Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 6

6

LIZ

Fuck a duck.

Too late, I realize that Tall Guy has failed the one job I gave him (that he didn’t know he had) – block me from view.

And now my numbing-cream nemesis is staring me straight in the eyes.

There’s a spark of satisfaction from being proven right: he is handsome under that God-awful, unruly beard – freaking unfairly handsome. But that spark is quickly extinguished at the light of recognition illuminating his stupidly soulful, dark-brown eyes.

Feeling suddenly hot in the fully air-conditioned, hangar-like building, I fight the urge to shift under his intense stare while my annoyance at the situation, and myself, makes me want to scream, Fuck you, limp dick at him in front of all these people and cameras.

Not the most mature of urges, I’ll admit. But one I’d like to think is understandable.

Because if I was standing in front of him as Elizabeth Anne Moore, former heiress to the largest American luxury retail conglomerate and charity princess, I’d be able to hold my own against anyone, including A-list celebrities with a penchant for anesthetized prophylactics.

However.

Right now, I am not Elizabeth Moore, I’m Anne Moore, a money-strapped grad student with scholarship requirements and a half-sister to meet. So as much as I’d like to tell the award-winning asshole staring me down to fuck off, I instead inhale for a count of three-two-one, filling my belly with breath, then exhale long and low. It’s a trick I used whenever nerves got the best of me at public events and galas Stanley Moore insisted I attend. And a trick I use now in an attempt to stop myself from doing more physical harm to Felix Jones’ junk.

Thankfully, when the first deep breath doesn’t cure all my violent impulses, I’m saved by a woman with more shine than my t-shirt.

‘Howdy, y’all!’

Everyone starts, including me, at a woman with strawberry-blonde hair blown out with enough volume to reach the heavens.

Blinking past the dryness from my stare down, my brain needs a moment to gawk at the newcomer’s substantial pregnant belly which she has encased inside a fuchsia spandex jumpsuit. She’s a technicolor vision in the otherwise black, white and gray building.

Just as entranced, the crowd parts to make room for her as she sashay-waddles closer in platform, high-top sneakers, coming to a stop with a slight pant of exertion.

‘We made it.’ She flips her hair back over one shoulder, her heaving chest on full display as she tucks her hand where her waist should be.

The ‘we’ she referred to must mean the shorter brunette beside her. A woman who, as she turns sideways to talk to Em, I realize is also pregnant. She doesn’t seem as far along as the large-and-in-charge blonde, but it’s hard to tell with her flowy, floral, ankle-length sundress.

That, and Em’s amused smile, are all I register before my brain finally kicks into gear and I do the more mature thing and escape notice while I can.

But, just to make myself feel better, I itch my nose with my middle finger as I go.

Felix

As much as I’m dumbfounded by the pregnant duo before me, it doesn’t stop me from noticing Anne turning to walk away in my peripheral.

And – I frown at her swishing ponytail – was she flipping me off?

Covering the microphone with my hand, I stand, drawing the attention of Amanda and Jack. ‘I’ll be right ba?—’

‘Audrey Cole!’ Ron stands and circles around the table. ‘I’m so glad you made it.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda turns back to the women. ‘The writer’s here.’

‘See, I told you they were expecting us.’ The blonde pregnant woman elbows the brunette.

While everyone is focused on the director greeting the author of Countdown to Love , Jack inches closer. ‘What’s wrong?’

I answer while keeping my eyes ahead and my smile in place. ‘I saw Anne.’

‘Here?’ He isn’t murmuring anymore.

Amanda turns to us. ‘Everything okay? ’

‘Ah, I was just wondering who the newcomers are.’ Jack nods at the two pregnant women who Ron is busy air-kissing.

‘Oh.’ Amanda points to the floral dress. ‘That’s the author of Countdown to Love .’ She drops her hand, a bemused expression on her face. ‘I’m not sure who the other woman is, though.’

Scanning the crowd for Anne, I catch the eye of the reporter from Entertainment Daily and force my gaze back to Ron and the pregnant duo. The last thing I need is for her to smell blood in the water on the first day of production.

There’s a lull in the crowd’s murmuring, allowing everyone to hear the writer introduce the woman beside her. ‘This is my friend Rose.’ She grimaces at Ron. ‘The, uh, consultant I mentioned.’

‘Hello.’ Rose shakes Ron’s outstretched hand with one arm and claps him on the back with the other.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the veteran director startled.

Amanda rounds the table to walk over to them.

Jack motions for me to follow. ‘Go greet the writer. I’ll see if I can find your paparazzi Cinderella.’

I open my mouth to argue but Ron cuts me off.

‘And this is our leading man, Felix Jones.’

I straighten under everyone’s gaze and force my feet to move in the opposite direction they want to go. The direction Jack moves in.

I reach the group just as Amanda holds the blonde’s hand under the overhead fluorescents. ‘Great nail polish.’

Dragging my eyes away from Jack, I notice the gargantuan diamond on the pregnant woman’s left ring finger before taking note of emerald glitter polish that perfectly matches her large, gemstone studs.

‘See?’ Rose throws the writer a satisfied look. ‘I told you this polish wasn’t too much. ’

Audrey Cole rolls her eyes. ‘I was talking about you being too much, not your nail polish.’

‘Never mind that.’ Em, seemingly popping out of nowhere, pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a visible, long, deep breath. Then, as if completely nonplussed, the PR manager straightens, her smile as blinding as her outfit.

She could teach young starlets a thing or two about image perception.

‘Everyone—’ Em’s voice carried over the crowd ‘—this is Audrey Cole, the author of Countdown to Love .’

Fighting the urge to turn and follow Jack through the crowd, I hold out my hand like the good little Hollywood puppet I am. ‘Pleasure, Ms Cole.’ When she takes it, I hold hers in both of mine. ‘I hope we do you and your book proud.’

‘Damn.’ Rose, next to Audrey Cole, gives me a long once-over that I’m pretty sure a married pregnant woman should not be giving men other than her husband.

I release the author’s hand to offer my own to the blonde, but she steps back, both hands up as if in surrender.

‘That’s probably not wise.’ Rose’s sudden contrite look conflicts with the up-tilted corners of her mouth. ‘I’m in a certain stage of my pregnancy that requires my husband’s special attention at irregular, yet frequent times and—’ she gives me a thorough assessment, one that makes me want to double-check that my fly isn’t down ‘—now is definitely one of those times.’ Then, pivoting on her platform sneakers, she hustle-waddles toward the building’s exit, calling, ‘Text me later.’

‘I told you to be careful with that smile,’ Amanda whispers next to me.

‘She was already pregnant,’ I mutter, pretending to follow the woman’s exit from the building, while looking for a different blonde .

Audrey Cole smiles at everyone before pulling a folded fan from her purse. ‘Nice to meet y’all.’ She unfurls the fan – the same floral print as her dress – and flutters it, making the tendrils at her temples dance gently in its breeze. ‘Audrey Cole is my pen name. Feel free to call me Trish.’

There’s a pause from the press, like they’re too stunned to attack. Normally, they’d jump on a new source, someone unused to choosing their answers with care to avoid having their words twisted later.

But perhaps as the new source of information is a pregnant woman who’s seemingly acting out a scene from an eighteenth-century Georgian debutante ball in the middle of a state-of-the-art NASA training facility after her blonde counterpart strutted off on a mission to find her husband for sex, the press is too dumbfounded to pounce.

Even for Hollywood, it’s a lot to take in.

Liz

‘I can see you, you know.’

Sighing, I emerge from my hiding spot behind Iron Man. If Iron Man was white and gold robot with a NASA emblem on the center of his chest.

Peeking around the robot, I smile at Em, who, rather than smile back, is staring at my legs, clearly visible seeing as NASA’s Iron Man is just a torso suspended from the ceiling by straps.

‘I always sucked at hide and seek.’

The corner of Em’s lips tilts up. ‘And following directions?’ She points at the red tape in front of her gold shoes. Red tape I clearly stepped over to reach my hiding spot .

My smile tightens. ‘Uh, sorry?’

‘Hmmm.’ Em lifts one eyebrow.

She and my brother Thomas would get along like gangbusters.

Holding my bag close so as not to knock into anything, I move around the dissected Iron Man toward Em.

‘The press junket is over, by the way.’ Em watches my progress like a hawk. ‘Has been for the past ten minutes.’

‘Oh, ah, that’s good.’

Em levels me a look that makes me stand up straight. ‘Do I need to get involved?’

Playing dumb, I concentrate extra hard on stepping over the red tape. ‘What do you mean?’

Shaking her head, Em turns, walking away from the robot and back toward the ISS mock-up. ‘Your professor was looking for you.’

Despite my longer legs, I have to double-step to keep up with the petite PR manager. ‘Oh, shoot, I?—’

Em stops and I have to stutter-step to avoid crashing into her. ‘And he told me about your problem.’

‘Problem?’ For a second, I think she means Felix Jones, before I remember that as my professor doesn’t know, he couldn’t tell her.

Em frowns. ‘Your housing problem?’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that.’ Her eyes narrow slightly as if trying to read my thoughts. Thankfully, she decides not to delve further and resumes walking. ‘I found a place for you to stay nearby.’

Relief courses through me as I jog-step to catch up to her. ‘You did?’

‘Yes, but it comes with a price. ’

‘Oh.’ I calculate the balance in my bank account and what I could save on hotel and car rental. ‘How much?’

Em stops just outside the red tape laid out in front of the ISS mock-up where the director and my professor are talking.

Seeing me, my professor brightens. ‘Liz…’ His eyes widen at his mistake, probably mirroring mine. ‘…zzzANNE! There you are.’ He waves me over. ‘Come learn the first steps of storyboarding.’

I can feel Em’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face.

With an ebullience I do not feel, I smile and wave back. ‘Be right there!’ Keeping my smile in place, I look back at Em. ‘Uh, you were saying about the cost of the place nearby?’

‘Hmmm.’ Her voice sounds as unimpressed as it did earlier, but her eyes seem to be holding back a smile. ‘The cost is one sequined cat t-shirt.’

My surprised laugh bursts forth unexpectedly, echoing around the large building.

‘Seriously?’ I continue to chuckle, my amusement helping to release the long-held tension from the day. ‘I’ll get you ten t-shirts, if you want.’

At my surprised, genuine reaction, Em lets loose the smile. ‘Just one will do.’ She hands me a key connected to a cow keychain. ‘Lizz anne .’