Tall, Dark, and Nerdy: High School Billionaire #1

by Dallen, Maggie

  I let out a short laugh at that. There was the Liv I knew and loved. “Well the answer is yes,” I said. “I’d figured out I was in love with you when we were sophomores.”

  “Overachiever,” she mumbled. “Always have to be ahead of the curve.”

  I ignored her teasing. “I wanted to show you…” I shook my head. “I had this plan that I’d reveal Love Quiz as this grand gesture.”

  Her expression turned all gooey and sweet. “That’s so romantic.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, well, it would have been if I didn’t keep wussing out, telling myself I was waiting for the right time.” I cleared my throat, aware of the heat that was creeping up in my neck. “I thought maybe I could avoid having that whole talk if you just took the quiz.” I winced at how lame and cowardly that sounded. “I guess I wanted to prove to you that you felt the same way.”

  She stopped swaying in time to the music and it was only then that I realized she’d been moving us both back and forth slightly so it looked like we were at least pretending to dance. “But then I never took the quiz,” she said.

  I arched my brows. “Exactly. You didn’t want anything to do with the app, and then it took off with everyone in the school, and then you were dating Stuart, and then—”

  “And then the rest was history,” she finished. After a moment of silence she bit her lip. “I never wanted to take that quiz because I think I always knew what it would say.” She shook her head in rueful amusement. “I told myself I didn’t want to try it for a million different reasons, but really I was just afraid of what it would tell me.” She met my gaze and took a deep breath. “Deep down I’ve known I loved you for a long, long time. I just didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself.”

  I let myself stand there in silence and revel in those words. Years of angst put to rest with those sweet, simple words. “Yeah well, I can tell you right now what the results would be if you took the love quiz.”

  She grinned as she wrapped her arms tighter around me. “Of course you can. I just told you that I love you.”

  A fresh wave of happiness made my heart swell. “No, I meant…” Oh man, this wasn’t easy to admit, even now that I knew how she felt. “I meant that I used you—or my feelings for you—to calibrate the app.”

  She blinked once. Twice. “I don’t get it.”

  I took a deep breath. “I didn’t just create the app to show you that I liked you as more than a friend, I used you as the answer.”

  She pursed her lips. “Nope. Still don’t get it.”

  “I knew I loved you,” I said softly, adoring the way her eyes got all soft with emotion in return. “I knew the only way it was working properly was if you were the answer every time I took the quiz.”

  “Oh.” She said it on an exhale and I couldn’t tell if she was shocked or creeped out.

  “That’s weird, huh?”

  “Weird, but amazing.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “I love you, you know that, right?”

  I nuzzled her neck, loving the fact that I could finally do that. That I was finally allowed to show her, to tell her…everything.

  “So the answer was always me,” she said softly.

  “It was always you,” I said. “It will always be you.”

  She leaned back to look at me. “And if I took the quiz…”

  I smiled and she did too.

  “It will always be you,” she said.

  “Good answer.” I held her tight and we swayed in time to the music, each lost in our thoughts. I, for one, was busy reveling in this newfound sensation. Bliss, I supposed you could call it. A supreme, bone-deep sense of satisfaction that made me feel like my life was finally complete. Were we perfect? No. But no one was. We each had our issues to work out but we could do it together…well, together but separately.

  “How is this going to work, exactly?” she asked a little while later when we were continuing to ignore everyone else at the party while we sampled all of the food.

  “I mean, I want us to be together,” she said, making my heart do a pathetic leap of joy. “I’m tired of denying how I feel about you, but…” She gave me a funny little grimace and she didn’t have to finish. I knew what she meant.

  “But we both have to learn how to be on our own.”

  She pointed a finger at me. “Exactly.”

  “Well,” I said. “We’re not in the same town or the same high school anymore, so we’ll be forced to be on our own, in a way.”

  “True,” she said.

  “And you and I know what we need.” I smiled. “More than that, I know what you need and you are very quick to point out what I need, so…”

  She nodded. “Yeah, okay. I get your point. We can help support each other in being better versions of ourselves.”

  “I wasn’t going to make it sound so hokey, but yes. That’s what I meant.”

  She made a funny face that made me laugh. “So I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine?”

  I leaned over and gave her a quick kiss just because I could. “Exactly.”

  “Kind of like being best friends,” she said with a playful smirk.

  “Best friends but better,” I said.

  “Right. Because I can do this,” she said, leaning over to give me a kiss that was not nearly as quick as mine had been.

  When she drew back we were both struggling for air. “Exactly.”

  She nodded. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  “Yeah?” I didn’t do giddy. But right now? There was no other term for it. Luckily her giddiness was even greater than mine. She was full on beaming at me. “Let’s do this.”

  “Okay,” I said, my heart racing with excitement and maybe just a little bit of fear. “Let’s do this.”

  She caught her lower lip with her teeth and her eyes reflected that same heady mix of joy and terror that came with taking a giant leap into the unknown. But it was a leap of faith we’d take together. Always together.

  “We’re a couple,” she said, as though we had to make it even more official. She followed that with a breathy laugh that sounded just as awed as I felt.

  “A couple,” I repeated, my ribcage tightening as a rush of love made it hard to think. I wrapped my arms tighter around her waist, holding her the way I’d dreamt of for so long. “But before that? We’re best friends.”

  Her gaze turned soft and and tender, and her smile trembled with emotion. “Always.”

  * * *

  Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed Tall, Dark, and Nerdy, reviews are greatly appreciated. Check out Jamie’s story, Too Nerdy to Handle, on sale now!

  Keep reading for a free sample of Maggie Dallen’s standalone romance, Audible Love.

  For a list of Maggie Dallen’s completed YA series, see below. Happy Reading!

  Geeks Gone Wild

  Love at First Fight

  My Virtual Prince Charming

  Once Upon a Comic-Con

  Kissing the Enemy

  The Perfect Catch

  The Perfect Match

  The Perfect Score

  Briarwood High

  Out of His League

  A Whole New League

  The Perfect League

  The Holiday Kiss

  The Prom Kiss

  The Candy Cane Kiss

  Summer of Love

  Senior Week Fling

  Senior Week Crush

  Senior Week Kiss

  Audible Love

  Avery

  You know those people who say what you see is what you get? They’re lying. What you see is never what you get. At least, not in my world.

  “Cut! That’s a wrap!”

  The tense silence around me breaks into a cacophony of chaos as the off-screen crew scrambles to break down the set and stage the next scene. My co-star, Henry Nivens, turns his back on me without a word and heads off toward his dressing rooms.

  Henry plays my character’s older lover on our primetime drama, The Temptress. According to our illustrious and co
nceited executive producer, Josh Emmit, the title was a spin on The Tempest by Shakespeare. Super clever, right? Trust me, the only thing Shakespearean about this show is the fact that it’s still on the air. That fact alone makes The Temptress a freakin’ tragedy.

  Henry has been giving me the cold shoulder for weeks now, ever since he came on to me backstage at the Emmys and I turned him down, despite the fact that he’s a bona fide A-list celebrity while I’m just some upstart with big tits.

  Those were his words, not mine.

  So yeah, Miss Big-Tits McGee over here rebuffed the lecherous old guy who’s old enough to be her father on-screen and off, and somehow I’m the villain in this scenario. By his hurt, sullen silences you’d think I’d kicked Henry’s puppy or something, not shove him off me when he went in for a grope.

  Confession time. I have thought about kicking his puppy. It’s an insanely annoying yippy little Chihuahua with a taste for ankles. I’ve thought about it, but I would never do it. Don’t believe the hype, I’m not really the wicked witch of the set.

  Henry disappears around a corner and I head in the opposite direction, ignoring the crew just like they ignore me. I’ve seen the tabloid reports of what a catty brat I am to the cast and crew but that’s total BS. I get along just fine with my castmates and the crew, but this is a place of work, not a sorority. What am I supposed to do, go up to each and every lighting grip and give him a hug before we start shooting?

  Bella Gable does that. She’s the actress who plays my sister. She’s cute and perky and absolutely adorable…until she flies off into a fit of rage and makes the wardrobe assistant cry. But then she buys said assistant a latte and all is forgiven. Because she’s Bella, and Bella is sweet. No, not just sweet, she’s America’s sweetheart. Everyone says so.

  Me? Not so much.

  I pride myself on being professional. Courteous and respectful. But that doesn’t sell ad space on gossip blogs or tabloids in the grocery store checkout so, you know…what are you going to do?

  Live with it. Avoid it. Make the best of it, I suppose.

  That’s what my mother, Shirley, does. As my manager, Shirley says it’s her duty to put a spin on things. By ‘things,’ she means me. Her daughter. Her flesh and blood, and the family breadwinner.

  She may not win any Mother of the Year awards but she has managed to spin my private nature into mystique. If they don’t love you, make them want to be you. That’s her motto, the big pep talk she gives me before I step onto the red carpet. Sweet, right? Not exactly Mommie Dearest, but she tries.

  As my mother, she clearly has her issues, but as my manager, she’s done her job. I’m not loved, but I’m powerful. As powerful as a teenage girl can be in Hollywood. I see the best scripts, I have meetings with the highest-level directors and producers. I get the best seats to Fashion Week, have photo shoots with Vogue and Glamour, and am invited to the best parties—all of which I decline, obviously.

  According to gossip, it’s because I think I’m too good for whoever is hosting. According to my mother, I’m too much of an introvert and I don’t do my part to play the role that everyone wants to see. According to me, I’d rather be home reading.

  And therein lies the rub. (See how I casually misquoted Shakespeare there? Our pretentious executive producer is clearly rubbing off on me.)

  It’s possible my mother has a point. Maybe my introvert nature makes me a disappointment in the eyes of my fans and in the eyes of the world at large. I’ll never be the party girl who gets caught getting into trouble, or who flits from guy to guy, or who’s out to see and be seen. That will never be me, so maybe I am a failure when it comes to playing Avery the Starlet. Avery the Diva, on the other hand, now that’s something I can do.

  It’s probably for the best. Bella is more than enough of a sweetheart for one popular cast. So maybe I’m playing the role I need to play, the one the world wants to see. After all, no drama is complete without some conflict, and every story needs its villain.

  Some might say I play my role of the diva to a tee.

  They’d be wrong. But try telling that to the paparazzi outside the gates of the studio. They’re ready for me as soon as I head out of the lot and they follow me to Silver Lake where I meet my best friend, Gabe, for coffee.

  Gabe doesn’t notice them—or at least, he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t see the guys with the cameras who are mere feet away and snapping photos of us kissing each other on the cheek.

  There’s no good story for them here, but they stick around anyways. Gabe is gay, so there’s no potential to skew this as a date between TV’s favorite mean girl and the lead singer of the “it” boy band.

  “Ugh,” Gabe says as we take seats at a table in the far back corner. “My coffee is cold.” His dazzlingly green eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks at me over the rim of his cup. “Should I throw a hissy fit?”

  He’s teasing…sort of. Gabe’s another diva in the eyes of the media. He has the same well-honed mystique that I do—the kind of rich, powerful glamor that makes us envied, admired, maybe even obsessed over—but not loved.

  But just like me, he’s no diva. Not even a little bit. He might be one of the sweetest, most generous guys I know.

  Unlike me, however, he enjoys the role. He gets off on playing the part when we’re out in public. It keeps me entertained even though more often than not I’m lumped into the same villainous mold when the stories come out and the pictures surface.

  “Please don’t,” I groan, rolling my eyes as he pretends to plead with me.

  “Come on,” he wheedles. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Can’t we just enjoy our coffee in peace?” I ask. “I can’t handle any more drama today.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What happened?”

  I lift one shoulder in a shrug. It hardly warrants a conversation at this point. Henry Nivens is an ass, and we all know it. But that doesn’t make working with him any more pleasant.

  “Is that old prick giving you a hard time again?” Gabe’s voice gets hard and protective. I can’t help but smile. He’s fiercely loyal and would do anything for his friends. Take that, mainstream media. They wouldn’t believe me even if I provided evidence of his kindness, that’s how effectively he’s nailed his bad boy reputation.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to.” He arches his brows and gives me a pointed look. “You’re the star, you know.”

  I shift uncomfortably under that stare and mumble, “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do. They need you more than you need them.”

  I let out a little huff of irritation. This is far from the first time he’s given me this lecture, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Gabe is no diva but he’s a big believer in claiming your power.

  Those are his words, not mine. Although I’m pretty sure he read that phrase in a self-help book at some point and now he’s adopted it as his own.

  “I have a contract,” I remind him. “They might need me, but they have me.”

  They own my soul.

  I don’t say that, it’s way too melodramatic, but it’s also the truth. I signed a contract with the producers before I knew any better. I let my agent and my mother talk me into it, listening as they told me what a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it was to star in a primetime show at the age of fourteen.

  I’m seventeen now, and while that might not sound very old, it is in my world. Hollywood years are kind of like dog years, and while I may have joined The Temptress as a young, impressionable ingénue, I’m a seasoned vet at this point. If I knew then what I know now…well, I wouldn’t be kissing a guy like Henry Nivens on a daily basis, let’s just put it that way.

  “I’m just saying,” Gabe starts again.

  I hold up a hand to cut him off. “I’ll deal with it, okay?” I give him a small smile. “Who knows, he might be killed off by next season anyway.”

  Gabe watches me wit
h narrowed eyes. “Girl, what are you not telling me?”

  Gabe is an unabashed fan of the show. He started watching to be a supportive friend, but now? Now he’s hooked just like millions of other idiots who like that mindless crap.

  It’s not that I have such high-brow tastes. I’m in no position to judge, but I have a hard time seeing the appeal of this particular show. Maybe I’m just too close to it. I mean, if you say the same mind-numbingly idiotic line twenty times in a row it somehow sounds a million times stupider when you hear it coming out of the television speakers. Trust me on this one.

  I take a sip of coffee and stay silent to torture him. I haven’t actually seen the script for the season finale yet, so I have no clue who’s going to die. Someone’s going to be killed off, though. It’s a given. The show gives new meaning to the word formulaic, and every season ends with some big murder.

  Dear God, please let it be me.

  I’ve been saying that prayer for the past two years, but as of now my character is still alive and kicking on the show, giving smexy eyes and sleeping with old married men. You know, being the kind of role model young girls everywhere can look up to. Yup. I’m super proud of my life choices these days.

  “Fine,” Gabe says, tossing down his half-eaten scone. “Change of topic. If you’re not going to spill the deets on Temptress, then tell me everything about this new school of yours.”

  I suck in a quick breath that makes me choke on my coffee. I cough and wheeze as I try to get myself under control. I hope the paparazzi didn’t catch that freak-out moment.

  “You still nervous?” Gabe asks.

  “I’m not nervous,” I say. My response is automatic, and it’s a bald-faced lie. I’m totally nervous. I don’t even know why I bother with the lie. It’s like I totally forgot who I’m talking to.

  Gabe arches his brows and picks up his scone. Somehow his next bite is knowing. This guy should have been an actor. He can exude knowingness in a single bite. With his looks and his pop star status, he could easily score a role in a blockbuster summer film. Maybe an action flick with tons of CGI. Yeah, I could totally see that.