Love in the Spotlight

By Dinah Lewis

Love…in the spotlight.

Anna Lainey is a successful author who values her privacy. The last person she would imagine herself dating is a movie star–yet when she meets Benjamin Worthington on the set of a major motion picture, sparks fly–and before she knows it, she's caught up in a very public whirlwind romance.

But when Ben's fans turn against her and begin stalking her, her worst anxieties have come to life. She doesn't want to live without Ben–but she can't live in the spotlight either.

Will Anna put aside her self-doubt, or will she live with the regret of having walked away from love?

 

This was originally published as Limelight by K. Ball and is a re-release.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dinah Lewis
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201423315

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tune in tonight for exclusive pictures from the set of War’s End starring Benjamin Worthington and Abigail Palmer. Also, our own Lacey Stuckless sits down with the movie’s heartthrob to find out what he wants in a woman.

-Entertainment Buzz

Benji is perfect. I’m totally in love with him.

Ben is so lickable. I’d rub my face all over him if I ever met him. That’s why I’m never going to meet him. I’d get arrested.

Benjamin Worthington is the kind of man that will screw you over, but you’ll love every moment of it.

-BenjiBrigade.com forum comments

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Anna sat at the far end of the bar wearing a fancy dress and nice shoes, sipping expensive champagne, and trying very hard not to look miserable. A Joan Jett lookalike belted out nonsensical words from the opposite side of the hotel’s party suite. The lights were too low and the strobe lights too bright. Some jerk had opened the window, preventing the air conditioner from doing its job. Worse, it was letting in the cigarette smoke from outside.

Normally, wearing said fancy dress and nice shoes would have put Anna into a spiffy mood. She’d spent several hundred dollars on her outfit, and nearly as much on her hair and makeup. She wanted to look great for tonight’s wrap party. Instead, she was sitting at the bar alone, contemplating leaving early. To add insult to misery, everyone was reaching over and around her like she was invisible.

Anna tried dismissing her depressing thoughts by pulling out her cell phone and updating her social media:

At the wrap party, celebrating the end of filming...at the West Lane no less! What an amazing ten weeks. Learned so much. Of course, too much of a loser to talk to anyone other than a bottle of vodka. Don’t worry, it’s not talking back yet, so I’m still sober.

Anna rarely drank more than one glass of anything, but she had an online image of a hard-nosed, fast-drinking curmudgeon to maintain. Early in her career, someone important in publishing told her it was a part of being authentic without oversharing; she often wished she’d not listened to him. But, nevertheless, here she was.

The replies came in fast and furious. Her fandom’s response time bordered on the supernatural. She once stayed up all night commenting on a fan-made online forum about her books, something she’d never done before, just as an experiment. Even taking into account her international readers, these folks stayed with her all day and all night in hopes she was there to make a big announcement. It was rather terrifying and humbling...but mostly terrifying.

Still, her fans were pretty much the best people on earth and universally supportive, which meant she sometimes felt like she was lying to them with her persona. She was sitting alone with a glass of champagne, so it wasn’t a total lie.

Their comments to her post were a steady stream of word confetti:

You are so lucky!

I’m so happy for you!

I’m so excited to see the movie!

This couldn’t have happened to a better person!

There was the one detractor:

Get off your ass and go talk to someone, you big loser. Love, your sister.

Anna smiled. Her older sister, Lisa, had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter. Her cell beeped and Anna read the message from Lisa: You haven’t met him yet, have you? Come on! This is your last chance. Do EEETTTT.

Anna ignored the text; she’d just call Lisa in the morning and dish about the party. Lisa would enjoy the stories about the dresses and the drunken director, if nothing else.

Drink more vodka. Slay the dragon.

Anna snorted at the social media update from her one of her editors, Skyla. Skyla firmly believed all First World problems could be solved with vodka, swearing, and killing videogame zombies.

And if Skyla or Lisa were in this exact situation, she’d probably be saying the same things to them. But it was tough sitting there, alone, while the cast and crew of her own movie laughed, flirted, and danced. She wanted to peel herself away from the small space she occupied, but the little voice plagued her. It whispered she was a fraud. When the movie was eventually released, people would hate it. They’d blame her for ruining the careers of some of the hottest names in the business.

The voice always kicked her when finishing up a project, the result of creative exhaustion. She knew it would fade. She reminded herself, and her flute of champagne, that some of this emo mood was because she couldn’t stop comparing herself to the actresses, wannabe actresses, and actors’ girlfriends, all of whom had waists smaller than her left thigh.

At her age, she knew that was silly, that bodies came in all shapes and sizes, and yet she let the world creep into her mental space the previous evening during an anxiety attack. She’d ended up on the internet googling health conditions at one in the morning—which everyone knows causes an anxiety spiral—and ended up on a body-shaming dieting lifestyle-changing website to help her determine an appropriate starvation plan. Which, considering how healthy she was at her last doctor’s checkup, made no damn sense.

Brains are jerks sometimes.

But as embarrassingly silly as all that seemed now in the smoky moody lighting, it wasn’t the number one reason for Anna’s current misery in a room celebrating the most important career achievement of her life. It wasn’t enough that she was having post-project ennui, but she’d also endured months on a movie set and without even properly introducing herself to the celebrity crush of her life.

A gaggle of goddess-women with a mixture of Brit and American accents reached around Anna, shouting at the bartender for more beers, which were quickly handed over in bottles. The ladies smiled at the bartender and sauntered off, never even noticing that they’d dribbled beer foam on Anna’s hand.

Anna sighed and grabbed a paper napkin to dry off her hand, catching sight of a tall, auburn-headed god: Benjamin Worthington.

Anna smirked at herself, all the while looking away to avoid eye contact with Benjamin. The entire scenario played out like a book plot. Small-town author hits the big time, has a movie made, and gets invited to a wrap party in London (England, not Ontario). Sadly, she can’t muster up the courage to introduce herself to Benjamin Worthington, a.k.a. the lead actor and thirty-seven-year-old heartthrob.

The book tagline would be: Will Anna put aside her self-doubt, or will she live with the regret of having walked away from love?

She pulled out her phone and immediately typed that out as a note to herself; that was actually pretty damn good. She could work with that!

She put her cell back into her purse and laughed inwardly. Tag lines and book blurbs were always easier to write when they weren’t for her own, already written, books!

Anna finished off the last of her champagne while playing out an anxiety-inducing array of scenarios for how introducing herself to Benjamin would reduce her to a blubbering puddle of gibberish. She knew that would be the outcome, given it had happened once before.

Anna tried to order another champagne, but the bartender was too busy shaking cocktails and pouring out whisky to notice her. She berated herself for being so freaking self-conscious. She wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl at her first high school dance.

She twisted around to watch some of the crowd dance to the Brit pop songs the band played. There were a hundred people there, give or take. There were plenty of camera folks, make-up artists, and set designers, along with the typical producers, actors, and directors. Plus, media documenting the greatness of Benjamin and Abigail, no doubt.

Anna noticed a young woman off to the side. Emily Rao. She was a newer British actress not yet out of high school, who’d had a small but important role in the movie. Miss Rao’s body language said she wanted far away from the slick, mid-forties man at her table, but didn’t know how to do it.

Anna also noticed the man’s blue neck badge, identifying him as media. He was there to interview people, not harass them. And, as Anna watched, he was harassing this teenager.

Anna made the decision to grab her own empty glass and march over to the table. She put on a big smile, held out her hand, and asked in a loud voice, Miss Rao, right?

Yes? she replied in a somewhat desperate voice. "Oh, Ms. Lainey! I didn’t recognize you. It is Ms. Lainey, isn’t it?"

Anna’s smile grew as the vulture’s frown widened. That’s me. I’ve hoped to meet you properly before now, but hadn’t had the opportunity. She gave the man a glance before asking, If you have a moment, I’d love to chat.

We’re kinda in the middle of an interview.

I’d love to, Emily whispered with a look of gratitude.

Anna put her glass down on the table and grabbed an empty chair for herself. Wonderful. Is that all, sir?

Bitch, he muttered, grabbing his glass of amber whatever before storming off.

I’ve been called worse, Anna said. She ignored her heart’s pounding rhythm in her ears. I apologize for butting in, but you looked like he wasn’t letting you leave.

He kept grabbing my wrist, trying to make me stay, Emily whispered as best as possible with all of the music.

Anna nodded and flagged down a waitress. She ordered two more drinks.  Emily was drinking sparkling water with lime and lemon juice and Anna ordered a second champagne for herself.

The ladies talked for a bit. Emily said she was terrified the man was trying to get her drunk or worse—he kept asking to order her something stronger.

But you were trying not to be rude, right? Anna asked with great sympathy. She remembered being young.

Some of the other girls, like from the crew, they warned me about him weeks ago. But I didn’t know how to get out of it. I was just trying not to be rude, because, you know, this is my first real film role and... She turned ashen. Thank you, Ms. Lainey.

Anna, please. And it’s Emily, right?

Emily nodded, her dark eyes now brimming with tears.

Well, Emily, how about you stick with me as long as you need tonight? Or I can take a cab with you and make sure you get home safe.

No, I want to stay. It’s just hard being shy in a place like this.

The waitress arrived with their drinks and Anna accepted hers. I thought you’d been in other movies.

I’ve been in commercials and tiny roles on the telly. I didn’t even speak for some of them. Oh, and I did a couple of plays, too, but nothing like the National Theatre or anything. Nothing like this. This is huge, so I need to stay. And I didn’t want to upset that slimeball, which I know, I know. She laughed.

Anna remembered all too well being a young woman desperately wanting to fit in. Then again, she was the one sitting in a corner all night, so perhaps she’d never completely grown out of the awkward phase.

Emily made a comment about Benjamin, or Ben as she called him, and Anna laughed. I need a dozen of these to work up the courage to introduce myself to Benjamin tonight.

A puzzled look flashed across Emily’s face. Aren’t you the producer? And the writer? And the whole reason this movie exists?

Anna made a so-so gesture. Well, sure, I wrote the book and the original screenplay, but then the deal fell through. That’s why I did the crowdsourcing for the movie. I pitched in the cash to get it off the ground, but others put in the big money to get this filmed. Then the people with real skill took over.

"I loved the book," Emily said with a small amount of gushing in her voice.

Thank you, Anna said self-consciously. War’s End was the book that had catapulted her from eating ramen noodles and frozen peas to hiring a personal assistant and having investments and retirement money. She was incredibly humbled to have had it all happen, and she was still recovering from the shock of it all. So much so that she was still calculating the price of her groceries whenever she went out, as if she needed to worry now.

Childhood poverty was trauma, and it changed a person for life. Or, at least it had changed her.

Anna sipped at her drink. It tasted a little off, like her glass still had a previous, different drink it. She took another sip. Maybe it was her imagination. Aren’t you a little young to be reading my books?

I turn eighteen in two weeks!

The women laughed at that, and the conversation turned to acting and writing, and Anna thoroughly enjoyed getting to know this brilliant young woman. Emily felt she needed to return the favour, as it were, and insisted she fetch Benjamin Worthington so that Anna could, finally, meet her daydream man. Emily slipped out of the chair and stalked off into the darkness of the dance floor, despite Anna’s protestations.

Benjamin wasn’t really her dream man; she didn’t even know him. Very technically, they had met before, exchanging greetings while using the cream and sugar in their teas. She’d smiled at him; he’d introduced himself as Ben. She’d introduced herself as Anna, an intern writer, and wandered off with the cream and sugar while sweat soaked her clothes.

Suave smoothness was not Anna’s best skill.

Emily didn’t return immediately with the dashing actor, so Anna sipped some more drink before deciding that a half-flute of salty champagne was enough for anyone. She looked around, feeling significantly less self-conscious after spending the time chatting with Emily.

A few minutes later, Anna’s eyes grew heavy and a headache began to form behind her eyes. She gave her head a shake as her vision blurred. Lord, she was getting old. Not even two glasses of champagne and she was...

Where was she again? Right, at the party. Why was the room spinning?

Her eyes darted around. Where was...what was her name? Emily. Right, where was Emily? The pop music faded into the background and the room tilted on its axis. Why was she so sleepy?

***

Ben Worthington liked Emily in that baby sister way, so he was happy to follow her to meet a shy crew member. In fact, Emily was about the same age as his little sister, so her enthusiasm made him feel at home. He was even happier to escape the inane chatter of the group he’d ended up with; he liked a good pair of shoes as much as the next man, but there was only so much depth that topic offered. And he was too tired and too old to be interested in barely-twenty-year-olds flirting with him.

Emily’s rescue couldn’t have been better timed. He felt the group’s eyes on him as he left and overheard the sloshed one’s tones of offended disgust. He didn’t care that they felt snubbed; Emily was a talented actress and he’d enjoyed working with her. He was happy to do her a favour.

He followed Emily, struggling to hear what she was saying over the atrocious music. The art director’s cousin was the guitarist in the band and he was dreadful. A few more steps and they were past the blasted speakers, where they could hear themselves yell.

Who did you say I was meeting?

Anna Lainey! Emily shouted, a big grin on her face.

The author?

And screenplay writer! And executive producer! Emily shouted, the grin not fading. She’s a huge fan of yours.

She’s here? Why on earth didn’t anyone tell me?

Emily stopped long enough to cross her arms. "She’s been on set for almost the entire shoot! How could you not know this?"

I don’t know everyone on set, Ben said defensively. Why wasn’t she taken around?

Emily rolled her eyes at him and ordered, Come on.

Ben obeyed and followed. Some woman in a green dress was drooling on a side table near the bar. He didn’t recognize her, but her dark hair obscured part of her face. Emily apparently knew the woman and hurried over to shake her, speaking too low for Ben to hear.

When Emily moved the woman’s hair back, he recognized her. Oh, I’ve seen her before on set. Who is she? When Emily didn’t answer, he observed, She’s pretty drunk.

Emily whirled on him and growled, She’s not drunk. She went back to shaking the woman. Anna? Anna, what happened?

The woman managed to turn her head enough to look at Emily through glassy eyes. Mascara streaked her face and her arm hung limply from the table. A puddle of drool soaked through the sleeve of her dress, leaving a dark spot in the shiny green fabric. Could this Anna be the author? He’d been a fan of Anna Lainey’s work for a long time and a pang of disappointment filled him. He could see that she was unable to meet focus or even lift her head. Unintelligible groans escaped her.

Emily looked up at Ben and said, I think she’s been drugged.

She’s on drugs?

No, Ben. I think she’s been drugged.  She eyed the new champagne glass Anna had gotten. I think something was slipped into her drink.

Now concerned, Ben bent down next to Anna’s collapsed body and felt for her pulse. Slow. Way too slow, in fact. I think you’re right.

Of course, I’m right, Emily snapped back. We have to get her somewhere safe.

Don’t you have a room in the hotel?

She shook her head. I still live with my parents!

I’ve got a room here, but... Ben winced; he didn’t want his aunts to see photos of him dragging a drugged woman to his hotel room. Then an idea came to him. Get Abby and Geoff. Tell them it’s an emergency. I’ll stay with her.

Emily nodded and disappeared into the darkness. Ben pulled up a vacant chair and sat guarding Anna. Hopefully, Abby and Geoff would be able to help. They were a married couple; people generally didn’t suspect married couples of drugging strange women.

He put a hand on Anna’s shoulder and spoke into her ear, hoping she could hear him above the throbbing music. Anna? I’m Ben. We’re going to look after you, okay?

Anna moaned.

You’re quite safe. We think someone slipped something into your drink, that’s all. You’ll be fine.

Several more guttural sounds escaped Anna. He squeezed her hand. He tried not to think about the reporters in the room, seeing him with this woman. He didn’t know her from Eve, but that didn’t mean he should leave her to the sharks.

Moments later, his co-star Abby Palmer and her husband Geoff Martin arrived, Emily in tow.

Abby crouched down and asked, Should we take her to our room?

We’re in the Wellington suite, Geoff added. It’s got a spare bedroom.

Ben nodded. He and Geoff carefully wrapped their arms around Anna’s limp form.

Emily, you find the nearest lift, Abby instructed. I’ll make sure it’s clear.

The women split up and the men carefully exited with Anna, trying to be as nonchalant as possible while escorting a drugged author from a party. Emily found the lift and Abby called that the coast was clear. They were lucky with the lift being empty and waiting; they all climbed in.

Who is she? Geoff asked as they carried her down the corridor.

Anna Lainey, the author, Abby answered.

Geoff glanced at his wife and said, Oh my God.

His wife nodded. Oh, yeah.

Bugger, Geoff mused.

Indeed, Ben said.

Abby stuck her head around the corner of the corridor. It was a photo the tabloids would sell their grandmothers for, and Ben didn’t want to end up gracing some rag’s cover the following morning.

He also couldn’t not help.

Once inside the suite, they eased Anna into one of the bedrooms.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck and asked, Now what?

Chapter 2

He has it all: brains, looks, and talent. But what does Benjamin Worthington fear most? Find out tomorrow morning when we talk with Benjamin here on the Morning Latte.

-Morning Latte

I saw #BenjaminWorthington last night outside of the West Lane Hotel! Delicious.

Photos of #BenjaminWorthington going into the West Lane. Wow! Wanted to rip his clothes off!

Poor #BenjaminWorthington going into the West Lane alone. Take me! My body is yours!

#BenjaminWorthington always looks ridiculous. Dude, get a stylist!

DON’T BADMOUTH MY BENJI YOU LOSER!!!!!!!!!!!! #BenjaminWorthington

Shut up you stupid fangirl bitch!

-Twitter

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Disorientation flooded Anna’s senses before the waves of nausea hit. Several gasping dry heaves escaped her before she managed to take in her surroundings. Cream walls with elaborate wainscoting. Stucco ceiling. A giant bed. She looked down to discover that she was in a man’s white dress shirt and just her underwear.

Where the hell was she? Whose clothes was she wearing? And what had happened to her?

Panic sledgehammered Anna’s senses. She closed her eyes and tried to talk herself down. Her heart pounded, which