A-List Kiss: A Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedy

by Brenda Lowder

  I opened the door and instantly regretted my practical reasoning of a second ago. Matthew Decker was at my door, looking fresh and crisp and delectable in dark blue jeans and a black Polo shirt. I smiled. He smiled. I closed the door on him.

  “Eden!”

  “Yes?” I asked through the door as if I hadn’t just shut it in his handsome face.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not presentable!”

  “You presented yourself thirty seconds ago.”

  “That was a huge mistake.”

  “Come on, open up. Just for a second.”

  He started when I suddenly opened the door a few inches. I don’t think he’d expected me to answer again. This time I was allowing only a partial view of my deshabille to show between the door and its frame. “What is it? And before you answer, if it doesn’t contain the word chocolate, I’m not interested.”

  “I was going to ask you to go to Versailles with me.”

  My pulse leaped. It was exactly what I wanted. Almost. “Will there be breakfast on the way?”

  “Of course.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes.”

  I met him in the lobby fifteen minutes later because I’m like that. This time I didn’t want to run and hide when he watched me walk toward him. Instead I reveled in the way his eyes seemed to widen in appreciation as he took in my cleavage-flattering blouse and curve-skimming skirt.

  “Ready?” I asked as I walked past him to the revolving door to the street.

  “And willing,” he said in a low voice, catching up to me.

  We grabbed croissants and pain au chocolat from the nearest boulangerie and then took the train the twelve miles outside of Paris.

  The ornate gates of Versailles hardly prepared me for the enormous scale of grandeur inside. I caught my breath in the hall of mirrors and again in the gallery of battles where the paintings towered over us.

  Matthew and I were almost alone. There was only one other tourist there—a solid man in his forties. We had each purchased the audio headsets so we self-directed our own tours, listening to the information as we paused to regard the art, architecture, and priceless objects.

  Which the guy in front of us shamelessly started touching.

  The first time it happened, Matthew and I were in a hallway when the man casually stuck his hand out and touched a rococo vase as he passed by. My eyes went wide and darted to Matthew whose expression reflected my own disbelief.

  In the next room, he touched the fireplace, despite having to duck around a velvet rope to do so. I turned to Matthew who was watching him and vented my outrage. “He’s touching things!”

  “I know.”

  “But that’s not allowed.”

  “I know.”

  “Make him stop.”

  Matthew glanced over his shoulder. “There aren’t any security guards here.”

  It was true. We’d all been unattended as we wound our way through the palace amongst the valuable artifacts and works of art. In the US, there’d be a security guard in every room yelling, “Don’t touch!” if anyone got within a foot of something interesting.

  “Well, you should stop him.” I put my hand on Matthew’s arm. He looked down at where I touched him.

  “I don’t have any authority here. Also, it’s not illegal.”

  “But it’s wrong.”

  Matthew took a deep breath. My hand was still on his arm. He made no move to shake me off.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll do something.”

  I clapped a flurry of claps and urged us to catch up to the artifact-groper who’d already moved into the next room.

  The next room was a bedroom, and sure enough, the man was reaching out to stroke the wallpaper as we approached. He turned around and stared at us, his hand frozen an inch away from the wall. Matthew cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows.

  With a guilty look, the man dropped his hand. I pretended not to notice, but inside I was smirking. Matthew may have had no authority at Versailles, but his extreme grumpiness had an authority of its own.

  The man tried to touch things two more times on the tour, both times being thwarted by a look and gesture from Matthew. By the time we’d exited the palace and spilled onto the gorgeously manicured lawn, the man was running in the direction of the train station, looking over his shoulder for more glimpses of Matthew’s disapproval.

  I laughed so hard, I doubled over with my hands on my knees. “Your broodiness is now an international weapon.”

  Matthew laughed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I turned to face him. “Yes, you do. It’s there.” I put my fingers to the furrowed crease between his eyebrows and tried to physically smooth it out. He fidgeted but didn’t step out of range. “Stay still,” I told him. “I’m trying to uncrinkle you.”

  He caught my hand in his, and the crease between his eyes deepened with a brooding intensity.

  I should have hesitated. I should have thought better about it. I should have walked away. But I didn’t. I tilted up on my tiptoes and placed my lips against his. He seemed to stiffen and hold his breath, and I waited for the rebuke I knew was coming. Instead, all at once, he exhaled and unbent and spread his hands wide across my back, pulling me toward him. My heart pounded harder, and I almost stopped breathing. But I didn’t need to breathe. All I needed was more.

  I deepened the kiss and felt more than heard the low moan in the back of his throat. His hands tightened on my back and I wanted to push him back against the wall, search out some alcove in this surprisingly secluded palace, where we could continue this for as long as I wanted to—which was suddenly forever.

  But he stepped back, putting distance between us, and though I swayed toward him, never wanting to separate now that I’d felt this, I caught myself and straightened up.

  “But there’s Gavin,” I said, as if I’d been the one to think better of the explosive heat between us and step away.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice wavering and sounding uncertain, less Matthew-like than I’d ever heard it. I wondered if he had concerns, too, about his job. If I was truly a suspect, he’d really be in trouble for kissing me. Or for not running away when I kissed him.

  He didn’t look scared, though. In fact, a slow smile lit his eyes and made my belly jump. He rubbed a hand down his jaw. “I always knew you liked me.”

  I did. And it was a problem.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gavin did eventually take me sightseeing. Many of the things I wanted to see had to be viewed from the car, though, because he caused too much of a stir when he walked around outside. Also, then he didn’t have to put his phone down—it now appeared to be permanently attached to his hand. Although the swelling in his nose had gone down, it took three days to look normal again. After it had returned to its former glory, he couldn’t stop touching it, making sure it wasn’t betraying him again.

  Between Gavin’s nose and his fame, touring places and enjoying them with him was impossible. I got to see the Arc de Triomphe from the car and told myself I hadn’t really wanted to walk up all those stairs anyway.

  We went to the Louvre after hours and had it all to ourselves. Seeing the Mona Lisa—despite its small stature—and Winged Victory and countless other treasures of which I’d previously only dreamed was one of the top ten events of my life.

  We continued to be stalked by the paparazzi, and every day the French news said something different about us. One day we were honeymooners breaking up. The next day I was a gold digger who was leaving Gavin heartbroken, taking him for half his money. The day after that he was gay, and I was his beard who’d demanded a ten-million-dollar wedding ring and a bribe to keep up the charade. After that I was a con-artist who had tricked Gavin into marrying me despite the fact that I had a husband and kids at home. Where did they come up with this s
tuff? And why didn’t they care about contradicting themselves?

  Gavin worried a lot about everything they wrote. Each day he was less like the Gavin I’d expected him to be. He didn’t climb mountains or jump out of helicopters or fight with a sword. Instead he sent Patricia out with his dry cleaning and worried that Anthony hadn’t bought the appropriate hand lotion for his sensitive skin.

  “Babe, have you seen my cell phone?” Gavin asked. How had he been separated from it long enough to lose it? I was sitting in the living room of our suite doing absolutely nothing as I contemplated whether to read my novel, take a nap, or get an in-room mani/pedi.

  “Did you check on the desk?”

  “Of course I checked on the desk.”

  “I haven’t seen it. Oh, did you check the pocket of your jeans? The ones you were wearing earlier?”

  “That’s it!” Gavin snapped his fingers. “Thanks!” He ran back to the bedroom to get to his jeans, which I was sure were on the floor since no one had come in to clean up after him yet.

  I picked up the novel I’d been pretending to read all week.

  “Tomorrow? Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem. See you then.” Gavin had wandered back into the room talking on his cell phone. I put down my book when he ended the call.

  “The studio wants to step up production on Blinking at the Sun. I’m leaving for Vietnam in a few days.”

  “That’s fast,” I said, not sure how I felt yet about going back to my real life. I had just been thinking that I could do without real life for as long as Gavin wanted. Ugh. What a doormat. I hated women like that who were just available for men. Women like me. Ugh.

  “We had a good trip, though, didn’t we?”

  “Yes.” Kinda.

  “You okay with heading back to LA tomorrow?”

  “Definitely.” No. I wasn’t anxious to hear how fired I was. Plus I wanted to see Matthew again. I hadn’t seen him since our awkward goodbye when we returned from Versailles.

  “Great!” Gavin smiled and ran his hand through his hair. He was all business now, though, and I knew it would be all about packing up and getting out of here now that the decision to leave had been made. Gavin was very purpose-driven. I guess that’s what had gotten him where he was today. He made his own success.

  “Super.” I picked up my book so I could start packing. The honeymoon was over.

  ∞∞∞

  The flight back to LA wasn’t nearly as interesting as the flight to Paris had been. There wasn’t an unknown adventure ahead of us. Instead there were the harsh realities of returning to my boring life and my stupid job—if I were lucky enough not to have been fired, and that remained to be determined. And there was no heading back to the bedroom. I don’t know what the entourage thought about that.

  Our plane landing at Burbank Airport was anticlimactic. Just like that, my international adventure with the movie star man of my dreams was over. Gavin had worked during the flight and I’d slept in my comfortable seat. We didn’t talk. I’d never dated a movie star before Gavin, but I knew when a relationship was over.

  After the cabin door opened, I stood and collected my purse and book. Gavin disentangled himself from his people and grabbed my arm.

  “Hey. Sorry I had to spend the whole flight working.”

  “No problem.”

  “I just want to tell you that I had a wonderful time with you in Paris. I’m so glad you came with me.” He smiled, his eyes doing their magic sparkle. “You’re really special. I’m glad we met.”

  “Me too.”

  He squeezed me in a quick hug. “I’ll call you.” He brushed my lips faintly with his and stepped away.

  Sure he will. I closed my eyes for a long blink. Our last kiss had been too brief to savor.

  “Tim will drive you home. Sorry I can’t go myself.”

  “No worries.” There probably should’ve been worries. “Good-bye.” I opened my eyes.

  But he was already turning away from me, moving on with his work and his life. I hoped I would too.

  ∞∞∞

  Tim drove me home. He even walked me to the door like a good date, carrying my bags.

  “Good-bye, Tim.” I fished for my keys in my purse. “I have it from here.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” He left with a polite little wave. I was going to miss Tim.

  I located the keys in the black hole of my purse and unlocked the door to my apartment, pushing it open with my elbow. I hefted my suitcase and carry-on bag over the threshold, half kicking them into the living room, then stepped through the door. There was a shriek and a lunge, and a five-foot, eight-inch blonde launched herself at me, leaning down to wrap her arms around my neck.

  “Finally, you’re home!”

  My sister, Maggie.

  Crap.

  Chapter Nineteen

  What are you doing here?” I closed the front door and put my keys away—in general trying to busy myself with bits of business so I wasn’t in Maggie’s face, demanding she get out before she did untold life damage.

  “Didn’t Sophie tell you I was coming? I told her on the phone, like, weeks ago.”

  “I think that was only a little more than one week ago, and yes, she told me, but I thought you and I’d settle on a day and time before you just showed up.”

  She scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m here now.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Yesterday. Sophie picked me up from the airport.”

  “You had Sophie come and get you? What if she’d been busy? What if she hadn’t been able to drop everything to get you?”

  “I’d have Ubered. I’m not helpless, you know.” I didn’t know. I’d seen no evidence to the contrary.

  “Where have you been? Sophie said you’ve been gone more than a week, but she wouldn’t tell me where. I thought you didn’t have any vacation time.” Trust Maggie to keep way too close tabs on my accrued vacation balance. A headache formed and advanced quickly through my brain.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” I bent to retrieve my bag. “I’ve been on a plane for a very long time. I really just want to rest.” I started toward my room.

  “Well, be careful of my stuff,” she called after me. “I had to unpack in your room.”

  I turned to her. “What’s your stuff doing in my room?”

  “When you weren’t here, I slept in your bed.”

  “Well, get your stuff out of my room.” I was regressing to when I was eight years old and four-year-old Maggie had gotten into my dolls and colored facial hair on them with a Sharpie. “You can sleep on the couch in the living room.”

  “I know that,” she said. “But then I don’t have a staging area. I need a place to put my clothes and makeup and books and everything. A dressing area. And a luggage area. I don’t get that in the living room with everyone walking around all the time. Your living room is too tiny. I’ll keep my things in your room, but don’t worry, you can sleep in your bed for tonight.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said.

  “I can see you need your sleep. You’ve got big bags under your eyes. All that sexing it up in Paris with Gavin Braddock has made you look really, really tired. And old.”

  “What?” I yelled at her.

  Maggie giggled. “Ha! You should see your face right now. It’s totally purple. You think you’re so smart with the whole ‘I’m not going to tell you where I’ve been because I’m so la-di-da famous and important and you can just kiss my ass.’”

  “That’s not how I sound.”

  “It totally is. But really, you’re, like, so dumb because everyone in the world knows that you were in Paris with Gavin Braddock, being his bimbo of the moment. It was all over the magazines in the checkout lines at the store, ‘Local Crappy LA Reporter and World-Famous Stud-Muffin Gavin Braddock on Paris Sex Romp.’”

  “That can’t be what it said.”

  “Close enough.” Maggie held her hand out in front of her and pretended to study her manicure.

&
nbsp; “Whatever.” I rubbed my hand across my forehead where the Maggie-sized headache was taking root. “I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch, but please take your stuff with you. I don’t want you waking me up every time you need something out of your bags.”

  Maggie got her luggage with a huff but took it out to the living room as I’d asked. I closed my door and sank against it, sliding down to sit on the floor with a sigh. I was back. Life was crappy. As advertised. And apparently the whole world—including my acquaintances, co-workers, and the boss to whom I’d been lying all week—knew I was on a sex romp with Gavin Braddock.

  Home Sweet Home.

  ∞∞∞

  It was Monday morning, or as I liked to call it, Hell. My entire life was in limbo. Mondays were hell anyway, but at the moment I didn’t know the status of anything in my life. I felt completely adrift and alone. Maggie being there was just another hot coal in the burning pit that was my life.

  Where did I stand with my job? Was I fired? Should I even bother going in? I guess I had to go to the office to get my personal effects at the very least. And to let Andy have the satisfaction of yelling at me in person before firing me on the spot.

  And Gavin. Would I ever talk to him again? Was he involved in some international industrial espionage ring? Would I ever even know? Was he already getting naked with somebody else?

  I guessed I should check the messages on my cell since I’d left it behind. I was so exhausted that I hadn’t even thought about it and instead went right to bed.

  My voice mailbox was full. Fifty-two new messages. There were messages from people I hadn’t talked to in years. Messages from people I didn’t even know. And yes, there were messages from my boss, Andy, and also apparently everyone else in the office—from Kevin the intern to Todd my cameraman. Even my ex-boyfriend Jason. Jason! What? He was married. And he lived in Atlanta.