The Princess and the Porn Star (7 page)

“What will you do after you retire?”

“Don’t know yet. I’m enjoying it for right now, and I’ll figure out where to go after this when I get there. One career at a time, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“And, hey,” I said with a grin, “for better or worse, both of our careers are better than sitting in a cubicle all day, am I right?”

“Oh my God, yes. What isn’t?” She raised her mostly empty coffee cup. “To not being confined to an office.”

“Cheers.” I grinned and tapped my drink against hers.

She gestured at the counter. “I’m going to go get a refill. Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

She got up and went to the counter. While she was gone, I couldn’t help sneaking a few looks at her. This was a side of Olivia Taylor I’d never seen before, and she had my pulse all kinds of screwed up. Dressed down, relaxed, and out from under the limelight, she was just Rachel, and Rachel was…my God, she was sexy. Didn’t hurt that those jeans held onto her ass and hips just perfectly. And a hot girl in a
Star Wars
shirt? Just the kind of woman who’d have me stumbling over my words at my annual incognito pilgrimage to ComiCon.

She picked up her coffee and started back, so I shifted my gaze away just to give myself a chance to catch my breath and maybe regain some semblance of dignity.

The transaction had taken less than five minutes, but her expression had soured considerably when she came back.

I tilted my head. “Something wrong?”

She sighed and glanced back toward the baristas. “Does anyone ever recognize you on the street?”

Great. They must have said something to her.
In spite of my irritation with the women behind the counter, I smirked. “If they do, they usually don’t say anything.”

Rachel laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess they wouldn’t, would they?”

“Not when it’s the equivalent of saying, ‘Hey, guess what? I watch enough porn to recognize faces!’”

That time, she laughed for real. “I never thought of that.”

“Neither did I,” I said with a grin. “Not until I was in this line of work, anyway.” I nodded past her in the general direction of the front counter. “Barista give you a hard time?”

“Well, she didn’t know it was me. She asked if I was Olivia Taylor, and I…” I sighed. “You know, it’s easiest to do the whole ‘Oh, I get that all the time’ thing sometimes, but I never know who’s going to just brush it off and walk away, and who’s going to start ranting and raving about what a hot mess Olivia Taylor is.”

“Makes you wonder how they talk about their friends,” I muttered.

Her hand stopped midway to her coffee cup. “Never thought about it like that.”

“People gossip. Just easier to talk about celebrities because we’re not real people to them.”

“Good point.” She shook her head. “Though it doesn’t help that the media twists every goddamned thing around or has something snide to say about everything. I mean, did you hear about when I was on
Marooned Celebrities
?”

I nodded. After I’d washed down a bite of the Danish with some of my latte, I said, “Yeah. You and Jessica Hailey both got sick on that one, didn’t you?”

“Brown recluse bites,” Rachel said. “And you know, since she and I have both been to rehab before, that punk gossip blog Chatty & Catty actually suggested we got ourselves bitten on purpose.”

“On purpose? Really?”

“Apparently he thinks we’re stupid enough to try to get high off spider venom.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “It’s no wonder people think Jessica and I are idiots.”

“You know the media,” I said with a sympathetic shrug. “They’ll twist anything they can into the most negative interpretation possible.”

“Jerks,” she muttered. “I really try not to pay attention to the things they say, but…” Her eyes flicked toward the baristas, then out the window again. “I’m not going to lie. It’s hard.”

“I believe it,” I said. “Most of the people I work with don’t get too much exposure in the gossip rags. Nobody knows who we are, and those who do won’t admit it, so no one’s interested in what we do. But I’ve seen the shit they say about everyone in Hollywood or the music biz.” Shaking my head, I sighed. “I think I’d go crazy.”

“Some of us do,” she said quietly.

There was some relief in her posture compared to when she came back from the counter, a hint of relaxation, but the topic obviously bothered her.

“So when did you know you wanted to be a musician?” I asked.

Rachel brightened a bit. “I don’t know, to be honest. I can’t really remember a time when I didn’t.”

“That’s amazing,” I said. “You wanted it from the time you were a kid, and you made it happen. That’s a pretty rare thing.”

“Well, let’s not break out the champagne yet,” she said dryly. “We still don’t know if this thing’s going to fall apart again.”

“I can’t imagine it will,” I said.

She eyed me, furrowing her brow slightly. “What makes you say that?”

“Presumably, you’re wiser now,” I said. “You probably know what caused everything to collapse last time, and I get the feeling you’re smart enough not to repeat those mistakes.”

She smiled, but it didn’t extend beyond her lips. “Let’s hope so.” She took a deep breath. “We’ll find out soon enough if my fans have forgiven me.”

“Yeah, I meant to ask,” I said. “When’s the album due out?”

“Soon.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, the reason we’re shooting this thing in a day? Budget, for one thing, but their plan is to get it edited, packaged and ready to drop three days after the album goes live.”

“Which is when?”

“Three weeks.”

I stared at her. “Three
weeks
? Even my work doesn’t get turned around that quickly.”

“Believe me, I know. The video was supposed to be done right around the time we finished recording, but the bigwigs and the director couldn’t agree on, well, anything. It kept getting delayed and delayed and delayed, and now, they’ve got postproduction on standby to work night and day and get this thing finalized on time.” She laughed. “At least they can’t blame it on me this time.”

I chuckled. “Doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“Don’t I know it?” She rolled her eyes again. “So anyway, the plan is to finish the video, and once that’s in the bag, they’ll start promoting the album.”

“Three weeks before it goes on sale.”

“Probably more like one week, if that,” she said. “They’ve got all kinds of interviews and appearances lined up already. I’m not sure what they told anyone, or if they made them sign the same kind of nondisclosure agreements we all had to sign, but—”

“You had to sign that too?”

Rachel nodded. “You should have seen the ream of crap I signed when this whole thing started.”

I whistled. “I can only imagine.”

“Such is the life of a musician,” she muttered, thumbing the handle on her cup.

“Yeah. Hooray showbiz.”

“Uh-huh.” She raised her cup in a mock toast before taking a drink.

“But you enjoy it, don’t you?” I asked. “The music?”

“Oh yes, definitely.” She smiled. “Believe me, I wouldn’t put up with Risen Star’s crap if I didn’t love the music and performing as much as I do.”

Good God, her smile was beautiful. It was anyway, but especially like this, when it was genuine and heartfelt. She wore happiness so well. Maybe this time around, her career would let her wear it more.

“So,” she said. ”What else do you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, hobbies. Things outside of…your job.”

“Well, I
used
to work on cars,” I said, “but ever since I fucked up my neck, I haven’t done it much.”

“I suppose leaning over an engine doesn’t do much for your neck.”

I cringed, remembering a few too many unpleasant evenings spent holding hot packs against a cable-tight neck spasm. “Not really, no.”

She shuddered and offered a sympathetic grimace. “Ouch.”

“What about you? Hobbies?”

“Honestly? Music is my life.”

“You don’t do anything else?”

She grinned. “Well, I do have a bit of a nerd streak.”

“Do you?” I glanced at her T-shirt, and raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She looked down, then laughed. “Guess it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. Retro T-shirts are trendy, so…”

“Yeah, well. The shoe fits, in this case. And I’m…a little bit of a gamer.”

I almost choked on my coffee again.
Oh, be still my beating heart.
“Seriously?”

More color in her cheeks. “Yeah.”

“What system?”

“Xbox, mostly.”

“You too?” I grinned. “Maybe we should exchange handles.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’re a gamer?”

I nodded.

She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and pressing her chin into her palm. “If you tell me you play Call of Duty, we might have to take a detour to Vegas.”

I leaned closer. “Your car or mine?”

Rachel threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, it’s on. Do not let me leave here without your gamer handle.”

“Well, that assumes you can handle playing against—”

“Oh, please.” She waved a hand and rolled her eyes. “I grew up playing against three older brothers. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.”

And just like that, we were lost in gamer talk, carrying on like we’d just bumped into each other in a Game Stop or something. Comparing trophies, talking trash, bitching about campers and the twelve-year-olds who used the game chatter to try out all their new curse words.

Before either of us knew it, the coffee shop had mostly cleared out, the baristas had all switched out with the next shift, and the clock above the stage said it was quarter past eleven.

Next thing I knew, we were out on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. We punched each other’s gamer handles—
PrincessBadass? Awesome
—into our phones, but I didn’t quite work up the nerve to ask for her number too. Even if we had just spent the entire evening talking like the geeks we were, she
was
still Olivia Taylor and I
was
still Buck Harder. There were certain lines people just didn’t cross in this business, though we’d already crossed a few just by being here.

“Where are you parked?” I asked.

She gestured down the street. “That way. About a block and a half down.”

“I’ll walk you back to your car.” I paused. “If that’s all right?”

She smiled. “Sure. I don’t mind at all.”

We didn’t talk on the way down the sidewalk. Side by side, lost in our own thoughts, we walked along the mostly deserted street.

We stopped beside a parked car. Keys jingled, and Rachel gestured at the car. “Well. This is mine.”

“Right. Okay.” I slid my hands into my pockets. “Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” She fingered her purse strap. “Thanks again, by the way. For that topical you gave me earlier.”

I smiled. “Glad it helped.”

“It did. A lot.” She laughed, though it sounded forced. “I’ll probably need some more tomorrow.”

“If you need more,” I said, “I’ve got plenty.”

“Well, thanks. I owe you.”

“No, don’t worry about it, I—” I paused. “Actually, there is one thing…”

Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “Hmm?”

“Listen, um…” I looked down at the pavement but finally met her eyes. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to deal with, but my sister is a huge fan of yours.”

“Really?” She smiled, sending a shiver through me. “I didn’t think I had any left.”

“You do,” I said. “And when she finds out I was working with you, she’ll have my head on a stick if I don’t bring her something that you’ve signed.” I raised my eyebrows. “Would it be too much trouble or out of line?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I’ll bring something to the set in the morning.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” She lowered her gaze. “Oh, and I have to apologize, by the way.”

“For what?”

“I guess I had some…preconceived notions about you. Because of what you do.”

I laughed. “You and everyone else.”

“Maybe, but…” Her cheeks colored again. “If I was a bitch to you in the beginning, it—”

“No, you weren’t.” I waved a hand. “Trust me, you were fine. I probably had a few preconceived notions myself. You…weren’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Well…”

She held my gaze just right to make my heart beat faster, and that smile—a little shy, a little cocky—didn’t help.

I broke eye contact and shook my head. “I don’t know, to be honest. Just not you.”

“Guess that makes us even,” she said.