Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 9

9

LIZ

‘And that’s when you walked in on me and Mike Hunt.’

It’s a shame my brother isn’t here to witness the fruits of his pet-naming efforts in action.

As it is, I need to hunch over the cutting board to hide how much that sentence, spoken in all seriousness from a man who just related today’s absurd, snowball list of events that culminated with him screaming in the face of a hairless cat, amuses me.

Amuses me and confuses me. First, what kind of five-star hotel has such weak security? I’ve stayed in enough to know that things like that don’t just happen. One or two fans, maybe. But a mob, lying in wait at the exact moment Felix went to the hotel gym? That smacks of outside interference.

Then there is the whole two-key situation. Maybe my New York City upbringing makes me more paranoid than most, but who gives away not one, but two sets of keys to their condo?

I’d call Em and ask if, one, I wasn’t afraid she’d ask me to leave to make way for the more important Hollywood star in need of a crash pad, and two, I wasn’t so preoccupied with the true surprise of the day—Felix Jones is cooking dinner.

Granted, I’m positive he only started cooking to distract me from kicking him out of the condo that I squatted in first, but still, as someone who is very much kitchen-averse, I appreciate his effort.

Putting the lid on a pot, he turns to me, his palm resting on the counter, his forearm muscles tensing from his weight. ‘Since I can’t go to a hotel, what if I paid for you and the cat to stay in the best, most luxurious hotel around?’ Felix’s large, brown eyes probe mine, as if looking for a trace of sympathy he can cling to.

Steeling myself against his heavy charm, I focus on the one kitchen task he gave me and press down on the knife, pushing the blade into the parsley. ‘I mean—’ I push harder when my first attempt to fails to cut ‘—what kind of blockbuster movie star can’t book his own hotel room?’

‘It’s not about ability , it’s about needing to maintain a low profile and…’ Felix trails off as I lean my weight into the next press, the parsley looking more bruised than chopped. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Cutting the parsley?’ Even I know to make that a question and not a statement.

He closes his eyes briefly, as if shoring up patience, before gently relieving me of the knife and using it to point to the stool on the other side of the island. ‘Sit.’

I gladly acquiesce, moving a safe distance from both his forearm muscles and sharp objects, content to watch the movie star I was unable to kick to the literal curb mince the dented parsley in seconds, then move on to do that cool flip-stir thing with the frying pan.

If you had told me earlier that I’d find the guy I previously knew as Johnny douchebag disturbingly sexy as he moves around barefoot in my kitchen, I would’ve thought you certifiable.

I frown at Mike gazing at Felix with hearts in his beady blue eyes.

And yet here we are.

Felix’s hair is sticking up at odd angles, a result of continually running his hands through it during his lengthy explanation. The resulting style makes him look more like John from the bar than Felix the movie star.

He throws me a smile over his shoulder that I’m sure causes rational women to throw panties at him. ‘Room service, spa treatments, the works. On me.’

Thankfully, I’ve grown impervious to forced, exaggerated charm. One perk of my upbringing surrounded by people who have everything but still want something. ‘No.’

His expression falls, and I’m annoyed to find his moue of disappointment much sexier than his mega-watt smile. ‘Why not?’

Distracting myself, I grab Mikey from the floor as he readies to make another pounce towards Felix. I’m rewarded with a growl that sounds more human-sigh-like than I want to contemplate. ‘Because this sweet boy—’ I run my nose against Mike’s as way of an apology ‘—still has PTSD from the last hotel suite he stayed in.’ Not to mention the various payouts my brother had to make to some unfortunate Las Vegas male strippers. ‘But mainly—’ I level my bad-penny one-night stand a look I hope imbues imperviousness to bribery ‘—I 100 per cent don’t want your money.’

Felix drops his forearms on the island, leaning in close across the counter. It’s a move out of a movie I’m sure he’s played the lead role in. It makes his biceps bulge, his shoulders look broader, and it brings me closer to the face which I’m sure could sell underwear just as well as his abs. ‘Then what do you want?’

I know this move too. It’s the move of someone who still wants something and is trying to feel out how far they’ll need to go to get it. And while the move usually works, especially when practiced by someone as attractive as Felix Jones, it makes me realize just how much of the upper hand I have. Even without the photograph I deleted.

I lean forward, dragging my tongue across my lips, smirking when his eyes hone in on the movement. ‘I want you…’

His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.

‘…out of my condo.’

It takes a second, but the joke lands.

His body visible deflates. ‘Ha ha, very funny.’

I can’t help but chuckle.

Mike stretches out a paw in Felix’s direction. ‘Meow.’

Felix jerks away, turning back toward the stove.

Mike slumps forward, resting his head on his paws on the counter.

‘I don’t get it.’ I scratch behind Mike’s flattened ears.

Felix doesn’t pause in cooking. ‘What?’

‘Mike usually hates men.’ My whole family knows that while Mike may tolerate men (including his owner, my brother), he is team girl all the way. Especially now that Bell, Alice and Mary are in his life.

Felix lowers the pan back on the burner, muttering. ‘I wish he wasn’t so fond of me.’

‘You didn’t seem so averse to cats when you laughed yourself to tears when I was relating Mike’s antics at the bar.’

He glances back at Mike, whose head perks up at the attention. ‘You wanna tell me cat stories or show me funny cat videos, sure, I’ll laugh all day.’ After holding Mike’s gaze for a beat, he returns to the cooktop with a shiver. ‘But being near a cat, or a part of those stories? No thank you.’

‘So, it’s not just that Mike’s a little—’ I cover Mike’s ears ‘—unattractive? It’s all cats?’

Mike shakes me off and glares at me, prompting me to give him extra belly rubs to prevent retaliation.

‘I was mauled once.’ Felix’s t-shirt tightens, as if just recalling it has him stiffening. ‘Never really got over it, I guess.’

‘You were mauled ?’ Horrific images from long-ago watched episodes of Animal Planet run through my head. ‘On a film set? By, like, a tiger or something?’

‘No. This was before I started acting, when I was a kid.’

I frown, trying to make the pieces fit. From the little I’ve read, I know he was born and raised in California. ‘Then where did you come across a wild animal?’

He stirs the pot with wide, slow circles. ‘It was my neighbors’ pet.’

‘Your neighbor had a wild animal?’ I know the ongoing stereotype is of west coasters being eccentric, but zoo animals as pets? Really?

Hunching over the pot more, he mumbles something that sounds like, ‘Tabby.’

I lean closer, squishing Mike to my chest. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

He sighs, as if resigning himself to the inevitable.

I’m about to apologize, not wanting him to share something if it brings up bad memories when he says, ‘It was a tabby cat.’

I win the Herculean effort of not laughing in the silence that follows.

However, I must not do a good job with my facial expression, because when he turns to gauge my reaction, his body stiffens once more.

‘It was a large tabby cat, okay?’ He holds his arms out as wide as they’ll stretch. ‘The name doesn’t do it justice. It was a mutant, I tell you.’

I fight the laughter. I fight it really hard. But when Mike makes one more attempt to reach out his paw toward Felix and the tough action star’s feet come up off the kitchen floor, I lose. Badly.

So badly, I don’t even realize it when Mike jumps off my lap, making a beeline to Felix.

I’m surprised when no one in the building reports hearing a woman being attacked in our condo.

Felix

Cracking two eggs in a small bowl, I pick up a fork and point it at the beast now strapped against Anne’s chest. ‘Thanks for confining the beast.’

‘Thanks for dinner.’ Anne’s lips roll in before nodding at the bowls on the island. ‘And thanks for making dessert.’

The cat sighs.

I beat the eggs, trying not to think about how Mike was finally able to rub his weirdly soft, hairless body against me, or how un-insulted I was when Anne laughed at my subsequent high-pitched cry.

Somehow between her laughing at the picture she took of me and her laughing at my tabby-cat confession, my ego has decided it’s fine with being the butt of the joke as long as it’s Anne doing the laughing.

Looking away from what I can only describe as the Benjamin Button-like cat in a baby carrier, I pour the eggs into the batter. ‘I have a bit of a sweet tooth, anyway. ’

‘Yeah, but aren’t you like Mr Action Hero?’ The corners of her mouth kick up. ‘You can’t fight bad guys and save the damsel if you’ve got a cookie belly.’

I know she’s simply waiting for Jack to land so I can call him and figure a way out of her condo, but I can’t help but enjoy this time with her. I mean, now that I know she isn’t a stalking paparazzi. ‘I thought you didn’t know anything about me?’

‘I don’t, not really.’ She drops her chin over Mike’s head, but not fast enough to hide the flush in her cheeks that makes my bruised ego heal. ‘But the people at work seem to.’

And there go all the good feelings.

She must read something in my expression because she’s quick to rush on. ‘Not that I’ve heard much.’ She shrugs, the movement shifting Mike’s wrinkled skin. ‘Storyboarders work alone. What I do know is from a quick search of your movies and a few things I overheard at the press junket.’ She laughs, the sound easing my nerves more than all of Jack’s PR meetings. ‘All your, uh, fans were swooning over your large underwear ad billboard in Times Square.’

‘Ugh.’ I hang my head over the bowl, knowing the exact picture she’s talking about. ‘That was Jack’s idea.’

It’s odd how relieved I am when her smile kicks back up. ‘The infamous Candy Crush addicted manager?’

I pause in scraping the dough off the sides of the bowl with the spatula, surprised by how much I shared over the past few hours with her. I should be nervous about it, but when she’s looking at me with shiny, amused, blue eyes, I feel happy instead. ‘Yeah, that Jack.’ I slide the cookie sheet I found in a cabinet closer. ‘I was doing so many survival-type action movies, he was afraid I’d get typecast as more of a Conan the Barbarian than a versatile leading man.’ I roll my eyes, recalling the long and embarrassing underwear photo shoot. ‘He thought the underwear campaign would help the public see me in a different light.’

‘Well from what I heard, they see a lot more of you in all the lights now.’ She waggles her eyebrows.

‘Ha. Ha.’ Dough ready, I scoop out a golf-ball-size amount with my hand and roll it between my palms into a five-inch-long snake.

‘What kind of cookies are those?’

‘ Biscoitos .’ I lay the snake down on the cookie sheet and bring the ends together to make a circle, pinching the ends together. ‘It’s like Portuguese shortbread.’

She props both elbows on the island counter, framing the cat, who looks at me the way one should the cookies, between them. ‘Cool.’

I get through shaping the first six cookies when my phone rings. ‘Shoot.’ I drop the dough in my hands back in the bowl. ‘It’s probably Jack.’ I move to retrieve my phone from my pocket, hesitating when I see my greasy hands.

‘Don’t worry.’ Anne hops off her stool and circles the island. ‘I’ll get it.’ Before I can think better of it, she reaches into my pocket. I stare long and deep into Mike Hunt’s eyes to prevent my lower half from reacting to Anne’s inadvertent grazing.

Phone retrieved, Anne slides her finger across the screen then taps on the speaker button before setting the phone down on the counter.

Anne points at the phone, then holds her finger over her lips, miming that she’ll be quiet.

Like that’s why I’m frozen, unable to speak.

‘Felix?’

Clearing my throat, I turn back to my dough, needing a distraction and boner cover. ‘Hey, man.’ I glance at the clock. Between the time and the hum of a crowd in the background, I’m guessing he just got off the plane.

‘How’s the condo?’

I pick my discarded snake of dough out of the bowl. ‘I don’t think it’s gonna work out.’ Laying it on the cookie sheet, I pinch the ends. ‘There’s a problem.’

Anne’s lips purse in amusement. Probably from being considered a problem.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ Jack’s sigh fills the phone with static. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

I open my mouth to explains, but Jack cuts me off before I can.

‘Vance assured me that while the owner barely ever stays there, it’s always kept clean and well-equipped. Something about her cowboy boyfriend being a neat freak who bakes.’

Anne and I both look at the cookie sheet and baking paraphernalia strewn across the island.

Jack mutters something to someone then speaks into the phone again. ‘Something I figured you’d like as you like being in the kitchen.’

‘The condo is fine, it’s just that I don’t think he?—’

‘It’s gonna be hella awkward when we meet Vance and the rest of the astronaut crew for dinner after the filming is over if we reject his favor of a place to stay.’

Anne seems to freeze, and I wonder if she thinks I’ll go back on my word to find a new place to stay. I won’t, but I also don’t want Jack to know she’s the reason why I need to leave. He’s dealing with enough at the moment. I don’t want him to think there’s another woman out to get me.

Ripping a paper towel off the holder, I begin making quick swipes at my hands, hoping to take the call off speaker before Anne can protest .

‘Are you sure you can’t stay there?’ Jack asks, as if already resigning himself to the answer and the smoothing-over he’ll need to do.

Hoping I’m clean enough to grab my phone, I toss the paper towel. ‘The thing is?—’

But Anne beats me to the phone, ending the call with one tap.

‘Hey.’ Hand still outstretched, I frown at her. ‘Why did you?—’

‘I have a new deal for you.’

He drops his hand, sighing. ‘Listen, I wasn’t going to suddenly change my mind and try and kick you out. I’ll leave, I promise. I just need to?—’

The phone rings, and I sigh, tired of being repeatedly cut off. I reach for the phone again, lit up with Jack’s name and picture.

Anne slides it out of reach. ‘Listen.’ She silences the call with a press of the phone’s side button. ‘I feel like it would be wrong to kick you out after you went to all this trouble to cook me dinner.’

I frown at her sudden one-eighty, my mind racing trying to figure out what changed between her threatening to call the police and now. ‘It would?’

She nods solemnly. ‘And with you not being much of a threat given your—’ she waves her hands as if having trouble searching for the right words ‘— regrettable medical condition.’

‘My what?’

Her eyes drop below my waist. ‘It can happen to men your age.’ She gives me what I assume she thinks is a sympathetic smile.

Understanding dawns and I swallow back my frustration. ‘I’m only thirty-two.’

When her smile turns pained, I decide to show her just how threatening I and my dick can be. But before I can move one step around the counter, the cat meows and stretches a chicken-wing-looking arm toward me.

Pride makes way for safety, and I decide it’s probably best for everyone if I and my dick stay where we are, well out of claw-swiping range.

I scoop another ball of dough and get back to forming my biscoitos . ‘What deal?’

Liz

‘ So .’ Ignoring the forearm flexing that happens when you roll Portuguese shortbread, I concentrate on sounding friendly to the man who attempted to bribe me out of a condo. ‘I was thinking that you could stay here, in the guest room, if you wanted.’ I flutter my eyelashes a few times, hoping they’ll mask my tone and the stiffness of my smile that basically screams the truth behind the lie.

Because I don’t want him to stay. I don’t want his sexy, tousled hair, his hilarious aversion to Mike Hunt or his seductive smiles anywhere near me or the guest bedroom.

However.

I do want to go to that dinner. It is becoming readily apparent over the course of the last few days that, as a storyboarder who works early in the day to sketch out potential film sets before handing them off, I’m not in a position to coincidentally run into my sister at NASA.

‘I’m confused.’ Felix looks torn between laughing and complaining about my mentioning his erectile dysfunction.

And when his eyes fall to my chest where Mike is probably drooling over him, I sit on the bar stool and hunker down, trying to hide the triggering cat from view while I attempt to list all the reasons why my offer is so generous. ‘This place is close to work, safe, has a fully equipped kitchen, and , as Jack said, the astronauts specifically called in this favor for you.’

‘But I thought you were all about “finders keepers”.’

I’ve never seen air quotes made with dough-laden hands. Or in such a derogatory manner.

He shakes his head in disbelief as he pinches another cookie together. ‘You threatened to call the NASA’s PR manager who gave you the key and the police if I didn’t “get the hell out”.’

‘Well, I, uh…’ My mind stalls on how to convince him to stay when I was so hard-pressed to get him to leave. I find inspiration when the oven dings, having reached the right temperature. I slam my hand down on the counter. ‘I need a chef.’ Ignoring the jolt of pain in my palm, I dodge Mike’s paw swipe to my face.

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘A chef?’

‘Yes.’ I nod vigorously and straighten in my seat lest Mike retaliate later in ways I might not survive. ‘I’m no use in the kitchen and having you around will be helpful.’ I gesture to the cookie sheet and dough bowl, so Felix doesn’t home in on the cat again.

Following my hands, Felix scans the island and then the rest of the condo. When he meets my eyes again, instead of looking convinced, he seems wary of my sanity.

Giving up the fa?ade, I duck my head while giving an apology scratch to Mike, too embarrassed to meet Felix eyes. ‘And it would be cool if you wanted to maybe take me to the astronaut dinner.’

There’s a pregnant pause after I admitted just how the tables have turned.

‘Big fan of astronauts, are we?’ As expected, his expression is both amused and smug .

‘Maybe.’ Not a lie. I could be. At least of one astronaut in particular. But he doesn’t need to know that. The more information one has, the more they can use against you. Stanley Moore taught me that.

‘So let me get this straight.’ He braces his hands on either side of the cookie sheet, his contracting upper torso muscles contradicting his self-proclaimed sweet tooth. ‘You’ll let me stay as long as I cook for you and take you out on dates?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I rush on, worried I’ve just shot myself in the foot. ‘I’m saying I want one date.’ I hold up my finger. ‘One specific date to the astronaut dinner.’ I drop my finger and scratch Mike’s head. ‘An invite, really. Not a date.’ I nod at the cookies. ‘And the chef thing.’

His nostrils flare, and I can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or amusement.

‘What do you say?’ Taking a chance, I stick my arm across the counter. ‘Deal?’