Page 42 of Anyone But the Superstar

I’ve already shown the certificate to both the security guard at NASA’s front gate and to the appropriately horrified public relations personnel who had the awesome job of escorting me into the security badge entry only building this morning. I was sure that, after staring at me and Mikey’s sweaty, wrinkled face peeking out from the baby carrier like I was Sigourney Weaver inAlien, they would’ve marched straight off to tell Em all about me and my alien-looking cat.

But it seems not.

As Em has walked me to and from buildings with more regularity than anyone else from public relations since I started my storyboarding internship, I’ve begun to think of her as more of a friend than security protocol. But that doesn’t mean I want to take advantage of her any more than I already have with the condo.

However, ignoring my outstretched hand holding the certificate, Em circles around my chair to sit next to Mike. ‘Hey there, little guy.’

I brace for Mike’s retaliation from Em’s earlier skepticism but relax when he allows her to scratch behind his ears without baring teeth or claws.

Either Mikey is mellowing in his old age, or the rhinestone brooch pinned to Em’s button-down blouse is enough to hypnotize him from retribution.

My money’s on the latter. That, and residual heat exhaustion.

‘I have three cats.’ Em’s fingertips rub down Mike’s back. ‘But I’ve never petted a sphinx before.’

With Mike properly engrossed and my sketch done (after one tap of the undo button from my startled stylus mark), I lean back and close my eyes. ‘Have at it.’

Another buzz.

For a Hollywood superstar, the man has too much time on his hands.

If it weren’t for his extreme cat aversion, I’d leave Mike with him tomorrow just to keep him on his toes and off his phone.

And me with a muchlightercommute.

While I wouldn’t have called the last few days’ walks to NASApleasant thanks to the heat and the weight of my work tablet in my bag, I never dreaded the walk back as much as I am today.

Another buzz.

‘You going to get that?’

‘Hmmm?’ Jarred from my thoughts, I open my eyes.

Em’s head is tilted in the direction of my phone, laying on the seat next to Mike. ‘JD really seems like he needs to know your thoughts onpolvo guisado.’

My face heats in the frigid room. ‘Oh, ah, yeah.’ I grab my phone, thankful I used Johnny Douchebag’s initials rather than his real name when he asked to exchange numbers this morning.

I agreed because he made a good case about needing it if there was an emergency. But when I open my phone and read over the eleven new text messages, I’m thinking maybe I should lay some ground rules on what constitutes an emergency.

For now, I tap,polvo guisado is fine, into my phone and turn off my notifications.

Honestly, I haven’t a clue whatpolvo guisadois. But as it’s something that I don’t have to cook, I’m sure it’s great.

I wish I could say that after a year of being on my own, I’ve become self-sufficient in all areas, but after multiple attempts, fires, knife nicks and upset stomachs, I feel it best to play to my strengths bynotcooking.

So while boring, I have made do with simple, pre-packaged things—fruits, vegetables, yogurt, hummus, etc.

Growing up as Stanley Winston Moore’s daughter had certain privileges. Unlimited access to Moore’s retail, an on-call chauffeur, home gym and the best art supplies money could buy.

And yet, besides my mother and brothers, the thing I miss the most, even over free clothes and a bottomless bank account, is the family’s personal chef.

Before I can click my phone off, Felix sends me a link to arecipe. Tapping it, I’m taken to a website where a woman in a blue, ruffled apron stands holding a bowl and a whisk.

I snort a laugh, imagining Felix in the apron instead. My smile falls as my mind goes into the gutter, my image of him evolving into him wearingonlythe blue frilly apron.

‘You okay?’

‘Hmmm?’ I click the side of the phone, blacking out the screen and the NSFW picture in my head. ‘Ah, yes.’ Deciding to take my chances in the heat, I start collecting my things.

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