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Chapter One
Two Weeks to Christmas
Christmas sucked.
Also, Tucker McKay had great hair. Amazing black hair. Not too long. Not too short. The perfect length for running a girl’s fingers through. And that little bit of a beard? It worked.
He was tall, dark and…never ever, ever.
On that thought, Mackenzie Bennett nursed her tall glass of seltzer water with a twist of lime while making herself seen in the newest hoity toity, excessively expensive Los Angeles nightclub. The fizzy bubbles in her drink had disappeared over an hour ago.
Music pulsed around her, the strobe lights on the dance floor below making the revelers appear as disjointed puppets. Funny that. If there was a disjointed puppet on the premises, it was her. Always doing what she was told. Always standing where directed. Always being someone else.
She kept a smile plastered on her face and her expression light. That’s what a good actress did. Never show how you really feel when you’re on the job. Always let the character shine through. In that moment, the character was the version of herself the public got to see. The smoky-eyed, shiny-haired starlet who really, deep down, wanted to spend her evening bingeing on Netflix while eating a grilled cheese sandwich created with the most over-processed American cheese product she could find.
God, she missed food like that.
She held her gaze on rocker-legend-slash-cowboy Tucker. The way he was propped up in a corner booth in the VIP section. The way his head bopped ever so slightly to the thump of the blaring music. The way his muscled arm was slung along the edge of the booth and his laughter permeated the VIP lounge.
“You’re not having any fun.” Her best friend and business manager, Leah, waggled a tipsy red-painted fingertip in her direction. Half her nails were red, half green. Very festive and all that.
“We’re worried about you.” Their not-quite-drunk friend Abby squeezed Kenzie’s arm. “Do I need to call Taylor? Get the whole gang together?”
“We should do a holiday cheer intervention,” Leah suggested. “We’ll drink eggnog and make her sing ‘Jingle Bells.’”
Kenzie couldn’t help the smile that played at the corners of her mouth.
These women made up Kenzie’s entourage. The ones who got the messy reality alongside the Hollywood glam. The ones who knew Kenzie had a secret passion for 1:00 a.m. bubble baths and writing screenplays that would never be produced. The ones who, no matter how adept an actress Kenzie was, would know she was putting up a front.
They knew her better than she knew herself most times.
So she didn’t lie.
“I’m just doing my time.” Kenzie nodded toward a group of women a level down on the dance floor. That group of ladies had been watching her for a solid twenty minutes.
One of the women waved back tentatively, giggled, and huddled with her friends.
“Your holiday spirit is seriously lacking.” Leah snagged a martini from the waiter circulating a tray loaded with the drink of the day. Something orange and red—and it probably tasted like pineapple, if Kenzie had to guess.
“I’ll find my Christmas cheer once the offer comes through.” Kenzie eyed the sunset-colored drink. She wanted one, sure, but she wouldn’t have one. Not when she was in public. Not when she was on a job. Even if the job was stupid. She was being paid an absurd amount of money to be at the club tonight. A club she had absolutely no intention of ever visiting again.
That wasn’t the point though. Once she was seen somewhere, patrons would show up again and again, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. And since her last two box office receipts had been lacking, she filled in her budget gaps with appearances. Until the next opportunity moseyed along. Which would, she prayed to Lady Luck, be soon. Soon-ish.
“Any day. They’ll come around any day now,” Abby assured.
That was easy for her to say. Her life wasn’t publicly and personally entwined in her ability to stay on the big screen. Sure, Kenzie had been smart with her money. Saved it. Invested it. But with the way Hollywood worked, her savings could only take her so far. She needed to nab a new role.
“Don’t look back. The future is ahead.” Leah made a dramatic hand motion like a soldier heading into battle.
Negotiations on Kenzie’s latest movie—a romantic comedy about a farm girl in the big city—had fallen apart weeks ago, after her latest film flopped at the box office. Someone from the studio had leaked that they were eyeing other actresses for her part. Kenzie felt like the trap door had dropped open, spilling a washed-up actress just shy of stage left. It was all very, very public.
Very, very humiliating.
“I’m not looking back.” No, she was looking straight at Tucker.
Kenzie’s gaze slid the length of him. He might be a rock ’n’ roll legend, but he was also muscled, charming, and a total jerk.
