Lucky Me (19 page)

Well gee, way to make a girl feel special.

“This is a
very
prestigious title,” she continued. “Your parents are extremely well respected in the film industry. The job of Miss Golden Globe is to be taken seriously. You're in your final year of high school, is that correct?”

“Yes, that's correct,” I replied, mirroring her pompous accent.

“You'll need to take some time off school these next few weeks. Just for a few days. We need to do a last minute press conference with the President of the Association, and then some much needed rehearsals at the venue. The award show is right around the corner and there are a million things to be done. You think you can manage it?”

Personally, I didn't know why they really needed some fancy title for the people who hold the awards on stage. I just figured they were supermodels that couldn't get work on the runway or in movies. But it was still a huge deal. If they were going to hand me that role on a silver platter, then I wasn't about to say no.

“Can I talk to my parents and get back to you?” I asked.

“Of course,” Carol replied, sounding less cranky and more hopeful. “Although I just got off the phone with your mother, who seemed very enthusiastic about this opportunity. I'll text you my number. You can discuss it some more and confirm as soon as you can.”

I promised I would and hung up the phone. “YES!” I yelled to the skies, chucking my phone onto the bed, missing Jack and Famous by an inch.

“What are you so excited about?” Jack asked, flipping the channels on the still muted TV.

“That was someone from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. They gave me Miss Golden Globe!”

“Is that the chick who stands on stage, holding the award and smiling all bright?” Jack asked, looking up as I nodded. “Doesn't seem like that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, well,” I told him, crossing my arms across my chest. “It's a very prestigious title. I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

“Congrats,” Jack said, but he looked so insincere, it made me want to hit him.

“Whatever,” I said to myself. There was no way Jack was going to bring my happiness down. “There are a billion things I have to figure out. I have to choose my dress! Oh my gosh, and my heels. I need to get this all prepared before the twentieth!”

“Wait a second,” Jack said, sitting upright. He turned to me, serious mode activated. “What date did you just say?”

“The twentieth. Why?”

“And what date did Dr. D tell you to save the other day on the phone?”

My eyes widened, as I finally understood what he was coming to. “The twentieth,” I told him.

“Well there you go,” Jack said, as if he had just completed a thousand-piece puzzle.

“So whatever he's going to do, it's going to happen at the Golden Globes?”

Jack nodded and said, “I guess so.”

The idea of me being in the same room as Dr. D and some of the world's best looking men was so overwhelming for me, I actually had to push Famous out of the way and lie down. There was no way in hell Dad was going to let me be Miss Golden Globe if he knew Dr. D was going to show up.

“This is so unfair!” I cried, covering my face with a pillow. “All I ever wanted was to hand DiCaprio a golden statue without getting killed. Is that too much to ask?”

I felt Jack pull the pillow away from my face, but I didn't resist him. “Don't worry,” he said, sounding completely calm. “We'll catch him way before then.”

“Oh yeah? How?”

“Well that party on Saturday is a good start,” he replied.

Oh crap. I was hoping we wouldn't have to talk about this, like, ever.

“Yeah,” I said, sitting up slowly. “About that. I think I should definitely go.”

“Good. So we'll go.”

“Um . . . I think I should go with Milo. Without you.”

Jack blinked at me in silence, his jaw tightening. I offered him a half-assed smile, but he didn't look at all happy to receive it.

“What?” he finally managed to ask, looking pained.

“He knows some people going and he saw the flyer on the desk, so he asked me to come along. I mean it's not a big deal; we were going to go anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, rising from the bed. “
We
were going to go. I can't keep you safe if I'm not even there!”

“Jack,” I said calmly, watching him pace in front of me with frustration. “I'll be perfectly safe! Milo will be right next to me the entire time! He's a police off—”

“He's not an officer yet!”

“Okay fine, he's
almost
a police officer. But it still counts!”

Jack stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. He looked like he wanted to jump out of my third story window, run and never come back. I watched him silently. If he was even contemplating the idea I needed to give him some space to come to terms with it. That, and I was scared he might throw a pen at me in rage, or something.

“How exactly are you planning on pulling this off?” he said. “Your dad is
never
going to let you go to some college party with a guy you barely know.”

Yeah, but he was totally down for letting three strangers move into the house to follow his kids around all day. I was going to point this out, but then decided against it. That argument wasn't going to win me any points with anyone.

“It's the same night as Brendan's farewell party, so he doesn't need to know where I really am,” I explained. Jack opened his mouth to start yelling again, but I continued before he could begin. “He's not going to stop me from celebrating Brendan moving states. I'm surprised he didn't throw the party himself.”

I gave a short laugh, hoping that Jack would join in. He didn't.

“And where does that leave me?” he asked, still looking skeptical.

“That part I haven't figured out yet,” I admitted. “But I'm working on it, I swear.”

“What do you even know about this guy?” he shot back. “I mean, what if he's a psycho?”

“Don't be ridiculous Jack. The quota for psychos has already been filled in my life.”

“What if he's into weird stuff like Christian Grey?”

I paused. “Is that really a bad thing? Christian Grey is hot, rich, and he flies helicopters.”

“Yeah, and he also has a torture chamber in his house!”

“Should I be concerned that you know this much about Christian Grey?”

Jack shook his head. “This seems like a terrible idea.”

“You always say that, and then things always work out some way or another! It's just one night, Jack!”

Jack did some heavy sighing as he evaluated his options. If he had learned anything about me in the short time he had been around, he would know that I was stubborn as hell. Plus he wasn't going to rat me out to Dad; that just wasn't his style. Jack nodded reluctantly. He seemed like he wanted to argue some more but had evidently decided against it.

“I guess,” he said, “I could go visit my sister for a couple of hours. She lives pretty close to campus so I'd be nearby in case anything happened.”

I beamed at him, trying to control the urge to hug him. “I promise you, it'll be quick! Nothing's going to happen, I swear.”

“If your dad wants to fire me then you have to back me up.”

“Done.”

“Same goes for suing me.”

“He's not going to sue you!”

“And if anything happens to you, I get to beat the crap out of Fells.”

“Um, no you don't!” I said, looking alarmed. Jack blinked at me. “But . . . that's negotiable.”

Jack blew out a defeated sigh. “Fine. I guess we can make this work.”

Seriously. I should write a book or something. I am living proof that you can truly achieve anything in life if you dedicate yourself and persevere.

Chapter Thirteen

The news about Miss Golden Globe had divided my house in half. Mom was, of course, completely over the moon and was already planning possible outfits for the night. Dad was a lot less excited, which wasn't at all surprising, considering his favorite hobby was worrying about me. He kept talking about how it probably wasn't safe for me to be in the spotlight at this time, and how he couldn't believe I hadn't mentioned Dr. D's request to “save the date.” I'll admit, I was mildly horrified that he didn't tell me he was super proud and throw a lavish party in my honor. Miss Golden Globe was no small thing, but he just kept saying, “I'll think about it” every time I wanted to talk about it. Which basically meant no.

In the meantime, my biggest issue was the UCLA party and my first night alone with Milo. I had somehow managed to get Jack on board, but there were still a few creases to smooth out. Aria and Veronica had been on my case all day Friday and then Saturday morning, unable to believe I was missing Brendan's party without a solid reason. I didn't even bother pulling the illness excuse this time. I went straight for the parent card and claimed that “I really didn't want to talk about it,” while assuring them that yes, I too couldn't believe how much of a nightmare my dad was being. Sorry for throwing you under the bus like that, Dad. Oh, and all the other stuff I was about to lie about, too.

Lying to my friends felt so wrong, and I was tempted to just surrender and tell them everything. But I always managed to hold back at the last minute. It just wasn't the right time yet. Unfortunately, this meant I couldn't turn to them with the biggest issue in my life: what to wear to the party. I needed an outfit that would make me look so sexy that Milo would melt on the spot. Aria's closet
really
would have come in handy at a time like this, but seeing as it was unavailable, I was left with two choices. First there was Anya, who dressed like a pilgrim, and then there was my mother, who didn't dress at all. “Wear a low-cut dress and lots of red lipstick. That's step one.” That had been her grand advice when I had asked how to make a guy fall in love with you. I didn't stick around to hear step two, because judging by her experiences, it would only end in divorce.

When it was finally Saturday night, the state of my room had declined by a million. Clothes and shoes were strewn all over the bed and floor, as I kept throwing hangers out of my way. Milo Fells and I were going on the closest thing we had to a date, and goddammit, I was going to look like a freaking sex bomb if it killed me. After trying on hundreds of different combinations that failed to satisfy my ideal look, I finally settled for a little, black, Stella McCartney dress. It was a bit of a safe option, but this was no time to be taking risks.

I had asked Mom if I could borrow her stylist, Kat, to do my makeup, but she had some fancy dinner party she needed to attend in Beverly Hills, and needed her for the night. Left to fend for myself, I curled the ends of my hair and added shimmer and mascara to my eyelashes, careful not to accidently rip off the fake lashes that had taken me a good twenty minutes to put on. It felt like I was wearing umbrellas on my eyes, but they made them look bigger and brighter, which meant Milo could gaze into them all night long as if my life were a Katherine Heigl movie.

By the time eight-thirty approached, my makeup was done, my red heels were on and I was coating my lips with red lipstick, just like my mother had recommended. All said and done, I looked pretty damn hot, considering I had accidently poked myself in the eye with the eye pencil twice and had to stop it from watering like a flowing river. The way I saw it, there were three things that could go down that night. One, I would make a complete fool of myself the whole night, talking non-stop in my ridiculous British accent. Two, I could babble the night away, get kidnapped-slash-killed or worse, break my heel. Lastly, I could be amazing and blow Milo's mind and carry myself as a true lady, casually attending a party for raging alcoholics in the making. I was hoping the third option would work in my favor, but my luck so far hadn't been too promising.

When the clock hit nine, I was considering investing in an asthma pump. Jack and I said our hurried goodbyes and ran out of the house. He did some head shaking and frustrated sighing, reminding me that we had to time our return perfectly. I did a lot of nodding and said, “yes, sir,” and watched him climb into his Jeep and drive away. Milo had come to pick me up looking like something out of a Hugo Boss ad, with his leather jacket and perfectly styled hair. Thankfully he had listened to my text that had explicitly stated, in caps, NOT to ring the doorbell, as it was “broken,” and to just text me when he was outside. Not a great start to a romantic evening, but beggars can't be choosers. Milo had also adhered to the Halloween theme judging by the batman mask resting on the backseat, which went perfectly with my velvety cat ears headband. Everything up ‘til that point had been perfect, until I greeted him by saying “What's up, brotha?” This was apparently my brain's way of telling me that it wanted me to end up miserable and lonely. Thanks for having my back, brain. No, really.

Needless to say, the rest of the car ride to the party consisted of lame jokes and a lot of heavy breathing on my part. I couldn't believe that
any
guy would put up with my crazy like Milo was. Plus, every time I thought I was getting more comfortable around him, my British accent would threaten to resurface and ruin any chances I had with the guy. Which were already minimal. I managed to structure a few sentences and tell Milo about the offer of being Miss Golden Globe. Unlike Jack, he had shared my excitement and told me I'd look so stunning on stage, no one would even bother looking at the award. More heavy breathing on my part ensued.

Luckily, I didn't have to do too much of the talking because Milo seemed to be taking the lead on that front. His small talk gave me the opportunity to gather some interesting facts about him. For example, his favorite dessert was cheesecake, which isn't exactly chocolate mousse, like mine is. But it could have been worse. He could have said he wasn't a “dessert person,” and then I would have been forced to jump out of a moving car. His favorite cuisine was Thai, he had one older brother and a German Shepherd named Woody, in honor of the beloved cowboy in his favorite movie growing up,
Toy Story.
Of course, I enthusiastically agreed that it was my favorite as well, but that was a lie. It's adorable, don't get me wrong. But
Anastasia
is totally the best movie ever, no doubt about it. A beautiful girl with a little puppy and big dreams, who one day meets a handsome stranger that helps discover that she's, in fact, the lost Princess of Russia? It was practically a metaphor for my entire existence. Except, of course, that Milo is not a fraud like Dimitri, I am not at all Russian royalty, and I'm pretty sure Dr. D does not have a tiny bat as a sidekick. But I could be wrong about the bat, I don't know.

In between my sad jokes and unattractive breathing problems, Milo also managed to give me updates on the cleaning company that Dad had hired a few months ago. He said that the company had sent over a list of names of the people who had cleaned our house, but the police couldn't a connection to my family or the Dumpling Hospital for any of them. The police also hadn't been able to find the last bugging device, and I didn't know the first thing about spy equipment, so there was no point in me keeping a look out for it. All in all, the investigation was at a bit of a standstill. Dad may have been right about the Golden Globes being a pretty bad idea at this point, but it was also the only chance I had to meet Dr. D. That is, if we didn't find all we needed at the UCLA party, packaged in a little box with a pink ribbon wrapped around it. I hadn't exactly mentioned to Milo my plans for investigation at the party, but if I could manage the colossal issue of Jack Anderson, then this was cake.

We finally pulled up to the party after what seemed like an entire lifetime of shy conversations and nervous laughter. Milo parked a lot closer to the party than Jack and I had on our first trip, and thank God, because Jimmy Choo heels aren't the most comfortable footwear. The last thing I needed was to fall flat on my face and still have another ten minutes to walk before we actually arrived. I quickly texted Jack, reassuring him we were still alive, then told myself everything was going to be perfect as long as I managed not to get killed or kidnapped.

“Are you ready?” Milo asked, as I gently closed my car door behind me.

I adjusted the hem of my dress with a nod and said, “I think so.”

Batman mask and kitty ears in our hands, we walked toward the party, which could surely be heard from Guatemala based on the volume of the music. Milo was so close. I could almost hear his heart beating next to me. I desperately wanted to act like a normal human being who could charm him with my natural humor and grace. Instead my tongue refused to move and I had to convince my heart not to break down every time I saw him. The problem was, I was starting to like him a lot. Too much for the amount I knew him. I mean, it was one thing to look at him and be in awe of how an average guy could look that amazing, but it's another thing to have legit feelings for someone. Sometimes I felt that way about Jack too, but Jack was . . . Jack. He was annoying and frustrating and I always felt confused around him. One minute we were best friends and the next I couldn't stand to see him.

But Milo never seemed to get on my nerves. And despite my inability to communicate like a normal human being, we seemed to click. Yes, I didn't know him very well. But I've never actually met Jude Law, and I'm pretty sure we'd click too. I kept telling myself that getting involved with someone days after a break up is just wrong, but come on. The next time your boyfriend leaves for Texas to become a cowboy and the hottest police cadet you've ever seen wants to take you to a college party, why don't you tell me about what's right or wrong.

Club music was blasting from all corners, and tipsy people were dancing all up the street. A girl with hair brighter than Veronica's stumbled past us. She wore leather black plants with stiletto heels and what I could only presume was a top three sizes too small for her. The boy she was with was dressed head-to-toe as Spiderman and was visibly smashed, even though it was barely ten o'clock.

“This must be it,” Milo said, and I looked up at the house ahead.

“The flyer did say it had palm trees,” I told him.

The flyer failed to mention, however, that the fraternity house was in fact ninety percent made up of palm trees. They were everywhere, completely surrounding the house like a gateway. Cars were parked all up and down the road and through the large glass windows I could see the inside of the house was packed with drunken college students.

A guy dressed as Ronald McDonald waddled past us in his huge shoes and eerie white makeup. His bright red lips curved into a scary smile as he gave me the once-over. I gave him a
never-going-to-happen
look, and I think he took it well because in a matter of seconds he was eyeing up the sexy nurse standing a few feet away.

“Do you and your friends go to a lot of these parties?” I asked Milo, trying to hide the disgust from my tone.

“Hardly ever,” he replied. “This isn't really my idea of a good time.”

“So then why'd you come?”

“Well I figured it might be worth it if you were going to be there.”

Lord have mercy on my poor ovaries.

“Right,” I practically squeaked. “Does Detective Reynolds know that we're here?”

“Well,” Milo said, looking a little sheepish. “I didn't really mention it. But it's a party that we both just
happen
to be at. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“You tell me. You're the police cadet.”

Milo smiled and held up his Batman mask. “I also happen to be the savior of Gotham. But, whatever. I don't really like to brag.”

“Are you sure the city can manage without you for a night?” I asked.

See? I could be normal if I really,
really
concentrated.

“Let me know if you see any bat signals in the sky. I might have to bail.”

“Like Christian?” I asked, and Milo looked at me in confusion. Oh no, he didn't get it. “You know, bail.
Bale.
Like Christian Bale? Batman? No? Not feeling the joke?”

“Oh God,” Milo said, but a laugh escaped from his groan. “That was a
terrible
joke. We might need to work on Catwoman's sense of humor.”

I had actually been pretty proud of that one, but I smiled sheepishly and said, “I've got plenty more stashed in the cat ears.”

“Well then in that case I can't wait to hear the rest of them,” Milo laughed.

Yeah, careful what you wish for, pal. But we were flirting! Like actually flirting and not just Milo saying funny and sweet things and me hyperventilating like a weirdo! And if you ask me, I was actually doing a pretty decent job at it, considering my lack of previous experience in such matters. Brendan and I had never flirted. He had just asked me out and I pretty much shrugged and said yes. Jack and I didn't do too much of the flirting game either. We spent most of the time mentally throwing lamps at each other and pretending there was no sexual tension in the room. I had been scared I didn't really know to flirt, but based on how the conversation was going, I was doing a B+ job.

“Dude!” A guy dressed up as some type of Greek god slung his arm affectionately around another guy, right in front of Milo and I. “You ready to get your party on?”

His friend, who was dressed in a red, fluffy onesie that mildly resembled Elmo, smiled. “Dude, hell yeah! I'm gonna get so turnt up!”

Milo and I exchanged glances. Based on how low Elmo had the zipper on his onesie, I doubted his costume would stay on for long.