by Layla Hagen
I step out of the way of a hurried teenager, who has his earbuds on and his eyes on the screen of his phone. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. I barely form the thought when the guy veers left into a side street... and walks right into a water hydrant. Ouch.
Stifling my laughter, I climb inside the car. I take out my phone, and almost call Summer to tell her about the water hydrant incident before I remember she’s with her sisters.
As a general rule of thumb, I dislike interviews, but radio interviews are the lesser of all evils. At least I don’t have to work on my facial expression or body language. The host tonight, Jimmy Hendricks, is a laid-back guy. Whenever I’m here in Chicago, even if we don’t have interviews planned, I go out with him for drinks. He’s a major fan of the superhero franchise
As such, he keeps the questions mostly character-related, which is a relief. I can talk about my character—motivations, hidden wishes, and aspirations etcetera—for hours. I put a lot of thought into my acting, trying to delve deeper than what the script offers.
Roles based on books are easier, because there’s a lot of information to sink my teeth in, but I also love a challenge when it comes to bringing a character to life.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my job here is done,” Jimmy says after an hour. “The floor belongs to you now. If you have questions for our superhero, just call us.”
To me, he whispers, “We’ve got our first caller.”
I nod, and he presses a button on his dashboard.
“Hello, Veronica. What’s your question for Alex?”
“Hi, Alex! I’m a huge fan. I was wondering if you plan to do more of the Bree Shannon series?”
I clear my throat, not liking that the focus has shifted from the superhero series already. “There are no plans for a third movie, no. After you see the second one, you’ll understand why. We’ve wrapped it up nicely, but I can’t say more. Don’t want to spoil anything.”
“Thank you. But—”
“Just one question per listener, sorry, Veronica,” Jimmy says apologetically before the line goes static. “Another caller,” he says, and I nod.
“And, we have Mike next. Mike, what’s your question for our superhero?” He winks at me, as if reassuring me he knows this is a promotional tour for the superhero series, not the romantic comedies. But we both know the listeners ask whatever they want to.
“Hi, Alex! My question to you is, did you ever break something while doing one of your stunts?”
I sit up straighter, lowering into the mic. “Twice. Once it was just my thumb, no problem, but another time it was a rib. That set back production by a week, and hurt like hell.”
“Thanks. And I know it’s just one question, but my wife will not let me sleep in our bed tonight if I don’t ask her question too.”
“We don’t want you kicked out of bed, Mike. Go ahead,” I say.
“She wants to know if the rumors you’re dating someone new are true. And for the record, I’d never ask you that. She’s making me.”
I drink some more of the tea, silently cursing. Third question and we’re already in private life territory.
“Not true at all, Mike. Just rumors.”
“Thanks, man!”
After the line goes dead, Jimmy speaks into the mic.
“Folks, keep the questions related to his movies. What a man does in his free time isn’t relevant.”
But his warning has the exact opposite effect, and things get out of control over the next five phone calls.
We close the line to the public after someone calls just to say, “You’re being paid big bucks to be an example for everyone. Can you honestly say you deserve all the fame if you’re another Hollywood womanizing bastard?”
Jimmy rubs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”
“Yeah, that’s starting to become a pattern,” I deadpan. I did two more panels with the superhero troupe this week, and they didn’t go better than the first one.
“When they turn on you, they turn on you. Just give them no evidence to actually hold against you, and they’ll get over it... eventually.”
I politely thank him for the advice, then can’t get out fast enough. I jump in the sedan again and cross the city to the hotel.
The second I enter my room, Preston calls me. I’ve been avoiding him, because he’s been repeating things ad nauseum. How dating Summer right now is too risky, too whatever. He’s been even more relentless ever since Summer told him about that reporter sniffing around.
“Hi, Preston,” I say.
“Hey, listen up, I have a new script for you. A period drama. Filming wouldn’t take long, and you could squeeze it in before the spin-off starts filming. Assuming we do get that greenlighted, of course.”
“Send it over. A period drama would be an interesting change.”
There’s nothing like the rush of reading a script the first time, getting to know the character, and then figuring out the best way to bring it to life, to do it justice. This is why I do this, what the dream is all about for me.
“Great. I discussed some of the protocols with Summer today. She’s surprisingly knowledgeable about reporters. I’m assuming all those years the press harassed the Bennett family served as exercise. But—”
“Preston, stop beating a dead horse. I know the timing isn’t good, but this will blow over. Summer is important to me. I want to know if you’re on my side on this.”
“You know I am.”
“Okay, good. Then make sure my girl is as comfortable as possible.”
We talk about the script for a few minutes longer, and the second I finish the call, I dial Summer’s number, a pleasant warmth coursing through me in anticipation of hearing her voice.
“Hello! Summer Bennett’s phone. Who is this?” a male voice asks. I stop in the act of pouring myself a glass of water, the warmth from before turning to ice.
This can’t be what I think. She wouldn’t... would she? It’s 11:00 p.m. in San Francisco. What male friend is she seeing this late? She said she was meeting her sisters....
“Who am I talking to?” I croak.
“Oh, give that here, you jerk, or I’m officially kicking you out of my favorite brothers’ list,” Summer’s voice sounds somewhere in the background. Her brother. Just her brother.
“Hey, sorry for that,” she says sweetly. “My brother Logan came to bring my sister some papers and then drove me home. Hang on, I’m entering my house now.”
I lean against the railing of the small bar area, basking in the feeling of relief, and hating that I was so quick to be suspicious.
“Yeah, I’m in. Sorry, again. My brother saw my phone light up and decided to prank me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Possibly because I have a photo with a heart instead of a photo with you.”
A heart. Only Summer would do that.
I chuckle. “Next to my name?”
“Well, see... I thought putting your name in might be a bad idea. What if it falls into the wrong hands? So, I just put a nickname.”
Something in her voice alerts me that she doesn’t want me to press the issue further, which is exactly what I do.
“What’s the nickname?”
“Sexy Super Lover.”
I burst out laughing, gripping the water bottle so tight that, if it were plastic, it would crumple.
“Summer, you make me laugh more than anyone else.”
“I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”
“Not a chance.” I walk over to the bed, kick off my shoes, and climb onto the mattress. “I can’t wait until next Saturday.”
“Me too. God, I wish I could see you sooner.”
“I’ll make love to you the entire day.”
“About Saturday... I want to spend the day with you, but there’s a family gathering at my parents’ house, and I don’t want to miss that. Would you mind coming too?”
“Sure. I want to meet
them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Do I need to wear a helmet? Your brother sounded pretty intense. Will I have any other fans except Daniel?”
“Full disclosure: not sure if Daniel will be your fan anymore once he knows we’re dating. You might need full body armor, but I’ll give you all the details on Saturday.” She says this very fast, as if wanting to rip off the Band-Aid.
“We’ll figure it out. Why are you so nervous?” I punch two cushions against the headboard so I can lean with my back comfortably.
“Just... thanks for saying yes.”
I wish I could see her face right now, because my Summer is vulnerable, and I don’t know how to soothe her over the phone.
“Did Preston tell you about the incident with the reporter?” she continues.
“Yes. And I don’t want you to fret about it. Sniffing around is nothing new. They always do that.”
“Oh, okay.”
Fuck, I don’t like the sound of that okay. Feels more as if she means, “Really? That’s screwed up.” Which it is, of course. I just got used to it because it’s business as usual in Hollywood. I wonder, again, if pulling her into this kind of madness is the right thing to do. Yet, I don’t want to imagine a day where I won’t have phone calls from Summer to look forward to.
“Ooooh, I forgot to tell you. We have a large group of tourists coming in tomorrow, and they requested to see some of my old paintings. They specifically asked for them.”
“I thought you just painted for friends and family.”
“Yes, now, but I have a gazillion from when I used to paint daily. They’re spread between different galleries, but I managed to call in some favors and have a few sent here.
“I’m so proud of you, babe. Can you show me when I’m in town?”
“They’re only here this week. I need to send them back to the gallery where they belong.”
“Pity. How was the evening with the girls?”
“Better than an actual spa trip. I even used one of those fancy body scrubs that taste like fruit. I’m so lickable right now.”
“You’re always lickable.”
“Alex, Alex! No need to charm the pants off me. I’m naked.”
The thought that she’s been taking off her clothes while talking to me drives me insane.
“I’ve been thinking... we should talk in the mornings too. I bet that will make your days much better. I tend to bring good luck, you know. Especially if I throw in some dirty talk.”
Her voice all chirpy and unaffected, while my dick is straining in my pants.
“Ah, you’re doing this on humanitarian grounds again? Sacrificing yourself, are you?”
“Of course. All in the name of bringing you good luck. Do you want a sample of the dirty talk?”
“Are you sure you want to go down that road?” I ask.
“Uhh... that sounded scary. Not. Yes, yes... I do want to. I want to discover what’s at the end of that road.”
I don’t miss a beat. “Happy ending. For both of us.”
“Right....”
“Woman, are you doubting me?”
“Well, we’ve been talking every night, and so far, I got zilch in the dirty talk department. You’ll forgive me for thinking you might not have any game on the phone?”
“I’ll do better than forgiving you. I’ll prove to you I’ve got game.”
I laugh out loud at the silly sound she makes. This woman is everything, I swear. No matter how shitty the day goes, talking to her turns everything around. I’m so deep into this, I can barely believe it. What if this is all just some good fun for her? I push that thought away. She wants me to meet her family. Surely that’s a sign that she’s at least half as deep into this as I am.
Chapter Twenty-One
Summer
The next day starts with an unpleasant surprise. When I walk into the gallery, Diana points to a blonde at the far end of the room, inspecting a Monet.
“She’s the reporter who called yesterday. Wants to talk to you,” Diana whispers to me. My insides clench as Preston’s list of protocols flashes in my mind. Steeling myself, I walk right over to her. I’ve got this. I’m not afraid of a reporter. I just have a deep dislike of them. They’ve been bugging my family forever. They started when Bennett Enterprises rose to fame, and even now they’re digging for dirt every chance they have.
“Everyone’s favorite,” I say, stopping right next to her. Extending my hand, I add, “Summer Bennett. My colleague said you wish to speak with me.”
She flashes me a botoxed smile, shaking my hand. “Tara Delaware. Nice to meet you. Sorry for barging in like this....”
I wave my hand as if dismissing her worry. “Nonsense. My colleague said you asked about St. Anne’s yesterday. I’ve been hoping to get some publicity for the orphanage for a long time. You want to come up to my office? I can tell you more about what we do there.”
The corners of her duck lips tug downward. Golden rules where reporters are concerned: throw them off their game. Overwhelm them with topics they don’t care about, drown them with meaningless details.
“I’ve seen that Alex Westbrook donated there recently—” she begins.
“Ah, yes. That slipped out, I’m afraid. He wishes to remain anonymous. Pity, I’m sure his name would have brought more donations. So, what are you thinking about? Featured article?”
“Not sure the big bosses think it would have enough appeal for a featured article.”
I can read through the lines. Of course, no one gives a damn about group homes or donations. She’s fishing for a juicier story.
“How long have you known Alex Westbrook?” she asks.
I fake having to think about it, run a hand through my hair and frown, even though I know the exact date and time when I met him. “No idea, a few weeks, maybe? Saying I know him is pushing it, though. He donated, I donated. That’s about it.”
Tara doesn’t believe me. Her mocking expression sends chills up my veins. I want to toss her out the gallery, tell her never to step inside it again, but I know the one way to ensure reporters harass you is to antagonize them. Boring them to tears is the best solution.
“I have time for a coffee until my first tour starts,” I tell her. “Come up, I’ll give you all the details about St. Anne’s. How many kids there are, what they do with the donors’ fund, and so on.”
“No time today,” she says quickly. “I just wanted to touch base.”
Riiiight, that’s why she made the trip here.
“Well, you let me know when you have some time,” I insist. “And talk to your bosses about that feature. We really do need more publicity.”
Her gaze darts to the door. Perfect.
“Sure, I’ll... I’ll let you know.”
“It was nice meeting you, Tara.”
We shake hands again, and I only become aware of how tight my body has been strung by tension when she steps out of the venue. I managed to throw her off... for now.
***
“Bring them in here. There’s just enough space for all of them to fit in.”
The delivery boys poke their heads inside the storage room, taking a look around.
“Right away, ma’am.”
Overlooking the delivery of a new collection isn’t my favorite thing to do on a Friday evening, but sometimes you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. The storage room is behind a sliding panel, so it’s not completely separated from the main display room on the ground floor. I pace the space, watching the guys bring in the first two paintings. I cringe, because they’re each carrying one, and the paintings are too large for one person to securely carry them. Once they set them down, I say, “Please carry each painting between the two of you, even if it takes longer.”
“Ma’am, we do this every day. We can each carry one with no problem.”
Straightening up, I roll my shoulders. “I’m not risking an accident. Those are expensive paintings.”
They roll their eyes but head ou
tside without another comment. A buzzing sound coming from the other end of the room startles me. Oh, my phone.
I briskly walk over to my bag, which I’ve left at the closed welcome counter near the main entrance. Pulling out my phone, I fully expect to find a message from my boss. Wrong. It’s from Alex, aka Super Sexy Lover.
Alex: Bossy looks hot on you.
I reread the text a few times. Wait, what?
Summer: Are you... at the gallery?
My heart begins to race while I wait for his answer. When he’d asked me earlier about my plans this evening, I thought he was just curious. Way to underestimate him.
Alex: Yes. Undo the top button of your shirt.
Holy Pop-Tarts. My mouth goes dry, my palms sweaty.
He must be upstairs. The gallery has an open floor plan. The ground floor opens up to the second level, except for a narrow corridor with an iron railing serving as a pathway between our offices.
I can’t see much, because I turned off the lights upstairs. But if Alex’s there, he’s got a direct view of what’s going on down here.
Summer: Where are you? You won’t see anything if I undo the top button.
I’m wearing a high-collar blouse, which I tucked into my pencil skirt. I’d have to undo about three buttons before there’s even a hint of a cleavage.
Alex: I know. But knowing you do what I say turns me on.
It turns me on too. I undo the top button just as the guys step inside with the second painting.
Alex: Good girl.
Thank heavens for the dim lighting, because my cheeks are burning. The burn spreads through my entire body when the next message arrives.
Alex: Take off your panties when you’re alone and put them in your bag.
I look up again, but damn it I can’t see anything. My heart’s hammering now. I step behind the reception desk, waiting for the delivery guys to head back outside. Once I’m alone, I climb off my heels and reach under my skirt, pushing down first my pantyhose, then my thong. A shiver of awareness runs through me as I bunch them in my hand, stealthily hiding them in my bag. I swear my center pulses when my phone buzzes with an incoming message.
Alex: Which one’s your office?