I’ll probably always retain a bit of fame, but over the years, I’d slip from people’s minds and maybe they wouldn’t recognize me anymore. Maybe I could live a normal, calm life. Maybe it could be here, with Annie.
My throat swells up with emotion. Icoulddo that, sure. But I can’t right now. I still need more money to take care of my mom and pay off her house and all of her other bills. Then, I need to save up enough money to buy a house for Annie and me and to figure out what I want to do after my acting career is over. I have a degree in electrical engineering, so maybe I could get a regular job. But not yet.
Annie and I could have a long distance relationship for a few years, just until I’m rich enough to give up my acting career. Could I do that? Could I be away from her?
I open up my laptop and send an email to my assistant, asking her to find me a rental property here in Sterling. She replies back almost instantly, just a string of question marks.
I’m looking for a vacation home, a place to stay when I’m not working,I reply. Then, even though my assistant is sworn to confidentiality about everything in my life, I add another sentence just to make sure:Please keep this between us.
A few minutes later, she sends me a selection of apartments, condos, and rental homes. None of them are exactly in Sterling, Texas because it’s such a small town, but they’re nearby. I look through them excitedly, so eager to have a place close to Annie where I can escape Hollywood life and take her on romantic dates and spend time getting to know each other.
The hour passes slowly, as time tends to do when you’re looking forward to something, but soon it’s been a full hour and I get ready to go back to her house. I close my laptop and tuck it away in its protective sleeve. My phone starts buzzing, which is a helpful reminder that I still don’t have Annie’s phone number.
It’s my agent, probably calling to let me know he secured a new movie deal for me. I let it go to voicemail. Sure, a new deal will be great, but I’m already in such a great mood that I don’t care about anything else right now.
My assistant calls me just moments later as I’m walking out my hotel room. This time I do answer, since she’s looking for rental properties for me.
“What’s the good news?” I say instead of hello.
“It’s not good,” she says. There’s a weird tone in her voice that I’ve never heard before. “Trevor, have you been on social media?”
I stop in the doorway, wondering if whatever she’s talking about is worth stopping and opening my laptop again. “No, why?”
“You’re supposed to let me know if you’re partying around, being wild and crazy,” she says, sounding a little maternal right now. “That’s the deal. You let me know if there’s something that could tarnish your reputation so I can get ahead of it if it does.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I ask, walking back inside my hotel room.
She breathes a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you check Twitter and then call me back and let me know how I’m supposed to handle this PR nightmare.”
The call ends and I stand here feeling stupid. What could possibly be a PR nightmare? I open the Twitter app on my phone and am inundated with 8264 notifications. My mouth falls open in horror as I look at the trending post for #TrevorOwens.
It’s a picture of Annie and me in my trailer on set forOakbrook Lake. She’s wearing a bathrobe, which implies she’s naked underneath. She’s also sitting in my lap. And we’re both just inches away from kissing. That had been an amazing day, but now seeing a picture of that moment here on my phone, on Twitter of all places, the memories turn sour in my mind.
The media is blowing up with speculation of this “mystery woman” and what we were doing in my trailer. I’m America’s Sweetheart, the chaste, good guy. Now tarnished with a salacious picture, which, if I look at it from the perspective of a stranger it looks pretty darn bad. It looks like we’ve just made love.
The absolute worst part of all is that it’s not a paparazzi photo. No one likes the paparazzi, but when they take photos of you, they’re the bad guy. They’re the ones sneaking around trying to snap an image of you doing something you shouldn’t, or looking unflattering while at a restaurant shoving pizza in your mouth. Even when paparazzi photos make the headlines, there’s a level of sympathy that people have for the victims in the photo.
But this is different. This isn’t some sneaky shot from a snake in the paparazzi. This picture only existed on one device—one phone—so it could only have come from one person. Annie.
And I bet she got a lot of money for it, too. Probably easily thirty thousand dollars. Maybe even fifty. That day had been one of the best days of my life, and yet it turns out it was all a scam. It all suddenly makes sense to me—why Annie had been hesitant an hour ago when I revealed my love for her. She doesn’t love me back. She just wanted to get close to me so she could catch me in a vulnerable position and then profit from it. Maybe she’s not even a nurse at all. Maybe she’s an aspiring actress who thinks having a sexy affair with a movie star will help her own career.
My throat feels like I swallowed a baseball. My heart is cold, lifeless. And the rest of me is battling the feeling of anger and betrayal and heartbreak. I loved Annie. I loved her with every inch of me. The first woman I’ve truly loved. I think that makes it hurt even worse.
She sold out a photo of us to the media. She profited on an intimate private moment. I can’t believe one of the most special moments of my life meant nothing to her. I can’t believe I fell for it.
Mostly, I can’t believe that my heart still wants to love her.
CHAPTER21
Annie
When Julie gets home from visiting her grandmother, I rush outside and fly off the porch, so eager to tell her that Trevor loves me that I almost knock her to the ground when I skid to a stop in front of her car door.
“Are you okay?” she says, grabbing my arms to give me a look over. But there’s nothing broken or bleeding here. Just happiness. Just tons and tons of happiness.
“I’m better than okay,” I say, bouncing on my toes. I put my hands to my mouth, barely able to keep from squealing in delight.
“What’s going on?” Julie looks behind me at the porch, and around the front yard as if the answer to her question will be standing here, a big bright neon elephant dancing in a tutu.
