“Hey, you caught me,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
“Taking a break from the club scene, or are you just that addicted?” I ask, teasing.
He glances at the cigarette in his hand like he has no idea how it got there. “Er… both?”
“Ma’am, your taxi’s here,” the valet interrupts.
“Going back to the hotel?” he asks, and I nod. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Sure, no problem,” I say. He crams the cigarette into an ashtray atop a trash can and follows me into the cab as I give the name of the hotel to the driver.
“I’m Graham, by the way.” He holds his hand out and I take it. His grip is firm but not crushing.
“Emma.” The cab driver makes a
humph
sound and I realize that we’ve just gotten into a cab bound for a hotel, and we’re exchanging
names
. My face flames in the darkness.
Graham’s eyes narrow, flashing momentarily to the cabbie. He clears his throat. “So how did filming go today? I meant to go along to observe, but decided I could use a day to go over the script and, you know, oversleep.”
“It went really well. Some interesting off-camera action, too—Reid had a devoted crowd of groupies just off set.”
He shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, if fans discover his location, he’s mobbed wherever he goes.”
“Huh,” I say.
His phone buzzes and he checks the screen, types a reply and returns it to his pocket. When we arrive at the hotel, he brushes off my effort to pay half. We’re both silent as we walk to the elevator. I think about him leaving his room in his pajamas to play sleepover with someone, probably Brooke, from their postures in the club… But he left the club, and Brooke, and came back to the hotel with me. Maybe it was her he was just texting.
The elevator’s low-key ding announces the fourth floor, and I nearly stop breathing as I realize what he might expect—having come back to the hotel
with
me
. What if he thinks
I
want to play sleepover? Heart pounding as we walk down the carpeted hallway, I hear nothing beyond the
swish, swish, swish
of the blood racing through my ears. I recall Emily’s tales of Hollywood hedonism.
Shit
. I didn’t plan to stand out as the cast prude quite so soon, but there’s no way I’m sleeping with some guy I just met, I don’t care how hot he is.
As we approach his door, he pulls out his wallet, retrieves his key card and turns to me as he sticks it into the lock. “Thanks for sharing your cab.”
“No problem.”
Swish, swish, swish.
The lock on his door blinks green and he opens the door. “Well, goodnight,” he says, while I stand there like a moron.
“Goodnight.” I turn quickly, rummaging in my bag for my key card as I walk away. Unlocking my door, I glance back, and I’m alone in the hallway, muttering, “Idiot,” to myself.
Chapter 10
REID
A quarter after one, and I haven’t seen Emma in a few minutes. I’ve been keeping track of where she is all night, covertly. The one time we made eye contact, she was dancing with Quinton. They moved perfectly together, and she looked so hot I almost ditched the mindless pack of girls clustered around and asked her to dance right then. I opted to wait a little longer. Now I’m rethinking that dimwitted decision, because she’s nowhere.
Did she leave with some guy? Disappointing, but not impossible. She may be better at this game than I’ve given her credit for. Time for inventory. Quinton’s here, dancing with Jenna. Tadd’s chatting with Brooke—which gives me a moment’s pause, but he’s too loyal to tell her anything I’ve said. He also won’t tell
me
anything
she
says, but I really don’t give enough of a shit to want to know anyway.
Looking at Brooke, though, reminds me of Graham. And I don’t see Graham anywhere.
“God, I’m so drunk!” one of the girls near me says, making sure I’m listening. “I feel completely crazy tonight, like I could get talked into doing practically
anything
.”
Wow. Subtle. “Oh, yeah?” I say.
“Absolutely. Try me.” She leans against me, breasts all but escaping from the plunging neckline of her sundress.
“Okay.” I glance around the circle, take the hand of another awestruck girl. I pull her forward gently and say to Miss I’m-So-Drunk, “Take my friend here, and go out there and dance together.”
A flash of disappointment darts across each of their faces before they size each other up. Sharing is better than not having at all. With a wicked smile, girl number one takes girl number two by the hand and they proceed to make a spectacle of themselves, just because I said to.
Meanwhile, Meredith comes to the bar for a drink and I pull her aside. “Have you seen Emma?” My voice is as casual as can be.
“Oh, yeah, she left a while back. She said something about running in the morning?”
“What, before filming?”
“Yeah—crazy, huh?” She takes two drinks from the bartender.
“Definitely.” I get another beer and pay attention to Thing One and Thing Two, who are learning the value of sharing.
*** *** ***
Emma
My phone alarm sounds at six. I’m momentarily disoriented, then sorry that I made a pact with myself to run. As I pull on shorts and brush my hair into a ponytail, I avoid looking towards the unmade bed, all soft sheets and downy pillows. Perusing the map of running routes around Town Lake that the hotel provided, I lace up my shoes, determined to escape this room before the bed convinces me to ditch the run and sleep.
As I cross the lobby, I hear my name. Turning, I’m surprised to see Graham in a t-shirt, shorts and Pumas. “Hey, going for a run?” he asks, and then he stops, noting my confused expression. “Listen, I don’t want to impose if you like to run alone—”
“Oh… no, I was just going to look for one of the trails on this map.”
“Come on, then,” he says as we exit the hotel. “I have a vast one day of experience in finding the trails, so I sort of know where to go. If nothing else, I can promise we won’t end up in Dallas. Or Mexico.”
I note a few girls standing in a cluster off to the side, coffees in hand. They’re watching as Graham and I walk down the steps, disappointment clear on their faces. I wonder if they’re part of Jenna’s “I heart Reid” fanclub.
“Do you run every day?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I do all kinds of stuff—running, rock-climbing, biking, spin class, weights, yoga. Gets boring otherwise.”
“Huh,” I say. “I mostly run. I have a hard time remembering to do a sit up or a crunch every now and then. I can’t do aerobics because I’m a horrible dancer. I
won’t
do a spin class. If I want someone to abuse me verbally during exercise, I’ll just get my agent to drive alongside me and yell obscenities while I run.”
“I don’t believe you’re a horrible dancer, since I know better from personal, well, not experience, exactly, but maybe personal
observation
.” He’s studying the map and street signs, and I wonder if he actually meant to tell me he’d watched me dance last night. A warm hum shoots through me, especially in light of Reid’s brush-off, which doesn’t sting any less this morning than it had last night.
“Dancing in a class is different, especially if they have equipment like portable steps or those ginormous rubber bands? Disaster.”
He laughs. “Seriously, who thought up those rubber bands?”
We run the couple of blocks to the trail as the sun emerges fully behind us, the sky transforming to a lighter and lighter shade of blue, no clouds in sight. Austin is having an unseasonable “cool spell.” According to the local weather update the temps will
only
be in the mid-nineties by five p.m. I wonder if they understand the definition of the word
cool
here.
“Thanks for inviting me along,” Graham says, and when I look up at him with the same confused look I had in the lobby, he smiles.
I can’t help but smile back as he matches his pace to mine.
We’re far enough from the hotel now that when I glance back, I can’t see it. “Did you see those girls in front of the hotel?”
“Wondering if they were some of Reid’s followers?” he asks, and I nod. “Probably so.”
“Crazy.”
“You may want to prepare for your
own
groupies, you know.”
“Pshhh.” I wave him off, unconvinced that I’m about to become famous, though he’s only echoing what Emily said just before I left home.
“When you’re playing opposite someone with his fan base, everything the two of you do will be scrutinized. For instance, if there’s on-screen chemistry, people will assume you have it off-screen.”
“Huh,” I say, remembering my foolish thoughts about Reid and chemistry. Before last night. When he blew me off.
“You say that a lot, you know.” As we find the trail, the cityscape gives way to gravel paths surrounded by faded, end-of-summer green.
I frown. “I say what a lot?”
“Huh.”
A light bulb goes on in my head. “I say ‘huh’ a lot?”
“Maybe we should start counting.” He grins down at me as I’m estimating exactly how embarrassed I should be. “By the time I get to twenty or so, you’ll have broken the habit if for nothing else than sheer annoyance’s sake. We’ll call that last time
one
.”
I frown at him good-naturedly and he laughs softly again. Is this an old habit, or a newly ingrained one?
Why
would Emily not point this out? I make a mental note to grill her during our next conversation.
“Maybe we won’t be that convincing onscreen,” I say, returning to the previous subject, which is not, I realize belatedly, grounds for non-self-conscious discussion.
“I doubt that. This is an adaptation of one of the most romantic novels ever written. There
has
to be chemistry.”
I give him a narrow-eyed look. “If this is your idea of ‘no pressure,’ it’s not working.”
“They wouldn’t have chosen you if the chemistry wasn’t there. I’m just pointing out what being a romantic lead opposite him might do to your private life. Such as, there’s no
way
Reid could do what we’re doing right now without bodyguards.” He moves behind me briefly so the elderly couple walking towards us on the pathway don’t have to squish together.
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” I say as he falls in beside me. I think of Emily, who isn’t a crazed fangirl, but would still freak out if she saw Reid in person.
“Well. No reason to panic. Yet.”
“Yeah. Yet,” I echo.
Chapter 11
REID
Most of the cast is going to Kenichi for sushi. So far, Austin hasn’t been as backwater as I assumed it might be, though most of the city is more laid-back and casual than the parts of LA I’m used to.
One glance at Emma tells me she’s still adapting to the commotion caused when we all go anywhere. Tonight, Richter and Leslie Neale are joining us, which adds to the crazy. Leslie, cast as Mrs. Bennet, boasts an impressive film career spanning nearly forty years. Even still, she’s undeniably hot, and as famous for her romantic exploits (often with men decades younger) as she is for her professional capability. The tabloids love her.
The restaurant staff is either used to celebrities popping in, or they’ve been cautioned to remain composed. The effect on the patrons is a different story. Cell phones angle towards us as we’re ushered to the table, voices whispering from person to person alongside us, like waving grain. Typical crowd reaction to celebrity in their midst.
Graham and Brooke are behind Quinton, Tadd and me on the way in, Emma and the other girls ahead of us. I haven’t seen Graham with Emma, so I’m not sure if they’re acquainted. If Emma left the club with Graham, or someone else, she did so damned discretely, because no one appears to have any idea. I step up to her now, say quietly, “Hey beautiful,” my hand at the small of her back. She glances up, the faintest blush spreading across her cheeks. The room instantly begins to speculate about us. I can feel it.
We’re led through the restaurant to a long table, offset from the others, set parallel to the back wall, which is covered in shoji screens. Semi-private, conversationally speaking, we’re visually conspicuous. I take Emma’s elbow and lead her to the center of the side facing out, and MiShaun files in next to her. Richter takes one of the ends with Leslie Neale to his left, and Quinton takes the other end, everyone else filling in. Graham sits next to Brooke, directly across from us. He smiles at Emma, which tells me they’re definitely acquainted.
The staff hovers, cordial and professional greetings are spoken, menus handed over shoulders, drink orders taken and filled. While Richter and Leslie are ordering, Quinton leans up and asks the rest of us, “We going out after?”
“I heard there’s a cool blues place around here somewhere,” Tadd answers.
MiShaun regards him skeptically. “You like blues?”
“I like
music
, especially live music.”
“Do you play anything?” She sips her sake.
“I play guitar,” he answers. “Just enough to be dangerous.”
“Graham plays guitar,” Brooke says then, and from my viewpoint it looks as though she follows this announcement up with a hand on his leg under the table. “He’s
amazing
.”
“Uh-oh,” I say quietly, leaning close to Emma’s ear, “looks like Brooke has decided on this film’s prey.” She looks confused, so I elaborate. “You know—one guy from every film. I’m not sure what the policy was on her little cable series.” This is gossip, not fact, but hey, I didn’t originate it.
Her voice is equally hushed. “That’s, um, kind of sleazy.”
I laugh. “You think?”
“What?” Brooke sips a Japanese beer, her eyes narrowed at me. Emma tenses while Graham watches our tête-à-tête from across the table, his expression guarded.
“Nothing, nothing, keep your shirt on,” I say. “We were just wondering who’d be more dangerous with a guitar—Tadd or Graham.”
Brooke arches one brow and narrows her eyes even more. “What’s the verdict?”