Celebrity Dirt: A Fake Relationship Romantic Suspense Standalone

by J. D. Hollyfield

  This was a bad idea.

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  Time to abort mission.

  I whip around, preparing my retreat, when I face-plant into the person behind me. “Ouch,” I whine, holding my nose.

  “Slow down there, Cinderella. It’s not midnight yet. Where you running off to?”

  My eyes lift up. And up. Jesus, and up, until they lock on the barrier I just ran into. My pupils dilate at the dark shade of blue of his eyes. My shortness of breath weakens my knees, and I feel a sudden flush in my cheeks at his hard features—tight jaw, full lips, and hair like a God, thick, and dark, and set in stone, with no strand out of place. He’s dressed in a tuxedo like the rest, but the way he wears it has my stomach fluttering. What in heaven’s name is wrong with me? My knees actually do buckle then, and he reaches forward, securing his large hand around my bicep. A low chuckle flows from his lips, and goosebumps wash down my legs.

  “See something you like?”

  “Who?” I reply, confused.

  He laughs again. “You look like something or someone caught your attention. Where were you running away to? Is there someone I can help you find? Your date possibly?” His voice tickles the insides of my thighs. A wave of dizziness washes over me again. I wish I would have eaten more than a pack of M&M’s today.

  “You two going to move?” a voice behind us asks, and I realize we’re holding up the line. I clear my throat, brushing my sweaty palms down my gown.

  “Sorry. Low blood sugar,” I lie. Dare I admit a complete stranger just had me losing my wits? I turn forward, moving up in the line. “And no date. Just here to have a nice evening.” A nice evening? His low laugh confirms exactly what I think: I’m an idiot. Probably why I’m still single.

  “You’re pretty dressed up for a night alone.”

  Great. Way to point out that I’m also a loser. “Yeah…well, so are you. I see no date for you either. What are you, the entertainment? Didn’t know they allowed strippers at such an elite event.” I squeeze my eyes tight. Stripper? Shut up, Addy.

  His breath hits my earlobe, startling me. More goosebumps pop up along my skin. “Maybe I’m also here for a nice evening, hoping to find a nice girl to keep me company.” I’m embarrassed at my audible intake of breath. I bite my lower lip and take a wide step forward to remove him from my personal space. No one has ever been so brash with me, and I’m not understanding the reaction my body is having. Do I hate it? Love it? Am I losing my mind because I’m not sensing stranger danger? This is how young girls get suckered and drugged. They’re called pretty, and one drink later, they’re violated and dumped in an ice bath with a missing organ or two.

  I shake my head and let off a sarcastic snicker.

  Thankful for the reality check, I press my lips together and turn to face him. I suck in another quick breath. Holy heck is he handsome. I throw in a frown for effect and say, “Then you should hurry up and get inside. I’m sure someone is lonely enough to find comfort in your tacky pick-up lines. But I’m not interested. Good evening—”

  “Logan.”

  “Huh?”

  “Logan. My name’s Logan. You were going to wish me a good evening.”

  Good gracious, if I were anything but a scared mouse trying to find its hidey-hole right now, I’d ask him for more than just his name. Focus, Addy. In and out. “Great, but I didn’t ask. Good luck with that mystery girl you plan on sinking your teeth into.”

  Shut. Up. Right. Now.

  He laughs as I slam my eyes shut, wishing away my last comment. I whip forward, tugging my dress with me. I do my best to ignore him, but my body still feels him too close. He doesn’t say another word, and when I get to the front of the line, my misplaced nerves are no longer on the stolen invitation, but on the beast of a man behind me.

  “Good evening. Welcome to the AMA Gala. May I see your ticket?”

  “Oh, ticket? I actually have this…” I hand over the shimmery invitation and stare at him, waiting for any sign I’m going to need to run. His eyes scan over the card stock. A forced smile crosses his thin lips as he eyes me suspiciously. “Welcome, Ms. Vaughn. I hope you enjoy the events this evening. Make your way into the presidential lounge where the private event is being held.”

  I quickly nod, grab the invitation he hands back, and step forward past the entrance, sighing a huge breath of relief. Now, get in and—

  “Wait, Ms. Vaughn…” I keep walking, not registering the name until he calls out my first name. “Francesca?”

  I turn. “Yeah, yes? That’s me.” Shoot.

  “I need to stamp your wrist to authorize your access to the presidential lounge.”

  Oh, yeah. Duh. “Yes, yes, you do.” I step back and extend my arm, wrist up. He stamps a faint white ink, which will probably only to be seen via blacklight, and nods, bringing his attention to the next attendee. Logan. The man who will haunt my sex dreams until I’m old and gray.

  I pick my feet up and force them to hurry to the entrance, tossing the invitation into the garbage to get rid of any evidence. The wind picks up and whisks it back out, landing behind the bin. Normally I wouldn’t litter, but I catch Logan out of the corner of my eye and decide just this once won’t hurt anyone.

  The moment I step inside, my world transforms. Strobe lights assault my vision, and I throw my hand over my eyes until they’re able to adjust. A well-known DJ spins on a turntable, blaring beats as people grind on each other. The gala is packed, everyone dressed to impress. Collecting myself, I spot the bar. I’ve never been to a party, more or less a gala. Or…well, anything. I’m not sure of my next move. I should find the presidential lounge. Maybe get a drink. A normal person at a party would get a drink. Yes. Okay, I can do this.

  When the bartender asks what I want, I’m clueless. I don’t drink. “Surprise me,” I say.

  She offers me a feisty smile. “You’ve got it, girlfriend.”

  “Francesca Vaughn doesn’t know what to drink?” I jump out of my skin. His breath, warm and minty, caresses my neck, and his low and alluring voice seeps into my eardrums. I stiffen at his closeness, heat flushing my cheeks.

  “Maybe I want to change things up,” I reply, failing at hiding the nervousness in my voice.

  His large hand engulfs my waist, bringing my body into his. My breath hitches as my back collides with his front, the feel of pure muscle pressing against me. His lips brush against my earlobe. “Just like you chose to change up appearances, Francesca?”

  The way he annunciates the name sends an uneasy punch to my gut. Does he know I’m not who I say I am? The bartender returns with a flute of pink, bubbly liquid. As I reach to accept it, my eyes catch someone at the end of the bar. Justin, junior journalist for Celebrity Dirt. We both give each other the holy shit stare-down—until I remember the mysterious man behind me. I break our connection and grab my drink. Placing a twenty on the bar, I turn to him, fighting the urge to stare longer than I need to. “Not sure what has your interest, but like I said, I’m not looking for a night companion. Just here for some—”

  I squeal when he spins me around, causing me to drop my drink. His head lowers, his lips almost touching mine, and his eyes are dark and suddenly dangerous. His jaw is set in a tight clench, creating a low simmer in my belly. He leans in, and I swear he’s going to kiss me. “And I don’t give a shit,” he hisses. “Now, why don’t we go for a walk, and you tell me why you’re impersonating someone else?”

  Oh crap.

  Oh crap.

  Oh crap.

  My head whips from side to side, nervously scanning for an exit. No to the couple next to us making out. No to Justin, who’s no longer standing where I last saw him. Even the bartender is out. She misreads Logan’s glare and chuckles, her lips mouthing go girl, and helps another customer. Great, I’m on my own. Deep breaths. “I…uh, I’m not sure what you’re—”

  His fingers squeeze tighter, pulling me closer. My breasts press against his chest, warming my skin. “How the fuck did you get your
hands on one of Mr. Leoni’s exclusive invitations? And why do you have Ms. Vaughn’s invitation?”

  I debate screaming.

  Kicking him in the balls.

  Continuing this charade.

  When I bring my eyes back to his, I decide against all three. His dark eyes and frown tell me I shouldn’t mess with him. “Listen, there’s been a mistake. If you could just let go of me…you seemed like a nice guy when we were in line, maybe—”

  A deep sound resonates from his chest. I’m pretty sure he just growled at me. “I’m not a nice guy. And you’ve made a huge mistake. Where is she?”

  “Where’s who?”

  “Francesca.” Wow, he can growl. His hands become rogue, rubbing down each side of me, checking for God knows what. My cover’s blown. Maybe I should just leave. Tell him the truth so he can escort me out. I squeal again when his hands brush over my breasts. “What could I possibly be hiding in there?” I ask as his eyes scan my chest.

  “Are you concealing?”

  Strange question. “I don’t really wear much makeup, and this lip gloss isn’t—whoa!” I yelp when he slaps his open palm against my butt cheek. My eyes catch the couple next to us. The girl gets the wrong idea and winks at me.

  “I’m talking about a gun. A weapon. Anything you could use to hurt me, sweetheart.” I don’t know how to answer his question. I’ve never had any intentions of hurting anyone, let alone a stranger with a sudden grudge. I’m horrible in awkward situations.

  “Are you sure it’s me we’re talking about? Feels like you’re the one who’s got a weapon in your pants.” Oh, Jesus. I deserve to be a spinster forever. His eyes narrow. His lips thin. The gun in his pants jerks. Oh god. “Fine! You win! I’m just a gossip columnist! I’m here to get the scoop on famous people! I stole the invitation from Francesca when she rammed into me at a department store.”

  My mouth becomes super dry. Gulping a huge mouthful of air only makes it worse. He keeps staring at me, and his eyes narrow as if waiting for me to confess—

  “Okay! I stole her lip gloss too, but she had a million—oh god, that’s not appropriate!” I yelp as he bends down, and his hand dips between my legs, lifting my dress. “So much for dinner before—hey!” He snatches the thin ID wallet and recorder strapped to my thigh. “That’s mine. You can’t just…” He pockets my recorder. “Okay…well, it’s an old recorder anyway.” He stares at my license, his eyes anchoring on the one thing everyone always focuses on.

  “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he hisses, flipping my ID back and forth.

  “I know, right? My parents had to be smoking something when they named me. And overly obsessed with To Kill a Mockingbird. I mean, who does that to a kid? A girl especially. I asked for a new name every year for my birthday, but, you know, you can’t technically change your—oh, never mind. If you’d just give that back to me, I’ll leave.” I extend my arm to grab my license, but he pulls it out of my reach.

  He cocks his head at me. “Your name is Atticus Finch?”

  Well, no need to remind me. “I actually just go by Addy—”

  “Fuck,” he hisses, tension causing rigid cords in his neck. His blackened mood has a cluster of knots forming in my stomach. I cup my hands together tightly to keep from fidgeting. Maybe I should just snatch my ID back and run. “Whoever the fuck you are, Atticus, you need to get out of here. If anyone mistakes you for—”

  “It’s just Addy—”

  “Justice, I see you’ve found yourself a toy for the evening.” We both turn as a man walks up to us, rudely shoving the couple making out to the side. Just like Logan, he’s dressed top-notch in a fitted, black tuxedo. Logan’s grip on me tightens, bringing me closer to him as a protective shield. “Is this Francesca Vaugh—”

  “Ye—” I start to answer, but Logan cuts me off.

  “No. I haven’t seen her yet. This is my girl.”

  Girl? As in girlfriend? Is he on crack? I stare at Logan while his friend glowers at me. “And tonight’s the night you decide to bring your girlfriend around? Is this some kind of joke?” he snaps, unhappy at the mere sight of me.

  I push my hand forward. “Actually, it’s not his fault. I’m—”

  I’m tugged back into Logan’s chest as he growls at the man. “And I want my girl here. You got a fucking problem with that? Say the word, and I’ll gut you right here. No one will miss a lowlife piece of shit like you.”

  My mouth falls to the ground. Then two floors below that. I’m not up-to-date in the romance department, but I’m pretty sure trying to win a girl’s heart hasn’t resorted to gutting people.

  “Fuckin’ chill. Just didn’t think tonight was the night.” The man eyes me, then diverts his attention at Logan’s intense glare. “Vincent’s looking for you. Everyone’s ready.”

  This is my cue to leave.

  Logan’s body tenses. He grabs my arm, tucking me under his armpit, his lips back at my earlobe. “If you want to live past tonight, do exactly as I say.”

  Guess I’m staying a little longer.

  Logan drags me across the dancefloor. As we pass Justin, his expression fills with envy. He thinks I just got lucky catching a huge lead. He gives me a thumbs-up, and I awkwardly smile back. Logan witnesses our exchange and squeezes me tighter against him. “Who the fuck is that?”

  Not wanting to get Justin shanked, I lie. “No idea. Maybe he thinks I’m going to get it on and is giving me a thumbs up for good luck.” He grunts, pulling me forward. Reaching a back door, the man with us scans his wrist under the black box. There’s a click, and the door opens.

  “Let’s go.” He allows me to go first, watching his back as the door closes behind him. We enter what seems to be the presidential lounge. My goodness, the gowns on these women. Pearls, diamonds—“Holy smokes, is that—?” He tugs me along, and we pop out another door leading down a long hallway, then another, until we’re in a parking garage.

  “Where’s Vincent?” Logan asks, sounding bored.

  “He should be here with the rest of the crew. Let me call him.” The guy walks a few feet away while Logan turns to me, pushing me backwards until my back hits the side of a parked car. His hands find my hips, pulling me into him. His head dips low, his lips at my ear. His voice is soft but threatening. “Tonight, you impersonated a woman who was invited here to be silenced. Do you know what that means?”

  My body is spellbound by his touch. “Turn down the volume?”

  He grinds into me. Big gun. Big, big gun.

  “It means, these men right here want to get rid of her. She’s a loudmouth problem going around exposing my boss’s business. And tonight, they’re going to put an end to her. But for some reason, you show up instead. Now, if they think you’re her, you’re as good as dead. So, unless you want your brains splattered all over, play along. Got me?”

  My mouth falls open. There’s no way they’ll take this dress back with brain splatter all over it. The sound of heavy boots hitting the cement grabs our attention. Logan suddenly captures my mouth, and I freeze, too shocked to understand what’s happening. His tongue plunges in, his mint taste wrapping around me, and strangely, I find myself kissing him back. My heart beats heavily inside my chest as my hands work up his chest, holding on to his shirt for strength. I’m still trying to process his words when someone clears their throat behind us.

  As quickly as he was on me, he releases me. Our eyes meet, and the silent message is clear. If you want to live past tonight, do exactly as I say.

  “About time. Thought I was going to have to rip you two off the dancefloor. Enjoying wasting my time?” The man who appears—Vincent, I assume—is much older, his silver hair perfectly in place. His pristine, tailored suit says he’s important, along with the diamond watch sparkling around his wrist.

  Logan steps forward. “Sorry, boss. Had a misunderstanding with my girl. Told her to meet me after, and she fucking showed up.” Logan looks down at me angrily. His fingers grip my chin hard. “Told you to fuckin’ lis
ten to me—not to fuck with me when I got work to do.” I cower, and he finally releases me. I want to smack him for putting his hands on me, but his eyes tell me don’t you dare.

  The older man, his boss, begins to laugh. I’m mad, unsure what’s so funny about hurting a girl. “Girl, huh? Wasn’t aware you had a girlfriend, Justice.” He eyes me with curiosity. Eliminating the space between us, he assesses. “Tell me, who is this little gem of yours?”

  Logan opens his mouth, but I stick my hand out before he can talk. “Hi. Atticus—well, just Addy. Logan likes to tell me how it’s going to be, but let’s be honest, I’m the boss. Women always are.” I turn to Logan. “And I said I wanted to meet some celebrities. Now, get your work done so you can treat me to dinner and dancing. I swear I saw Kim Kardashian earlier.”

  Logan’s eyes blaze with anger. His boss’s laughter sets off an uneasiness in my stomach. Crap on a stick. Maybe I should have kept quiet.

  “My goodness, where did you find this spitfire?” The man steps closer, taking a piece of my hair between his fingers. “Such a mouth.” He drops my hair, placing his thumb on my lower lip. “I bet you can do great things with this mouth.” He chuckles, low and devious.

  Logan pulls me into him. “Sure does. Enjoys a good punishment too. My girl doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.” Before Logan can show any sort of retaliation toward me, something catches the man’s eye. His hand whips forward, snatching my wrist in his grip.

  “Ouch,” I yip out, as he twists my wrist upward, staring down at the faint stamp.

  “Why does she have the stamp?” Uh oh. He squeezes even harder, causing me to wince. “Why the fuck—?”

  Logan steps forward. “I got her clearance.” His voice loses a bit of toughness. “Didn’t think it was a big deal. She was supposed to show up at the end of the—”

  His boss drops my wrist, raises his fist, and plows it into Logan’s face. I scream as his head snaps back. “Don’t ever take my business into your own hands. I make the rules. You fucking follow!” He lifts his hand for another strike but stops midair. “Hello? I didn’t hear that. What did you say?”