Holding Out for a Hero, page 1
HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO
BY
KIMBERLY ZANT
( c ) copyright by Madris DePasture writing as Kimberly Zant, September 2022
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, September 2022
ISBN 978-1-60394-
Smashwords Edition
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
In loving memory—for my Frank and Dolly.
Chapter One
Chance Malone tilted his Stetson toward his eyes, settled back on the plush sofa cushions, folded his arms over his chest, and watched his personal assistant, Dolly Childre, like a hawk studying his prey. Just waiting for it to come close enough to pounce.
Unlike his name, which was fake, like almost everything else ‘known’ about him, a stage name bestowed upon him by the studio, Dolly’s name was 100% genuine—just like her.
And he wanted her so bad he could taste it.
He just hadn’t been able to convince her to give him a chance.
Because he actually couldn’t find his balls.
He thought he might have left them at the precinct when he quit.
They’d shriveled to about the size of walnuts when he’d tried romancing her right after she’d been hired on as his personal assistant and she’d responded with a frozen but polite, no thank you.
She hadn’t tried to slap his head off. He was damned if he knew why he’d been cut to the quick, but so it was.
Actually, he supposed he did know.
It was because every time he decided he was going to just give it a shot, Frank Mallory reared his ugly head, and he remembered he wasn’t actually Chance Malone—big time super hero of the silver screen. He was Detective Frank Mallory—former detective.
He hadn’t set out to be in movies, period, let alone a star. He’d just sort fallen into the position of being one of the up and coming, top grossing, action stars in Hollywood.
He’d been a cop most of his adult life and had made detective early when he was assigned to an undercover case. A director looking for real cops to play cops in a movie he was making had talked him into trying out for a part.
He actually hadn’t even considered it, but then he’d had a nasty close encounter with death and the really ugly side of humanity while he was undercover, and he’d been ready for a career change—knew he at least had to clear his head before he decided which way he wanted to go. Finally, he’d decided to just give it a try and he’d landed a minor role in the movie instead of just being an extra.
While he was on set, he got an offer for a more substantial role and his career just … exploded. One minute he was nobody, the next … he’s being hounded for autographs and chased all over hell and gone.
It was downright unnerving.
The job—not especially, in fact downright boring at times. But the money was good—really good, and he didn’t have to worry about getting his throat cut like his partner had.
He actually never made the decision to abandon his career as a cop/detective and go into movies. He’d just been coasting along with the flow while trying to get past seeing his partner murdered.
He honesty wasn’t sure he liked the new career any better. Granted, it wasn’t as dangerous—even with him doing his own stunts—and the money was way better. He had ‘handlers’, though, paid for and provided by the company who considered they’d invested enough in him to ‘own’ him, and he didn’t like that worth a shit. In fact, he’d just about decided to say the hell with it, when one more reason showed up to make him stay—Dolly—a woman hired to be his personal assistant.
Translation—babysitter.
It was her job to make sure he couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t been told he had an appointment slash interview.
Everything on him just perked right up the minute he got his first good look at her and he went into pointer mode. THIS was a real woman. She was nothing like the artificial ‘dolls’ his agent kept throwing his way because he was playing a role 24/7—and they were. When he wasn’t in front of a camera on a set, he was in front of the media or fans. He was a top grossing action star. He was always to be seen with top models or actresses. It was part of his persona. He helped build their careers. They helped to build his.
Unfortunately, although Dolly seemed to be as interested in him as he was in her—at first— shy, but interested—it wasn’t long before she started giving him the cold shoulder.
Like an almost instantaneous reversal.
Just shriveled his balls right down to acorns and he was damned if he could figure out why. It pissed him off, but he wasn’t completely convinced to just throw in the towel—because all he had to do was watch her for a few minutes and he was ready for an ice bath.
* * * *
Dolly was miserable, more miserable, she thought, than she’d ever been in her life and she’d had some real shit downs in her life—good things, too, but a lot of shit.
She’d thought the job she’d gotten was a dream come true, that it would be the peak of her very existence.
Because she had such a crush on Chance Malone just being in his vicinity—able to talk to him—was the biggest thrill of her life.
Of course it was a great job and it paid well, too, but it was him that made her so desperate to get it that she’d been certain after the interview that she had totally blown it.
She’d been absolutely stunned when she’d been hired.
Unfortunately, it was completely true that an eavesdropper never hears good about themselves. She’d barely landed when she overheard a couple of other employees discussing the ‘new hire’ and discovered she’d been hired because she had a good resume (great!) and she was too plain to detract attention from the hero and his entourage of beautiful women (ego slaughter).
She might have gotten past it and recovered her good spirits—because it was still true that she was close enough to worship at the altar of her hero, but those weren’t the only painful comments she’d heard—just the first of many.
Of course, she wasn’t willfully blind. She’d known going in that she didn’t actually fit in with the beautiful people of Hollywood and that they were even less forgiving of imperfection than the rest of society—who were pretty harsh. But she hadn’t been looking to take anybody’s job, hadn’t been trying to be ‘discovered’. She hadn’t even considered that Chance Malone would know if she was alive or dead, let alone have any interest in her.
She’d just wanted to bask in his aura.
Because she wasn’t an idiot—not a total moron anyway. She was way too old to have such a silly crush on somebody she didn’t even really know—even though it felt like it because she’d watched all of his movies—at least a dozen times and she’d read every article ever written about him.
And she knew she was just—average. Not really young anymore, not really pretty or ugly, not super smart or talented, and she was average in her weight—not a size 3 or zero—average.
It didn’t take long to discover that she wasn’t ‘average’ to them, or even just a little plump to their minds. She was a cow—a beached whale—and other hilarious, painful descriptions.
Chance was a nice man. He was always polite to her and even friendly, but she figured he was just like the others—except with better manners—always putting on an act, never sincere.
And even if he was actually as kind as he seemed, he certainly wasn’t interested in anybody like her when he could have any of the beautiful Hollywood singles he wanted—and probably most of the married women for that matter.
Not that she’d ever considered in her wildest dreams that he would have any interest in her, but she thought she would’ve been happier if he’d just pretended she wasn’t there, or that she was a piece of furniture.
It was hell knowing what everyone thought about her and having to pretend it didn’t bother her. It was worse hell to realize the man she’d thought of as the most beautiful person in the world didn’t even see her as a human being.
She’d thought about quitting at least a dozen times a day since she’d started, but she needed the damned job! And beyond that, she wasn’t going to give the bitches the satisfaction of taking off with her tail tucked between her legs.
Fuck them!
She was going to stay until she was ready to move on and not before!
Unless she got fired.
She was as good as any of them even if she hadn’t been lucky enough to be born beautiful!
“Get it in gear, Childre! We’re gonna miss the damned plane if you don’t!”
Like it was going to be her fault and no one else’s if they did!
Dolly jolted to her feet instantly, but she’d been off on mental safari and it took her a moment to figure out what was going on.
Because she still had her book in her hand even though she’d completely lost awareness of it after she’d read the same page a dozen times and absorbed exactly zero.
Because she’d gone into mental termination mode after she’d overheard a nasty comment about her penchant for books—romance novels—which, by god, she wasn’t reading at the moment! She liked non-fiction, too, damn it!
And, truthfully, she hadn’t gotten used to being addressed as Childre.
Actually, she didn’t really fully translate until
she’d managed to dive into the van and find a seat.
As usual, she was on the ‘outside’ looking in, but there was enough chatter i.e. bitching going on about whose fault it was that they were going to miss their flight that she managed to put it together fairly quickly. Even though she’d lost interest when Chance had had a last minute meeting with his publicist—that dragged on until she’d gotten lost in her book and then the internal bitch fest.
The van was delayed on the freeway, naturally, and then when they finally arrived, everyone boiled out, grabbed whatever was shoved at them, and tore off at a run.
And they still missed their damned flight.
This wasn’t just a minor inconvenience.
It was a total fucked up disaster.
Because it meant they were going to miss their connecting flight in NYC. They were going to miss joining up with the remainder of Chance Malone’s entourage and the plane would arrive in the UK without the star—where a huge crowd was supposed to gather to greet him—to kick off the European premiere of his latest blockbuster.
Everyone settled uneasily, watching the bigwigs pace the floor with their phones in their ears while they tried to remedy the upset before it could become a true disaster.
Inside of fifteen minutes they had everyone up and running to another gate—this one way less posh. They had to go down a long boarding corridor—then take stairs down to the tarmac and then scurry across the terrifying traffic to a small twin engine commuter plane that had been chartered that was way smaller than the jet they were supposed to travel on.
In point of fact, it wasn’t a jet at all.
Dolly hated planes—specifically jets. She would never have gotten on one—like ever—if she hadn’t been following Chance Malone around like a lost puppy.
She discovered she was even less happy about the plane they were led to. They were assured it could make the trip and get them to their destination in plenty of time to make the connection in NYC, but it looked a little … old, to Dolly’s mind.
She didn’t voice her doubts about it.
She didn’t argue.
She just followed like a sheep.
After handing off the baggage she’d lugged around the airport until she had dislocated shoulders and blisters on her palms, she climbed the narrow stairs and went in while the pilot or maybe the co-pilot tossed the bags into the hold.
She didn’t really want to sit in the tail section.
Unfortunately, she got shuttled there in spite of her best efforts to land a wing seat.
Chance was among the last to enter.
His gaze swept the entire plane—as if he was looking for something or someone—and then, ignoring offers of seats along the way, he sauntered down the tiny aisle and dropped into the seat next to her.
Stunned, Dolly couldn’t actually think of anything to say. She merely gaped at him—blank of brain function. Which was probably a good thing because she realized after a moment that conversation with ‘the boss’ was never encouraged.
He was a busy man. He didn’t have time for frivolous conversation.
And, at any rate, he was always on display.
And his handlers didn’t allow him to exchange pleasantries with nobodies.
She managed a polite smile.
He favored her with the slow grin that had won millions of female hearts worldwide.
Hers did an Irish jig.
“Why Miss Scarlet,” he drawled in a low, husky murmur. “You do look fetching today.”
Caught off guard, Dolly chuckled her surprised pleasure.
The occupants in the seats just in front of them tittered and Dolly felt her face heat.
Chance’s lips tightened. He looked like he might say something, but then he held his tongue.
“That sounds kind of familiar,” one of the women, Carly, said. “Is that a line from a classic?”
Chance merely looked at her stone faced when she glanced back at him with a grin.
She looked a little stepped on from the silent censure for eavesdropping on his conversation, but her companion across the aisle distracted her. “Come on! Scarlet?” Liz frowned thoughtfully. “The Scarlet Letter?”
Anger flickered through Dolly. She didn’t for a minute think Liz actually believed it was a reference to the classic about a fallen woman. She was just being a bitch—suggesting Chance was implying she was a whore.
Chance leaned closer, grasped the ends of her seatbelt and fastened it. “Pay her no mind,” he murmured. “It … disturbs her to travel in anything so low class. Memories, you know.”
Dolly stared at him blankly, trying to decide if he’d deliberately insulted Liz or not.
He met her gaze and she saw that his eyes were glittering with anger.
With her?
Or Liz?
He straightened after a moment when Liz and Carly began whispering a little feverishly and fastened his seatbelt. “This gonna be your first visit to London?”
Surprise flickered through Dolly that he’d introduced a subject for conversation. She was actually pretty focused on white-knuckling the arms of her seat, however, as the plane began to move. “I … uh …I uh … Me?”
He chuckled. “These planes scare the pure shit out of me. I don’t suppose I could convince you to hold my hand?”
Dolly looked at him wide-eyed, trying to decide if he was serious or joking.
She thought he was joking.
But he reached for her hand, laced his fingers through hers, and folded his hand around her hand firmly.
“Your hand’s cold. What’s that old saying?”
“If they’re cold they’re dead?”
He burst out laughing. “I think it means a warm heart.”
“Oh.” She felt her face heat.
“So … is it?”
Dolly couldn’t honestly hear him over the revving engine of the plane as it began to race along the runway. Well, bump along the runway. The runway seemed to be pitted with holes because the plane kept bobbing up and down and every time it did the tail section bobbed harder and higher and then lower until she was certain it would drag the pavement, and her sphincter clenched a little tighter. “What?”
He studied the side of her face for a moment and then peeled his hand free of hers, lifted the arm next to her and gathered her against his side. “We’ll be fine, baby,” he said soothingly.
Dolly swallowed after several false starts, but she couldn’t find her wits or her voice. She just clutched Chance a little frantically and squeezed her eyes tightly together.
It was almost worse when they left the ground.
She could feel it and the deafening noises—the roar of the wind, the growl of the struggling engine, the creak and groan of everything on the plane—didn’t help either.
Chance hooked a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him.
When she did, he drifted a little closer and a little closer until Dolly felt the warmth of his breath on her lips and then his lips.
It was nothing short of amazing how swiftly her entire being shifted from absolute terror to so complete an awareness of Chance that there was no room for awareness of anything else. His touch didn’t just warm the marrow of her bones to ‘normal’ temperature. It scalded her, sent her tumbling into a heated morass of dizzying sensations.
She thought she heard snickers, but it was so dulled by distance that it barely fazed her.
Disappointment filled her when he began to retreat, when he withdrew the heated stroke of his tongue along hers and the pressure of his lips lightened and then parted company with hers.
He didn’t move away. Instead, he hovered a hair’s breadth from her, gazing into her eyes with desire.
“Better?” he asked after a long moment.
In what sense, Dolly wondered vaguely?
His gaze wandered over her face. He shook his head, as if denying some internal debate. Or maybe chastising himself? “I have the worst timing with you, Dolly Childre. Don’t give up on me, baby. I’ll get it right … eventually. I’m a determined man.”
Chapter Two
They were airborne, Dolly discovered, completely surprised by that circumstance when she saw the stomach churning view from the plane windows.
It wasn’t that she didn’t recall, in terrifying detail, that they’d been racing down the runway toward takeoff in a plane that seemed older than her grandfather—or at least showed more wear and tear.
