She stood, picking up both of their plates. “Cassie brought some chocolate chip cookies to the set yesterday. Would you like a couple, Iron Man? We did hike a pretty good ways so I think you can afford the few extra calories.”
“They’re my favorite. Bring ‘em on.”
“Be right back.”
She headed into the kitchen. Jax padded along behind her. The jingle for one of those entertainment news shows came on and Mac looked around for the remote to turn it off.
Until he saw his picture flashed on the screen.
He stood dumbfounded as the anchor started talking about him.
“So, who exactly is Mac Randall? And how did he land the lead role in a major motion picture?” the curvy brunette teased. She turned to her well-coiffed partner.
“I can answer some of that, Pamela,” the man said, flashing what had to be capped teeth. “Mac Randall is a former army veteran turned Hollywood stuntman. In fact, he used to double as Beau Braxton in the late actor’s action films.”
“Hmm, that’s a coincidence. Beau turns up dead—and Mac Randall steps into Beau’s shoes. With no acting experience?”
“And that’s after Randall found Beau’s body,” Mr. Anchorman confirmed. “Let’s watch.”
By now, Keely had returned to the room. She came and stood beside him, setting a plate of cookies on the coffee table. Her fingers found his and threaded through them.
They watched the piece. Someone had worked fast to put together something so thorough. They’d dug up pictures from Mac’s high school yearbook, including his senior portrait and shots from him wrestling and pitching. Then Mac in army fatigues. One picture he knew had been posted in his Facebook group. His stomach soured, knowing a buddy from the site had already breached his privacy.
What ate away at him, though, was when he saw photographs of him getting out of his truck on the studio lot. Going in and out of his trailer the past two days. Walking to his vehicle next to Keely, looking chummy.
“Who would sell these?” he complained.
“Probably an extra on the lot. Someone you wouldn’t notice,” Keely said, her voice neutral.
Then video played of his truck pulling out of Keely’s long driveway and Mac’s heart sank. He sensed her tensing beside him.
“Mac Randall left Keely Kennedy’s house very late last night,” the voiceover continued. “A source said the couple has been rehearsing together, trying to bring the budding actor up to speed, but leaving in the middle of the night?”
Then pictures of Keely appeared. “Keely Kennedy has always kept a low profile in Hollywood. She’s shown here on the red carpet with Doctor Bruce Carter, an LA-based obstetrician who’s delivered many famous babies of Hollywood’s elite.”
A brief clip ran of Carter and Keely arriving at a premiere.
“Doctor Carter said his breakup with Keely was mutual. That they were both too busy to find time to commit to a relationship. It seems the actress has made time for Mac Randall, though.”
Suddenly, a picture flashed on the screen from this afternoon. Only a few hours ago. From when they’d been hiking. It caught the private moment when Mac kissed her. His stomach lurched.
“So, co-stars . . . and co-habitating?” the voice teased.
The piece ended and the still of them kissing remained in the background, displayed prominently.
The buxom brunette asked, “I wonder if Keely Kennedy got Mac Randall the job on Murder at Magic Hour? It wouldn’t be the first time a Hollywood actress got her lover a part in a film. Conveniently, the role was open. Have the police made any progress in solving Beau Braxton’s murder?”
Her co-anchor flashed a devilish smile. “No. My sources tell me the investigation has stalled. The Randall-Kennedy film also lost its director when Josh Middleton became the victim of a hit and run accident earlier in the week. Sydney Revere has now stepped behind the camera to direct the action-filled drama.”
“Thanks, Ben,” his partner cooed. She turned from him to the camera. “We’ll stay with this story and keep you apprised. Now, on to the latest Kardashian rumor. Or is it fact?”
Keely reached for the remote and turned off the TV. Mac collapsed on the sofa and she joined him.
“You told me,” he said dully. “I just didn’t believe you. I’m a no one. I didn’t think anyone would be interested in anything I did.”
She put her hand on his leg. “It’s like going from zero to ninety in two seconds. The entertainment media is a feeding frenzy. With Beau’s murder, they were bound to follow that story. You, as an unknown newcomer landing the role, make for good press.”
“They’ll be all over me now. And us.” Mac placed his hand atop hers. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to keep our relationship on the down low.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Word about us was bound to get out, sooner or later. That’s why I want you to be spectacular in this role, Mac. I don’t want anyone thinking you got the part because of me. That we were seeing each other before you were cast.” She stroked his cheek. “I don’t have a PR person but we can have Carson put out a statement if you’d like.”
“Would you advise that?”
She considered it a moment. “Not really. Anything we say, bland as it would be, would probably add fuel to their fire. I say ignore it.”
“You know best.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “They’re probably sitting out there now. And they’ll follow me home when I leave.”
“Right on both accounts,” Keely confirmed. “It’s probably better that the news is out now. I hate to tell you—but your life changed in that one TV moment.”
“How do you mean?” he asked guardedly.
“I know you don’t have a clue. Or actually, you should have some idea, having hung around Beau.”
“Not really,” he admitted. “Our morning workouts occurred while everyone else was still in bed. I saw him on set but that’s a closed environment for the most part. We went our separate ways after filming each day. I never saw him encounter photographers or crazy fans.”
“Going out—anywhere—will be hard,” she said candidly. “If not impossible. From the moment you leave your house, paparazzi will be waiting for you. They’ll shout at you. Say obscene things to you. All to get a reaction. Ignore them. Concentrate on keeping a neutral face. If you don’t, they will get the absolute worst shot of you and that’s the one that will sell. In fact, a car service would be your best bet.”
He frowned. “You mean someone driving me to the studio every day?”
“I know you don’t like the idea but it’s safer.”
“I like being behind my own wheel,” he said stubbornly.
“At least give it a try for a little while,” she encouraged. “Stay in as much as possible. Order in groceries. Amazon will become your new best friend. It’s easier to have things shipped to your house rather than go shopping. Same thing for haircuts or massages. Even the dentist. Have them come to you, not the other way around.”
“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner in my own home,” he complained.
“It’s a trade-off. For now, anyway. Once the film is in the can, the entertainment industry will lose interest in you for a bit. They’ll move on to new scandals and fan the flames on new gossip. That’s when you duck out in dark glasses and a wig and run a few errands. Pick up your dry cleaning or wine in order to feel normal. The attention will ramp up again just before the press junket starts, when the movie is going to be premiered in several cities. Then it’s back to life in a fishbowl.”