Page 3 of Cut The Cake

Chapter Two

Jennifer Longley pressed the key on the intercom. “Kay, the car will be here any minute. Are you almost ready? You know how the director hates it when you’re late.”

No answer.

She didn’t leave while I was getting coffee, did she?

Jenny lowered her mug to a coaster on one corner of her desk. Two quick steps took her to the doorway of her alcove office in the Beverly Hills mansion. Beyond the sleek leather couches and rich Oriental carpets, a rosewood-and-gilt table stood by the front door. Perched atop the glossy surface, Kay’s shoulder bag was exactly where Jenny had placed it fifteen minutes ago, filled to overflowing with every conceivable item one of Hollywood’s hottest stars might need over the course of a day’s shooting. The script, complete with highlights so Kay could study her lines during the hour-long commute to the set. A pair of designer sunglasses immediately available in the side pocket. A dozen copies of the star’s latest headshot, exactly six felt-tip pens, and her signature pink sequined flip-flops to slip on the instant a pair of pricey shoes with four-inch heels pinched her precious toes. Check, check, and double-check.

Confident that everything was exactly as it should be, Jenny nodded. All she needed now was the star herself. As far as she knew, Kay had yet to emerge from the master suite. When she did, she’d most likely breeze through the house, slip the strap of the trendy bag over one arm, shove the sunglasses over sparkling blue eyes, and step from the air-conditioned luxury of her house into the town car that idled not five feet from her front door.

First Jenny had to discover the reason for today’s delay and fix it.

“Karolyn, are you feeling all right?” Patting her pockets for the supply of over-the-counter medications she kept on hand, she trotted down the hall. Though head and stomach aches didn’t plague the star often, Jenny prided herself on being prepared for every crisis, no matter how big or small.

When there was no answer to her knock, she pushed the door to the master suite ajar. The rumpled bedcovers on the king-sized bed had been pushed aside, and Jenny breathed a relieved sigh. America’s leading lady had rolled out of bed on time, at least. Jenny’s bare feet sank into the deep-pile carpet as she padded toward the dressing area, where she sometimes found Kay standing in the immense closet, fretting over which of the hundreds of options she should wear. But the closet, like the spacious bathroom beyond it, stood empty.

Jenny’s brows knit. Where to next? Heading back the way she’d come, she eyed doors that opened onto the theater and a library, the hallway that led to the servants’ quarters. The house was too large for a room-to-room search. She tugged her cell phone from a back pocket and punched a few keys.

Where R U?

Kitchen.

Jenny’s lips thinned at the immediate reply. What on Earth for? She stifled a laugh at the thought of the thin brunette scarfing down eggs and bacon, or the utterly improbable pancake. The newly hatched chicks on her aunt’s farm enjoyed a heartier breakfast. In the two years she’d worked as Kay’s assistant, she’d never known the mega-star to down more than a cup of coffee before leaving for the studio.

Cutting through the immense living room, with its two-story glass walls overlooking an Olympic-sized pool, lush gardens, and guest house beyond, Jenny skidded into the kitchen on bare feet. She hastily skimmed over built-in appliances cleverly hidden behind white panels, the acre of pale gray granite that stretched into the distance, the breakfast nook that offered comfortable seating for up to a dozen. Her focus landed on the woman who’d pulled a bar stool up to the center island. Cool and calm, Kay sat there, munching on a slice of toast as if fixing her own food was an everyday occurrence.

The butter dish and a pot of imported jelly she must have pulled from the massive Sub-Zero refrigerator lay among the crumbs scattered across the countertop, along with several loose papers. Steam rose from a pot of water on the stove. Damp leaves spilled from a discarded tea strainer near a heavy white mug. The comfort food stirred memories of the tea and toast Jenny’s aunt used to fix for her when she was little and had an upset stomach. An awful flu bug had been making the rounds, but Kay, like most of the celebrities Jenny knew, carried an industrial-sized bottle of hand sanitizer with her wherever she went, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. Was she feeling the effects of a late night out with her leading man and current beau?

“Are you okay? You aren’t sick or anything, are you?” Jenny searched flawless skin for a touch of green or any symptom of a queasy stomach.

“Nope. I’m right as rain. Better, even.” Her hair swept back in a sleek ponytail, America’s reigning movie queen calmly spooned another dollop of jam onto her toast. She held out an uneaten slice. “Want to share?”

Jenny fought past an urge to stare. Because the cameras added at least ten pounds to even the tiniest figures, studios insisted on having weights and measurement clauses written into multimillion-dollar contracts. Which explained why Kay counted every calorie and carb that passed through her lips and why she insisted on only eating farm-to-table produce supplemented by certified organic meats and cheeses. She certainly didn’t eat starches and never, ever something concocted out of white flour, drenched in butter and slathered in jelly.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Karolyn Karter?” Jenny gasped.

The dark-haired beauty looked over her shoulder. “I think she’s left the building. The only person I’ve seen this morning besides you is the future Mrs. Chad Grant.” Kay tapped her ring finger against her mug of tea.

“You and Chad are getting married?” Jenny’s voice scaled the register at the exciting news. In the same breath, she told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. Thanks to the reporters who tracked Kay’s every move, everyone in Hollywood knew it had been love at first sight when the co-stars had met for the first time on the set of Two Hearts on the Run, their current blockbuster-in-the-making.

Dashing forward, Jenny snatched the other woman’s hand and held it up. A brilliant-cut diamond sparkled in the ray of sunlight that streamed through a plate-glass window overlooking the pool. She peered more closely at the elegantly worked metal around a rock the size of a hen’s egg. “Are there two bands?”

Nodding, Kay beamed. “Chad had the jeweler line the platinum setting with rose gold. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” She sighed. “He knows me so well.”

In the scant six weeks since shooting had started, how had Karolyn and Chad gotten to know each other well enough to fall in love, much less get engaged?

Jenny ran her fingers through her hair and gave a strand a tug. This wasn’t the time or the place to raise questions. Or to point out that marriage and family weren’t in the plan Kay had laid out for her life. The one that called for adding two more Oscars to the collection in the den before the star allowed herself a serious relationship or to start thinking about white picket fences and babies. Adjusting the plan could wait. This was the time for congratulations.

“I’m so happy for you!” Leaning down, she gave Kay a fierce hug, all the while taking care not to brush her cheek against the plain white T-shirt that had probably cost more than her own salary for a week. She stole a quick glance at the kitchen clock over the star’s shoulder. “I want to hear every detail. Where did he pop the question? Was it romantic? Were you surprised? First, though, we need to get you to the studio. You can’t be late, not even on the first day of your engagement.”

“Relax.” Kay took a dainty bite of her toast. “I have the morning off. Guzman texted to say they were working on a problem with the lighting and wouldn’t be ready to shoot the next scene till after lunch.”

Jenny drew in a relieved breath. She and Kay might both be brunettes and, without heels, they each stood precisely five feet, two inches tall, but the similarities ended there. Her own dark brown eyes were far less commanding, her shape a touch rounder, her features more girl-next-door than Kay’s. Sitting in the kitchen with slicked-back hair and without a speck of makeup, her boss was easily one of the most beautiful women in the world. Heads turned whenever she walked into a room. But without her standard two hours of hair and makeup at the studio, Kay would look like a pale and sickly image of herself beneath the hot camera lights. With the schedule pushed back, they had at least an hour before Kay needed to head across town.

Sliding onto an empty seat, Jenny cupped her chin in her hands. “Tell me everything,” she gushed.

“It was magical. We drove down to Santa Monica. Chad had reserved my favorite booth in the back of La Bonne Chance. Louis, the maître d’, is so good to us there. He always makes sure we’re left alone.”

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