From Fake To Forever
by Jennifer Shirk
Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer Shirk. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
From the corner of her eye, Sandra Moyer noticed a tall, bearded man leaning against the playground fence and automatically tensed. Because she was a single mom and alone, her paranoid nature already labeled him a felon, although technically he was doing nothing wrong. In fact, come to think of it, he had a pretty nice body with those real-life Hulk arms and broad chest. She didn’t know what that made her for noticing something like that about a man she assumed was on some Family Watchdog list, but the phrase “cheap and desperate” came to mind.
Since when did I start ogling the physiques of strange men?
Her shoulders wilted as she brooded over that question. She obviously needed to get out more. She needed to just get out. The problem was she didn’t see herself doing that any time soon. Her self-esteem had hit rock bottom and hadn’t been able to locate its way back up since the day she’d found Steve cheating on her with one of his costars.
An unpleasant picture of her ex-husband lip-locked with a Julianne Moore–type redhead popped into her mind, and she shuddered.
Actors. Did their profession ever mesh with reality?
The answer to that was a resounding no. Unfortunately, she’d learned that one the hard way. Steve had even thought she’d understand the main reason he had the affair was for the publicity and what it could do for his career and income. Like that was supposed to make her feel so much better about it.
“Mommy, I want to play in the sandbox.”
Her daughter’s voice pulled her from those depressing thoughts, and she gratefully looked down. “Okay, honey. Just five more minutes, though.”
Hannah squealed and dashed through the playground as fast as her little legs could run. Sandra couldn’t help but smile. Life was so simple when you were four. The little things kept you happy. And why not? Four-year-olds didn’t think about paying the rent or overdue bills. Things that were constantly on her mind ever since she’d opened the preschool with her sister. No, the only thing you worried about at that age was whether Mommy would give you ice cream if you didn’t eat your string beans.
She’d kill for that kind of stress again.
Unfortunately, the thought of homicide had her eyes traveling back to the well-built man she’d been ogling earlier. He was tossing around a football with a young boy now. Nothing illegal, but something was off. She had a sixth sense when it came to protecting her daughter, and right now it was telling her something big. Like he’d just gotten out of prison. It must have been a whopper of a sentence, too, judging from the long, scraggly hair and the kind of beard and mustache Santa Claus would envy. She never made a habit of associating with men who looked liked convicts, but there was something familiar about him…
She doubted he had a child enrolled in her preschool. Story time at the public library? She highly doubted that, too. He didn’t exactly look like the loving Father Knows Best type, considering that fire-breathing skull on his calf wasn’t designed to instill tenderness. At least he was out spending time with his son, which was a lot more than what her daughter was getting from her own father.
As if her thoughts had been telepathically sent out, the man in question cast a lingering gaze over in her direction. And he smiled.
Oh. My. Goodness.
Oh, no, don’t even think about it. Don’t you dare come over here. She fumbled to put her sunglasses back on and almost punched out a lens. Please stay where you are. He’d better be a jolly person being his usual overly friendly self and not just leering at her. But she laid odds on the latter.
What was it with her? She could attract a creep from the next state over without even trying. A talent she’d gladly relinquish.
She flopped down on a bench. Opening her purse, she yanked out a book and hid her face behind it. If she pretended to be engrossed in reading, maybe the man would reconsider trying to strike up a conversation. Yeah, that’s all she needed—some ex-con cozying up to her.
Confident her glasses hid her eyes, she lowered the book a half inch and sneaked another peek. Tall, Dark, and Scraggly had his back to her now. Relief enveloped her. Thank goodness, she thought, slowly letting out a breath.
One deadbeat per lifetime was enough.
…
“C’mon, Uncle Bens. I’m wide-open.”
Ben Capshaw lowered his throwing arm and glared at his agent’s son, Todd. “Will you stop calling me that?”
“But you are my uncle Bens,” Todd said with a frown.
“Yeah, I guess. But when you say it like that I feel like a side dish at a Chinese restaurant.”
The boy snickered. “I know.”
Ben quickly raised the football again and pretended to whip it at him. When Todd flailed his arms and ducked, Ben had his revenge. “Nice move,” he called out with a laugh.
Todd laughed, too. “Okay, c’mon, throw it for real this time. I’m really ready.”
Ben lobbed the football in the air and watched with budding disappointment as it sailed right through Todd’s arms and bounced on the ground. Ben shook his head. The kid obviously needed more practice. “You almost had it,” he lied.
Todd picked up the ball and ran it back to him. “You know, I’m so glad you’re coming for dinner, Uncle Bens. Are you and my mom sure I can’t tell anyone you’re here?”
Ben looked up at the sky and sighed. A sigh that clearly said, if we go through this one more time I’m going to find your entire stash of Twinkies and eat them all without remorse. If the kid were a little older, he’d understand that threat and let the question lie. Instead, Todd continued to gaze up at him with big, hopeful brown eyes.
“No,” Ben told him firmly. “Not your BFF, not even your dog. No one. Got it?”
Todd’s young face looked crushed.
“Look, it’s like I told you before, I don’t want the paparazzi buzzing around here. I’m officially on vacation.”
“In Wood Manor, New Jersey?”
“Hey, the beach here is just as good as Los Angeles, and after a few days I’ll drive up to New York City.” He loved New York in September. He’d get a haircut and a shave, a massage, meet a few women.
Speaking of meeting women…
Ben’s gaze lingered again on the tasty-looking blonde sitting on the bench. He’d been checking her out since he and Todd first arrived at the park. Couldn’t help himself. He had a real thing for blondes, and most—thank you, God—had a real thing for him.
“Hey, Todd, why don’t we go to the slide over there?” Closer to that blonde.
“No way.”
He turned to the boy in surprise. “Why not?”
“That slide’s for babies.”
“No, it’s not. Look, there’s an adult over there,” he said, pointing the football toward the bench.
Todd looked over and made a face. “You want to go talk to that woman, don’t you?”
“Wh-what?” Ben spluttered. “No, no. No way. Hey, stop listening to your mom about me.” Besides, he didn’t want to talk to her, anyway. “Flirt” was a better verb choice. He wanted to flirt with that woman. There was a difference. Anyone could spew out words and just talk. Flirting required talent, always used with the sole purpose of letting the other person know you’re interested. And he was very interested in her.
However, as much as he was tempted to go over and introduce himself, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to risk his anonymity. But he didn’t see the harm in getting a better look at an attractive woman. After all, if he was in a museum, he’d certainly want to get closer to a work of art, wouldn’t he? And from what he could tell, that woman was a bona fide masterpiece.
She had the kind of straight, shiny blond hair his fingers itched to feel and run through, and a body that was slender in an athletic kind of way—built more like a runner than a centerfold—and not at all fake like most of the women in L.A. He was positive there was nothing cosmetically enhanced on her. Not that she wore anything revealing to bring that kind of attention to herself. Yet, dressed in sweatpants and a Red Sox T-shirt, she’d managed to get his attention just the same.
“Um, Todd, are you sure you don’t want to go over there?” he asked again, trying to rein in and saddle his raging testosterone.
Todd took off running. “You have to catch me first,” he called out with a laugh.
That little bugger. Ben dropped the football and ran after him. Todd was fast, weaving his way around the wooden maze of forts and playground equipment and then disappearing from his sight. Ben climbed up the rope to the wooden platform and scanned the area. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Todd ducking into a tube slide. Ha! Gotcha now, kid. He ran over and climbed into a slide himself, hoping to catch him by surprise.
The only problem was he didn’t slide down.
He began to twist, realizing his shoulders were wedged in tight. With one arm pinned down and the other arm up, he tried shifting his hips to wiggle back up. That didn’t work, either. Okay, he wasn’t sure how he’d managed this strange, bizarre feat, but he needed some help.
Crap. He could see the headline now: “Career Not Only Thing Going Down Tubes.” Oh, man, his agent and publicist would have his head on a platter if that happened. He’d be lucky to get local theater work after that. Served him right for showing off and acting like a ten-year-old instead of the thirty-four-year-old he was.
Where the hell is Todd?
Ben heard movement above him. Thank goodness. He looked up, ready to ream Todd out for leaving him hanging so long. But he clamped his lips shut when he stared directly into the face of a cherubic little girl instead.
“Excuse me. Now it my turn,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Uh…well, you have to wait. See, I can’t move right now.”
She frowned. “But I said excuse me.”
“Yeah, I know, but—”
Her little face puckered and those big blue eyes filled with tears, which set the alarm bells ringing.No, no, please. I beg you! Oh, man, the kid was going to cry on him.
Where the hell is Todd!
The little girl did begin to cry—not with the loud, obnoxious wailing he half expected, but with a quiet, trembling frown and dime-size tears that fell like an H5 hailstorm. It made him want to break down and cry, too. He didn’t need this right now—stuck as he was—especially since he had no clue how to convey that he was telling the truth to such a young child. About to send out a verbal SOS to Todd, he saw the blonde from the bench spring out before him.
Thank you, God. Maybe it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to meet this woman, but at least she would understand the situation, and he could finally get some help. But when he gazed up into the woman’s ready-to-kill eyes, he doubted very much that the cavalry had arrived.
“What did you do to my daughter?” she accused in that stern mother-cub-protecting-her-baby voice.
Oh, great. Her daughter. More bad PR. Now they were going to add child abuse to the headline. “Nothing,” he insisted. “Honest. Look, she just wants to go down the slide.”
The blonde folded her arms. “Well, let her, then.”
The woman’s demand gave him pause. Okay, she obviously didn’t understand his predicament any better than her kid had. “I…uh…can’t,” he said with a sheepish grin. “I’m kind of stuck. Maybe a little help?” He waved his one free arm, but she looked at it as though it were covered with warts.
“Maybe I should call the police for help instead,” she said, drawing her daughter to her side.
“No police!”
The woman flinched from his outburst. He didn’t mean to freak out on her, but the police equaled the press in his book. Then bad headlines. Then unhappy agent. Then less work. The list went on.
He cleared his throat. “No police, please,” he repeated more calmly. “In fact, don’t call anyone.”
An odd expression—somewhere between nausea and hysteria—crossed her pretty features, and she grabbed her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Go? Go where? He watched in disbelief as the woman began to lead her daughter away. Did she think he was faking it? Didn’t she recognize him? The woman was actually turning her back on him.
“Wait!” he shouted. “I’m not kidding! Come back! What about me?”
His complaints and shouts didn’t even register on her radar. The woman had to have heard him—heck, upstate New York had to have heard him—but she didn’t turn around. Didn’t so much as pause. In fact, she picked up her little girl and ran.
…
“Then I went to the bottom of the slide and pushed Uncle Bens up and out of the tube,” Todd proudly explained to his parents’ fascinated faces.
Ben turned and shot the boy a cross look. “Yeah, but you sure took your sweet time getting to me, kid.”
What a friggin’ day. At least Ben could take comfort in the fact that Todd had the sensitivity to wait until everyone finished dinner before opening his mouth about Uncle Bens’s embarrassing situation this afternoon.
His agent, Denise, sat back and shook her head with disgust. “How do things like that happen to you?”
Ben smiled crookedly. “Just lucky?”
“Just stupid. You’re an infant walking around in a man’s body, you know.” She stood from the table and proceeded to clear away the dinner dishes. “You have an image to uphold if you want more choice roles coming your way and not slapstick comedies. And what happens to you also reflects on me, since I represent you. What made you think you could go down a tube slide designed for a ten-year-old?”
“Oh, no, Mom. Uncle Bens went down the baby slide,” Todd supplied.
That comment earned a chuckle from Denise’s husband, Frank. Ben shot him an evil scowl in return—a look he’d perfected for his last movie—which had Frank sobering fast.
Damn, he was a good actor.
“What if someone saw you and called the fire department or the police?” she asked. “This town is small. Can you imagine the publicity?”
“Yes,” Ben hissed. He paused, remembering the attractive blonde and her little daughter. “Someone almost did call the police, but I convinced her not to.” Sort of.
“Thank goodness for that, and that she was there to help you and Todd.”
He snorted in disgust. “Help? Are you kidding? She ran off like I was Ted Bundy.”
Denise turned away from the sink and gave him a stern look. “Well, I don’t blame her one bit.”
Ben gaped and turned to her husband for support. Frank, being the pacifist he was, stood, shrugged, and followed Todd out of the room. Eyes rolling toward the ceiling, Ben turned back to his agent. “You actually forgive her for not stopping to help a movie star, let alone a fellow citizen? Last time I checked, we live in a benevolent society.”
“Come on, Ben, stop playing the movie-star card. She wouldn’t have recognized you if her life depended on it. I wouldn’t have stopped to throw a quarter in a cup for you. It’s your own fault, parading around like you do. This look did nothing for Brad Pitt, either.”
Ben’s anger dissipated as he rubbed the palm of his hand over his long beard and hair. He’d never counted on his appearance going as far as scaring a mother and her small child. He’d grown the hair and mustache almost a year ago for a part in a biker movie—then decided to keep them for a while for kicks.
“What do I really look like?” he asked.
“A hermit.”
He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “A handsome hermit?”
She laughed. “Honey, you could be tarred and feathered and still be voted one of the most beautiful people in Hollywood—and you can act. That’s why you’re one of my favorite clients.”
“And you’re one of my favorite agents,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for pulling those magical strings of yours and landing me the lead in Heaven Sent.”
Denise walked over and handed him a piece of paper. “You don’t have the part yet. We’ll know in a few more weeks.” She gestured toward the paper. “That’s to make sure you’re ready for it when you do.”
He looked down at the slip in his hand. Besides the name “Storybook Land,” it had an address and directions. “What’s this, an amusement park?” he asked.
“No, a preschool. Actually, it’s more like research.”
“Research? What kind of research can I do around a bunch of little runny noses at a preschool?”
Denise’s eyes narrowed. She planted herself in front of him and leaned in. “Look, Ben, you’re a fantastic actor, but this is our big chance to showcase your stuff. You’ll need to get a feel for what it’s like to be around young children—care for them.” She hesitated, drumming her fingers on the table. “Something like that isn’t always…”
“Innate?” But Ben knew what she was really getting at. She was worried he wouldn’t have it in him to act like a father, since he’d never had one of his own—much less a real family.
She raised a finger in the air. “I didn’t say that. I just meant that sometimes what you think caring for a child means isn’t at all like actually doing it.”
“Yeah, translated means you don’t think I can act,” he shot back, banking down the hurt he felt at her lack of confidence in him. Family or no family, he’d bet he could convince the best skeptic that he was one of the Duggars.
“Oh, stop taking it so personally. I’d do the exact same thing for George Clooney—if he were a client. Honestly, I want this role for you. It’ll mean a lot for both our careers. So listen, even though the preschool has done a background check and you don’t even have so much as an unpaid parking ticket in your file, rest assured you won’t be allowed to be alone with the children. But you’ll at least be able to observe the class and interact as a teacher. How does that sound?”
He stroked his beard for a moment, mulling it over. “I don’t know. If I do something like that, there’s going to be a media circus around me.”
She gave him an all-too-confident grin. “There won’t be. This preschool is perfect. Very small. Owned and run by two sisters. They only have one other teacher on staff with them. The sisters have agreed not to alert the media until after you’re long gone.”
Ben eyed her skeptically for a minute, glanced at the slip of paper again, and decided she had a point. What did he know about being around little kids, anyway? He didn’t like them. What did he know about being a father? He’d never had one. The research certainly couldn’t hurt, and if it meant it would help his career, even better. So what the hell?
“Okay,” he said with a slight shrug. “I’ll look into it after my vacation.”
She shook her head, amusement in her eyes. “Baby, this is your vacation. You report there tomorrow morning at nine.”
…
Sandra arrived for work the next morning already in full-blown stressed-out mode. Hannah was cranky and battling a case of the sniffles, there was no coffee in the house, Sandra’s favorite lipstick had gone MIA, and to top it all off, she was late. Late for her, anyway.
Her preschool was open from nine a.m. to twelve p.m., five days a week, but she liked to be there at least an hour ahead of time to prepare snacks and go over the lesson plans. Now she felt panicky, since she only had forty-five minutes—correction, forty-four minutes—before opening.
She took out her key to open the front door, but it swung out before she could stick it in the lock. Jumping in front of Hannah, she dropped her handbag, ready to defend them both. The perpetrator bounded into view, and with pulse running wild, she stumbled back.
“Missy!” she cried. She dropped her arms from their Ronda Rousey position, thankful she wasn’t going to have to put those self-defense classes to the test. She took a moment to catch her breath. “I didn’t see your car. What are you doing here so early?”
“What do you mean?” her sister asked, wringing her hands. “We both own this preschool. Can’t I arrive early and get everything ready for the day, too?”
Sandra walked in and frowned as she bent down to unbutton her daughter’s jacket. She couldn’t help but be a tad suspicious. Her younger sister was never early for work. Missy usually had a fun, carefree attitude to most things in life, which made it even more surprising to hear the nervous tone in her voice. Sandra wondered what she was going to have to forgive her for this time.
As soon as she was set free of her coat, Hannah scurried into the playroom. Sandra watched her go, then turned back to Missy. She was about to open her mouth again when something about her sister’s appearance struck her as odd. Missy looked extremely…pretty. Not that her sister wasn’t normally attractive, but it appeared as if she’d taken more than just the average I’m-only-impressing-four-year-olds care in getting ready this morning.
With short, curly blond hair Missy usually let run wild in a young Meg Ryan style, she often gave the impression of being younger than she actually was. But today, dressed in a sensible jean skirt and maroon-colored blouse, she looked every month of her twenty-five years. She’d even managed to tame her curls quite nicely and wore lipstick—Sandra’s MIA lipstick—when she usually ran makeup-free. Missy finally looked more like a teacher and less like a student. It was a nice change of pace, so Sandra decided to keep her mouth shut about the favorite-lipstick swiping.
“You can definitely help,” Sandra said. “But this is the first time you’ve taken that initiative since we opened.”
Her sister swallowed. “Oh. Sorry. Never too late to start, right?” She glanced over her shoulder.
Sandra glanced over Missy’s shoulder, too, but didn’t see anything. “Everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t everything be okay?”
She cocked her head. “You tell me.”
She tried to step past to get to her office, but Missy jumped in front of her. “I will,” Missy said breathlessly. “Until then—um, don’t go into your office. Yet.”
Oh, no. Tell me you didn’t just say that.
She squeezed her eyes closed and began counting to ten, but only made it to two before they sprang open again. “You didn’t do anything stupid like order new office furniture we can’t afford, did you? Or maybe have some sort of accident and ruin all our files—for the second time, I might add?”
Her sister smiled and shook her head, sending short curls swaying against her cheek. “Nope, nothing like that.”
She blew out a relieved breath. “Okay, then. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. So, why can’t I go into my office yet?”
Her sister’s face lit up, looking ready to burst. “I took it upon myself to help out our business with a little publicity.”
Sandra couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Publicity cost money. They couldn’t keep up with the incoming bills as it was. “What kind of publicity?”
“The kind that causes a special buzz when people hear about our preschool. The kind that’s going to separate us from the rest of the preschools in the area, maybe even the state. It’s funny how it fell into our laps. You’re going to be so surprised.”
She hated surprises—and Missy darn well knew that. Why couldn’t she have a less spontaneous sibling? “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s my surprise?”
Missy couldn’t seem to contain her excitement and did a little dance in place. “It’s not what’s your surprise, but who’s your surprise.”
Sandra hated those kinds of surprises the most. “What do you mean?”
Missy finally shifted out of her way. “Take a look.”
Sandra placed her hand on the doorknob, hesitating enough to allow one more glance back at her sister. When everything appeared harmless enough, she threw open the office door. And froze. She was surprised, all right. Although “surprise” was really a mild word for the limb-numbing reaction she experienced when her eyes landed right on the ex-con—in all his hairiness—she remembered from the park.
The hairy man stood to his above-and-beyond-six-feet height, causing her to stumble backward and bang her elbow on the doorframe. Her breathing came to a complete stop, and, adding to her hysteria, he had the nerve to look pleased. “Wow, we meet—”
She slammed the door in his face.
Her heart felt like it was going to shoot out of her chest, and she couldn’t utter a single sound. The expression on her face must have said it all, because her sister grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Sandra, speak to me,” she said urgently. “What’s wrong?”
She had to try several times before she got back her voice. “Th-that’s the man I told you about from the park. The one who was trying to con us,” she said, rubbing her elbow.
Her sister looked puzzled. “It can’t be.”
“Trust me. It is.” She swallowed and took a deep breath, her mind racing with what to do next. “I’ll go in there and stall him while you call the police. That’ll give them plenty of time to come and arrest him. Everything will be okay.” She held her head in her hands, trying to summon enough courage to go back in there.
“Of course everything will be okay,” Missy said, patting her shoulder. “That man in your office isn’t a criminal.”
Her head popped up. “What? How do you know that?”
“Don’t you recognize him? He’s a celebrity.”
The office door swung open, shifting their attention. The bearded man took a cautious step out, then, apparently deciding it was safe, leaned his body up against the doorframe.
“You know, I wouldn’t quit your job here to work for the welcome wagon if I were you,” he said irritably. He shrugged and stuck out his hand. “Name is Ben Capshaw. Actor. Maybe you’ve seen some of my movies?”
…
The Grace Kelly blonde studied his face for almost a full minute before giving his hand a lazy glance. “Yes, I know who you are. Now.”
Hmm, not the reaction to which he was accustomed. The woman continued to study him with cold speculation in those baby blues of hers, and even though she said she recognized him, she still didn’t offer to take his hand. Obviously not a fan. Too bad. He’d love to be on friendlier terms with her, because he could see he’d been right at the park about her being attractive—gorgeous, even—in an unpretentious sort of way. And bonus, no ring on her finger.
He sighed inwardly at the wasted opportunity. Okay, if she wanted to give him open hostility, he’d take it on the chin like a man. Her actions might even be justified. After all, he had scared her down to her panties. Twice.
Tired of having his hand suspended in midair, he shoved it in his pocket. “I guess I gave you quite a shock.”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, you did. You know, you could have said something yesterday instead of giving me heart failure like that. I thought you were a murderer.”
“Murderer?” He laughed. “Believe me, I tried to explain. You took off in a full sprint before I could get a word out.” Even though the woman seemed to have a giant stick wedged up her butt, he figured he’d extend the olive branch anyway and smother the issue. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”
“Wow, Mr. Capshaw said he was sorry.” Missy sighed and glanced at her sister. “Isn’t that sweet?”
As blue-gray icicles began to form in the other woman’s eyes, he doubted very much she thought anything about him was sweet.
“It’s not funny,” the blonde went on. “I had my child to think of, you know. Do you get your kicks out of scaring people like that?”
“Hey, of course not. Look, Miss…”
“Moyer,” she snapped.
“Sandra,” Missy offered at the same time.
Sandra.
Naturally, her name was Sandra. Yeah, she definitely looked like a Sandra-don’t-call-me-Sandy kind of person, all coolly poised yet full of attitude—like a drama queen herself. He should know. He’d been around enough of them in his line of work. He didn’t know why, but the thought that she was like the rest of the women out there had him feeling a little disappointed.
“Okay, Miss Sandra,” he bit out. “I think you’re overreacting, big-time. I wasn’t trying to be funny or scary. I was playing with my nephew. Besides, I don’t think I look that bad.” His agent might have told him he looked like a hermit, but Denise hadn’t said anything about being at ax-murderer status.
She snorted. “Please. Pretending to be stuck in a slide, playing knight in distress, is a desperate way to meet women. What’s the matter, your ego bruised because your last costar didn’t fall under your spell, or has Hollywood run out of women to play up to?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He shot up his index finger and held it in front of her face. “Wait a damn minute. I don’t need to come up with any excuses to meet women. I do just fine on my own. Just fine.”
Missy shook her head in wonder. “This is so cool. My sister and Ben Capshaw are having an argument right in front of me. Where’s my video camera when I really need it?”
Sandra ignored her sister and proceeded to turn that perfect nose of hers right up in the air at him. “I saw you looking at me at the playground. Did you honestly think I was going to fall for what you were doing? I mean, really, what kind of idiot gets himself stuck in a children’s slide?”
He looked down and faked a cough, hoping it was before she saw him blush. When did he become such a pansy? He couldn’t believe he was actually blushing. Could things get any worse?
“Wait a minute,” she said, sounding skeptical. “You…you were really stuck?”
Things were starting to get worse.
Her mouth dropped open, and she began to laugh—the kind of laugh that would have been music to his ears if she were laughing with him and not at him.
Things were definitely worse.
He folded his arms. “It could have happened to anyone.” Yeah, right. It could have happened to any idiot. “That tube looked a lot bigger than it really was.”
Missy’s face contorted, and she made the time-out sign. “Wait. How did you get stuck in a slide again?”
“Can we just drop the slide thing?” he asked between his teeth. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a huge rush of air. “Let’s just get back to why I’m here.”
Sandra wiped the tears from her eyes and tried for a more composed face. She failed three seconds into it. “Okay. But I’m not sure what a Hollywood type like you is doing here, exactly. I mean, besides working on your Houdini tricks,” she said with a chuckle.
Missy clasped her hands together. “Sandra, brace yourself. Ben Capshaw wants to use our little preschool for research for a movie role he’s up for. Isn’t that so cool?” she said, beaming.
Sandra immediately sobered. “Research? In this small town? In our preschool? Why would Ben Capshaw want to use our facility? There are plenty of other ones with a much higher enrollment.”
“Well, that’s just it,” he explained. “My agent set this up because one, I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I read for the role but don’t know if I have it yet. I want to be ready if and when I do. Plus, with just the handful of you here on staff, it’s going to be a lot easier to keep my anonymity.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.” She walked away from him and into her office, dismissing him like an unwelcome solicitor. She turned around. “Thanks for the laugh, though.”
He shot out his arm and blocked her from closing her office door on him again. He was close enough now to catch a subtle scent—he wasn’t sure what. Maybe some kind of fruit. Whatever it was, it was way too sweet for a woman this sour. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? You and your sister already signed the agreement.”
Her eyes darted to her sister. “I signed an agreement?”
Missy smiled guiltily. “Oh, yeah, that. I might have…uh…kind of…uh…slipped that document under your nose without telling you what you were signing.”
“What?”
Ben stuck his fingers in his ears. “I’m not hearing this.”
“They’ll pay us for as long as he’s here. Plus, I thought it was a great opportunity to get some free publicity,” Missy rushed to explain. “I thought you’d love it—once you allowed the idea to soak in a while.”
“What free publicity?” Sandra cried. “Mr. Movie Star”—she jerked her thumb at him—“doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here!”
Ben cleared his throat. “Ah, but once I’m gone, you’re free to use my name. You know, Ben Capshaw was here, would send his own kid here if he had one, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Yeah,” Missy chimed in. “Just think what it’ll do for next year’s enrollment.”
“What exactly makes you think people are going to want to send their child to a preschool just because Ben Capshaw graced it with his presence?”
Her sister bit her lip. “Wouldn’t they?”
“No. I know I wouldn’t. Besides, it totally undermines the quality of our school.”
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Hey, now wait just another damn minute. I don’t think my being here is going to undermine anything. I’m a professional.”
“You’re an actor,” she said flatly.
Ben blinked. It suddenly occurred to him that Miss Sandra had many, many problems with him—starting with his appearance and traveling all the way down to his profession. Huh. This was interesting in itself, because most women fell over their toes when a celebrity was in front of them. Especially if he paid even the slightest bit of attention to them, such as he was doing. Case in point was her starstruck sister, Missy. So his first instinct had been correct. Sandra was different from other women. She wasn’t impressed with his actor status at all.
What was wrong with her? She was practically un-American. He’d worked with Steven Spielberg and Julia Roberts! How could she not be impressed? But no, this woman couldn’t care less. He had a sneaking suspicion she treated the garbage collector with more respect.
The way she stood there like some snooty, anticelebrity goddess, combined with his damaged ego, pushed him over the brink of reason. Did it really matter if he was able to do his research at her preschool? He had more than enough confidence in his own acting ability to give a good performance. But at this point he wasn’t about to let her stand in the way of perfecting his craft and was equally determined to make it as difficult as possible for her to get her own way. As much as he hated to do it, he had no choice but to play dirty. He sighed.
“That’s fine,” he said with forced agreeability. “I’ll have my attorney talk to your attorney, and we’ll all get it settled sooner or later.” He shrugged and turned to leave.
Sandra placed a firm hand on his arm. “Wait. Did you say lawyers? Why do there have to be lawyers involved?”
He felt tremendous satisfaction at knocking the ice princess off her frosty high horse, but he kept his expression blank. “Well, you know,” he said, waving his wrist back and forth, “our lawyers are going to have to settle the whole contract agreement you signed. Not to mention the plans I had to be here with you. This is costing me a lot of time. Time I could have been using to work on other projects.”
Actually, he had no other projects at the moment, and he also had no idea whether he would even have a legitimate lawsuit, but the way the women paled, they had no idea, either.
Damn, he was a good actor.
The sisters exchanged worried looks, then Missy spoke first. “Since we, um, already signed the agreement and all, couldn’t we just let him hang around for a few days, Sandra? I mean, what’s the harm? We could probably use an extra hand with the children anyway.”
Sandra let a few moments pass, apprehension crossing every millimeter of her beautiful face. Then she looked at Missy’s hopeful expression and sighed. “Okay. Only for a few days,” she added over Missy’s excitement. “I assume there was a criminal background check done.”
“Yes and thanks,” Ben told them. “That’s great.” All he needed was a few days to get into character anyway. He’d get the part and then hello, Oscar.
“You can observe my class,” Missy offered with a wide smile. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Fun? Right. Ben tried not to make a face. In this particular place, he didn’t believe fun was possible. But he nodded anyway then stole a glance at Sandra. She looked unconvinced, too. No big surprise there.
“You’re going to have to clean yourself up, Mr. Capshaw, before the children see you,” she told him matter-of-factly.
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Absolutely. I understand. I’ll shave and come back tomorrow, then. No problem.” And to prove he was a nice guy and there were no hard feelings, he tried giving her one of his patented dazzling smiles—the one the camera just loved.
It didn’t work on her.
He didn’t know why he’d expected it would. That woman didn’t know the first thing about fun.
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