Page 2 of Dumbstruck
He smiles broadly; it’s practically blinding. “Film crew? That sounds fun.”
Hehasto be Jonah. Guys as pretty as him don’t come to places like Laketown for fun. And if he’s Jonah James, that means he’s an overpaid celebrity with a sense of entitlement that will render him completely obnoxious if I have to talk to him much longer. Fine, I don’t know if he’ll be obnoxious, but I can’t imagine anyone with his level of fame will be anything but cocky and self-absorbed.
Putting my hands into my apron pockets so I can clench them into fists without the men seeing, I try to offer a neutral smile. “Yeah, they’re filming some sort of mystery, but most of us can’t wait for them to leave.” I wait for any sign of offense—he gives me nothing—then turn back to the big one. “What are you working on? There might be a close enough metric wrench to get the job done, though you’ll want to make sure you don’t strip the bolt.”
His smile is far less dazzling than his friend’s, but it’s kind. “Trailer door,” he says with a shrug. “But yeah, I’m sure there will be one close enough. The door keeps sticking, so I’m trying to figure out where the problem is.”
“Ah, I don’t know enough about trailers to help you, but if the metric set doesn’t work, you can return it.” I gesture to the wrenches hanging near the back, glad that I’ve managed to sound civil despite my growing irritation.
The only trailers in town belong to the production crew. There’s a slight chance these guys are passing through and have a camping trailer or something similar, but I doubt it. Why else would Pretty Boy still be wearing his sunglasses? I assume he doesn’t want to be recognized in a place so far beneath him.
As the tree-limbed one heads back to the shelf to grab a set of wrenches, I study the other and ask, “Is it too bright in here?”
That gets a chuckle out of him, and he leans on the counter, putting himself obnoxiously close to me. He smells as good as he looks, and I hate that a part of me wants to close the gap between us even more. I’ve spent the last couple of years burying the part of me that takes an interest in anyone, but somehow this actor is digging it right back up with that charming smile. “I take it you’re not a fan of the movie crew?” he asks in that smooth voice of his. It’s such a clear, deep voice that it makes me shiver. “Have they been a problem?”
Even though people in town like to complain, the film crew haven’t been problematic as far as I’m aware, other than disrupting the quiet status quo. But I roll my eyes anyway as I take the wrench set from the big guy and ring him up, glad for an excuse to put some distance between me and Pretty Boy even though we’re still talking. “We like things to stay quiet here. If the movie does well, people will start flocking to Laketown.”
“You think one movie could have that much influence?”
“I think there are enough fans of the book that they’ll be coming in droves if the movie is good.”
He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “And what if the movie is bad?”
“Then I pity the actors who ruined a well-loved story.”
Laughing, he stands up straight and claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Then we’d better hope the movie is good. Thanks for your help. Maybe I’ll see you around…June.”
As they head out, I glance down at the nametag pinned to my apron, wishing I had forgotten it this once. The last thing I need is a stuck-up movie star with a beautiful face taking notice of me. “Not likely,” I say with a shrug and make a mental note to avoid the set whenever possible. “Good luck with your, uh, trailer.”
Pretty Boy pauses at the door and looks back, using a finger to pull his sunglasses down and give me a good view of his golden-brown eyes. “Thanks,” he says brightly and offers a smile so beautiful that I get weak in the knees.
Definitely Jonah James, and with the way my heart starts pounding in my chest after he leaves, I might have a problem on my hands. It’s one thing to be attracted to a handsome guy; it’s another thing entirely to be drawn to a movie star who will only be in town for a few weeks.
I turned off my heart when I left my ex two years ago, and somehow—seriously, how?—Jonah’s smile just sparked it back to life.
Chapter Two
Jonah
“Loganisthebadguy.”
You know that feeling when someone says something that rocks your whole world view, and for a second you can’t hear anything but a rushing in your ears as you process? Ihatethat feeling, which means I hate this moment as I stare at McAllister, the author of the book we’re adapting into a movie. Logan, the character I’ve been playing as the charming hero and love interest,is the bad guy? McAllister had better be joking. Ineedhim to be joking.
“Wait,” I say, still in processing mode. “What? I am? Since when?” Andwhydidn’t someone tell me? My agent, the director, the casting director,anyone! Hurrying to the edge of set, where my assistant, Dexter, is waiting with the script, I snatch the pages out of his hands and flip through them, desperately searching for some sort of proof that the author is lying. If I’ve been acting this character wrong, I’m going to have fans of the books calling for my head, and there is nothing that terrifies me more than the threat of angry fans.
That’s not true. I’m deathly afraid of sharks and small spaces, but disappointed fans are a close third.
My eyes land on a scene where my character reveals his true—clearly insidious—intentions, and I swear under my breath. The author is right. Of course he’s right! He wrote the dang thing. And now my mind is running through all the scenes we’ve filmed so far and how badly I’ve portrayed my character.
This is bad. This is so bad.
“Jonah?” Dexter asks, sensing my rising panic.
This job was supposed to be my big break, to push me into the next level of acting and get me the kind of recognition that would solidify me as a solid hire. Now? Now it might be the thing that completely obliterates my career. “I need you to buy me that book,” I mutter, still staring at the lines in the script that would have tipped me off if I’d had a chance to read the whole thing. As it was, I’m lucky I made it here on time to start filming.
“Which book?” Dexter asks.
I scowl at him. “Which one do you think?” Then I wince, hating how angry I sound. This isn’t his fault. “Sorry.Frosted Peaks. Maybe buy the rest of the series too, while you’re at it.” I send him off with a clap on his back and return my focus to the script, skimming the last few scenes so I at least know how it ends.
