Stalking the Billionaire Celebrity (Sweet Bay Billionaires Book 2)

by Rachel Taylor

  Or, at least, I didn’t want to be only her friend. But that was all she was willing to offer me, so it had to be enough. I did want to get to know her better, though, and that was something I rarely felt about the women I dated. They all seemed so boring and shallow. Cara’s life was simple, but I found it appealing. I wanted to know more about what it was like growing up in a small town.

  We pulled up to her driveway, and I grudgingly let go of her so we could climb off. I owned half a dozen exotic cars and even a couple motorcycles, but riding on that tiny scooter with Cara was more fun than any of them. She hung her helmet on the handlebars then led me up the path to her front door, glancing over her shoulder, probably checking to see if anyone was watching. I was familiar with that move. At least here there were no cameras clicking.

  We walked through the plain living room and into a small kitchen with white cupboards in need of a fresh coat of paint and vinyl flooring, peeling at the seam. The stale scent of diner food clung to the air. Cara dug in the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. When she emerged, she had a wince on her face. “There really isn’t much here besides sandwich fixings.”

  Did she go hungry sometimes? I knew there were people in America who did, but I always assumed they were drug addicts or just lazy. Not people like Cara who worked hard but still struggled. Growing up in my parents’ mansion with a fridge full of gourmet food, I couldn’t imagine worrying about where your next meal came from.

  I always thought the money my parents gave to charity was more for show than anything else, but seeing Cara’s empty fridge made me want to help people. I was a billionaire, but people all around me struggled to have enough to eat. Why didn’t I help more of them? I made up my mind that I would do better with that.

  “I don’t mind. I haven’t had a PB & J since I was a kid.”

  She snorted but grabbed the jelly out of the fridge door then rooted in the cupboard, pulling out bread and peanut butter.

  “Want some help?”

  “I got it.” She shook her head and smirked like she doubted I was capable of making a sandwich.

  I watched as she slathered the bread with peanut butter and jelly and poured milk into faded plastic tumblers. I might not have done it in years, but I thought I could handle it. In fact, there was a simple satisfaction to be found in making your own food. Maybe if I did it myself once in a while instead of being waited on hand and foot I’d feel a little better about myself.

  When she was done, she handed a plate and cup to me and nodded towards the small table in the corner, wincing again. Half of it was piled with mail and other clutter. I could tell she was embarrassed by her home, but I wished she wouldn’t be. I didn’t care that much about money. I knew it couldn’t satisfy a person.

  “Why don’t we eat outside? It’s such a nice day.” I moved towards the back door, propping my plate on my cup so I could grab the doorknob.

  “There’s no place out there to sit,” she said at the same time I realized it. I guess I expected patio furniture, but the only thing out there was a cracked concrete square and a rusty, old swing set.

  “Let’s sit here. It’ll be fun.” I headed for the swing set, lowering myself onto the cracked, rubber seat. It pinched my hips, and the chain creaked like it wanted to break. I glanced up at the metal bar above me, wondering if it would bend under my weight, but it held.

  Cara chuckled and sat down on the swing next to me. “You are not at all what I expected, Beau Bennett.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.” I took a giant bite of sandwich, savoring the sweet, simple flavor, and chased it with a big gulp of milk.

  She didn’t respond, so I got worried. “What did you expect?”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “I didn’t expect you to be so… human.”

  I chuckled. “What? Did you think I was an alien, or something?”

  She grinned, staring at the ground as she pushed her swing back and forth with her feet. “Something like that.”

  I knew what she had expected; she thought I’d be a self-centered jerk like the rest of the people in Hollywood. And I could be, at times. But I wanted to believe that wasn’t the real me. Getting away from that world for a while helped me realize who I wanted to be. I wanted to be someone a girl like Cara would want to be with.

  I knew she thought I was only looking for a fling, and maybe at first I was. That was the only kind of relationship I ever had. But that was because I’d never met anyone worth having a real relationship with. Until Cara. I could imagine a whole different life with her in it. But could she ever see me the same way?

  She’d quit her job, one she obviously needed, to get away from me, yet she’d agreed to spend the day with me. She must have some feelings for me. Could I convince her to give me a chance? Maybe if I showed her more of the kind of guy she was looking for.

  “Cara, I hate to think you quit your job because of me. I know you need it. I can ask Calvin to hire you back but reassign you, if you want.”

  Her eyes bulged out, and she dug her feet into the ground, bringing her swing to a stop. “No! No, it’s fine. I can find work somewhere else.”

  “Let me help you out, at least, until you find something.” I set my plate on the ground, dug my wallet out of my back pocket, and pulled out a sheath of hundreds then held them out to Cara.

  She looked at it like I was a John, soliciting a prostitute, and held up her hands to ward me off. “No! I don’t need your money. I don’t want it.”

  I quickly put the money away. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. I just want to help.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” She shoved off with her feet again, setting her swing into motion. It creaked, and the frame shuddered as she pushed herself.

  “What kind of job will you look for? Is there much work here?” She seemed so bright and competent; I hated to see her doing menial work for low pay, but what opportunities did a small town like Sweet Bay have to offer?

  “I’m sure I’ll find something.”

  “What are your dreams? What would you do if you could do anything?”

  “Look, it’s not your problem, okay?” She dug her feet in again then jumped off her swing and moved towards the house. I got up and followed her. I didn’t believe her, but I didn’t want to push the issue and risk making things worse.

  She put her dishes on the counter then took mine from me and turned on the water to wash them. I grabbed a towel off the stove handle to dry them. Cara gave me a frustrated look I couldn’t quite understand.

  What had I done wrong? I was trying to be kind and thoughtful. Most women liked it when I showed an interest in their lives and plied them with money.

  We worked in silence for a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what was going through Cara’s brain, but I was thinking of what I could say or do to lighten the mood again. It would’ve been helpful if I knew what the problem was.

  Once the dishes were washed, Cara looked around like she didn’t know what to do. I wanted to get to know her a little better, so I moved towards the hallway and said, “Why don’t you show me your room?”

  She sucked in a gasp and grabbed my arm. “It’s a mess.”

  I smirked at her and kept moving. “I don’t care. You’ve cleaned up after me before. You know I’m no neat freak.”

  She dug her fingers in deeper, her face creased with anxiety. “No! I don’t want you to go in there.”

  I stopped and turned around. What was up with her? Every time I dug into her personal life, she clammed up and pushed me away. What was she hiding?

  “Why don’t we watch a movie, or something?” She headed towards the living room then dropped to her knees in front of the television, pulling open a drawer in the TV stand.

  I kneeled down beside her and perused the DVDs she owned. She had all the biggest hits, including some of mine. It surprised me since she’d been so unimpressed by me when we first met. It made me happy to imagine her watching me on TV.

  �
��Which one’s your favorite?” I asked, hoping that wouldn’t be too personal. I didn’t want to upset her, but I still wanted to learn more about her.

  She bit her lip in a pathetic attempt to stifle a grin then held up a movie starring AJ Jennings, my biggest competition. His annoyingly handsome face took up the entire DVD cover, like the only thing that mattered about the movie was that he was in it. Of course, the same could be said for some of my movies, but I liked to think they had a little more substance than his did.

  I grabbed it from her and turned it around so I could read the description. I couldn’t even remember what it was about. “What? You gotta be kidding me. That’s really your favorite?”

  She giggled and grabbed the movie from my hand then shoved it back in the drawer. “No. It’s my mom’s, though. I like your movies better.”

  I chuffed. “I should hope so. His movies are mindless drivel. The entire plot was designed to maximize the number of times he takes off his shirt.”

  “Well, I don’t mind those parts so much. Maybe your movies would do better if you took your shirt off more.” She laughed as she said it, but then she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Oh, you think so, huh? Do I look better with my shirt off?” I yanked my tee shirt over my head on impulse and tossed it aside.

  Cara’s eyes bulged but then roved up and down my abdomen. I could tell she liked what she saw. Cara was into me, whether she wanted to admit it, or not. I grabbed my shirt and pulled it back on, hoping to make her want more. “I suppose friends don’t watch movies together half naked. Although it’s okay with me if you want to.”

  She rolled her eyes at me and pulled out a movie with a female lead and no shirtless guys. “How about this one?”

  I smirked. “Sounds good.”

  She stuck the movie in the DVD player then moved to the couch. I sat down next to her, close, but not as close as I wanted to be. She turned on the movie, and we settled in to watch it.

  As much as I wanted to put my arm around her or even reach across the space between us and take her hand, it was okay that I knew I couldn’t. It was nice to do something with someone without any expectations. We were just friends, enjoying a movie together. We laughed together, groaned at the same unbelievable parts, and had the same opinions about what was good and not so good about the movie.

  I thought she didn’t care about celebrities, but Cara made comments about the actors that told me she knew a lot more about them than I expected. When I gave her tidbits I knew she wouldn’t know, she seemed fascinated and asked me a dozen questions. I was happy to answer them; I liked the idea of her being an insider in my world.

  I wished she would let me into her world, too. I wanted to learn more about her, but she closed off every time I asked anything personal. Hopefully, she’d open up more around her friends.

  When the movie was over, I excused myself to use the restroom. I snooped around in her cabinets a bit, but I had a feeling most of the products belonged to her mother. I doubted that Cara used Aqua Net hairspray, she never wore makeup, as far as I’d seen, and she certainly didn’t need anti-wrinkle cream.

  My curiosity unsatisfied, I couldn’t resist peeking into the bedrooms. The colorful but faded, paisley comforter on a twin size bed told me the first room was Cara’s. I listened for a moment to make sure she wasn’t coming then slipped into the room.

  Besides the bed, a battered, white desk took up most of the space. A cheap laptop sat in the middle of it, the screen dark. I resisted the urge to tap on the touchpad to see if it would come to life and reveal some of her secrets. The magazines piled up next to it didn’t surprise me, especially after watching a movie with her and learning how interested she was in celebrities, but the newspapers did. Most people our age got their news online. What appealed to her about the paper?

  Above the desk hung a cork board decorated with snapshots of her with a few of her friends, possibly people I’d meet that night. I admired the images of her. She looked so happy and carefree, something I got rare glimpses of when she wasn’t putting up a wall to keep me out.

  Tacked in the middle of the bulletin board was a small newspaper article about the declining economy of Sweet Bay and the lack of career prospects for young people. It seemed like a strange thing for her to give a place of prominence on her wall, and it made me worry more about her. Would it be hard for her to find a new job? I was reading the article when Cara yelped and rushed in.

  “What are you doing in here? Get out!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me away from her desk. I let her drag me into the hallway.

  As soon as we were out, she yanked the door shut and glared at me. “You don’t just walk into somebody’s bedroom without asking. It’s an invasion of privacy!”

  “I’m sorry, I was curious. I didn’t see anything.” I didn’t think so, anyway. What didn’t she want me to see? Her room was tidy other than the clutter on her desk. She didn’t have any underwear strewn around or embarrassing posters on her walls.

  She huffed and stomped off down the hall. I followed her, trying to come up with something to say to make it better but rejecting all my ideas. She was right; it was rude of me to snoop when she clearly didn’t want me knowing much about her. Couldn’t she see that it was only because I was interested in her?

  She grabbed her keys and moved towards the front door. “We should leave for the bowling alley now.”

  I sighed in relief, grateful she was still willing to take me with her. We climbed onto her scooter and I held on loosely as we made the short drive to the bowling alley, a wide, white building with a lit up ball and pin on the front and the name Striker’s in red across a black and white awning. She kept her distance as we walked inside, the mood between us still cool.

  But her face lifted when we were greeted by a crowd of people, a few I recognized from the photos on her cork board. They crowded around us, smiling widely, as we approached the lane they had claimed.

  “Hey guys, I’d like you to meet my friend, Beau Bennett.” She gestured towards me, and I held up my hand in an awkward wave. At least she still called me her friend.

  The others welcomed me like I was any other guy, and it was surprisingly refreshing. It got tiring always being the star. It was nice to be treated like a normal person, for once. I could get used to this kind of life.

  But even though Cara’s friends weren’t fawning over me like fans, they all had smiles on their faces that told me they were very curious about what was going on between Cara and me. I wished I knew.

  Maybe I could stay in Sweet Bay, even past the time I was supposedly in rehab. Why not? I was rich enough, I could have half a dozen residences, if I wanted. If I stayed, maybe Cara and I could have a shot at something more.

  Chapter 14

  Cara

  I’d never been a big fan of superhero movies, but right then I would’ve given anything to be able to read minds. What was Beau thinking? Had he read the article on my cork board, seen the byline, and made the connection that I was Caroline Lawson, the reporter?

  He only knew me as Cara, but it wouldn’t take much of a stretch for someone to figure out that it was short for Caroline, even though no one in town called me that. Except for the mayor, of course, who just happened to say my full name earlier. Had Beau caught that? If he did, he didn’t mention it. He didn’t say anything about the article, either, so maybe he didn’t notice who the writer was.

  I wanted to kick myself for hanging the darn thing up. It was the first article of mine that had been printed in the town newspaper, so I was proud of it. But you know what they say — pride goes before a fall. Thank goodness my computer was off or he might’ve seen the article I was working on or the file folder full of ones I’d already written.

  The fright certainly slapped me in the face with a reminder of why there could be nothing between Beau and me, even though every moment I spent with him made me like him even more. I felt a twinge of pleasure that he wanted to know more about me, but if he ever found
out the truth, he hate me for lying to him and despise me because of what I wanted to be.

  Although, I was definitely having second thoughts about my intended career path. After getting to know Beau, one of the worst of the worst as far as famous bad boys went, I realized that celebrity journalism was no more than gossip and lies, disguised as real news. Did I really want to perpetuate that? Maybe I should stick to small town reporting. Although, even then, my editor preferred scandal over the truth.

  I hated the way Beau seemed hesitant to hold onto me on the ride over to the bowling alley, but it was for the best. There was no point letting myself fantasize about a romantic relationship with him. Even if I changed my career plans, he wouldn’t be interested in me once he got back to Hollywood and was surrounded by his own kind.

  Although he did seem to fit in surprisingly well with my friends. Once we got to Striker’s, Beau greeted everyone like he hung out in bowling alleys with normal people every day. Thankfully, my friends didn’t gush over him. They welcomed him into the group like he was one of them. There were a lot of people, and I told him not to feel bad if he couldn’t remember all their names, but he made a sincere effort to learn them, shaking each person’s hand and repeating their names a few times.

  Once the introductions were made, I led Beau over to the counter. He seemed confused when I asked him his shoe size, and he picked up the battered, black and red patchwork leather shoes the attendant handed over and looked at them strangely. He took a tentative whiff then yanked them away from his nose, crinkling his face. “I think these have been used.”

  I chuckled at him. “It’s part of the experience. You’ll survive.”

  He winced but carried the shoes over to our lane and put them on. “These are the ugliest, most uncomfortable things I’ve ever worn. They look like clown shoes.”

  But then he glanced around at everyone else wearing them and made a face. “Sorry. I’ll stop being pretentious now. This is going to be fun, even if I do get athlete’s foot… or gangrene.” He muttered the last bit, but everyone heard him and laughed.