Page 29 of Now Their Starlet

I’ve been getting the impression that everyone—namely him, Gina, and Jonathan—all prefer me to be seen rather than heard. I’ve never been a very good actress, but it’s a lot easier to pretend to be whatever the hell they want me to be when I keep my mouth shut.

But I can’t waste this opportunity. This is the first time I’ve actually been let out of the house.

“I need the restroom,” I say, already standing before anyone can tell me no.

“Wait!” Stuart huffs, standing from his seat.

“Unless you want the next headlines to be about how I’m so fucked up in the head I piss myself on the carpet walking out of here,” I hiss, my hands clenching into fists by my sides, “I need the restroom.”

Ezra falls into step beside me out of habit more than anything, but I catch his sleeve before we make it past the gift table.

“Alone,” I murmur. “Please.”

His jaw works, but he nods, peeling off towards the bar instead. His willingness to finally listen to what I have to say makes my throat tighten. But I can’t freak out right now.

The bathroom, when I finally shoulder past a cluster of women reapplying lipstick, is a disappointment. Maybe I’m not thinking straight, because why would I think the bathroom would have a magical portal away from this hell?

But when I stare at the fancy hotel branded hand soap, an idea sparks in my mind.

“Hi,” I say, stepping up to the least intimidating woman of the bunch. Her eyes drag up and down my dress, and I can’t help but feel drastically underdressed compared to her sleek, mature satin gown that covers her from neck to ankle.

“Yes?” she asks, raising an imperious brow.

“Do you know whether there’s a business center on this floor?”

“Oh, I’m not staying here,” her nose wrinkles as if the thought of staying at a hotel like this is beneath her. Damn, tough crowd. Considering this bathroom has marble and gold fixtures, I seriously wonder what kind of hotel would be up to her standards.

You’d think a charity gala would have nicer guests, but I guess not.

“There’s one right down the hall, sweetie,” another older woman with expertly coiffed white hair and a deep maroon shawl around her shoulders tells me.

“Thank you,” I say, my shoulders tugging down.

I step out of the bathroom, my eyes scanning the crowd, keeping an eye out for Stuart’s watchful eyes.

When I see no sign of him, I head down the direction that sweet old lady mentioned, doing my best to keep my shoulders back and my spine straight. The last thing I need is for someone to see me skulking about and accuse me of doing something I shouldn’t be.

Which I am, but that’s not their concern.

Act like you belong and people will think you do.

Right at the end of the hall, there’s a little brass placard with the words BUSINESS CENTER printed on it.

I push past the door, waiting for it to shut behind me before letting the confident mask I tried pasting on slip away.

I instantly gravitate toward one of the desks. Like a gift from whatever god still bothers checking in on me, is a desktop computer and a landline phone, an actual, corded, hotel landline.

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I swear some of the blood vessels at the back of my throat have burst, making me taste copper.

I don’t let myself think.

I hurry to the desktop and open the search engine. There’s only one person whose phone number is remotely public.

Northline’s front desk.

“Hello, this is Northline,” a bored sounding receptionist answers.

“Hi there, I was wondering if I could speak with Cameron Foster? I have a tip for a current story he’s working on.”