Page 22 of Anyone But the Superstar

With an ebullience I do not feel, I smile and wave back. ‘Be right there!’ Keeping my smile in place, I look back at Em. ‘Uh, you were saying about the cost of the place nearby?’

‘Hmmm.’ Her voice sounds as unimpressed as it did earlier, but her eyes seem to be holding back a smile. ‘The cost is one sequined cat t-shirt.’

My surprised laugh bursts forth unexpectedly, echoing around the large building.

‘Seriously?’ I continue to chuckle, my amusement helping to release the long-held tension from the day. ‘I’ll get you ten t-shirts, if you want.’

At my surprised, genuine reaction, Em lets loose the smile. ‘Just one will do.’ She hands me a key connected to a cow keychain. ‘Lizzanne.’

7

FELIX

‘I think you’re starting to imagine things.’ Jack pushes past me and into the five-star luxury hotel suite the studio provided that I’ve been calling home these past five days. ‘Are yousureyou saw your one-night stand at the press conference?’

For the hundredth time, I think back to the press junket day, clearly remembering Anne’s blonde ponytail resting on the shoulder of her shiny, hairless cat t-shirt. ‘Yes. She was definitely there.’

Jack, in shorts and a t-shirt rather than his usual power-suit, sits on one of the suite’s chairs with a sigh. ‘I have run through all the journalists invited to the event, scoured all crew contractsanddouble-checked with payroll and there isno onenamed Anne listed anywhere.’

For the past few days, I’ve remained holed up in the hotel, waiting. Waiting for the picture Anne took to fly through the tabloids. Waiting for Ron to release the film schedule so I can begin work. Waiting for Camilla Branson to spew more gossip that I’m unable to contradict.

I’m someone known for his action, I’ve had enough waiting.

Grabbing my key card off the coffee table, I mentally prepare myself to burn off my frustration in the hotel gym.

Jack, instead of standing to join, leans back his seat. ‘Therewasan Annabelle.’

Surprised, the card falls from my fingers. ‘And?’

‘And unless you have a geriatric kink I am unaware of—’ Jack smirks, looking a lot less LA and a lot more like the high school lacrosse player I remember from our lives pre-Hollywood ‘—I’m pretty sure Miss Bell, as the lovely sixty-eight-year-old catering chef goes by, isnotour photo-taking culprit.’

Snagging the key card off the carpet, I flip Jack off with my other hand. Instantly, I’m reminded of Anne and her fuck-you nose scratch. ‘She was there. I did not imagine it.’

‘I believe you.’ He sits forward. ‘And we’ll find her and take care of it, just like we’ll take care of everything else. Just try and be patient.’

I scoff, and Jack joins me, both of us knowing that patience is not my strong suit.

Pushing off his knees, Jack stands with a groan. ‘Go easy on me today, will you? I have to fly back to Los Angeles in a few hours and deal with those other problems.’

I pocket the key card, my body near vibrating from restless built-up energy. ‘I make no promises.’

‘Great. Thanks.’ He grabs two water bottles from the mini fridge. ‘Do me a favor?’ He tosses me a bottle. ‘No more women while I’m in LA.’

I press my hand over my heart. ‘That, I can promise.’

Shaking his head, he moves past me, opening the heavy door. ‘You better.’ He checks to make sure the corridor is clear before waving me through. ‘Your lawyers are busy enough as it is.’

I head toward the stairwell, wanting to avoid any potential interactions with fans in the elevator. ‘What’s the latest from them, anyway?’

‘Not much, which is why I’m heading to LA.’ His curse is masked by my hard shove of the stairwell door. ‘I’m hoping to light a match under their asses by showing up in person.’

We both pad down the stairs in grim silence, our sneakers hitting the cement stairs at a fast clip.

Jack isn’t going to like the workout that’s rapidly developing in my head any better than any of the others I’ve tortured him with this week. With my main concern still unresolved, the fact that Anne remains unaccounted for has me wanting to go all out. Especially because, when I’m honest with myself, with every day the picture isn’t published, my frustration stems more from wanting to simply talk to her again, rather than negotiate an NDA.

Disgusted with myself, I decide to sweat out my insanity with the Skills of Strength workout my trainer put me through for my airplane crash survivalist movie last year.

Jack will love that.

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