Flirting With Fame (Flirting With Fame) (11 page)

“I remember that. You were a cute couple.”

“We were better friends than lovers. We never fit together quite right. But we kept it up because the paparazzi couldn’t get enough and neither could our publicists. Our relationship helped launch our careers.”

“But you don’t care anymore?” I wiped my brow and my hand came back soaked in sweat. I grimaced and wiped it against my T-shirt.

“My career is fine, even if the guy I’m dating now isn’t famous. But he’s sweet and he treats me right. And I know, tomorrow, if my career falls apart, he’ll still be there. Gavin, I wasn’t so sure. Oh, I’m Leila, by the way.”

She extended her hand to me. Her fingers were soft and free of sweat, her fingernails perfectly shaped and unpolished.

“Elise,” I said.

“Oh, you’re Aubrey’s assistant, right? Gavin told me all about you. How’s your head? I heard you got quite the bump.”

I released her hand and placed my fingertips to my forehead. The bandage was no longer necessary, but there was still a small cut that was bound to scar. Just another one to add to my collection.

“It’s fine. A little sore, but that’s it.” I glanced behind me. Gavin and Veronica remained close together, her fingers deftly tracing up his bare shoulder. I whipped my focus back to Leila. “Gavin talked about me?”

“Yeah. He said to look out for you. Make sure you don’t get hurt again. Said you seemed a bit accident-prone.”

I winced. Just when I thought I’d reached my peak level of embarrassment. “I can take care of myself. It was just a bad day.”

A small woman with dark hair and a clipboard tapped Leila on the shoulder. Leila turned and I trailed my eyes down her ginger hair. I knew her real hair color was blond, so she must’ve dyed it for the show. It was exactly how I pictured Thora’s mane, cascades of unbridled flames dripping down her back. Beautiful and wild—like Thora.

Leila threw an apologetic look over her shoulder. “They need me in wardrobe.”

“Of course,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. See you later.”

When I went back to Veronica, Gavin had left her as well. Her cheeks were pink and there was a fine sheen of sweat dotting her forehead, but I suspected it wasn’t from the weather.

The same petite assistant who’d advised Leila she was needed arrived and showed us around the now fully functioning set. She pointed out craft services, places we could rest when we wanted a break, and which facilities we’d use should we need them.

Minutes turned into hours. Veronica had been right after all. There was a lot of waiting on a television set. The crew set up lights and cameras as the sun dipped behind the lake. Leila and Gavin were nowhere to be seen. A tall man screwing a light into a rodlike contraption told me the actors usually hung out in their trailers when they weren’t required.

Day had completed its transition to night by the time everyone took their place on set for the next scene. We gathered by the water now, with Dag’s boat beached in the sand. Gavin stood at the helm, sword drawn and knees bent, ready to jump onto the shore at the director’s command.

When the sun had finally left us for the day, it had taken the warmth with it, and I shivered and cursed myself for not bringing a jacket.

They ran the scene—the moment Dag returns home to learn his parents have been slaughtered by Thora’s brothers—a few times till the director was comfortable.

There was a charged energy in the air as everything was put back into place to finally film the scene. Like static electricity, it hummed against my skin. My flesh raised in goose bumps as the director called action and Gavin charged toward his mother’s bloody form on the beach. He tossed his sword to the side and gathered her in his arms. He arched his back and widened his mouth as he stared at the moon. In my mind, I imagined the howl he released. Shadowed, and in only his pelts, he might have been a wolf.

Tears stung my eyes and I wiped at them with cold fingers. As the director stopped the scene, Gavin glanced our way. Confusion lined his eyes as they darted from me to Veronica. I looked at my companion. She had her phone out and was texting someone with a bored expression on her face. I nudged her and she glared at me.

“You might want to look a little more interested in the scene you created,” I whispered. “Gavin can tell something’s off. Your assistant is crying and you’re not.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a wuss.”

“Still, show a little emotion, would you? This is supposed to be your dream come true.”

“Fine.”

Veronica grinned at Gavin and clapped her hands. The confusion slipped off his face. He returned her smile and settled back into the boat to start all over. As the director called for action again, I forced my mouth shut and glanced at my watch, trying to look bored, like a proper assistant should.

S
plitting my time between the set and school wasn’t easy. The show had strange hours, so some nights I’d be on set till two a.m. and up at six a.m. for class. I turned in papers blindly, hoping they contained at least a few coherent sentences. The last book of
Viking Moon
took a backseat. My laptop eyed me from my desk like a puppy begging for a treat. When I did open it, I just stared at the screen and watched it darken as my eyelids drooped.

I felt like an extra in
The Walking Dead
as I stumbled into American Lit a few weeks later. As usual, I was early. Clutching my paper cup of what passed for coffee on campus, I stopped when I spotted someone sitting in my seat. A guy in a red hoodie that shielded most of his face slouched against the wall. Poking out from the side of the crimson fabric was a pair of dark sunglasses.

Perfect. Probably some dude so hungover, he’d wandered into the wrong room. And, of course, he had to pick my seat to pass out in.

I stood in the aisle, contemplating my options. I could sit somewhere else. But the class usually got pretty full, and I wasn’t sure which seats were open. Plus, Clint would wonder why I’d been replaced with some boozy douche bag. I could wait for the cowboy, and let him say something to the guy, but I had a good ten minutes before people usually started to show up. I’d arrived early on purpose. I appreciated the peace of the empty room before class. It calmed me.

Sighing, I slithered down the aisle and tapped the boy on the shoulder. “Excuse me, you’re in my seat.”

His bicep was hard beneath my finger. When he turned and pulled the sunglasses down, I gasped with a mixture of surprise and relief. I’d come to know those blue eyes really well over the last few weeks. I’d just never expected them to show up in my literature class.

“Gavin? What are you doing here?”

The movie star gave me a grin that would’ve set off a thousand paparazzi flashbulbs. “I know I said I’d stay away, but I couldn’t resist coming to see Duncan Creed. I was curious what his class was like. Plus, I never really got to do the whole college thing. I thought it might be fun. Sorry, I didn’t realize this was your seat. I can move, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” I plopped my bag onto the desk beside him and took Clint’s usual spot. “But isn’t this kind of risky? What if someone recognizes you?”

“That’s why I picked this chair. It’s a good spot for . . .” He scanned me, his eyes darkening. “Hiding.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

Pulling my laptop out, I struggled not to flush as Gavin’s intense eyes lingered on me. His desk was spotless, so I slid a notebook and pen to him.

“If you’re going to blend in, you at least need to look like you’re here for class,” I said. “You can pretend to take notes or something.”

“Thanks.” Gavin flipped through the notebook, frowning as he studied the pages. “Hey, did you write these?”

“Crap.” I ripped the notebook out of his hand and replaced it with another. “I thought I gave you an empty one. Sorry about that.”

“No, wait. I was reading that.” He reached for the pages, but I clutched them to my chest. “Were those short stories or something?”

I muttered an obscenity to myself as I shoved the book into my bag. “Yeah, just a hobby of mine.”

“You’re a writer?”

I straightened my spine as though an electrical current had shot through it. Way to keep your secret, Elise. “Uh, only those short stories and stuff. Nothing . . . nothing you would’ve read.”

“I’m fascinated by people who write,” Gavin said. “I don’t have the discipline to sit still that long. I feel like I constantly need to be moving, which is probably why I got into acting. There’s a physicality required for it, even when your character is standing still. It’s all about the subtlety.”

“I couldn’t do what you do. All those people staring . . .” A shudder quaked through me. “At least writing is solitary. I started writing after I lost my hearing. The world was silent all the time and I couldn’t stand it. Except, when I was writing it wasn’t quiet anymore because, all of a sudden, there were all these voices in my head. I feel like the only time I’m able to hear the world clearly is when I’m creating a new one.”

I looked up at Gavin and the intensity of his gaze sent my stomach into a swan dive. Something akin to sadness darkened his eyes, then evaporated as quickly as it came.

He licked his lips before opening the mercifully blank notebook. “So . . . What exactly are we studying right now?”

I dropped a novel on his desk. “
The Catcher in the Rye
. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it. I read it when I was, like, fourteen. Contrary to what you might think, I had a pretty typical childhood. Have you read it?”

“Yeah. More than once. I love it. And I’m fascinated by Salinger. The way he remained reclusive even after he became so popular. I mean, here’s this guy who wrote this incredible book, but refused any of the fame that came with it.” I shifted in my seat, realizing I was dangerously close to revealing my own situation. “But I guess he didn’t like the attention. Not everyone wants to be famous. I mean,
you
can’t love it all the time. I’ve seen the paparazzi. It’s like you have no privacy.”

“Fame can be . . . tiresome, at times, sure. But it’s also the thing that allows me to do what I love. Without my fans, I wouldn’t have a career. I’m grateful for them. If that means putting up with crowds and flashbulbs all the time, so be it.”

“Ugh. Just the idea of all those people . . .”

Gavin placed his hand on mine. His skin was warm, and the heat radiated up my wrist, stilling me in my seat. “Does that mean you’d take the Salinger route if you were a writer? Disappear into obscurity?”

God, he had
no
idea. I’d taken Salinger’s reclusive behavior to all-new heights.

I shrugged, noting his hand hadn’t moved from mine. “It’s not exactly easy to get published, much less gain that much of a following. Maybe it’s something I won’t have to worry about. Besides, people don’t treat authors the same way they treat actors. Look at Aubrey. I mean, people wouldn’t be taking her picture if she wasn’t . . . er . . .”

“With me?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. That, and she’s stunning. The situation has to help both of your careers, two gorgeous people dating. Isn’t that why you’re together?”

He pulled his hand away, and I instantly missed its warmth. I cradled my coffee cup in a vain attempt to bring back some of the heat.

“You think I’m with her just because she’s beautiful?” he asked. “Wow, you think highly of me, don’t you?”

“Why then? She doesn’t seem to be the type to have deep conversations with.”

His lips twitched. “Honestly? It’s because I’ve been reading
Viking Moon
. I know I said I wasn’t going to read it, but I thought I’d start it just to see if I was getting Dag right. Then I couldn’t put it down.”

My heart hammered against my rib cage so hard, I was worried it was going to break through and attack him.

Gavin Hartley had read
my
book. And he
liked
it.

My grip on my coffee cup was so tight the paper began to warp beneath my fingers.

“The thing is,” he continued, “the book has so much heart. The characters are definitely strong, and they are survivors, but they’re also funny, and flawed, and feel love very deeply for their families and each other. I can’t help but think someone who wrote all that can’t be as shallow as Aubrey appeared to be at first. There has to be more to her than what’s on the surface. A deeper side. I just need to find it. Because, while I may not have completely fallen for the Aubrey I’ve met in person yet, the Aubrey who wrote those books . . . well, I think she’s someone I could love.”

My jaw opened so wide it was in danger of coming unhinged. I searched for a way to answer him.

This was it. The perfect chance to tell the god of my dreams who I really was. He said he was falling for the woman who wrote
Viking Moon
. I just had to tell him that woman was me.

“Gavin, I—”

“I know.” He raked his hands through his hair before pulling the hood higher over his locks and pushing up his sunglasses. “It’s silly. To fall for someone just because of the words they put on a page. Just because she writes romance doesn’t mean she’s sappy and romantic.”

“No, Gavin. I
am
—”

I had no idea how tightly I’d been clutching my coffee cup until the cheap plastic lid flew off it and coffee spit up from the top like a geyser. Brown liquid coated my hand and shoe, burning my fingers. Gavin grabbed his knee as the scalding drink seeped through his jeans.

“Shit. Shit, I’m so sorry. Hang on.” I reached into my bag, digging to the bottom. My hand emerged with a fistful of white paper. “I always carry napkins. Things like this happen to me all the time.”

I tossed a few in his direction and used the rest for myself, simultaneously wiping down and saying a silent prayer for my doused laptop. The stinging in my hands subsided as I wiped them clean.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “I’m so sorry about your jeans.”

He balled up the napkins and shoved them into his pocket. “It’s fine. I have, like, a thousand pairs. Are you hurt, though? It got all over your hand.”

Gavin grabbed my wrist and examined my slightly reddened skin.

“I’m fine,” I said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It was just a surprise. I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Gavin’s grip tightened on my wrist. “Don’t ever say that. It was just an accident. What was it you were starting to say earlier?”

I had opened my mouth to reply when a gentle tap on the shoulder made me jump. I pulled my wrist out of Gavin’s hand and turned to face a very confused-looking cowboy.

“Hey,” Clint said. “What’s going on, darlin’? Everythin’ okay?”

I glanced at Gavin, who had pulled the hood closer to his face. The fabric did little to hide the amused smirk that took up residence in the corner of his mouth.

“No,” I said as Clint took the seat on the other side of me. “Just some hungover guy who wandered into the wrong class.”

“Is he botherin’ you, darlin’? You want me to request him to leave?” Clint regarded Gavin with narrowed eyes.

“No,” I said. “It’s fine. He’s not hurting anyone.”

Clint gave Gavin one more look before shrugging. “Fine. Live ’n’ let live, I say. But you let me know if he gives you a hassle.”

“Of course.”

Clint pulled out his crumpled papers, and I shook my head in wonder at how he managed to pass any classes with everything so scattered and wrinkled. I hit the Power button on my laptop, and sighed with relief as it booted up properly. When Gavin’s shirtless picture greeted me on the screen, I slammed the computer shut. The vibrations from the broad shoulders beside me told me I was too late. Gavin Hartley was laughing at me. I peeked up at him.

Nice screen saver
, he signed.

Must be a virus
, I signed back.

A virus that puts a half-naked picture of me on your desktop?

Yeah, it’s going around.

He shook his head, his body still shuddering with laughter, but didn’t say anything else as something at the front of the room caused him to snap to attention. I followed his gaze. As Professor Creed began his lecture, I hit Record on my app and reopened my computer. I had just managed to replace the image of Gavin with a less embarrassing one of a cat wearing sunglasses when a piece of paper landed on my keyboard.

I squinted at Clint’s chicken scratch:

Sure you’re okay? The guy beside you keeps staring. You don’t want me to say something?

I couldn’t help but smile as I scribbled a reply.

I’m fine. He’s fine. And what is this, 1996? Handwritten notes passed in class? Next thing, you’re going to ask me if I’ll go out with you and draw boxes for my options.

My dictation app showed me Professor Creed was still in the middle of his lecture, but I risked a look at the front of the room to make sure before handing the note back to Clint.

A few minutes later, another note landed on my desk.

So, will you go out with me? Feel free to check the appropriate box:

 Of course, you sexy thing! I haven’t stopped thinking about our kiss!