Page 1 of Faking the Shot

CHAPTER1

Vancouver, Canada

Beyond 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,finallyfall 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 inAs The Heart Draws. You’re like my favorite characterever! 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 fromVancouver Tonight.

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