“We’ve made the Internet. Big time.”
“What the hell?” He grabbed his phone and switched it on.
After a few minutes, he ground out, “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” His apology puzzled her.
“The fact that what I thought was an intimate moment between us has become today’s Hollywood fodder. Probably the meme of tomorrow.”
“That’s not your fault.” Keely took his hand. “We were both caught up in the moment. Yes, it’s unfortunate that someone at a nearby table filmed it but look on the bright side.”
He frowned. “There’s a bright side?”
“Absolutely.” She smiled. “Any time I want, I can go back and relive that moment. Hear your sweet declaration of love. See how happy we are. That’s a positive, right?”
Mac cursed under his breath and then mumbled, “I guess so.” He reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “Food should be here in twenty minutes.” He leaned back and pulled her toward him, looping his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s see if there’s something on besides hockey. When I think Canada, that’s really all I know.”
He clicked the remote several times, passing a home shopping network, a soccer game, and a rerun of Law and Order. Then he cursed again.
Keely saw he’d landed on an entertainment news program. The enormous picture behind the anchor was a picture of them kissing at brunch this morning, right after Mac’s sweet proposal. As private as she liked to remain, she knew he hadn’t signed up for this at all. He’d gone from stuntman to leading man without knowing the traps that awaited anyone with a high profile in Hollywood.
Cell video of Mac’s proposal played. Keely couldn’t help the warm feelings rushing through her. This amazing man loved her so much. Whether he liked it or not, the whole world now knew how they felt about one another by his romantic words and the joy on her face.
The piece ended and she saw four people sitting at a round table. They talked briefly about the proposal and then her and Mac’s backgrounds.
Then one of them said, “I have to wonder if this marriage will ever come off. Romances that start up on movie shoots are notoriously short-lived. The passion that erupts on set, especially if the characters the actors portray are romantically involved, often dies a quick death on the vine once filming ceases and the real world comes into play. It’s the same thing as all of those couples from The Bachelor. They break up because the fantasy bubble bursts pretty quickly once filming ends and the wear and tear of life in the real world sets in.”
Another said, “Will this film even finish getting made? Hollywood insiders are calling the production cursed. First, Beau Braxton’s murder almost called a halt to things. Then they try stunt casting with a stuntman who has zero acting experience. Although for the record, Mac Randall is hot.”
A redhead added, “There are still no suspects in the Braxton murder. And director Josh Middleton had to exit the production after being seriously injured when he was struck in a hit and run.”
The fourth person, a balding man in his forties wearing designer eyewear, said, “To top it off, Murder at Magic Hour suffered the loss of all of their sets last week in a soundstage fire. Rumors are it was arson. Fire marshals won’t confirm or deny that report.”
The first anchor said, “So, you’re saying the movie and the Keely Kennedy/Mac Randall relationship are doomed?”
The redhead nodded. “The jinx is on. I can’t see any good coming from this film, plus Keely Kennedy can kiss her career goodbye if it bombs. At least Mac Randall can go back to being a nobody who drives fast cars and jumps out of planes and off buildings for a living. Poor Keely will be the one who suffers in the long run.”
Mac turned off the TV and threw the remote across the room. “Does this ever end?” he shouted angrily.
“Calm down.”
He sprang to his feet. “How can I, Keely? I don’t want to be the end of your career. I don’t want to sink the RCDS ship. I feel like I’m being squeezed in an iron vise. I’m disappearing and I have no idea how to stop this runaway train.”
He began pacing the suite. Keely went and stood in his way, forcing him to stop.
“None of us signs up for this kind of treatment, Mac. For some of us, those who are lucky enough to land a big role, media attention becomes par for the course. You can’t listen to it. You can’t let it shape how you think. You simply stay true to yourself and those around you. It’s the same as an author. You can either choose to read the reviews, some that eviscerate you, or you can skip the review, write your next book, and go on with your life. For every one person out there trying to drag you down, ninety-nine others support you and are rooting for you.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and met his gaze. “You find your North Star and focus on it. You’re my North Star, Mac. The one who will always keep me on course. The person I can come home to and share any and everything. The man who will love me for me. Not Keely Kennedy, movie star, but Keely Kennedy, the person. The dog lover. The homebody. The meditating hiker who loves butter pecan ice cream. And you.
“I love you, Mac Randall. I love Mac. Not Thorne Mayfield or the famous actor I know you’ll become. I love my truck driving, shrapnel-scarred runner who loves me back.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry I’m letting all of this overwhelm me.” He kissed her and a sweetness poured through Keely.
“Wait until you’ve done five films. Or fifteen. Then if you say you’re overwhelmed and want to quit, I’ll let you consider it,” she teased.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Dinner’s here,” she said. “Let’s eat—and then I’ve got to call Scarlett and tell her everything about your proposal or she’ll disown me.”
“Aw, just tell her to watch it on YouTube,” Mac joked.
◆◆◆
He’d thought killing Beau Braxton would automatically stop production.
He’d been wrong.
Instead, in a bit of stunt casting, they’d actually hired a stuntman to take over Braxton’s lead role in Murder at Magic Hour. Mac Randall was ex-military, with a hard body and strong charisma, but he doubted the guy could act.
To make sure things ground to a halt, he’d taken out the movie’s director, thinking it would be hard to replace Josh Middleton at such short notice. He hadn’t counted on Saint Sydney stepping in. The golden child of Hollywood royalty, she’d quickly taken over the shoot with no table reads, leaping in and hustling to keep them on schedule. He supposed she was familiar with the script since her production company was involved, not only bankrolling the production but paying her bestie Cassie Corrigan to write the screenplay.
He’d hoped Randall would fall flat on his face and bring things to a screeching halt as they searched for new talent to take on the role of Thorne Mayfield. According to an acquaintance who worked as an assistant best boy on the film, Randall stunk up the soundstage his first day. Something changed, though, and the army vet had settled down. The only thing he could think of was that they’d fitted Randall with an earpiece and fed him his lines one at a time. The stuntman would merely repeat what he heard and mimic the tone and emotion echoed without having to actually learn any lines. A good editor could splice the many takes together until the scene ran seamlessly.