Page 27 of Anyone But the Superstar

Chase leans in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Love you, Lizzie.’

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me with Mike Hunt.

8

FELIX

‘There’s a twenty-four-hour doorman and underground parking.’ Jack stabs at the elevator button and glances at his watch.

After escaping through the hotel’s service entrance to avoid any of the fans who had either snuck in or checked-in to the hotel to meet me, Jack had the limo take us back into the NASA area, where, in the midst of parks, neighborhoods and small commercial buildings, stood a thirteen-floor condo high-rise built on the shore of Clear Lake, looking like the answer to one of those ‘what doesn’t belong’ puzzles.

‘With Amanda still at the hotel, along with its ineffectual security, everyone will still think you’re in Houston.’ Jack fidgets in his sneakers, probably unused to being caught in public in anything less than a power tie. ‘We’re taking a gamble, but I’m pretty sure the press and your fans won’t find you here.’ He reaches out and tugs down the brim of my ball cap. ‘But keep your head down just in case.’

Blinded, as he’s lowered the brim over my eyes, I lift it back up. ‘You’re going to miss your flight.’ I don’t touch on the gamble we’re taking.

I’ve been lucky thus far in my career that security’s only been needed for events or crowd control. I’ve never felt threatened or unsafe in my own home or on location as long as I kept my head down. But today’s ambush was different. With Camilla ramping up her lies about our relationship, and me not being able to publicly deny or confirm them, the fans and paparazzi are more rabid for my attention than usual.

Jack pulls out his phone, checking his Candy Crush score. He wanted to hire a bodyguard at the least, but I thought that would be like pointing a neon arrow to my location.

‘I’ll be fine.’

The elevator door dings.

Jack scoffs, the sound full of both sarcasm and rebuke, neither of which I can take offense to considering the latest turn of events.

‘Seriously.’ Dropping my hands on his shoulders, I lean in so we’re eye to eye. ‘Get out of here.’

‘Fine.’ He shrugs out from under my hands. ‘I’ll go once you’re in the elevator.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

We both pause at my inadvertent reminder as to why it’s so important for him to get back to LA. Especially now that Camilla’s lies have escalated rather than stopped as I hoped and she promised.

He plays the moment off by rolling his eyes, but Jack still waits until I’m inside the elevator and waving him goodbye before pocketing his phone and turning to leave.

As the floor numbers climb, I pull out my own phone to check the date.

Mom’s scheduled to call tomorrow. And when she calls, I need to make sure she doesn’t clue in to what’s been going on.

I’m not sure if it’s a Portuguese thing, or a woman thing, butSofia Maria Santos-Jones has a hefty amount of determination and pride. The combination is both a strength and weakness. They helped her prove the naysayers wrong when, after Dad died, no one thought the daughter of Portuguese immigrants who spoke English as her second language would be able to raise a son on her own. But it is also why she has lived her life never asking for handouts or help, even when she really needed it.

And then, after years of sacrifices and support on her part, when it should’ve been my turn to take care of her, I failed.

Never again. I’ve got three weeks until she’s scheduled to finish treatment at the exclusive facility I checked her into. Three weeks to make sure my mother comes home to nothing but rest and relaxation rather than drama and gossip.

I do the California to Texas time change in my head and double-check the shooting schedule on my phone, making sure I’ll be available when she calls. Satisfied that I will be, I pocket my phone and pull out the key our recent astronaut escort Vance Bodaway had left for us with the concierge.

The elevator doors open, and I step out into a soft gray hallway lined every twenty feet or so with doors. I follow it down until it starts to curve, finding the condo number Jack gave me. Jack did some quick-thinking by calling Vance while I signed autographs for the trespassing fans. We lucked out that Vance had a friend in outer space with a vacant condo near NASA I could use.

Opening the condo door, I’m pleasantly surprised by the large, open-concept space. Floor-to-ceiling windows to my left where the living room is, a wall of cabinets to my right with a decent-sized island and counter stools make up the kitchen, and beyond that, a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms.

Catching sight of the lake view, I drop my bag by the door and head over to the window.

Focused on the stream of sunshine hitting my face, I don’t notice the obstacle underfoot until it’s too late. Foot caught under the surprisingly hefty weight of a beige sack, I stumble forward, my curse drowned out by an ear-piercing yowl, followed by the thud of my palms and face smacking against the window. There’s only a second’s pause before gravity wins and my face squeak-slides downward against the glass, stopping only when my ass hits the floor.

Caralho.

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