Better than the Book: A Romantic Comedy (Charitable Endeavors Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  Table of Contents

  Better than the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  Other Books by M.E. Carter

  Other Books by Andrea Johnston

  Better Than the Book

  Charitable Endeavors #4

  By M.E. Carter and Andrea Johnston

  Cover design and Formatting by Uplifting Author Services

  Editing by Karen L. of The Proof Is in the Reading, LLC

  Front cover photo by DepositPhoto

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or, it was not purchased for you then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting this author.

  Dedicated to Ambien and the chaos it brings.

  Thanks for the inspirational stories.

  Chapter One

  Celeste

  I come to awareness, peeling my eyes open slowly. Glancing around the room, I notice the sun isn’t even up yet. I’m not surprised. I’ve been so stinking excited for the Prince of Darkness convention; I haven’t slept well in days. Too much excitement and too many nerves. Because today is the day I will meet Hunter Stone.

  He is the most amazing actor, even if he is on a stupid vampire TV show. Not that I have anything against paranormal stories.

  Scratch that—I have a lot against storylines involving super long canines and sucking the blood of innocent young virgins. And yes, I know they aren’t all like that. My blogging bestie, Carrie, has made me try enough different versions I recognize why it’s a popular genre. But for me, it’s a no-go. I mean seriously, why would anyone fall in love with Dracula for fun? I don’t care how much he sparkles or whatever, a wooden stake is going right through his heart if one of those creepy creatures gets near me. Any other reaction is just stupid.

  Not stupid, however, is Hunter Stone. Last year, I saw him in a tiny two-man show called, “Get Up,” and I fell in love. Not actual love. Just actor obsession-love. Not actual obsession—okay, maybe a little obsession. He was nothing short of amazing in his role and I knew then he was on the cusp of greatness. If only he would have stuck to theater, there is no doubt in my mind he would be the future of Broadway. In my dreams, I would be right there with him, working backstage to help support his performances and bring them to life.

  Except, he joined the cast of Prince of Darkness, the popular vampire cop drama on television. Do I hold a grudge that he gave up all he holds dear in the theater to run around with fake teeth?

  Only a little. But I also get it. Being a working actor isn’t easy. You take jobs you may not necessarily enjoy so you can eat. And if the opportunity to play a bit part to supplement your income comes along, you do it.

  It’s not Hunter’s fault he’s so damn good they made him a regular. Natural talent like his just can’t be contained. In fact, they should be thanking him. He’s the only reason I watch that dumb show anyway. Every week. Twice. I didn’t even have a television until he joined the cast anyway. They owe him for my loyalty.

  Fortunately, his role is still small enough that the add-on tickets I purchased to get his signature and a photo with him weren’t too terribly expensive. I can’t wait to show him the “Get Up” playbill I still have. While I don’t keep a memento from every show I attend, it was truly a remarkable performance. In my wildest fantasies we’ll bond over our mutual love of the theater and we’ll start a beautiful friendship that turns into future collaborations. I’ve dreamt of it many times.

  My dreams are over for the night now. There’s no use in trying to get any more sleep, I might as well start getting ready for an epic day. I’d much rather be early than late and besides, I’m sure there are already people milling about the hotel before the convention starts. I don’t mind doing a bit of people watching.

  Rolling over, I place my feet on the small rug next to my bed and try to get my equilibrium to settle. I hate not getting enough sleep. It always makes me feel nauseous until I get moving. A solid eight hours of uninterrupted slumber is needed for me to function properly.

  I take a deep breath and blow it out before making my way to the tiny kitchen Anna and I share. New York living is expensive, especially when you’re just starting out. Stage Managing for small theatre companies doesn’t pay much and while the blog I run with Carrie helps supplement my income, life in New York City is expensive. We all dream of a fancy apartment near Central Park, but my reality is, I share a matchbook size one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with my roommate, Anna Logan, known on the stage as Anna Kay. An aspiring musician, she’s a great roommate and not just because she’s super organized and clean but also very chill when she’s home. She also travels frequently for gigs so we’re not falling all over each other every day. Since our place is less than spacious, it’s a win-win. Plus, she’s always prompt with the rent. Really, I couldn’t ask for more.

  Except maybe for the stab of pain that hits my brain every time I take a step to stop. Oye. Lack of sleep is a killer today.

  I get the old school coffee maker going and take a deep breath, willing my stomach to settle. Maybe a little pickle juice will help.

  Sounds gross, I know, but my grandmother’s favorite remedy always seems to work. Something about the vinegar balancing out an overabundance of stomach acid. I’m not a scientist so I don’t know if there is actual proof this works on a scientific basis or if she was making up theories. What I do know is a jar of pickles is cheaper than a bottle of Pepto Bismol and bonus—it doubles as a snack.

  Grabbing one of the four teaspoons we own from the drawer, I swallow the cheapy medicine and wait for m
y stomach to stop churning.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  And suddenly…

  “Oh shit.” A dive for the sink and throw up everything in my stomach, which isn’t much. The only thing I had last night was a peanut butter sandwich. It was much better going down.

  This is bad. This is very bad. Pickle juice always works to stop mild nausea. What it doesn’t stop, however, is full blown illness.

  “I can’t be sick. I can’t be sick.” I’m chanting as if I say it enough times, it won’t be true, but suddenly my headache makes more sense. So do the shakes I’m feeling and the overall heaviness of my body.

  As soon as the gag reflex calms down I rifle around the junk drawer looking for our thermometer. Since Anna and I share it, it only goes under our arm. Maybe not as accurate, but again… we’re starving artists. We make do with what we’ve got.

  “Deep breaths, Celeste.” I follow my own instructions and breathe deeply. Maybe I can will myself into just being a little sick. Maybe I’m just pregnant.

  That’s it! I’m pregnant! It’s been well over six months since I’ve been laid, and I can’t exactly afford a baby on my tiny budget but, hey, there are sacrifices I’m willing to make so I don’t miss this con. I have waited for too long to meet Hunter Stone. I will not miss out.

  The thermometer beeps and I remind myself to add a degree. Wouldn’t want the baby doctor thinking I’m too cold. That makes it…

  “One hundred two point six!” I groan at my bad luck before turning to upchuck in the sink again.

  Looks like the only hunter I’ll be coming into contact with today is me, as I hunt for some meds to kill this headache.

  I’m bored. And lonely. And sad.

  Once I finally finished throwing up and managed to get some medicine in me and keep it down, I accepted the truth—there will be no convention for me this year. What I could have pretended was food poisoning has morphed into the full-blown flu. Stomach and otherwise.

  Part of me still feels like jumping out of this bed and going anyway. The other part of me knows I’ll never make it without passing out in the cab. Plus, I don’t really want to be known as the girl who gives Hunter Stone the flu. Yes, I’d like to make an impression and throwing up on his shoe would be memorable, but I’ll pass this time. Me and my playbill will have to wait until next year.

  I sigh deeply, disappointment running through me. There’s only one person who will understand how I’m feeling right now and why. So I pick up the phone and call.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on the road already?”

  Carrie Myers knows me so well, as she should. We’ve been blogging together for years. It started as a hobby and turned into a way to make some extra income, thank goodness. Last month it paid my light bill. So we’ve been talking for at least an hour a week for years. She’s like a sister to me. A sister who just reminded me why my heart is in tiny pieces all over my bedspread.

  I open my mouth to respond but I appear to be getting worse so instead I cough, sniffle, and wheeze before finally sharing my heartache. “Should be. But I have stupid luck and woke up this morning with a one hundred two fever and a body that won’t stop shivering.”

  “Oh no!” she exclaims. Why does she sound winded? “So you can’t go?”

  “And infect my celebrity crush?”

  Another coughing fit takes over and I try to hack up a lung before continuing our conversation. Here I thought I felt bad this morning. Turns out it was adrenaline and excitement keeping me from hitting rock bottom. Once my dreams shattered, my body apparently when right down the tubes with it.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I know how much you were looking forward to this.” I knew she’d understand. What I don’t understand is why she sounds winded. I bet it has something to do with that weird squirrel of hers. Yes, I said squirrel. I don’t get it. Squirrels are up there with vampires in my book. Both of which she loves.

  “I know you’re trying to make me feel better about the fact that I’m dying without ever meeting the man I’ve been crushing on for so long, but I don’t think you do know how I feel. Have you ever had your dreams shattered and stomped on while you lie in bed and cough up a lung?”

  “Where the hell is he?”

  “Where is who?” My poor voice sounds all raspy and phlegmy. This just keeps getting worse.

  “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Yes, you did. And the fact that you didn’t realize it means you’re feeling frazzled. Tell me what’s going on. Take my mind off the worst day of my life.”

  I suppose if missing a con is this life shattering, I’m doing pretty good. Tomorrow I will concentrate on that part. Today is my day to wallow.

  “I can’t find Luke.”

  As suspected, it’s about the weird squirrel.

  Another cough from me. Another sniffle. And finally the question I’m dying to understand. “How did you lose him? He’s got the longest, bushiest tail ever. It’s probably sticking out from under the couch now.”

  “I already looked there,” she says, and I finally understand why she sounds winded. She’s probably running from room to room playing hide-and-seek with a rodent. “At first I thought he was hiding, but now I bet he’s sleeping somewhere.”

  I shake my head at the ridiculousness and immediately throw my hand up to my head. Bad idea. The extra movement makes my brain feel sloshy. Not a good feeling.

  “You’re the only person I know who would get stuck housing a squirrel who has narcolepsy.”

  She giggles because she knows I’m right. “At least he’s healthy. Doc saw him yesterday and gave him a clean bill of health.”

  I snort laugh, which is not a good idea in my condition. The pressure felt like I was trying to blow up my own brain.

  “You just better hope that thing doesn’t turn on you when he realizes he’s an adult male squirrel and should be outside with the other rodents.”

  I can practically hear the eye roll from here. Carrie and I agree on most things. Rodents and vampires, not so much.

  “If he was going to turn feral, he would have done it by now. Animals are smart. Some of them just know they’d never survive in the wild, so they adapt to living with humans. Oh here he is!”

  “Where was he?” I ask, more out of curiosity than concern.

  “From the awkward position he’s lying in, looks like he fell asleep trying to build a nest under my pillow.”

  Ohmigod I want to throw up again. And because of the flu. “Eww. Yuck. He’s on your pillow?”

  “He was not on my pillow. He was under it.”

  “Suuuure. It took you three hours to find him. I’m sure he was on top of it, rubbing his little squirrel butt all over it before you found him.”

  “Yes,” she deadpans, “because that’s what they do. Rub their butts on things for fun. You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

  “Says the woman who lives with a rodent with a medical disability.”

  “Are you sure you can’t go to that con? You’re sounding awfully sarcastic for someone who claims to be sick.”

  “My pending death is making me pissy! Leave me alone!” I yell, which is a bad, bad idea. It immediately throws me into another coughing fit and now I have to pee too. This one takes way longer, and I’m surprised Carrie doesn’t hang up on me. She’s a good friend, like that. “I think I need to go lie down. Sitting doesn’t agree with me,” I croak and slowly push to the standing position.

  “I think that is a very smart idea. Take a nap, and text me when you get up. I wanna make sure you’re not dead.”

  “If you don’t hear from me, tell my sister she owes my funeral a hundred bucks since she never paid me back for that pogo stick she bought.”

  She really does. It was during her alternative exercise phase and she was convinced jumping up and down on a stick had some sort of muscle building properties. That died a quick death when she ate it on the pavement her first time. Now she claims amnesia for her IOU.

&nb
sp; “Will do. Love ya, friend.”

  “Back atcha.”

  I shuffle the twenty feet from the couch to my bed and climb in, tossing my phone on the small dresser beside me.

  For just a minute I entertain the idea of trying to write the screenplay I’ve been working on. But I can’t muster enough energy to grab it off my small nightstand before I’m asleep, dreaming of Hunter Stone’s beautiful face and throwing up all over his shoe.

  Chapter Two

  Celeste

  One Year Later

  “I am so excited!” I singsong to myself as I do some last minute touches on my hair and make-up.

  Today is the day I’ve been waiting for since my unfortunate flu last year. It is the day that I will finally meet Hunter Stone. I have tickets in my purse to prove it and have checked my temperature twice this morning to ensure I won’t have a repeat of last year’s fiasco.

  Yesterday was actually the first day of the convention and while it was beyond amazing, it was a little, well, paranormal. It was a small price to pay to see so many of Hunter’s new fans. His popularity has increased tremendously since his character is doing more on screen than nodding and showing his fangs. The word is seeing what I’ve always known—Hunter’s talent is hard to ignore.

  The only downside to this year’s event is the steep price of the tickets I bought for a photo opportunity and autograph session. Those were more expensive than last year, but I have no doubt they’ll be totally be worth it.

  Admittedly, so far, the entire event has been worth it. Even for a non-paranormal fan like me. There are all kinds of vendors in the lobby of the hotel selling swag and paraphernalia. And I had to have the super cute T-shirt I found with Hunter’s face on it. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a size that will fit my Double-D’s, but my hunt is not over. I’ve got two more days to search the piles.

  Once they opened the doors to the giant ballroom yesterday and welcomed us in, we watched some of the stars strut on stage and then listened to them talk about pranks on the set and the non-glamourous side of creating a TV show. The stage manager in me enjoys hearing what goes on behind the scenes of any production so I found it very interesting.