Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 8

8

FELIX

‘There’s a twenty-four-hour doorman and underground parking.’ Jack stabs at the elevator button and glances at his watch.

After escaping through the hotel’s service entrance to avoid any of the fans who had either snuck in or checked-in to the hotel to meet me, Jack had the limo take us back into the NASA area, where, in the midst of parks, neighborhoods and small commercial buildings, stood a thirteen-floor condo high-rise built on the shore of Clear Lake, looking like the answer to one of those ‘what doesn’t belong’ puzzles.

‘With Amanda still at the hotel, along with its ineffectual security, everyone will still think you’re in Houston.’ Jack fidgets in his sneakers, probably unused to being caught in public in anything less than a power tie. ‘We’re taking a gamble, but I’m pretty sure the press and your fans won’t find you here.’ He reaches out and tugs down the brim of my ball cap. ‘But keep your head down just in case.’

Blinded, as he’s lowered the brim over my eyes, I lift it back up. ‘You’re going to miss your flight.’ I don’t touch on the gamble we’re taking .

I’ve been lucky thus far in my career that security’s only been needed for events or crowd control. I’ve never felt threatened or unsafe in my own home or on location as long as I kept my head down. But today’s ambush was different. With Camilla ramping up her lies about our relationship, and me not being able to publicly deny or confirm them, the fans and paparazzi are more rabid for my attention than usual.

Jack pulls out his phone, checking his Candy Crush score. He wanted to hire a bodyguard at the least, but I thought that would be like pointing a neon arrow to my location.

‘I’ll be fine.’

The elevator door dings.

Jack scoffs, the sound full of both sarcasm and rebuke, neither of which I can take offense to considering the latest turn of events.

‘Seriously.’ Dropping my hands on his shoulders, I lean in so we’re eye to eye. ‘Get out of here.’

‘Fine.’ He shrugs out from under my hands. ‘I’ll go once you’re in the elevator.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

We both pause at my inadvertent reminder as to why it’s so important for him to get back to LA. Especially now that Camilla’s lies have escalated rather than stopped as I hoped and she promised.

He plays the moment off by rolling his eyes, but Jack still waits until I’m inside the elevator and waving him goodbye before pocketing his phone and turning to leave.

As the floor numbers climb, I pull out my own phone to check the date.

Mom’s scheduled to call tomorrow. And when she calls, I need to make sure she doesn’t clue in to what’s been going on.

I’m not sure if it’s a Portuguese thing, or a woman thing, but Sofia Maria Santos-Jones has a hefty amount of determination and pride. The combination is both a strength and weakness. They helped her prove the naysayers wrong when, after Dad died, no one thought the daughter of Portuguese immigrants who spoke English as her second language would be able to raise a son on her own. But it is also why she has lived her life never asking for handouts or help, even when she really needed it.

And then, after years of sacrifices and support on her part, when it should’ve been my turn to take care of her, I failed.

Never again. I’ve got three weeks until she’s scheduled to finish treatment at the exclusive facility I checked her into. Three weeks to make sure my mother comes home to nothing but rest and relaxation rather than drama and gossip.

I do the California to Texas time change in my head and double-check the shooting schedule on my phone, making sure I’ll be available when she calls. Satisfied that I will be, I pocket my phone and pull out the key our recent astronaut escort Vance Bodaway had left for us with the concierge.

The elevator doors open, and I step out into a soft gray hallway lined every twenty feet or so with doors. I follow it down until it starts to curve, finding the condo number Jack gave me. Jack did some quick-thinking by calling Vance while I signed autographs for the trespassing fans. We lucked out that Vance had a friend in outer space with a vacant condo near NASA I could use.

Opening the condo door, I’m pleasantly surprised by the large, open-concept space. Floor-to-ceiling windows to my left where the living room is, a wall of cabinets to my right with a decent-sized island and counter stools make up the kitchen, and beyond that, a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms .

Catching sight of the lake view, I drop my bag by the door and head over to the window.

Focused on the stream of sunshine hitting my face, I don’t notice the obstacle underfoot until it’s too late. Foot caught under the surprisingly hefty weight of a beige sack, I stumble forward, my curse drowned out by an ear-piercing yowl, followed by the thud of my palms and face smacking against the window. There’s only a second’s pause before gravity wins and my face squeak-slides downward against the glass, stopping only when my ass hits the floor.

Caralho .

I’m not sure how much time passes as I lay there, eyes closed, body motionless and crumbled against the warm glass, but however long it would’ve taken to process what the hell just happened is cut short when something soft, wet and rough, drags against the side of my face not radiating in pain.

And when I finally open my eyes to see what new hell has found me, I’m met with the shriveled, shrunken face of the diablo himself.

Someone screams.

Sadly, it’s me.

Liz

I lift my shopping bag laden arm and hit the button again, hoping the repeated action will magically make the service elevator move faster.

Ten minutes after Chase left, I was still standing there dumbfounded by the turn of events when the grocery delivery notification came, which I decided to collect myself as, directly after, the concierge called asking me to sign a pet waiver.

Too busy wondering when my previously lackadaisical brother started paying attention to details, I did something that anyone who has ever spent any time with my brother’s pet knows not to do.

I left him alone in my apartment.

It wasn’t until I scrawled my name on a document that made me liable for any damages that might occur due to said pet that my mistake hit me.

It’s been a year since Mikey and I went on regularly scheduled outings to Central Park and I left behind the Best Cat Aunt mug Chase gave me for Christmas.

And while any normal cat would simply associate my smell with happy times and be content, in the 360 plus days that I have been absent from Mike’s carefree and ball-licking life, I forgot one crucial thing – Mike is not a normal cat.

So while I left him basking in the sunlight like a nudist at the beach to decompress after his flight and abandonment by his owner, Mikey was more than likely thinking up various forms of retaliation for my long absence.

The elevator dings my floor’s arrival, and I nearly dislocate my shoulders as I lumber out and down the hall toward my door. Concierge offered to get me a trolley, but I’d been too worried about the unattended, vindictive feline to wait.

And it’s because of that unattended, vindictive feline that I’m not surprised when my struggle to open the door is rewarded with a high-pitched scream.

What is a surprise is that it’s not mine.

The door bangs open just as the scream begins to wane and my eyes land on a man crumpled on the floor by the window staring at Mike Hunt .

The baseball cap the man’s wearing hides most of his face, but what I do see of his mouth – slack-jawed and still emitting a low-pitched whine – tells me he’s more scared to be in the condo than I am to find him there.

‘Who…?’ My groceries land on the floor with a cascading thud. My arms have a second’s relief, followed by the sharp tingle of pins and needles as circulation restarts. But all that fades when my brain registers just who the baseball-cap-wearing intruder is. ‘ You .’ All the violent tendencies I surprised at the press junket come flaring back to life.

The Hollywood actor double-takes when he sees me, recognition replacing terror. Then his eyes, before large and round on Mike, narrow on me. ‘ You .’

Meanwhile, Mikey, sits politely in front of my unfortunate one-night stand. The cat glances over his bare shoulder at me then back at the man in front of him as if awaiting introductions.

Eyes back on Mike, Felix struggles to his feet.

I clear my throat, trying for a less bewildered and more authoritative tone. It’s annoying how I have to repress the thought of how good he looks in workout shorts and a t-shirt in order to do it. Think of the urgent care bill . ‘Why are you here?’

Not looking at me, Felix carefully sidesteps the cat. At what he must feel is a safe enough distance, he locks eyes with me. ‘Isn’t that my line?’

‘No.’ I do my own maneuvering, abandoning my groceries and circling the island until I reach my phone that I left on the counter. ‘This is my place.’

Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.

I don’t know why he is here, but if I can manifest my brother and his hairless cat, maybe I can manifest Felix Jones out of my condo.

‘What do you mean this is your place? I was…’ He stops, sh aking his head. ‘Wait, never mind that.’ He points at the phone in my hand. ‘I want that picture.’

‘What picture?’

A blend of annoyance and skepticism fill his gaze. ‘You know what picture.’

I scoff. ‘No, I don’t.’ Cursing my manifestation powers that seem to only work for evil, I slide my phone open, wondering if concierge can help me deal with a rogue Hollywood douchebag or if I’m going to have to call the police. I’d really rather not because once the police are involved…

Oh my God. The police .

I jerk my eyes up to his, realization dawning. I do know what picture he’s talking about.

I can tell the moment he knows that I know. He folds his arms across his chest, his smile turning to a dark smirk. With his hair tousled, his gleaming brown eyes and his biceps bulging as they shift across his chest, he looks every bit the smoldering, sexy leading man that Google told me he was at the press junket.

And yet it’s the memory of him curled up in the fetal position with a look of horror and pain on his mangy, bearded face as he holds his damaged junk that comes to mind. The memory I immortalized with my phone’s camera before I left the hotel room that night.

I stifle a giggle, not wanting to poke the bull, as it were.

Even so, Felix’s eye narrow as I fake-cough.

Mike, with his usual epic timing, chooses this precise moment to break wind. Audibly.

In seconds, People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive winner’s normally handsome facial features are contorted into an expression of such contempt and revulsion, it’s near savage. And almost identical to the face he makes when kneed in the nuts.

I give up and laugh.

Felix

My fists clench as the recent object of my desire and torment laughing at my expense.

Like, really laughs.

Head back, neck exposed, her spontaneous laugh echoes around us, just like it did at the bar.

And much to my annoyance, just like at the bar, my lower half reacts.

I almost bought her confusion. The knit of her eyebrows, the slight tilt to her head. All of it had me second-guessing if there even was a photograph. That maybe my nut-pain had somehow skewed my memory and that what I should really be focused on is finding out why Anne is in the condo Jack set up for me in the first place. And with her brother’s cat no less.

My nose wrinkles at the smell emanating from said cat. Anne may have regaled me with hilarious stories, but no imagination, even an actor trained in improv, could do the real animal justice.

I didn’t tell Anne that I have a slight… aversion to cats because it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Mike Hunt was an abstract figure, an idea, not something tangible and flatulent that would one day be within clawing distance.

Slowly, too slowly, Anne’s amusement fades. ‘ That’s why you’re here? The picture?’ She shakes her head. ‘Isn’t breaking and entering beneath you? I thought Hollywood stars had underlings for this sort of thing.’

‘I didn’t break in.’ I reach into my pocket, pulling out what the concierge gave Jack and me. ‘I have a key.’ I dangle it between us.

Wrong move. Mike’s shoulders drop, as if ready to pounce. Remembering what Anne said about his obsession with shiny objects, I toss the key a safe distance – across the kitchen and down the hall.

Mike scrambles after it.

Anne follows the cat, turning back to me, frowning. ‘Why do you have a key?’

‘Why did you take that picture?’ I counter, feeling safer now that the cat is out of sight.

She giggles again. While I’m happy to bring the conversation back to my number-one priority, her continued amusement isn’t helping my Portuguese temper.

Fueled more by embarrassment than any sense of justice, my tone hardens along with my body. ‘I don’t know what kind of deal you were hoping to make but I’m telling you right now, it won’t be enough to cover the lawsuit I’ll bring your way if you try and sell it.’

Her head jerks back, cutting her laugh short. I have a fleeting moment of satisfaction, until disdain colors her features.

She stalks toward me, looking far more threatening than the pouncing cat. When she’s a foot away, I drop my hands in front of me, bracing for impact and trying to ignore the enchanting smattering of freckles visible on her flushed cheeks.

Instead of her knee, she lifts her hand, her index pointed at my sternum. ‘Listen, Johnny .’

I flinch as her finger jabs forward, just shy of contact, while a wave of heat washes over me at the mention of my impromptu alias.

‘If anyone should sue someone, it should be me —’ she points back to herself before jabbing it once more at me ‘—suing you .’

This time, she makes contact, but I’m too afraid to move my hands from ball-protection duty. The sharp pain helps me cull the unhelpful buzz of attraction radiating from her touch .

Jesus, sou patético.

Rolling her eyes at what I can only guess is my rather comical expression, she crosses her arms. ‘I only took that picture as evidence, in case I died, and the police needed a clue as to who killed me.’

Huh . I repeat what she just said in my head, letting it sink in.

As overly dramatic as her reasoning sounds, it also sounds valid. Which I hate. Because it makes my pent-up anger and judgement seem petty and unwarranted in the face of, well, her numbed face. ‘Ah.’

‘Yeah,’ she scoffs, ‘ah.’

‘But…’ I replay the last time I saw her. ‘Why were you at NASA? Why did you run?’

‘I was at work.’ She shifts back on one foot. ‘Same as you.’

‘Jack checked the crew contracts.’ I find her relaxed posture and flat expression more provoking than convincing. ‘You weren’t listed.’

Anne’s stance doesn’t change, nor her expression. ‘I’m not crew.’

My head hurts. And my chest. Noting the face smears on the window, my pride is also pretty banged up.

Closing my eyes, I try and reset like I do when someone accidentally breaks character or the director wants to re-shoot a scene. Or when a girl has thrown me for so many loops at a time when I’m already playing tabloid gymnastics that I find myself too exhausted to jump anymore.

Unfortunately, when I reopen them, I’m still the same confused man I was seconds ago standing in front of a pissed-off woman with a penchant for nut maiming.

Risking said nuts, I raise my hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. ‘Will you please explain?’

Her eyebrows shoot up, her shock at my sudden shift to politeness making me feel every inch the asshole Anne must think me.

‘Fine.’ Heaving a long sigh, she moves over toward the window and picks up Mike Hunt, who’s returned with the key. ‘I’m a storyboarder.’

I take a moment to appreciate the sunlight behind her casting a halo around her blonde hair, the vision marred by the odd-looking feline cradled against her chest, before refocusing. ‘But you said you weren’t?—’

She holds up a hand, Mike listing to one side. ‘Part of the crew. I know.’ Her hand slides back under the cat, securing him to her. ‘I’m not. I’m an intern. I work for my professor, David Morales, not the studio.’

I’m distracted by the folds of skin overlapping and moving against each other as the cat leans into her caress, its body relaxing. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t too busy being creeped by his eyes, which remain fixed on me.

Unconcerned or unaware of my unease, Anne continues explaining. ‘And I ran at the press junket because the guy I kneed in the nuts turned out to be a movie star who may or may not take out his anger on me by getting me fired.’

‘I wouldn’t?—’

‘What? Have me fired?’ She snorts and lowers the cat back onto the carpeted patch of sunlight. ‘And I’m supposed to know that after I was, one, catfished, two, poisoned and three—’ she lifts a finger at each listing of my crimes ‘—barricaded in a hotel room when I attempted to leave to seek medical attention?’

I want to argue the poisoned comment, but wisely keep my mouth shut.

She flutters her lashes, her smile patronizing. ‘It’s a mystery how you’ve only won two People’s Choice Awards.’

I could drown in the sarcasm dripping from her voice. And I have a feeling she wouldn’t lend me a hand, or finger, to help if I did.

‘You’re right.’ I hold my hands out between us like I’ve seen trainers do on set with wild animals. It’s both for Anne and the cat. ‘I’m sorry.’

Anne’s detached, condescending expression flickers at my sincerity.

‘Honest, I am.’ All the tension I’d been feeling seems to leave me in one fell swoosh as I say the words I should’ve said from the start. And even though the cat is shifting uncomfortably closer, I make sure to maintain eye contact as I continue. ‘It is not an excuse, but please know that being—’ I flash her a small smile ‘— Felix Jones , can sometimes be difficult.’

Her lips twitch in an upward direction, helping me go on.

‘I would like as much as possible to keep my personal life private. And when I thought you might…’ I gesture wildly with my hand, unsure of how to phrase my concerns.

‘Make it publicly known that the world’s sexiest man suffers from erectile dysfunction?’ Anne blinks innocently, smiling at the supposedly helpful suggestion.

‘I don’t—’ I close my eyes and take a breath, deciding to fight that battle another day. ‘Yeah, sure. That.’

The corners of her blue eyes crinkle. ‘Honestly, I’d forgotten that I even took that picture.’ She grabs her phone and slides the screen open. ‘Here.’ She leans in, showing me the screen.

Opening her photos, she taps on one, enlarging the picture of me frozen in pain on the hotel-room floor. Immediately, a thousand memes run through my head all featuring my face contorted in surprised pain.

‘Damn.’ I lean back, the image almost too painful to look at. ‘You got me good. ’

Catching each other’s eyes, we share a smile. This one genuine. And slightly heated.

‘Yeah, well.’ Anne breaks away with a roll of her eyes. ‘You were a dick.’ With one more tap, she deletes the photo.

I feel like a dick for having imagined the worst of her, especially with how quick she is to delete it. I’d blame Camilla Branson for warping my sense of judgement, but that would be a cop-out.

I let my own anxieties guide my actions instead of doing what I usually strive to do. What my mother always taught me – ser um cavalheiro . Be a gentleman.

Which is kind of hard to do at the moment as my dick, probably in an attempt to save face after being unjustly shamed, has mistaken our verbal sparring as foreplay and wants to tag in.

‘Okay.’ Anne sets her phone back on the counter. ‘Problem solved.’ She waves me toward the door, unaware of the other problem happening behind the thin fabric of my exercise shorts. ‘You can go now.’

I glance back at the door but don’t move, my mind working furiously to figure out how best to broach our new, and more complicated, problem.

‘Yo.’ Anne’s eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘Why aren’t you leaving?’

‘Well…’ Deciding it’s best not to tell the woman who thinks I have erectile dysfunction that the most prominent reason for me being unable to leave is the cockstand I’m currently sporting behind my shorts, I inch closer to the island.

‘Felix?’

There’s a warning in her voice. One I’d really like to heed, but being without Jack, security or a mode of transportation, my smile stiffens as I brace for her reaction to the real reason why I’m standing before her. ‘So, the thing is…’