Faking the Shot (Northwest Ice Division #4)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
Vancouver, Canada
B eyond the limousine window, the flash of photographers lying in wait sent a shudder along Ainsley Beckett’s spine. But this was what she’d agreed to, what her contract, her agent, the production company, the media, her fans all expected from her. And besides, this cause was so near to her heart there was no way she could say no.
Breathe. Just breathe. “You can do this,” she murmured to herself.
“You ready?” Jason Streetley asked.
She pasted on a smile for her newly-signed co-star in an upcoming Hallmark Christmas series. She might never win an Oscar, but in moments like this, she could still act just as well as Nicole Kidman or Cate Blanchett. “Let’s go.”
The door was opened, and Jason exited, and she gathered the feathery folds of her dress then carefully set one crystal-embellished Jimmy Choo outside on the pavement, then the other. Legs together—some photographers held no scruples at what shot they’d sell—then she grasped Jason’s outstretched hand as she carefully stood. Her gown wasn’t made of a fabric that crushed easily, hence the ability to show up in a car rather than ride the special bus for those with gowns that were all about the artistry and show. She might be an actress, but she wasn’t that fashion forward, or willing to stand for ages in line while the crush of celebrities and their vehicles were slowly admitted.
People who thought events like this were all glitz and glamor had no idea just how much waiting around was always involved. Waiting for her hair to be done, waiting for makeup, waiting to be styled then restyled if her stylist wasn’t happy. Then waiting for her car to reach the top of the queue, waiting for the photographers to take their shots, waiting for squealing fans to take selfies with their celebrity of choice, waiting for the reporters to do their interviews—every single one the same. Waiting for their meal, waiting for the show to actually begin, waiting in the bathrooms—why, in an age of exploration on Mars, had nobody figured out that there were never as many bathrooms for women as needed? Then waiting as the show paused for TV breaks, waiting for the show to finish, waiting for her car, then, if she was not going to an after-party, waiting to take all the blessed makeup and clothes off and have a shower and finally, finally fall into bed.
She hated these things.
“Ainsley! Ainsley Beckett! Over here!”
She turned, clutching Jason’s arm, and smiled. The trick was to move slowly, gracefully, letting all the cameras do their best to take multiple photos while keeping her smile pinned on, even though her shoes pinched, and the flashes hurt her eyes, and her hairstyle was killing her. Why Trudi thought her hair needed to be scraped back and slicked with five dozen bobby pins into an uber-glamorous knot she didn’t know. Well, she did know, as she looked really good, with the hairstyle showing off Ainsley’s face and enabling the borrowed diamond earrings and heavy necklace to be photographed to advantage from every angle.
Just like her dress. She smoothed with gloved hands the black-and-white feathers, her smile growing more genuine. She loved this gown, and it loved her too, softly accentuating her curves, the strapless sweetheart neckline low but not too low. She’d only needed to wear one pair of Spanx, not two, so that was a win right there. And after not eating for the past twenty-four hours, and having minimal carb intake these past three weeks, the effort had been worth it. For her fans, at least.
She smiled and waved, then one of the event’s lanyard-wearing assistants gestured for her to join the velvet roped-off line for interviewers. There were still a couple of celebrities in front of her, so she waved to some nearby fans, standing near the base of the steps.
“Ainsley!” A little girl held up a poster with Ainsley’s name in bubble writing. “Ainsley, I love you!”
Oh, how sweet. “Hi!”
“Can I get a picture with you?” the little girl pleaded.
Ainsley glanced at the line. Nope, it hadn’t moved an inch. “Sure.”
Jason coughed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“One photo won’t hurt.” It wasn’t like she hadn’t done that many times before. “Come on.”
He sighed, but helped her maneuver across the steps to where the little fan waited, the beaming smile on her face widening as they grew closer.
“Hi there, sweetheart.” Ainsley hugged her over the barrier, careful not to lose a feather. This exquisite gown—like her jewelry—had to be returned. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Paige. Oh, I love your dress. You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s so nice of you.”
“Oh, I want to be just like you when I’m older!”
Probably not if it meant starving herself to squeeze into a size two dress. But through the gush of flattery, the little girl’s words hit with an odd sense of conviction. People watched her, were influenced by what she did and said. “You’re so kind, Paige.”
“I love you in As The Heart Draws . You’re like my favorite character ever ! I wish my school teacher was as nice and pretty as you.”
“That’s really sweet of you to say. But I’m sure you have a lovely teacher.”
“No, he’s always mean and angry. You’re never angry, are you?”
Rarely on that show, although she’d asked—several times now—for her character to be given more realistic material to work with. Sweet and nice was so vanilla, and not at all indicative of Ainsley’s own passions, where some issues got her very angry indeed. But even though one of those social justice issues was the subject of tonight’s fundraiser, now wasn’t the time for expressing any of that. Judging from Jason’s concerned murmurs behind her, it wasn’t the time for much more than saying, “Shall we get that photo now?”
Two pictures later, regrets at denying the other fans selfies and autographs chased her back up the steps into line, where it was now her turn to be interviewed by the entertainment reporter from Vancouver Tonight .
“Hi Ainsley.”
“Hi Emmett.”
Two air kisses later, he was smiling at her, like he hadn’t seen her at her parents’ place three days ago for her mom’s birthday. “Now Ainsley, who are you wearing? You look divine.”
“You’re very kind.” She told him about the shoes and the dress designer, taking note to show the special diamond necklace and earrings loaned by one of Vancouver’s glitziest jewelers. Apparently Ryan Reynolds had bought his wife a few pieces from there a time or two.
“And girl, I just love those shoes. You’re like a fairytale princess.”
“Thank you. I feel like one.” She held out a foot, admiring the way the Swarovski crystals glittered in the light. “They’re a little extra compared to what I normally wear, but they fit tonight’s theme perfectly.”
“They sure do. And you’re here with your new co-star Jason Streetley. Jason, welcome. This is your first time at White Night, right Jason?”
“You’re a poet and you know it, huh?”
Ainsley caught the way Emmett’s smile twitched, as it always did when he wasn’t sure whether someone was poking fun at him. He might be a well-known TV reporter, but for as long as she’d known him, he’d never seemed very secure. But then, in their industry, who was? Maybe the Nicoles and Ryans and Cates of this world could afford to be, but most of those she knew working in the TV industry had to walk a careful line of people-pleasing, whether that be TV executives, agents, publicists, or fans. There’d be no telling what might happen to her career as one of North America’s beloved Hallmark actresses if all her secrets were spilled. Real life was apparently a little too real for some.
“And what brings you both to Vancouver’s fundraising night of nights?”
Ainsley gestured to Jason to go first, while she thought through her answer. How to be real, to share something that was real, without getting too personal. Hmm. Maybe by sharing about the experience of a co-star rather than her own family’s lived pain.
“And Ainsley?”
“I think caring about domestic violence is hugely important, and most of us are probably unaware that we know people who often suffer in silence, who live with the effects of this insidious scourge in our society.” People like poor Brenda, the stuntwoman from As The Heart Draws , who might be one of the toughest women Ainsley knew but had suffered just the same. “Raising money to support victims of domestic abuse is vital to helping them find a fresh start, and if my presence here tonight can help shine a little bit of attention on this issue, then I’m happy to be here.”
“Well said.”
She nodded, thinking back to the little girl’s comments from before. “I think those of us here can sometimes forget that we have eyes on us, and people who can sometimes want to emulate us. So that’s why when it comes to supporting an issue like this, I feel it’s important to be an example and an influence.” And if it meant one less woman had to suffer as her grandmother had, then she’d happily never eat a full meal again.
Emmett’s dark eyes held empathy as he nodded. “So Ainsley, onto lighter matters now, can you tell us anything more about your new Hallmark project or the upcoming season of As The Heart Draws ?”
“I’d love to.”
Her cheeks pushed wider as she smiled, then proceeded to tell his viewers all that she’d told him three nights ago, or at least all that their media releases allowed for: a fun new contemporary Christmas mysteries series with a splash of romance with Jason. Then she shared a little about the beloved historical drama where she’d first found fame, filmed on Three Creek Ranch in Alberta, with Harrison Woods as her Mountie hero. “He’s really settled in well with the cast and crew, so I can’t wait for viewers to see him in this upcoming season.”
“Harrison isn’t here tonight, is he?”
“I don’t believe so.” He’d blown it off for a special wedding anniversary dinner for his girlfriend’s parents. God bless Cassie and Harrison, a classic case of opposites attract if ever she’d seen one. Not that she wanted her opposite. Someone who understood the pressures of fame would be nice.
“Well, among all the other celebrities here tonight, I’m sure we’ll cope.”
She nodded, smiling wide. Tonight’s benefit was playing host to scores of movie and music and sports stars. Not that she’d recognize any of the latter.
Emmett pushed the microphone in Jason’s direction. “And you’re filming the first of several new Christmas mystery TV movies nearby at Thetis Island, I understand.”
“It’s a beautiful location, and we’re really excited to see these stories come to life.”
“That’s great. Well, I hope you have fun tonight.” Emmett’s smile when he turned to Ainsley relaxed into something approaching more genuine. “It’s good to see you again Ainsley.”
“You too.”
The man might hold very different values to her, but as he’d been her brother’s closest friend for several years, she couldn’t deny the man cared.
Two more air kisses and a hug later, they were released, only for Ainsley to be beckoned by the Glam Guru. “Ainsley, darling, you look sensational as ever. Loving those heels, just like Cinderella. Who are you wearing?”
She told him, then he asked for her to pose for his special high-speed camera that zoomed in fast but captured images in slow motion. “Now, give us a toss out.”
She picked up her heavy skirt and tossed what she could to one side. “Like that?”
“Yeah, perfect.” He turned to his assistant operating the camera. “Let’s do a push in. Ainsley, so here is where the camera is starting,” he pointed to above his left shoulder, “and this X on the ground is where I want you to stand because the camera will end up there. I’m going to do a countdown, then when I say action, I want you to pull a pose, making sure you show off those shoes too, okay?”
“Sure.” She pushed her left foot through the skirt’s feathers in front so it could be seen, weight on her right leg, and angled her body into what Trudi called Ainsley’s lean pose, one hand on her hip, chin up, tummy sucked in, shoulders back, ready for a sharp movement that characterized these little videos that made it onto millions of social media feeds around the world. This moment was what Trudi was paid for, what Ainsley had starved herself for, what the designers had loaned her pieces for, just so TV execs would notice her and fans would demand to see her in more projects.
“Ready?”
“Yep.” She’d start with her smallest smile—see, directors, she could do serious too.
“Then let’s go, in three, two, one, action.”
A swift pivot accompanied by a fast-blooming smile, and it was done.
“Amazing, perfect. You look incredible.”
“Really?”
“Want to see?”
He led her to the laptop where the vision of the camera zooming in on her then slowing down showed her transformation from serious to the joy most viewers associated her roles with. “Wow.”
“Exactly. Wow.”
“Well, thank you. God bless you.”
“Take care.”
She blew him a kiss, then glanced around for Jason, who was supposed to help her up the stairs. But he wasn’t here, was off talking on the sidelines to someone she didn’t recognize. Okay. Well, he needed his moment in the spotlight, so hopefully he was making some useful connections. She might loathe some aspects of these nights, but as well as shining a spotlight on important issues, they were excellent for networking.
She spotted some other actors she knew, offering hugs, more air kisses, and the level of chitchat appropriate for these events, then turned to the stairs. Her smile dimmed. She hitched it up. She could make it up these steps, surely. She lifted her heavy skirts and began the slow ascent. People who thought feather skirts would naturally equate with lighter weight clearly hadn’t accounted for the fabric the feathers were sewn onto, which had to be sturdy enough to hold them in position. And when the feathers were ethically sourced—she’d made sure—they were very expensive, and needed even heavier fabric to ensure the feathers wouldn’t come off, like what often happened in cheaper gowns. Which meant she was getting a good workout just by moving in this dress tonight.
She placed her Jimmy Choo on the step, hoisting her skirts and using the shift in momentum to drive herself up. Then paused. Whoa. Head spin. The lack of food meant a lack of energy right now, right when she needed it. Right when she needed Jason, too. Or at least his arm to hold onto. But she wouldn’t interrupt him. He needed his time to connect. So she blinked, then pasted on her smile again, conscious of the photographers and all the anxiety-inducing people around her. She was a pro. She could do this. Just ignore the noise and commotion and get to the top, where she’d be guided to her seat and she could finally eat. Maybe that might clear some of the lightheadedness.
“Ainsley! Ainsley, over here!”
Recognition of that photographer’s voice caused her to pause, to glance over her shoulder in a hands-on-hip pose and smile. She knew she was holding up others, like the Tom Cruise look-alike—in his younger days—waiting behind her in a navy suit wearing shoes and no socks. She hadn’t seen him at a red-carpet event before. Even if the carpet here was white.
“Sorry.” She grimaced.
He raised his hands, his lips tweaked to one side, like he was bemused by the whole event. Phew. Thank goodness he didn’t look too bothered, unlike some people she’d encountered at events like these who would do anything to claw their way into appearing in an extra photograph or a best-dressed list or article. Desperation to be noticed made people do desperate things, and in this industry, it wasn’t unheard of to have stylists poached, or dresses suddenly disappear, or last-minute cancellations from glam squads. Which was why having a trusted adviser like Trudi made all the difference. Lord, bless her .
“Ainsley!”
She turned, but whether it was the heavy skirts or the too-thin heels, or the lack of food, her foot slipped and she lost her balance. Then time seemed to crystallize into moments akin to the thousand-frame-per-second shot of the high-speed slow-motion camera from before. Except this was no glamor shot, rather a horror film, where she was the victim, acutely aware of her impending doom, and could already see it all photographed and spread across the internet and trashy magazines in frame by awful frame.
Her look of shock. Her desperate breath. Panic swelling her gown’s bodice. Arms flailing. Flashes of cameras. All these people pointing, laughing, mocking. She was falling—falling!—and her career would forever be defined by this one moment.
Lord, help me!