Page 17 of Anyone But the Superstar

FELIX

‘Let’s head toward the ISS mock-up.’ Em, the public relations manager and, as it turns out, astronaut Luke Bisbee’s wife, leads us farther into building nine.

For a petite woman, she pushes through the crowd in no time. Amanda, Jack and I follow behind, while Ron stops to speak with someone, hugging and clapping their back in greeting as if they haven’t seen each other in a while. He’s soon out of sight as the three of us are swallowed up by the crew.

Practiced smile in place, I nod as I walk, the crowd feeling larger and more imposing as we cut through it. Though I don’t pause to meet anyone’s eyes, I’m aware of the looks, the winks, the head tilts and scrutiny as I go.

It’s something I’ve gotten used to over the years in the business. The curiosity. The lack of privacy. The public’s growing sense of ownership over what would normally be boring, everyday aspects of a non-famous person’s life with every film released.

I accidentally lock eyes with a brunette in a bright halter top and her smile, pulled unnaturally tight, almost makes me wince.Careful to avoid dropping my gaze to her impressive cleavage, I nod in return while I pass.

In my peripheral, I see a crew member elbow another in the side while whispering out of the corner of his mouth, making the other crew member smirk.

Sigh.

This is not Mission Control. These people are not exploring the infiniteness of space. While I may still be on NASA’s grounds, the people in front of me now are pure Hollywood. Their business is show business. Which means they want to be up inmybusiness.

They’ve probably all heard the recent rumors circulating from people theythinkare credible sources. People who’ve worked with me in the past or who have publicly declared me a friend in various interviews and soundbites, whether we’ve met before or not.

It only goes to show that you can’t trust anyone in this business. Because the only ones who know what’s happening are me, Jack, a bunch of lawyers and Camilla Branson.

Hopefully, my PR team, who has specific ordersnotto comment on my dating life, is correct in thinking that by having Jack secure me a role as a funny, romantic leading man, I’ll be able to prove that I’m more than just a set of abs who can dismantle a bomb in thirty seconds. That I have range.

And if Ron, a prolific film director with various accolades to his name, likes what I can do here, he might keep me in mind for his other, more serious films as well. Spread the word to his considerable network of directors and producers with studio contracts that boast both mainstream films and art-house productions.

At the edge of the actual-sized International Space Stationmock-up, a long fold-out table, draped in a black cloth, has been set up, a microphone in front of each of the four chairs.

I’d heard the writer ofCountdown to Love, the novel the screenplay was adapted from, was going to attend the junket as well, but, looking around, I don’t see anyone else stepping forward.

But who I do see has me stumbling over my feet as I pull Amanda’s chair out for her.

‘Whoa.’ Amanda reaches over to help steady me. ‘You all right?’

Bracing against the ISS structure, I jerk my gaze back toward the spot where I thought I saw… no. Instead of two condemning blue eyes, I’m met with the bony chest of an annoyingly tall crew member. Lifting my eyes to his, we frown at each other, both confused for different reasons. Shifting forward, then back, I try and fail to see around him.

Em clears her throat, her eyes superglued to my hand resting on the ISS mock-up.

Taking one last futile look, I drop my hand and shrug sheepishly. ‘Ah, sorry about that.’

Em seems less than impressed with my apology.

Shaking off what must’ve been an anxiety-driven hallucination, I refocus on my co-star. ‘After you.’ I wave Amanda forward with a flash of my million-dollar-contract smile.

Her nostrils flare and I’m almost positive she’s fighting an eye roll.

I may have overdone the smile.

‘Be careful,’ she murmurs before settling in her chair.

‘Don’t worry.’ I ease back on the amount of teeth I’m showing and step over to my chair to her right. ‘It wouldn’t do for someone who does as many stunts as I do to be a klutz.’

‘No.’ Amanda averts her face from the cameras, throwing mea smirk that I’m pretty sure her image consultant would say was anything but the carefully curated girl-next-door look she’s known for. ‘I meant careful where you aim that smile.’ A brow lifts to match the corner of her mouth. ‘I think you might’ve just inadvertently impregnated someone.’

‘For God’s sake, don’t joke about that,’ Jack grumbles, moving behind both of our chairs to stand at my other side, almost like the protective detail he wanted to hire and that I’d nixed. ‘That’s all we need.’ His eyes shift over the gathered reporters. ‘A pregnancy rumor.’

Jack’s expression makes me laugh more than the joke.

‘Sorry, Amanda.’ I sit beside her. ‘I’ll try and keep the smolder under wraps.’

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