Mr. April: A Celebrity Romance (Calendar Boys Book 4)

by Nicole S. Goodin

  Fuck. She still lives with him. They’re still married.

  “Was his name Harvey?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “That’s her husband.”

  “We gathered that. Information you didn’t tell me, might I add.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking about him to be honest,” I admit sheepishly.

  He chuckles at that. “Can’t say I blame you.”

  I think about what he’s just said. “Hold up, he didn’t know where his wife was?”

  My heart catapults back up into my throat. If he doesn’t know where she is, then maybe they’re not still together.

  “Said she went to see a friend and he didn’t know when she’d be back.”

  It’s not confirmation of their divorce like I’d hoped for, but I’m not willing to give up yet.

  “So go back today.”

  “Already done. No one was home, or the grumpy bastard didn’t answer the door this time.”

  “Can’t you track her cell phone or her number plate or something?”

  “Gee, thanks, I hadn’t thought of that,” he replies dryly. “What a revelation.”

  I stop in my tracks; I hadn’t even noticed I’d begun pacing the room.

  “Well?” I demand. “What did it turn up?”

  “Her vehicle hasn’t been seen in the last twenty-four hours and her cell phone is either switched off or out of service.”

  This isn’t good. More than being frustrated about not being able to locate her, I’m starting to worry that something might have happened to her.

  That he might have done something to her.

  “I want you to keep eyes on the husband. I’ve got a bad feeling and I want to know that he has nothing to do with her dropping off the face of the planet.”

  “Alright, but it’ll cost you.”

  “Do you really think I care about the price tag?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Definitely not. Keep eyes on him, and keep looking for her.” I release a breath. “Please,” I add on as an afterthought.

  It’s not Trevor’s fault that she’s disappeared, but my frustration levels are reaching new heights.

  “Sure thing, boss. Anything else?”

  “Can you hack her emails?”

  “We weren’t able to access her server, but I can get someone who can?”

  I realise in this moment that I’m possibly crossing a line here. I have no right to be snooping around in her emails.

  “If there’s still no sign of her in another twenty-four hours, then do it.”

  “Got it.” He clicks his tongue. “I’ll update you in a few hours.”

  I hit the end call button and inhale deeply through my nose, my eyes falling shut as I do.

  Right now, a few hours feels like an eternity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Blaire

  “I don’t know, Jen, maybe I shouldn’t have come.” I nibble on my bottom lip as I talk down the speaker of the cheap phone I picked up from the convenience store inside the airport terminal.

  No matter what I did, I couldn’t get my damn cell from back home to work here.

  I guess that’s a consequence of flying halfway across the world at the drop of a hat, with no planning or preparation whatsoever.

  I had no phone, no money in the right currency and nowhere to go.

  Thankfully, I got hold of this phone and managed to call Jen. She gave me the details of the hotel she booked for me, and told me to stop being such a baby, go to the currency exchange desk, pay the ridiculously expensive fee and get out of the airport.

  She was right. I was being a baby – one on the edge of an emotional breakdown.

  I made it to the hotel without getting lost, mugged or scammed, so I wasn’t doing too badly at that point, but after falling into the plush bed and sleeping for ten hours straight, I was beginning to realise exactly what I’d done.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’ll be thrilled to see you.” I can practically see her rolling her eyes through the phone.

  “Maybe he would be,” I reply as I drag my brush through my hair. “If I knew how to find him.”

  “Stalk him like a fan girl, it can’t be that hard.”

  I roll my eyes even though she can’t see the action. “Oh yeah, I bet he’ll just be wandering around, no security or anything, I’ll just stroll right up to him, ‘Oh hey, Beck, remember me?’ Yeah right.”

  “The Blaire that jumped the fence at that Pink concert when we were eighteen and managed to get away from four security guards wouldn’t be put off by a bit of muscle in her way.”

  I try and fail to stifle the laugh bubbling up my throat. “I don’t think I’ve got any fence jumping left in me – I’m not eighteen anymore.”

  I can tell Jen is smiling along with me. “You’ll figure it out, you just have to trust that it will all work out.”

  “I’m going to go downstairs and use the computer and see what I can find out about his schedule for the next few days.”

  “Stalker mode activated,” she quips.

  “Call me when it’s a good time for you,” I tell her.

  I’ve got no idea what time it is back home, hell I’m not even sure what time it is where I am right now.

  My life is a mess.

  “Will do. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I reply.

  I wait to hear the tone that tells me she’s hung up, before sighing and sliding the small phone into my pocket.

  I grab my bag, stuff some cash, a pen and paper, and my room key into it and head downstairs to the corner where I saw the computers when I first arrived.

  I click on the link to use the free WiFi, and bring up an internet tab for a Google search.

  I start with his name, but all I get is endless streams of gossip sites, pictures of him at the premiere and videos of his interviews.

  I’m ridiculously tempted to click on the videos, just to hear his voice, but I don’t have time to get lost down that particular rabbit hole right now.

  There are clips of him singing from the movie too, and my finger hovers over the mouse as I mentally talk myself out of clicking on them.

  I need to do something productive. I need to find him.

  I click on where I’ve typed ‘Beckett Thorn’ and add in ‘public appearances 2019’; this time I have more luck.

  I find a fan website that has every scheduled appearance and interview for Beckett listed.

  “Wow,” I mouth the words to myself as I scroll through the endless lists of information.

  I can barely even call myself a fan girl in comparison to this.

  This is beyond next level.

  Thankfully for me, people are indeed hard core, crazy fans.

  I scroll to this month and see that he’s scheduled for two more public appearances in town, one today and one tomorrow.

  Today’s is not far from here – probably a fifteen-minute cab ride according to the maps tab I’ve opened.

  I glance at my watch.

  It’s scheduled for one hour’s time.

  I scrawl down the address on the paper I threw in my bag and also write down the name of the website for good measure.

  I’m about to close down my search and ask the front reception to call me a cab, when a thought strikes me.

  I might not be able to contact Beckett directly, but surely there’s a way I can get in touch with his manager or agent or someone from his team.

  I type a few keywords into the search bar and scan the results, all the while aware of the limited time I have available to me.

  I’m about to give up and come back to it later, if my ‘just show up’ plan fails, when I find an email address that looks promising.

  I login to my email account as fast as I can and copy and paste the address for a man called John Collins.

  To: John Collins (johncollins@wemanageyou.com)

  From: Blaire Miller (bmills@gmail.com)

  Hi John,

  My
name is Blaire Miller and I’m trying to get in touch with Beckett Thorn. I know what you’re thinking – stalker alert – but that’s not the case here – we’re… old friends.

  If you could please just pass on to him that I got in touch, I’d be incredibly grateful for it.

  Thank you,

  Blaire.

  I hit send and logout as fast as I can.

  I need to get out of here.

  ***

  “You know, personally, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about… I mean sure he can sing and act, he’s probably loaded, and he’s pretty good-looking, but that’s only going to get you so far in life, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I nod in agreement absently.

  I regret ever having told my cab driver why I wanted to go to the address I provided him with.

  He has gone on and on and on about all things Beckett for the whole drive, which is taking much longer than the time I estimated.

  I wasn’t prepared for so much traffic.

  There’s been about three times that I’ve considered just getting out and walking – it probably would have been faster – but finally we seem to be making progress.

  It can’t be much further.

  “It’s just up here, ma’am,” he tells me, confirming my suspicions.

  We crawl forward another block and he points up ahead. “There we are.”

  I literally feel my jaw drop.

  I thought I was prepared for madness, but my expectations had nothing on the reality that is the absolute pandemonium occurring in the space in front of me.

  The closed-off street up ahead is lined on either side with armpit-high temporary railings that are being patrolled attentively by a collection of burly looking security guards.

  Pressed up against those barriers are hundreds and hundreds of soon-to-be screaming fans – hell there might even be thousands of them.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter.

  “I told you the crazies would be out in force.” He catches my eye in the rear view mirror. “No offence.”

  I’m tempted to explain to him that I’m not one of the ‘crazies’, but really, what’s the point? Instead I take a wad of cash out of my wallet and hand it over to him.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I call over my shoulder as I slip out of the car and into the bedlam.

  I had a plan coming here – it seemed simple too – get as close to Beckett as I could and then scream his name until he saw me.

  That was it. But given the scene in front of me, it’s quickly becoming obvious that that plan is not going to come to fruition.

  I’ll just be one of the crowd yelling his name when he arrives, and if I wanted to get anywhere near where he could see me, then I probably needed to camp out over night or something crazy like that.

  Nevertheless, I find myself working my way into the throngs of people, slipping through gaps when they appear and saying “sorry, excuse me,” as women shoot daggers at me.

  The best I can do is about two metres back from the barriers, surrounded by more people than I can count.

  He’s never going to see me here.

  I close my eyes for a moment in defeat and try to think about what the hell I’m going to do next.

  He has another appearance scheduled tomorrow, but it’ll just be more of the same. I’ll just be another face in the crowd there too.

  Maybe that’s all I ever was in his life. Just another face in the crowd.

  Everyone to my right starts shrieking and yelling, and like some kind of Mexican wave, the noise passes over me and continues through the crowd to my left.

  That’s when the screaming of his name starts.

  My eyes fly open, and suddenly I’m just the same as these insane women – I’m dying to get even just a glimpse of him.

  I push up onto my tippy toes, trying to get higher than the woman in front of me.

  The screams are deafening now – I can’t even hear myself think.

  I stretch up a little higher and that’s when I see him.

  I can only see the top of his head and half of his face, but it’s enough to send my heart rate into a gallop.

  It’s him. It’s really him, and he’s not in the pages of some glossy magazine or trapped behind the screen of my computer.

  He’s here. Right in front of me.

  “Beckett!” I find myself screaming.

  I sound like a nutcase, but I don’t care.

  He’s coming closer to the section where I’m standing, I can feel the people in front of me bunching tighter and the ones behind me pressing me in further.

  We’re all just trying to get as close as we can.

  I try to get high enough to see him again, but it’s no use, he’s too close to the barrier a few metres in front of me. It’s not the right angle.

  I feel like I’m in a mosh pit, and then just like that, the pressure shifts to the left and I know he’s moving on.

  I’m not even going to see him.

  I’ve failed.

  “Beckett!” I scream again. “Beck!”

  The people in front of me push back gently and I’m forced to follow suit, putting me even further from where I really want to be.

  “Daniel Beckett!” I scream at the top of my lungs, doing the only thing I can think of that might make me stand out from the hundreds of others, but it’s no use.

  He’s moved on.

  I turn around and notice the smirks on the faces of the women behind me.

  “She doesn’t even know his name.” One giggles to the other.

  “How embarrassing,” the other one joins in.

  I roll my eyes and push my way between them.

  I need to get the hell out of this place before I lose my mind entirely.

  I shove my way through the crowd until I reach the freedom of the back.

  I inhale deeply and release a shaky breath.

  There’s a bench seat right there and before I even think about it, I clamber up on top of it so I can see more.

  It works.

  I see him.

  He’s wearing dark jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He looks good enough to eat.

  He’s taking pictures and signing things.

  He’s smiling for his fans.

  I slowly climb back down until my feet are on the ground again.

  I wish I could talk to Jen right now, but I don’t want to wake her if she’s sleeping.

  I cross the street and wander down the road until I find another bench seat. I sit down on it and let my face fall into my hands.

  That scene back there – the one that might best describe his life – should be enough to put me off wanting to get involved, but it hasn’t, not at all.

  I still want him as badly as I did a year ago.

  I sit there, still as anything, contemplating my next move until finally the crowd starts to thin and then disappear entirely, and then all that’s left is barriers and security guards.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Beckett

  “I think they’re getting worse,” John says as I stare absently out the window.

  I don’t reply.

  “Did you see that one with her tits out? I mean damn. She had a nice rack, but I don’t think her husband was too impressed.”

  I grunt in response. I don’t care if she had the best set of tits in the world.

  “What’s up your ass? Use up all your charm on the ladies?”

  I can’t put my finger on it. I feel off balance. I heard someone scream the name ‘Daniel Beckett’ – the name I used when I was with Blaire in the barber shop, and honestly, it threw me.

  I know that anyone could have found out that name, but for a fraction of a second, I thought that maybe it could have been her.

  But when I scoured the crowd, I found no sign of her. Not that I had much of a chance.

  It would have been like finding a needle in a haystack.

  I really thought it was her.

  That’s what I do though. I
see her everywhere. I hear her everywhere.

  I need to speak to Trevor again. This has gone on long enough.

  I want to call him, but I know there’s no point. He would have called me if he had anything to say.

  His silence is my answer right now. He’s got nothing to report.

  “I thought I heard her,” I reply gruffly. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

  I don’t know what I expect from him, reassurance maybe, but instead he replies, “Maybe you are.”

  “Where to, Mr. Thorn?” my driver asks me before I have the chance to respond to John.

  “Home,” John answers for me.

  “No,” I reply quickly. “I want to go to the park.”

  John makes an unimpressed noise next to me, but I don’t bother looking in his direction. I know he thinks I’m stupid for sitting out there in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing at all, but I don’t give a shit.

  “I have to go to the office. We’ll drop you off and pick you up when I’m done.”

  I nod once in response.

  I don’t have to tell Angus – my driver – where to go, he knows this spot well.

  ***

  “Call me if you get into any trouble and I’ll come right back.”

  I snort out a laugh. “I’m not a kid, Johnno.”

  “No, you’re worse,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls the door shut.

  I glance around, even though I know nobody followed me here.

  We switched cars from the one that took me to the appearance, just in case anyone got any ideas, but we’re in the clear.

  I stroll down the footpath and onto the grass before stepping onto the gravel track that snakes through the park.

  This place is huge, and for the short time that I’m here, I feel small.

  I walk, my face slightly raised to the sky as I breathe in the fresh air surrounding me.

  There’s no one asking me to do anything and no one saying my name like a broken record. It’s bliss.