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    Dating the Actor: Celebrity Sweet Romance, #1
    Dating the Actor: Celebrity Sweet Romance, #1
    Dating the Actor: Celebrity Sweet Romance, #1
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Dating the Actor: Celebrity Sweet Romance, #1

    By Cindy Ray Hale

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    A Hollywood hottie. A struggling actress. Is what they have real or another one of his games?

    Aleyna McKenzie always dreamed of making it big as an actress, but her auditions haven't gone well, money is running dry, and her car is barely running. When she gets a long-term gig as a stand-in on the network tv show Devastation, she can finally start to pay her bills. But she quickly becomes tired of the film set guys hitting on her, including Carson Peters, the male lead of the show.

    When Carson discovers her with a broken-down car, he offers to give her rides to the set while her car is in the shop. When she can no longer deny the sparks flying between them, Aleyna has to decide if she's willing to risk her heart for a guy with a reputation as a player.

    In the tradition of La La Land, Dating the Actor brings you a mix of heartwrenching sweet romance and a girl fighting for her dreams.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCindy Ray Hale
    Release dateNov 29, 2017
    ISBN9781386064695
    Dating the Actor: Celebrity Sweet Romance, #1
    Author

    Cindy Ray Hale

    Cindy Ray Hale loves writing Young Adult Contemporary Romance and Clean Romance. She was born and raised in the hills of Tennessee and has moved all over the United States. She's finally settled down in a small town in the mountains of western Virginia. Want to be the first to know about a sale or a new release for Cindy's books? Visit www.cindyrayhale.com to join her newsletter or follow @CindyRayHale on Twitter.

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      Book preview

      Dating the Actor - Cindy Ray Hale

      Chapter 1

      Y our card was declined. Do you have another way to pay for this?

      I’m sorry. I forced a polite smile. That can't be right. Can you please give it another try? The pierced-up guy swiped my card again with an arm covered in so many tattoos I could barely find a patch of clear skin.

      Sorry. Still declined. He tapped the card against the counter impatiently.

      Head bent over my wallet, I tucked back long, wavy strands of red hair that kept falling into my line of vision, digging for any stray bills that could be hiding behind my stack of receipts.

      Nothing. Not a single dollar.

      An arm covered in a black leather jacket reached out and slapped a twenty onto the counter. This should cover it, right?

      Relief flooded through me. Thank you so much. I spun around to see who had rescued me. The guy was totally hot. Messy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a devil-may-care grin. You are so awesome for helping out.

      Some of us have places to go, he said, smacking his gum.

      The good feeling diminished. I scowled at him. The tattooed clerk gave him his change.

      I took my food and rushed outside. I held back a curse when my keys jammed in the door. I jerked the door open. I climbed inside, took a long sip of my smoothie, and sighed in bliss. Kale Me Crazy was hands down my favorite juice bar. I pulled up an email on my phone and tapped the link to the address listed there. I set my GPS on its course and pulled out from the terrible parallel parking job I’d done. The GPS led me to a warehouse the studio had rented out. A bright yellow sign labeled audition parking directed me to a parking lot across the street. After I parked, I walked for about five minutes. Before opening the door with the sign labeled Auditions, I smoothed down my hair.

      Hi, I'm here to audition, I said, out of breath.

      Name? a guy asked in a denim shirt.

      Aleyna McKenzie.

      Fill this out and take a seat, the denim shirt guy said in a monotone voice, handing me a sheet of paper.

      My hands shook as I filled out the information. A few minutes later, they called my name, and I scuttled into the room. The director, a bald guy with a stud in one ear stared down at my headshot and resume as I delivered my monologue.

      Without even looking up, the director said in a brusque tone, Thank you for coming. I forced a smile and backed out of the room, holding back tears.

      As I walked back to my car, I pulled out my phone. Hey, Mom.

      Hey! How are you?

      I’ve been better. My audition didn't go well.

      If I’d landed this commercial, it would have paid a thousand dollars—money I desperately needed. For the past year, I'd been searching for real acting work. I'd made ends meet by picking up extras gigs here and there. Surprisingly enough, Atlanta provided enough background work to help me pay my meager bills. But my little red Corolla was on its way out, and who knew how much further my small sporadic paychecks would keep me covered.

      What went wrong? she asked.

      I don’t know. I guess I wasn't feeling it. And I was late. I'm sure that didn't help.

      Maybe it's time to start getting serious about your future. You could come home and go to the community college here in North Carolina.

      Mom, it was just a bad audition. I'll get more auditions, and eventually, I’ll get cast in something and everything will be fine. I didn't believe myself as I said it. I wanted to, but deep down, the doubt swirled in my belly. Maybe I should have just gone straight to California. But Zoey, my best friend since I was five, convinced me to come live with her in Atlanta. She said it was the Hollywood of the South. It was true. Atlanta did offer a lot of auditions, but it still wasn't anything like being in California.

      I drove home. When I got to the house, I parked beside Zoey’s Jetta and jerked open the mailbox. I grabbed the pile of envelopes and sorted through it, grateful when I found a paycheck nestled between two pieces of junk mail. I ripped open the side tabs and opened the paper, peering at the amount.

      $82.94.

      It wasn’t much, but it was better than the $1.82 I was sitting on in my bank account. I swung open the front door and saw Zoey sitting in the middle of the floor with a drop cloth spread around her, painting an end table a sunny yellow.

      I reached up to my cat key rack and hung my keys on the black cat’s tail that curved into the hook. Whatcha up to? I asked.

      Zoey dipped her paintbrush into a can of chalk paint. She loved the stuff because she could pick up old furniture from yard sales and paint right over them without sanding or stripping the varnish. The two-bedroom house her dad bought when she got into Emory University's pre-med program was full of her various projects. The kitchen table was bright red with yellow chairs and seat cushions recovered in red-and-yellow-polka-dotted fabric. Shelves repainted in various chalk paint colors hung on the walls. She painted everything with the stuff. Light fixtures, door knobs, cabinet pulls, vases, picture frames.

      Leaning against the kitchen counter, I ripped out the check, signed it, and snapped a photo of it with the bank app installed on my phone.

      I opened the fridge and pulled out a bundle of kale. I laid out a cutting board and pulled my favorite knife from the wooden block I kept on the counter next to the fridge. I glanced out the window. Oscar, Zoey’s boxer, was chasing a squirrel in our muddy backyard. I grinned. He would be such a mess when we brought him in later tonight. After chopping my kale, I dumped it in the salad spinner and spun the excess water from it. I opened the fridge. Ooh, we have leftover couscous from last night. Zoey had recently introduced me to this Mediterranean restaurant, and we’d become obsessed with it.

      Zoey’s dad was a film executive in Atlanta. Her parents split when she was thirteen, and he’d been distant until lately. When she got into Emory, he reappeared into her life, paid her tuition, and bought her the house. I thought it was a little strange that he didn’t just have her move in with him, but Zoey suspected that it was because he didn’t want to have to explain the lifestyle he’d chosen since he became a film executive. She still held a lot of resentment toward him, but I knew she was grateful for his help. Emory’s tuition was insanely expensive.

      Later that night, Zoey browsed through YouTube on the big TV her dad had hooked us up with, checking out her favorite indie bands. I just found this amazing new band, she said, clicking to the next video on her playlist. They play folk music, but they have a unique sound, almost like rock, but not.

      Sounds cool, I said, propping my computer on my lap and leaning back into a pile of the Disney pillows I’d collected.

      Zoey twirled a tight curl around her finger with a guilty look on her face. I should get back to doing homework. I've been slacking big time tonight. She released the curl, and it sprung into place with the rest of her dark hair.

      You? Slacking? Just because she took a break to paint her end table and

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