The Accidental TV Star (7 page)

Garrett banged the side of his fist on the steering wheel in excitement. “I have a grill.”

We got back and I wasted no time throwing together a spinach salad with feta, walnut, and strawberries while Garrett hovered near the bar drinking a glass of fizzy water. He swiped the screen on his cell phone and his voicemails started. A female Scottish voice came on. “Garrett, dear, your mum’s been trying to reach you. You haven’t confirmed—” Garrett stopped the message before it finished.

Shocker, a man avoiding his responsibility. I wanted to ask for details, but didn’t think I should, given the hunted expression on Garrett’s face. He paced a few steps, took another swig of his sparkling water, then opened the nearest kitchen cabinet, and stared inside. “New plates in the cupboard. I found them at breakfast.” His eyes closed. “Without that casserole, I wouldn’t have made it through the shoot. They’d have had to call in a stunt double and hook me up to an IV.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Garrett snagged two plates and took the salad bowl from me. “Come on.”

I didn’t think chefs usually ate with the people they cooked for, but California was different. I grabbed the steaks from the fridge, a bottle of lemonade, utensils, and followed him out. Stepping from the house to the June air was always a shock back home: intense high temperatures, sticky muggy heat, flat landscape. Here, little difference existed between the interior and exterior temperatures. If anything the air had a nip to it. Garrett probably had to heat his pool. In June. And the view of the city lights was stunning.

“Careful for the edge there,” Garrett said, as I walked by the pool. His eyes were more on the steaks than me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go anywhere near the edge. I can’t swim.”

Garrett frowned and lit the grill. “That’s not good.”

I placed the platter on the fold out arm and nudged him aside. “I’ll learn one day.” I tossed the steaks on, and the beef sizzled, a happy celebratory sound.

“In Scotland, they throw the wee bairns straight into Loch Ness. Unless you can outrun Nessie, you’re no Scot.”

“I think I’ll stick with the shallow end of a heated pool.”

“Weak.” Garrett glanced at the clear sparking waters. “There’s no danger there to make you stronger.”

“Whatever. Tell me more about Scotland.”

Garrett went on about mountains and lochs and mythical beasts in increasingly wild stories. When the food was done, we sat at the small table by the pool and he grew quiet. He took one bite and groaned. “Brilliant.”

I smiled. “It’s the marinade.”

He looked at me with shining light green eyes and finished his steak in the time it took me to eat half of mine. I was full though so I reached for his plate. “Next time, I’ll make you one and a half and we’ll come out less wasteful.”

“You’re not going to eat that?” He sounded surprised. “It’s sublime. If the Gods, old and new, came down from heaven and demanded a meal—”

I put my plate in front of him and he went to work on it, the same way my brothers leapt on candy. Two bites in, his cell phone went off. He seemed torn as he glanced between the phone and his plate. After another quick bite, he hit the answer key. “Aye?” He listened a moment. “We’re round back.” He clicked off and not a minute later two guys jumped the fence: a lean guy with spiky dark hair, and Max from the studio. Both were good-looking but in totally different bad boy ways.

Garrett leaned back and gestured with his fork toward the drive. “Did you ditch your bodyguards again?”

The spiky-haired guy made the motion of a dunk shot. “You know it. We’ll have to hope my crazed stalker fans took the night off.”

Max grunted.

“We’ll try to keep your adoring hordes off you,” Garrett said.

I passed the new arrivals, carrying my plate and the salad bowl. The spiky-haired guy grabbed my arm, bringing me to a halt. I tried to pull free, but without dropping something or jerking backwards into the pool, I had nowhere to go.

Up close, I recognized him immediately. Sax Grayson. His number one hits had showed up on Billboard charts for the last two years. Love for him ruled the junior high and intermediate school. Anytime I picked up my little brothers, I heard his hits over and over again. Sax’s grip tightened, and I was too pissed at the gesture to be awed by the teen rock sensation. “Let go.” I tilted my head back and stared at him so he’d know I wasn’t impressed. This close, I could see his electric blue eyes were contacts. “Seriously. Let go, One Direction.” That wasn’t his band, but I liked them and could sing lines from their songs if I needed to annoy him further. I began a low hum of one of the more memorable intros, one that had the power to stick inside your head for hours.

Max laughed.

Sax threw his head back and laughed too, his eyes glinting with a wild light. “You coming out with us tonight?”

The rock star didn’t appear offended by the boy band reference, which made some of my annoyance drop away. “Nope.” Yesterday I would have said
yes
. Party with a movie star, a rock star, and an action star—let’s go. But today, I had too much to lose. By having this summer job, I was able to stay in LA and work with my idol Sara Sims. Even after I got kicked off, I could still help out as a kitchen-hand. I wasn’t screwing that up by saying or doing the wrong thing and getting fired. No one was messing with my plan, even me.

“Hands off my chef,” Garrett said and forked another bite of steak into his mouth.

Max looked me over, more
threat assessment
than
bra-size check
. He could pass for a body guard. “I’m Max.”

“Hi. I saw you at the studio the other day. I’m Marissa.”

“I’m Sax,” the guy holding me said.

I backed up a step, which took me too close to the pool for my liking, but I didn’t want the spoiled musician to gain the upper hand while I tried to shake him off.

Sax said, “Man, you’re seriously hot. You should really go out with us.”

Garrett came over at Sax’s continued persistence and pulled my arm free. “Marissa has better stuff to do than hang out with the likes of you.”

Sax’s eyes sparked. “Let’s go find women with lower standards then.”

“Much lower,” Garrett said. They continued insulting each other on their way into the house. I circled back to get Garrett’s plate and followed them. Max had clicked on the TV and was flipping through the channels. Garrett sank onto the couch, typing on his phone.

Sax looked at the two of them, paced, and jangled his keys. “Let’s go already.”

Max stopped the channel on Karla Quintos. The high definition showed off her perfect skin. I set the dishes on the counter and watched.

Karla said, “No one expects much of Garrett Campbell’s new film
Time Kick
. Reports say the studio’s running behind because of his erratic
no show
behavior. And since Garrett has refused to do the martial arts training, my inside man says the stunts are going to look incredibly fake. Don’t you hate that, fans? Go online and tell
Tween In
how much. Or, if we got it wrong, Garrett, come on the show and correct us.”

Max cursed.

Sax resumed pacing with his eyes on the TV. “She’s such a freaking liar.”

Garrett said nothing and Karla came back on. “Don’t you worry, my big Scottish import, you still have at least one drooling fan.” The camera showed the sign for
Scoop Out
.

Uh oh.

A posed studio shot of the six finalists came on screen. I would have been excited to see myself up there in the official blue apron if the picture hadn’t immediately zoomed in on a shiny shot of my face.

Karla said, “Scoop Out’s newest contestant, Star Stalker Marissa has it bad.” The video showed a still of a coral-tipped hand drawing hearts around a picture of Garrett.

“That’s not me,” I said, holding up my unpainted nails.

The image changed to one of me barking. The credits scrolled across my face and my barks carried on in the background as the
Tween In
newscast ended.

Three pair of eyes swiveled to me: suspicious brown, electric blue, and Scottish green. Garrett hit mute while staring at me over the back of the couch. “Anything you want to tell me?”

I swallowed and flattened my palms on the cool black countertop. “You know Ashley arranged for me to take a cooking class so I’ll be a better cook for you.”

“Hmm.” Garrett made a noncommittal noise and his eyes flickered passed me into the kitchen. “I don’t need a cook.” His voice didn’t have the conviction it held the first time he’d said it, but his
o
’s were still long.

I moved into the living room and continued my story as if he hadn’t spoken. “So I won this cutting contest and got to go on
Scoop Out
.”

Sax barked.

“One of the contestants quit.” I held up my hand. “I can’t say who. Confidentiality clause.”

“Why didn’t they bring back one of the old contestants?” Garrett asked.

“Dude,” Sax said. “She’s hot. Why would they bring back last week’s castoff when they had her?”

Annoyance warred with appreciation. I turned back to Garrett. “Now I can bring you show leftovers from the chefs.”

His face lit. Gorgeous. Movie star gorgeous.

Sax pointed at the TV. “I’ve got a stalker too.” He nodded like we asked for more details. “I get weird notes and my parents are upping the security.” He looked me over but spoke to Garrett. “If my stalker looks like Marissa, I may invite her to move in with me like you did.”

“I’m not a stalker. They give everyone a nickname. When Garrett called to ask about dinner his picture popped up and the rest is history.” I didn’t say I’d had the picture on my phone for six months now.

“It’s all good.” Sax bounced on his feet. “Time to go, man. Chicks with night makeup are waiting for us.”

“It’s birds, not chicks,” Garrett said.

My mouth twisted. “Women don’t love fungible nicknames. Maybe you can learn at least someone’s first name tonight.”

“There’s just so many of them,” Garrett said. “My memory would overload.”

His words destroyed the lure of his movie star glow.

“Aim higher tonight.” I moved to the front door and waved my hand to shoo them out. The three hot stars obeyed.

***

The next afternoon, I squeezed the lemon into the cream and kept the whisk moving so the flavors would blend evenly. Garrett sat at the bar watching me, while fiddling with an 8 1/2x11 manila envelope. He took a big handful of pumpkin seeds from one of the snack bowls I had set out. I made a mental note of which dish got depleted faster. The salty pumpkin seeds were running a close race with the seasoned cereal mix.

“This one’s the best,” Garrett said, as if noting my interest. He pushed a blue bowl forward, the one with the thin sliced cheese and flavored homemade crackers.

“Then why are you eating the others first?”

“I’m saving it,” Garrett said. “I’ve never had these kinds of crackers before.”

“Did you try them with the purple grapes?”

“Yes,” Garrett said.

“How weird is this?” I asked Garrett.

“What’s that?”

I nodded to my bowl. “That I’m making my
Scoop Out
dessert here at the house. I thought the cooks on reality shows made the food on the set.”

“You’ll be making some of it on the set.”

“Just the topping really.” At rehearsal this morning, Hannah had handed out instructions for the next taping. Cook any dessert I want. Bring it in bowls.

“So I won’t actually get to try this lemon-cream-vanilla whipped cake?”

“You said you’re not into desserts.”

“I lied.”

I knew that from his avid stare when I put the ingredients together.

Garrett held up a finger. “Desserts are the rich sweetness that makes the mundane chore of obtaining sustenance bearable.”

“Uh huh.”

He ticked up a second finger. “You’ve never made me anything with lemon.”

So dramatic. “I’ve only been here a few days.”

“The citrusy fragrance reminds me of summers in Spain and the golden color of the fields in Scotland. To deny me my country is an economic necessity. To deny me a taste, to ease the suffering of my homesickness, is a cruelty. The likes of which I’ve not seen in the States.”

“Poor Garrett. I’m not sold, what’s your third argument?”

A grin crossed his mouth, and he tapped the envelope on the counter. “A bribe.”

That got my interest. I licked some of the cream off a tasting spoon. “Mmm.”

Garrett stared. “Marissa.”

I loved how my name sounded in his rich voice. “Garrett.” His wasn’t as great in my accent, but I worked with what I had. I held out my left hand for the envelope.

Garrett shook his head.

I knew I had him when his elaborate stories stopped spinning. Holding his gaze, I stuck my index finger dead center of the whipped mixture and held it out inches from his mouth.

Garrett’s green eyes widened.

I swiped my finger across his lips. “I wonder if kisses taste different dipped in lemon.”

He dropped the package on my side of the counter in a gesture of complete surrender. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and he drew my index finger into his mouth.

He sucked the lemon cream icing off.

Oh. Wow. My insides tightened and I froze.

“Mmm,” he echoed me. Even his exclamations had an accent.

I moved to his side of the counter.

The clanking of cleaning supplies and a bucket sounded from the stairs. Dolores. She must be ready to clean the living area. Her interruption saved me from finding out what he’d do next or more worrisome, what I’d do next.

I went back into the kitchen and put plastic wrap over my bowls. Next, I loaded them into the fridge so they’d keep for tomorrow. When I finished, I went for the manila envelope and snipped it open with my kitchen scissors. A DVD in a generic case slid out. A white label across the top read
Scoop Out
. I raised my gaze from the label to Garrett. “What’s this?”

“The first episodes from this season.”

“The ones that are just starting to air?”