads on this film. He also visited the exercise trailer, complete with built-in gym and weightlifting equipment. Not that she’d used it herself, but his access to it hadn’t escaped her notice.
Odele pulled out her cell phone and read from the screen: “Chiara Feran’s Father in Illegal Betting Scandal: ‘My Daughter Has Cut Me Off.’”
Oh...double damn. Chiara was familiar with yesterday’s headline. It was like a bad dream that she kept waking up to. It was also why she’d been temporarily—in a moment of insanity—grateful for the ridiculous story about her budding romance. “The only reason I’ve kept him out of my life for the past two decades is because he’s a lying, cheating snake! Now I’m responsible not only for my own image, but for what a sperm donor does?”
As far as she was concerned, the donation of sperm was Michael Feran’s principal contribution to the person she was today. Even the surname that they shared wasn’t authentic. It had been changed at Ellis Island three generations back from the Italian Ferano to the Anglicized Feran.
“We need to promote a wholesome image,” Odele intoned solemnly.
“I could throttle him!”
* * *
Rick Serenghetti made it his business to be all business. But he couldn’t take his gaze off Chiara Feran. Her limpid brown eyes, smooth skin contrasting with dark brows and raven hair made her a dead ringer for Snow White.
A guy could easily be turned into a blithering fool in the presence of such physical perfection. Her face was faultlessly symmetrical. Her topaz eyes called to a man to lose himself in their depths, and her pink bow mouth begged to be kissed. And then came the part of her appearance where the threshold was crossed from fairy tale to his fantasy: she had a fabulous body that marked her as red-hot.
They
