by Lucy Score
“I run Wave’s social media accounts, and these are a handful of—shall we say ‘fans?’—that give me the creeps,” Kate explained. Her quick fingers paged through the printouts. “This bi-yatch here started an ‘I Hate Waverly Sinner’ group on Facebook. Her profile pic is a chick in a Confederate flag bikini flipping the bird.”
“Classy,” Xavier commented, skimming some of the more salacious posts.
“I’m pretty sure she’s just a troll. I friended her with one of my fake accounts to keep an eye on her. She basically spouts off on everything from puppy videos to baby pics. She may not be a ‘credible’ threat, but I don’t like it when she starts sharing nuggets like this.
Kate tapped a finger on a post on one of the papers. Xavier’s eyebrows raised and he let out a low whistle.
“Well, now you have to tell me,” Waverly sighed. As a rule, she ignored all comments directed at her whether positive or negative. She’d learned at a young age that those who wanted to see her fail were a lot louder than those who appreciated her work.
Kate cleared her throat and read in a breathy southern twang designed to downplay the vitriol. “Waverly Sinner should be hung from a burning cross for her views on mixing the races. I’ve got the gasoline. Who’s with me?”
Waverly puckered her lips thoughtfully. “How many misspellings?”
“Three. Plus a misuse of a comma.”
“Where’s she from?” Waverly could feel Xavier trying to gauge her reaction.
“Whistle Swamp, Alabama, which does not exist. Neither does her alma mater, the School of Hard Knocks.”
Waverly shrugged. “Well, she doesn’t sound like much of an actual threat. More like everyone’s racist aunt who gets drunk and talks politics at Thanksgiving.”
“All the same, if you can do some digging, I’d rest easier,” Kate told Xavier.
“Consider it done. Who’s next on the list?”
“We’ve got this charmer here. Mikey D., which I’m positive stands for ‘douche.’ Mikey is a tad bit conservative, and he feels there’s a special place in Hell reserved for Wave here since she did that movie where she was a teen mom who gave up her baby.”
“Apparently he wasn’t impressed with the Critic’s Choice Award,” Waverly quipped.
“The esteemed Mikey posts on her Facebook and Twitter accounts a few times a month and spews Bible verses and threats all over the place. I block him every time, but he just creates new accounts.”
‘“I hope you get raped and murdered while your parents watch. Even God won’t save you,’” Xavier read out loud.
He looked at Waverly, who pursed her lips. “On that note, I think I’m going to pack my gym clothes and figure out what to wear to dinner,” she said, rising and collecting the juice glasses and coffee mugs.
“What time do we leave?” Xavier asked. He wasn’t even giving her a choice to go without him.
She took a breath, let it out. “Five for the gym. Dinner’s at seven-thirty. Kate’ll send you the details.” She dumped the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Sorry, Wave,” Kate grimaced. “Here’s the happies to read while you raid your own wardrobe.” She handed over a sheet of paper.
“Thanks,” Waverly said, and wandered into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
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Xavier watched her go and moments later heard the muffled chorus of “Uptown Funk” from behind the closed bedroom door.
Kate looked guilty. “I hate doing that to her. No human being should feel like a target like that and definitely not on a daily basis.”
“She needs to be aware of potential threats,” Xavier argued.
“I know, and so does she. There’ve been a couple incidents in the past, nothing serious, but enough to make her cautious. The whole car accident thing was a fluke. Something must have really pissed her off to make her take off like that.”
She shook her head and flopped back down at the table. “It’s these assholes who are allowed to spew poison all over her. It’s like a whole different kind of abuse. Just because she stands in front of cameras for a living, people think they have a right to pick her apart like vultures and road kill.”
Xavier didn’t much care for it either. Even if Waverly was a pain in his ass, she didn’t deserve to have that kind of hate directed at her. If someone were to say those things to one of his sisters, he’d be digging a shallow grave in the woods. But getting pissed off didn’t help him do his job any better.
“What are the happies?” he asked Kate, changing the subject.
“Every time we have to talk about the psychotic dipshits of the world, I print out fifty happy posts or reviews. It takes the sting out of idiots who don’t think before they post.”
Xavier’s lips quirked. “That’s very nice of you,” he commended.
Kate glanced toward Waverly’s closed bedroom door. “I’ve got one more baddie in here, and it’s the one I’d really like you to look into.”
She shuffled papers to the top of the stack. “This Unabomber lookalike is Les Ganim. He sends Wave shit online all the time. Disjointed love letters about how they’re destined to be together, and why won’t she just acknowledge that they’re in love?
She tapped the picture of a gaunt man with hollow eyes. “She gets marriage proposals and stranger booty calls all the time, but I started paying attention to this dude when he mailed his mother’s wedding dress to the house.”
“To this house?” Xavier asked, studying the man’s face. He had a wiry build and hair that stuck out in tufts of curls. His broad, flat nose didn’t fit the rest of his thin face.
“Yep,” Kate nodded. “That was a few months back. I alerted Sylvia and Rob, but neither of them was too concerned. Honestly, stuff like this happens to every star. But it made me nervous, so I looked into him and found a couple of stalking and trespassing charges, which really made me nervous. So I’m pretty happy to dump the worrying onto you.”
Xavier got a buzz off of the picture. His gut told him there was trouble here. “I’ll look into him and see what I can find,” he told her. “I don’t like the feel of this guy either.”
Kate looked relieved. “Good, because the last message he sent said he’s moving to L.A. so they can start their lives together.” She looked toward the bedroom door again and lowered her voice. “Listen, not to be disloyal or anything because I love Wave like a sister, but she’s planning on shaking you loose. While I can understand why she wouldn’t want to be smothered—even by someone as gorgeous as you—I don’t like the idea of her running around unprotected with our pal Les lurking in the shadows.”
Xavier packed the papers back into the folder. “You’re a good friend, Kate. And I don’t shake loose.”
“Well, as a good friend, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that Wave isn’t your typical Hollywood heiress. She’s human. I like her. Don’t be a dick to her.”
Xavier made a noncommittal hum. “I’ll do my best. And maybe you could convince her to go a little easier on me?”
Kate smirked. “I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Kate clearly hadn’t had time to have her go-easy talk with Waverly. The girl had done nothing but argue with him since they left the house. First, she didn’t like the route he took to lose the three photographers on the way to the gym. Then she wasn’t happy when he announced he was staying for her private barre class. Next time, she informed him, he would be required to participate if he tagged along.
Xavier sat by the door and watched her stretch and contort her body for forty-five minutes until it was slick with sweat. The way she moved, flowing like water over rocks, gave him a healthy kick of appreciation for her very female form. Waverly Sinner earned her stunning body the hard way. After barre came thirty minutes of power flow yoga that had sweat dripping off her chin every time she swooped into up dog.
Loose and sweaty, she met a trainer in the weight room for another thirty m
inutes of lifting. As a man, watching her thruster form was as impressive as it was entertaining. As security, there was nothing entertaining about his client working out in a room occupied by half a dozen guys who looked like they could be drafted onto any defensive line in the NFL. None of them minded checking out the scenery.
One particular meathead had to be stared down before he went back to his bicep curls. Then, there was the trainer. A shorter, broader version of a Ken doll, who was a little too attentive in his spotting. He was going to have to talk to Waverly about reassessing where she did her weight training, Xavier decided.
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Waverly usually avoided showering at the gym. At this particular gym, the member fees were high enough to dissuade most from taking and selling pictures of other members, but one could never be certain. However, with the tight schedule, it was necessary today. She left Xavier outside the women’s locker room and pushed through the frosted glass door.
She paid a hefty monthly fee, which gave her access to the well-equipped locker room decorated in stainless steel and purple finishes complete with attractive mood lighting. It may have housed multi-jetted showers and a state-of-the-art steam room, but no amount of money could rid the space of the smell of sweaty feet.
She spotted actress Zoey Grace, her mother’s version of her competition, lacing up gold, limited edition high-tops on one of the benches. Zoey was a painfully thin typical Hollywood girl—too much partying, not enough food—and Waverly had to resist the urge to shove a protein bar in the girl’s bag. She settled for waving a greeting instead.
She grabbed her bag and took it into the shower’s dressing room with her. Waverly remembered the first time a studio suggested she drop some weight for a role. She’d very politely told them that, if they wanted someone smaller for the part, they could go hire someone and walked away from contract negotiations. She’d ignored their calls and apology gifts for a week before directing Phil to accept the hefty salary increase they offered.
Hollywood, she thought, stepping under the jets of water, could either destroy a girl or make her stronger. And by the time her career was done, she would be invincible.
She showered and changed in record time, pulling her still damp hair back into a sleek braid. She kept it casual with a simple V-neck t-shirt and distressed jeans that cuffed stylishly above caramel leather sandals.
It was just a dinner meeting with Phil. One that she’d put off for a few weeks now.
She slicked a taupey rose over her eyelids and applied a quick coat of mascara to her lashes. She knew exactly what Phil—coached by her mother—was going to say.
You need to pick a new project before the world forgets about you.
Well, she already had a new project in mind, but it wasn’t one her agent or mother would approve of. And now was not a good time to show her hand. Not with Sylvia already toying with changing the terms of her trust. No, tonight she’d play along with Phil.
Playing along was what she did. But soon, in just a handful of months, she’d be able to play by her own rules, set her own goals, live her own life. She shoved everything into her gym bag and hustled through the locker room door.
She was so busy fishing her sunglasses out of her bag that she didn’t see the wall of muscle until she’d walked smack into it. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. “Your attentiveness astounds me.” Sarcasm designed specifically to piss her off resounded in Xavier’s tone, but it came a distant second to the sudden rush of awareness that flooded her system.
His chest was as broad as it was solid. The heat pumped off of him through the crisp checked button down he wore under his jacket into her palms splayed across his chest. In her flat sandals, she had to tilt her head back to look him in his eyes. “Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to be lurking outside the locker room like a creep,” she retorted. Her gym bag slid off her shoulder and smacked him in the shin. He shifted, pushing her against the wall as someone moved past them.
He was too close, and she didn’t like it. It made her jumpy and anxious. She felt trapped. His grip on her radiated heat as did his honey-colored gaze and frowning mouth.
“When you want to yell, you get this little line right here,” Waverly said, tracing the mark between his eyebrows.
“I don’t want to yell,” he argued.
“Your forehead wrinkles suggest otherwise.” She brushed his forehead again. His grip on her arms tightened, and she felt an unwelcome rush of excitement.
“Behave yourself,” Xavier ordered, his voice tight and rough.
It thrilled her to know that she’d pushed him off center. She liked having that ability, that power. She grinned up at him, “Come on, X. Let’s go to dinner. You’re probably just hangry. It means you get angry when you’re hungry.”
“I know what it means, and I’m not hangry,” he grumbled, giving her a helpful shove toward the door. “I’m trying to keep you from walking into the arms of a serial killer and offering to drive to the kill site. It’s exhausting.”
Waverly laughed. “See? Hangry,” she told him, savoring her victory.
“Just shut up and get in the car.”
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Phil chose a hot sushi place guaranteed for some pictures on the gossip sites. It was easier to get inside than usual with Xavier there. He guided her through the crowd at the door with one hand on the small of her back. Waverly kept her sunglasses on and her face Victoria Beckham-neutral for the photographers, but on the inside, her pulse was jumping.
She hated crowds, and adding to the anxiety was the heavy awareness of Xavier’s warm, firm hand on her. She didn’t want to be attracted to him, but her body seemed to have other ideas. He sent her heart rate skittering every time they touched, yet she felt oddly safe with him there frowning away the crowd. Inside, the restaurant was crowded, its red walls glowing, its chocolate brown booths and tables full. She nodded at a few executives she knew and posed for two selfies, one with a fan and one with a socialite who looked vaguely familiar, before they finally made it to the table.
Phil was already there. He’d reserved a table in the back room that was sectioned off but not quite private thanks to a handful of clever screens and a transparent wall of live bamboo. He made a show of greeting her with a hug and offered Xavier a hearty handshake. What was left of his silvery mane was combed back into a fluffy cloud. He wore a navy pinstripe suit and flashed a Rolex Yachtmaster on his wrist. When Xavier made a move to leave them, Waverly insisted he stay. She’d only been half kidding about the hangry. The man hadn’t eaten all day that she’d seen, and, attractive pain in the ass or not, he deserved dinner.
The evening went exactly as Waverly had predicted. Phil tried to play it as a friendly catch-up, but she knew better. Her guard was always up when it came to Phil.
“I’m glad to see you two are getting along,” Phil said, taking an enthusiastic slurp of his miso soup.
“Oh, yeah,” Waverly agreed with just a hint of sarcasm. “Just like synchronized swimmers.”
She felt the pressure of a loafer sole squashing her foot under the table and hid her laugh with a cough. She thunked Xavier solidly on the shoulder as if they were old drinking buddies. “Yep, I can count on this guy to keep me safe from physical harm.”
He gave a final, painful squish before moving his foot. She caught him in the shin with her bare heel and had the satisfaction of hearing a soft grunt.
Oblivious, Phil plowed on. “I’m going to take that as you forgiving me for my involvement in your little ambush about bringing Xavier on board. There’s nothing that we all value more than your safety.”
Oh, goodie. They’d moved on to the ass-kissing portion of the meal. She had no idea why Phil felt like it was necessary. He’d been her mother’s agent since before Waverly was born. She’d known the man her entire life, yet he still couldn’t be real with her.
She kept her pleasant mask in place and let Phil zig and zag his way to his point over edamame and sa
shimi. While Phil tried to pry information out of her, she watched Xavier eat. Even when dabbling with the wasabi, he never stopped scanning the room. He looked relaxed, engaged, but looks were usually deceiving in this town.
He seemed not to notice the appreciative gazes directed his way by the restaurant’s female—and some of the male—clientele, but Waverly was certain he noticed and filed it all away along with the rest of his observations.
“So, my dear,” Phil began, patting his thin mouth with a cloth napkin. “Have you given any thought to your next project?” He leaned in, his suit bunching at the arms, looking like a confidante.
Waverly finished her bite of tuna and casually reached for another piece. “I have,” she told him, keeping her tone light. She punched up the energy to sound excited. “There are a couple of scripts that caught my attention.”
Phil, sensing the prize he sought, cocked his head to the side. All ears. “Which titles?”
Waverly drew it out by taking a leisurely sip of water. “Originally I was considering Will Wakefield’s remake.”
“Really?” Phil’s enthusiasm oozed through his pores. “That would be an excellent choice for you.”
“I thought so, too,” she agreed. “But the shooting would overlap with the European leg of the press tour for The Dedication. And with the buzz we’re getting from advance viewings, I’m not willing to sacrifice that commitment.”
“Hmm,” Phil nodded. “I think that’s a wise decision.”
Waverly shot a glance at Xavier, noted that he was watching her closely. She turned back to Phil and tried to ignore the weight of his gaze on her. “I read through the one your office sent over last week, and I’m just not feeling it. I don’t think it’s going to get off the ground.”
“Sound instincts,” Phil commended.
She could have sworn she heard Xavier mutter “kiss ass” under his breath, but it was hard to tell with the background noise.
“I’ve got two more possibles that I’m looking at,” she continued.