She likes reporting. She likes straight-up facts.
She's told Mr. Michaels this over and over, but he keeps telling her to take herself seriously as a writer and pay attention to what's important. Frankie pulls the digital recorder out of her clutch and checks the batteries. What's more important than telling the truth? Frankie likes knowing exactly where she stands. That’s why she likes reporting. There’s comfort in reality.
"All set to interview the stars?" Mr. Michaels asks. "Have your questions ready?"
"I'd better get out there," she says, smiling up at him. "See you Monday."
"Break a leg!" Mr. Michaels hollers after her as Frankie walks outside. She turns and gives him a wave.
Frankie mentally runs over her interview questions.
What's the toughest decision you've ever had to make?
What was a pivotal moment in your career?
Why are your lips really so full?
She giggles. Nah, she won't really ask that.
She tugs her dress down. She's ready.
2
Cliff Tatum throws open the French doors and storms onto the hotel balcony, his tanned, well-trained body pulsing with energy. Rain threatens from an overcast sky, the surf caresses a rocky beach, and a stray tabby runs up the boardwalk, passing signs that read Salish Island Film Festival.
It's not Cannes. It's not New York.
It's not even LA.
He’s a movie star bear-shifter marooned on a goddamned island in the Pacific Northwest.
Cliff grabs his phone and texts his agent: Greetings from hell. And fuck you for sending me here.
It's only Friday, 7:00 p.m., and Cliff already feels like he's crawling out of his skin, a major mood swing barreling toward him like a freight train.
Since becoming sick, he hasn’t been himself, and it fucking sucks: headaches, moodiness, memory problems. He knows he's a bear shifter, but doesn't quite know what that means anymore. He hasn't seen his family. Hasn't shifted. Hasn't been a bear in years.
Cliff resumes pacing.
No one wants to hear a movie star complain, but being a celebrity is hard. And a bear- shifting celebrity with increasingly difficult mood swings?
Please.
Anxiety pits his stomach.
Being back in the Pacific Northwest makes Cliff’s pulse race. He’s nervous, dammit, and he knows why. Washington State is where he was born, but he can’t remember the last time he was here.
There are so many things he can’t quite remember. His hometown. His family. His roots. His memories are like stars twinkling in the sky, always hanging over him but forever out of reach.
On the boardwalk, a young couple in jeans walks by holding hands. They glance up at his balcony. The woman lifts her arm and casually waves.
Does she recognize him?
Every stranger he sees could be someone from his past. Someone he can’t remember.
He ducks back into the hotel room and pulls the drapes.
Cliff’s suite is the best in the Salish Breeze Hotel—that's what his agent told him. And Cliff has to admit it's charming, with sleek black furnishings, a vase packed with roses, and a private balcony overlooking a nearly deserted rocky beach. The king-sized bed is not bad, either. If only he had someone to share it with.
Not that it's ever a problem to find a willing partner.
Or two. Or three.
He'll need to be alone this weekend. It's safer that way.
Cliff remembers leaving his clan of bear shifters once he realized how dangerous he’d become. Once he discovered that he’d become sick and couldn't control his moods.
It’s been years now since he’s seen them. He’s accepted it.
Some people are bipolar.
He's bi-monster.
In Los Angeles, he can keep that hidden, no problem. He doesn’t know if the same thing is true in the Pacific Northwest.
He feels exposed.
His agent insisted that Cliff stay on Salish Island until Monday for a local film festival. The schedule includes one screening of a flick he made two years ago—before his big break starring in the Night Gods film franchise—and one film directed by Antonio Ford, who Cliff wants to impress so that he’ll get cast in Ford's next film.
He needs to show the studios that he'll support independent films, especially if he wants to win an Academy Award.
And, goddammit, that’s what he wants.
Once he has an Oscar, his career will be at the next level. No one will care if he's "difficult" or "moody." He'll be on the A-list forever.
His agent finally texts back: When you’re making your Oscar acceptance speech, you’ll thank me.
Cliff throws his phone across the room, watching it smash to bits. Dammit to hell!
"Billy, I need you!" he hollers. "Get me a new phone."
Cliff’s personal assistant, Billy, peeks out of the closet where he’d been hanging up Cliff’s tuxedo, takes one looks at Cliff’s dark and stormy face, and grabs the hotel phone to call room service.
"A bottle of vodka, please," Billy says over the phone. "Send the most expensive you've got. And smoked salmon. Lots of it."
"Get a pack of smokes!" Cliff barks.
"You quit," Billy says, shaking his head with a frown.
"This is no place to quit anything," Cliff says, gesturing out the windows to where the sky is beginning to darken and drizzle.
As usual, Billy does as he's told. He retrieves a new phone from his messenger bag and hands it to Cliff.
Billy is handsome enough to stand in for Cliff in stunts, but he's too polite to ever be a star.
He has no fire.
No passion.
"I've only got a couple of these left until we get back to LA, so take it easy," Billy pleads.
"You can be replaced!" Cliff threatens. His head feels like it's in a vice.
"Promises, promises!" Billy goes back to Cliff's clothing.
Cliff pushes through the drapes and storms back onto the balcony, lifting his face to the sky, letting the rain drench him. The scent of the ocean is bracing. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself.
It's true what they say: Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.
Billy is very accommodating, but Cliff doesn't want someone else deciding that he—Cliff—needs to get drunk to make it through the night. He'll make that decision himself, goddammit.
"Billy, get out here," Cliff says quietly, realizing that Billy doesn't deserve to be treated this way, but feeling powerless to stop. It always starts like this. He becomes moody, the headaches begin, and then he turns into the world's biggest asshole.
"Take the night off," Cliff tells him.
Billy sighs. "Was it something I said?" He stands up and moves toward the door.
Cliff knows that Billy thinks he’s a pain in the ass, but what movie star isn't? The best he can do is get Billy out of the line of fire. Even though loneliness eats at Cliff, he'll keep out of everyone's way this weekend.
Billy pauses. "Did Elle call?"
"I told you, we split," Cliff growls. Why does everyone have to bring up his ex-girlfriend? "You know what? Fucking take the whole weekend. Go back to Seattle. I don’t want you here."
Sure, Elle is hot as hell with her long dark hair and tight body. Her reality show is a hit, and her clothing line rakes in the dough. But she's a fake, and everyone knows it.
She's also a wolf shifter, although no one knows that, except for Cliff and her closest friends and family.
"Whatever you say, boss." Billy smiles as he passes. "I’ll be in Seattle until Wednesday. Just be downstairs in the limo at eight for the red carpet." He pauses at the door. "Be good, okay? Text me if you need anything."
Cliff just shakes his head, not trusting himself to say anything.
Billy grabs his bags.
As soon as the door closes, Cliff regrets sending Billy away.
He can't stand being alone. He has a half hour before he needs to get ready for the
festival. Then he has to make it through the weekend without killing anybody. Or his career.
When the bellboy arrives, Cliff is grateful. He throws a hundred at him, and grabs the vodka and smokes.
The rain has stopped and what's left of the light is disappearing from the sky. Cliff leans against the balcony railing to watch it go.
3
When Frankie steps onto the red carpet for the first time, she takes a moment to drink it all in.
The lights.
The journalists.
The crowds.
Throngs of fans wait behind barricades, while she, Frankie, gets to mingle with celebrities.
When they show up, that is.
She doesn’t see anybody famous yet.
The red carpet stretches like a river of crimson from the door of the hotel all the way to the street. It is lined with reporters and photographers jostling for position. Everyone ignores her. They're also waiting for stars to show up.
Frankie strolls down the carpet.
It is seriously red.
And maybe it's crazy, but to her it smells like crisp new money, fresh from the bank.
She shakes her hair and tugs down at the bottom of her dress. Then she yanks the top back up. Is her butt hanging out? She should probably go inside to check the mirror in the lobby bathroom.
Film festival officials are standing in a cluster near the door, their festival badges hanging from their necks. Frankie recognizes her friend Lawton Harris’s aunt, Diana.
What’s she doing here?
Frankie's best friend, Lawton, has a huge family that owns half the real estate in Seattle. His Aunt Diana is a tall, elegant brunette.
Frankie and Lawton had been planning on moving to LA together, but since he got sick and had to withdraw from college, he’s now a few months behind her.
Maybe Diana can tell Frankie how he’s doing. He hasn’t been good with texts and Facebook posts lately. Not like he used to be.
Frankie walks over to the group.
"Hello, Diana. You may not remember me," Frankie starts, just in case she isn’t recognized.
"Frankie. How are you?" Diana smiles warmly and hugs Frankie.
Next to Diana is a beautiful woman in a bright orange catsuit and red platform heels, and an older blond man in a black T-shirt and leather pants.
"Have you met Cleo Jones?" Diana asks. "Cleo organized this entire festival for the mayor. And this is my...friend. Liam van Deusen. He owns this hotel."
Frankie shakes everyone’s hand.
"Frankie is Lawton’s BFF," Diana tells them.
"I love Lawton. What a doll!" Cleo gushes.
"I’m blogging about the festival for our school," Frankie says.
"She’s moving to Hollywood with Lawton in a few months," Diana explains.
"Actually, I’m moving next week. I’ll be done with school on Tuesday."
"Wow. Congrats!"
"How’s Lawton doing?" she asks. "Have you seen him lately?"
"He's so much better." Diana grins. Liam takes her hand, holding it tenderly. "He just has to make up his course work now."
"I miss him so much." Sometimes Frankie worries that she shouldn’t go to Los Angeles all by herself. But what else can she do? School is ending and she already gave up her apartment.
It’s not as though she can just stay with her family until Lawton is ready. Since her mother died three years ago, she doesn’t have any close family. Her only other option would be to live with a great-uncle in Eastern Oregon, and she hasn’t even seen him since her mom's funeral.
Cleo turns to Frankie with an open smile. "You’re moving to California, alone? I’m impressed, doll. That’s so brave!"
"I’d rather go with Lawton. But I’ve been waiting my whole life, practically. So I have to do it." Frankie tries to smile but it feels like a grimace. She doesn't feel brave. Not at all.
"Do you have a job? A place to stay?" Cleo asks with a kind smile.
"I'm going to stay in a youth hostel." Frankie frowns. She feels so stupid and unprepared. "I don’t know anyone in LA...so no job yet."
"I need some help for the festival. Do you want to work for me as a production assistant? There's a bunch of people coming from Hollywood. You could make some connections."
Wow! She might actually meet someone who could help her find work. "Really? That would be amazing!"
Cleo grins. "It’s not what you know in Hollywood, it’s who you know. That’s what everyone always says."
"What do I need to do?" Frankie has to get this right. No mistakes. Her future is on the line.
"A production assistant does everything from delivering messages to making coffee runs to picking up after meetings. It’s nothing glamorous," Cleo tells her.
"It sounds great." It really does. Frankie finally knows someone. Maybe she’ll actually land a job in Los Angeles. "Thanks, Cleo."
Cleo removes the lanyard and all-access pass from around her neck and places it over Frankie’s head. "It’s official. Your first task is to go upstairs and find out why our star, Cliff Tatum, is late."
Frankie freezes.
Cliff Tatum?
Ever since she saw him as Dracula in the first Night Gods movie, Frankie has had a major crush on Cliff. His stormy eyes. His golden hair. His incredible body.
"Is that him now?" Liam asks, pointing to the street.
They all turn to the curb, where a limo is pulling up.
Frankie's heart pounds with excitement.
The limo door opens and a beautiful tuxedoed leg steps onto the red carpet, followed by a gorgeous tuxedoed body.
Oh my god. It’s Cliff Tatum.
Dozens of paparazzi flashes pop and nearly blind Frankie. She has to look away while Cliff poses for the photographers.
"You’re on, Frankie," Cleo says. "After you get your interview, bring Cliff into the VIP table in the bar for a drink. We’ll meet you there."
Diana and her friends walk into the lobby, leaving Frankie with the other reporters on the red carpet.
"You can count on me!" she yells after them.
Frankie bounces on her heels while she waits for Cliff Tatum. She would squeal if she weren’t trying so hard to play it cool. Yeah, right. Her heart is nearly pounding out of her chest.
Everyone knows that Cliff is dating the reality TV star Elle Hudson. But he seems down to earth and more soulful than most movie stars. He's so handsome. So chiseled. And now he will be her very first real interview.
While Frankie waits her turn to speak to Cliff, she mentally runs through her list of questions. She remembers to turn on her audio recorder.
What will she ask him first?
Toughest decision.
Most important mentors.
Pivotal moment in life.
She wants to keep it serious and ask the questions that no one else ever asks, but also send subtle clues that he can trust her with his true story. Her hands start shaking and her stomach fills with butterflies as he works his way down the line of reporters, getting closer and closer to her.
Toughest decision.
Most important mentors.
Pivotal moment in life.
And then Cliff Tatum strides toward her. Two feet away from her. One foot away.
Oh, god, he's gorgeous.
He's all she can see. He's so close she smells alcohol on his breath, and also a musky scent, like warm puppies.
Suddenly, Frankie can't speak. She's frozen.
Tough...
Most...
Piv...
4
You only live once, so you'd better enjoy the goddamned ride.
Life would be a lot easier if Cliff didn't care about his career as a movie star. But he does fucking care. He loves it. Besides the work, Hollywood gives him access to women and money.
Usually he loves the red carpet too.
He's in his element.
Tonight, though, he can't wait to get away. Five more minutes on the carpet and he can go to the bar fo
r another drink. Then technically he can go back to his room. His movie isn't screening until Sunday night.
Dammit, he deserves another pack of cigarettes too. He'll quit next week.
He's definitely firing his goddamn agent for getting him into this so-called film festival. He's the only A-lister here.
It's embarrassing.
He walks to the last reporter, and sees that it's just a girl. A sexy little thing, probably fresh out of college. He finds himself wondering if she's legal.
The girl is troubling. Her dress is all wrong, somehow both too short and not short enough, and she seems startled, like a deer in the headlights. His cock stiffens and his hunger spikes. Her curves don’t quit and her neck is long and pale, like the sweet stem of a flower perched above her bare shoulders.
He nearly growls.
He wants her like he hasn't wanted anyone in a long time.
Cliff reaches out and strokes the girl's naked arm, and she jumps like he's jolted her with an electrical shock. She's curvy in that way he never sees in Hollywood: a gorgeous, ripe plumpness that he hungers for night after night after night.
She actually giggles.
It's been such a long time since he's heard an authentic giggle. Cliff feels as though he'll do anything to get her to do it again.
"Where did you come from, gorgeous?" he asks.
A flush of red springs across her cheeks as her eyes widen.
He needs to spend more time outside of Hollywood. Maybe he won’t fire his agent after all.
Cliff smiles and turns on the charm full blast.
"I'll bet you want to know if I'm still engaged to Elle Hudson," he says to the girl, leaning in as if he’s telling her a secret. "The answer is no. We're just good friends."
"You broke up with Elle?" she asks, blinking up at him. Her voice is raspy and sweet, like she just tumbled out of bed. "Are you dating someone else?"
"I will be when I find the right girl."
"How will you know when you find her?" She bites her lip.
"I imagine I'll feel like I've found the sweetest person on earth," Cliff tells her. "I'll pull her into my arms and she will look up at me, like you're looking up at me now, sweetheart, and I'll feel like I'm home."
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