Chapter One
Derek
Asfarasbaddates go…I’ve never had worse. And that’s saying something. When I was in junior high, I took my crush to the Snowball Dance and someone stepped on the hem of her dress on our way in, ripping the skirt from the bodice entirely. We were luckily right next to the women’s restroom, where she hid until an assistant principal brought her some clothes from the lost and found.
Or, fairly early into my days in Hollywood, my date and I got cornered by paparazzi, who threw increasingly invasive questions our way. She answered every single one, including the ones directed at me despite knowing next to nothing about me, and eventually left with one of the reporters to hook up with him, leaving me on my own.
Those dates were bad. Terrible. But this? This was worse.
“Why do I even try?” I mutter, dropping my head against the seat in the back of my SUV and letting my breath out in a slow stream.
Hunter, my bodyguard, is clearly trying to hold back laughter as he responds from the driver’s seat. “Because you’re lonely.”
He can’t see me in the darkness of the backseat, but I glare at him anyway. “I don’t need the reminder.”
Los Angeles passes by the windows as we drive, bright even this late at night. I love this city and always have, but lately it’s had a dullness to it that is entirely a matter of my perception. In a city of almost four million people, how in the world can I not findone? One who isn’t interested in my fame? The loneliness didn’t hit as hard as it did before my friends all found their significant others, though I’ve done my best not to think about that.
The last thing I need is to resent their happiness when it’s so well deserved.
Hunter’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. “This is going to be all over the internet tomorrow,” he warns, as if this is my first rodeo.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to stave off a coming headache. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Absolutely nothing. People will say what they say, and the worst of the tabloids,Hollywood Hot Scoop, will somehow turn tonight’s disaster into praise for my charitable efforts or something equally ridiculous.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I try to guess which of my friends is calling, since my publicist knows better than to reach out first. It’s early in Candora, so I should be safe from Freya’s lectures until tomorrow, and lately Bonnie avoids the internet like the plague. Cole is too busy hovering over his very pregnant wife, Carissa, to bother paying attention to gossip. That leaves one option.
I answer the call without looking at the screen. “Liam.”
“Dude.”
Sighing, I sink a little lower in my seat, wishing I could lie down and escape the world for a minute. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And I thought I had bad luck! You might have just won the trophy for worst public moment ever.”
If Liam already knows about my disaster of a date, I’m not sure I want to know what’s on the internet. “How bad is it?” I ask, even though I’ll get a full rundown from my publicist as soon as I call him. “How much did people see?”
“Are you telling me it’s worse than the flashing and the cheesecake temper tantrum?”
I groan. “It’s worse.”
“Tell me everything.”
I imagine him sitting in his hot tub, his wife on his lap as he waits for me to spill all the details. I like Kasey, especially with Liam, and I’m sure they’ll both get a kick out of tonight’s mess. But I’m still processing and don’t want to relive the evening.
“If you don’t tell us,” Liam says, confirming Kasey’s presence, “we’re just going to have to assume everything we’re reading is true.”
It probably is. Taking a deep breath, I take a moment to consider how best to relay my evening. I can usually minimize the drama of things when I need to, but no one could make tonight sound less crazy than it was.
“We went to Félicie for dinner,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Our date was going great until we got dessert, and the cheesecake had a strawberry on top.” I shake my head, hating every word coming out of my mouth. “Shannon claimed she’s deathly allergic to strawberries, though she failed to mention that to anyone ahead of time.” I add that last bit in a grumble because I’m too tired to hold it back. Based on the rest of what she did tonight, the ‘allergy’ was a complete lie. Just part of the show. “And she…”
“Flipped her lid,” Liam finishes for me. “Yeah, we saw a video of that part. Girl’s got an arm, I’ll give her that.”
Outraged by the alleged attempt on her life, Shannon grabbed the cheesecake with her bare hand and threw it into the waiter’s face. It was at that point that her dress, which had been putting in a valiant effortin staying on her body all night because it was clearly too big for her, slipped. And byslippedI meanfell off entirely. At least she was wearing underwear.
“And that’s when she stuck her tongue down your throat?” Liam asks.
