His Larkville Cinderella. Melissa McClone

lump burned in her throat. Her dad, the larger than life Clay Calhoun, had died of pneumonia in October, seven months ago. She was on her own in more ways than one now.

      The ten-foot-tall wooden door opened.

      “About time.” Eva snatched the portfolio away. In her early forties with a flawless ivory complexion and jet-black hair styled into a French twist, the woman wore a black tunic, pants and heels. African-inspired jewelry added a funky and unexpected twist to the stylish and elegant clothing. “What took you so long?”

      On Megan’s second day in Tinseltown, she’d learned one of the only acceptable answers for being late. “Traffic.”

      Her boss’s hard, assessing gaze ran the length of Megan. Eva’s red-glossed lips pursed with disapproval. “You’re slouching. Stand straight.”

      Megan did.

      “Is this how you dress on the ranch?”

      A plain pink T-shirt, faded capri jeans and comfy tennis shoes weren’t going to put Megan on any of Hollywood’s best-dressed lists. But her clothing wouldn’t draw any attention to her, either. Well, except for now. But she imagined nothing she wore would live up to Eva’s exacting expectations. “Yes.”

      The word ma’am sat on the tip of Megan’s tongue. She’d used the term with Eva on Monday, the first day of the internship. Megan wouldn’t make that mistake again.

      “I don’t suppose you have any other clothes in your car,” Eva said.

      Megan had grown up on a ranch in middle-of-nowhere Texas and graduated college less than two weeks ago. All her clothing was casual except for a few of her own creations she’d never had any reason—or courage—to wear outside her bedroom. Not after being made fun of freshman year at high school for the way she’d dressed. After that happened she’d adopted Rob’s and his friends’ geek look as her own style. “No.”

      “Then let’s go.” Eva motioned her inside. “Everyone’s out on the patio.”

      Panic rocketed from the brown hair piled on top of Megan’s head to the tips of her canvas sneakers. She wasn’t supposed to speak, but she wasn’t supposed to stay, either. “I’m, uh, supposed to head back to the studio.”

      “Not anymore.”

      The cartwheels turning in her stomach would have made Larkville High’s Cheer Team proud. Not that any of those girls had ever given Megan the time of day except when they were trying to fundraise for new uniforms or a competition. “My car …”

      “… isn’t going anywhere without you,” Eva said. “Come on.”

      Megan stepped inside the villa. The door closed behind her with a thud.

      Goose bumps covered her skin.

      Trapped, except she wasn’t standing in some dark, musty, Gothic manor. This mansion was bright with big windows and gleaming floors. The air smelled fresh, flowery with a hint of citrus. The temperature was cooler than outside. Air-conditioning. That explained the goose bumps.

      Glancing around the foyer, she pressed her lips together to keep her mouth from gaping in awe. To the right, an elaborate wrought-iron chandelier hung over a huge dining table that seated twenty. The living room on the left was filled with expensive furnishings and fancy artwork with huge windows that showed the breathtaking ocean view.

      Eva strode across the gleaming wood floor at a rapid clip, an amazing feat considering the high heels on her shoes. “Don’t dawdle.”

      Megan quickened her pace. She had no idea what was going on. Pretty much if it wasn’t illegal or immoral, she would do what was asked of her. Anything to secure a full-time position.

      Eva glared back. “Don’t talk unless someone addresses you directly.”

      Megan nodded. That suited her fine.

      She followed her boss through glass doors out onto a massive deck overlooking the beach and ocean. A breeze carried the salty scent of the sea. The sky looked like yards of gray flannel spread out to the horizon.

      The patio stretched across the backside of the house and was decorated as nicely as the interior. Seating arrangements had been set up with comfy pillow-covered chairs and chaise longues. One corner had a built-in barbecue and a bar with stools. There was even a hot tub.

      Two men, who she didn’t know, sat at a table. Both wore light-colored short-sleeved shirts, slacks and dark sunglasses even though the sky was overcast.

      Another man and woman, both wearing sunglasses also, stood at the railing. She recognized them from the wardrobe department. The man looked all business in his dark, tailored pants, white long-sleeved dress shirt and multicolored silk tie. The cut and line of the woman’s salmon-pink above-the-knee skirt and cap-sleeved jacket reminded Megan of a designer from Milan she’d written a paper on at college.

      No one acknowledged her presence. Megan wasn’t offended or surprised. Invisible could be her middle name.

      Most people had been calling her “hey, you” or “new intern” since she arrived at the studio on Monday morning. She was, in a word, forgettable. Nothing special, as her late mother continually reminded Megan, whereas her three siblings—Holt, Nate and Jess—defined the word. Megan wondered if their new two half siblings, the Patterson twins, fathered by her dad before he married her mom, were more like Megan’s brothers and sister than her.

      “I finally have the designs.” Eva’s tone made the delay sound like Megan’s fault. “We can get started now.”

      “Hey, you,” a male voice said. “Girl in the pink T-shirt.”

      Megan looked at one of the men sitting at the table. He was handsome in a distinguished-gentleman sort of way. His tan skin and sun-bleached hair made her think he spent a lot of time outside. She guessed he might be the producer who lived here.

      “Go get Adam,” the man said.

      Adam? The blood rushed from Megan’s head. She had no idea who the guy was talking about.

      Eva laughed. “Megan is new in town, Chas. She’s from Texas and my latest intern. One of her former professors is a very close friend of mine who has an eye for raw talent. Emphasis on raw.”

      The man and woman standing at the rail looked at Megan for a nanosecond, then returned to their conversation.

      Megan tried to let it roll off her. The way she used to do back in Larkville.

      Here in Hollywood, she had no choice. Getting your foot in the door was all about connections. A few people managed positions on their own, but it wasn’t easy. Professor Talbott had secured this internship for her. But nothing was guaranteed. She would have to prove her worth or she would find herself back at the ranch before the annual Fall Festival in October. Who was she kidding? She might be home by Fourth of July, or worse, Memorial Day.

      A heavy weight pressed down on her. She struggled not to let her shoulders droop.

      “Texas, huh?” the blond man Eva had called Chas said.

      Megan nodded.

      He gave her the once-over, but with his sunglasses on she couldn’t tell what he thought about her. “Dallas or Austin?”

      “Larkville.”

      “Never heard of it.”

      “You’re not missing anything unless you like pickup trucks, cowboys and the smell of cow manure,” she replied.

      Her comment drew a wide smile full of straight, white teeth. “Sounds like lyrics to a country song.”

      “Megan,” Eva said sharply. “Run down to the water. Tell Adam it’s time for him to join us. That’s Adam Noble, our star actor. I’m sure even a small-town Texas girl like you knows who he is.”

      Megan had seen some of his movies, action-adventure flicks that required him