Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 16

16

LIZ

I feel horrible.

Dropping my forehead on the steering wheel in front of me, I fail to muster up the will to vacate Felix’s rental and head upstairs to the condo. It seems the drive to the parking garage, that I made as if on autopilot, has drained whatever energy I had left after watching my brother’s cat almost drown, my roommate go full-on Tom Hanks in Castaway , followed by my inability to take responsibility for the clusterfuck that is Mike Hunt.

Not to mention that kiss .

The clusterfuck himself paws the inside of the driver’s side door of the SUV, giving the impression that he’s fully recovered from his skinny-dipping ordeal.

It seems I’m the only one stuck in traumatization mode.

Even Felix rebounded to normalcy once everyone else got back to the job of movie making. He asked me if I was okay as he steered me toward the exit of the Neutral Buoyancy Lab. And when I nodded in response, lamely I might add, he smiled before handing me the keys to his rental car.

As if he wasn’t upset, or angry, or even annoyed over the drama I caused between him and Ron, the director who gave Felix a chance by casting him in his first non-action role. He’s mentioned his desire to step out of his normal shoot-’em-up roles, and I can tell by the amount of prep work I’ve seen him doing – script reading, NASA research, scene blocking – that he’s taking this role very seriously.

And after I fucked it up, Felix seemed more concerned about my emotional state than his career.

It could be that Felix is an exceptional actor. And yet, while that still may be true, I think the real reason is something else. Something I previously suspected the first time Felix chopped parsley at the kitchen island.

Felix Jones is a nice guy. A guy who made a horrible first impression, but has since proven himself a man that goes above and beyond. Even when it doesn’t benefit him. And even when, like today, it actually hurts him.

And what have I done aside from deleting a photo I was never going to sell?

I’ve flashed his mother, drawn him in NSFW poses and paraded a feline PTSD trigger around our shared living space like an American flag on the Fourth of July. And now, with the help of Mike Hunt, I damaged his professional reputation and possibly his future movie options.

Leaning back against the leather seat, I close my eyes. ‘God, I’m the worst.’

Mike, as if agreeing, head butts my shoulder.

It should’ve been the one to jump in after Mike. But I’d been too… too… something after that kiss to think straight.

Obviously, Felix did not have that problem. He’s used to kissing women on set. It’s his job. In fact, he’s probably kissing Amanda right now in the same place he kissed me.

Stupid Amanda .

Ugh. No. Amanda is great. I’m the worst.

I may have continued wallowing in the safety of Felix’s luxury SUV if it wasn’t for my phone ringing with a familiar New York number.

My sister-in-law wants to FaceTime.

‘Meow.’ Mikey paws the air in front of my phone.

‘Okay, okay.’ Sliding the call open, I angle the camera toward Mike. ‘Hey, Bell.’

Ignoring my greeting, Bell goes full-on cat momma. ‘Oh, there’s my sweet boy! There’s my darling.’ Bell’s baby-talk has me rolling my eyes. ‘Do you miss your mama? Because your mama misses you.’

Mike rolls onto his back, his junk lewdly on display.

‘Wow.’ Feeling like I’m shooting cat porn, I turn the camera towards me. ‘I guess he’s mad you ditched him.’

Bell pouts. ‘I didn’t ditch him. I allowed my husband to offer Mike a strategically timed vacation with his Aunt Lizzie.’ She leans back, her surroundings coming into focus.

‘You’re at Moore’s?’ I recognize Chase’s desk chair and view out the window behind her. After Stanley Winston Moore was ousted from his luxury conglomerate throne in Manhattan and sent to jail, I helped Bell and Alice redecorate his office, splitting the massive one into two – one for each brother.

No one mentioned splitting it three ways. Not that I wanted an office. Or even to work there. But I remember wondering if the lack of invite had less to do with my career goals and more to do with me no longer being a legitimate Moore.

‘Yes, it’s the only place Chase lets me get any work done.’

I blink out of my funk. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, since I told him I was working from home today.’ She smirks. ‘Moore’s would be the last place he’d look. ’

I nod, continually impressed with my sister-in-law’s business and marriage savvy. ‘Smart move.’

She flips her red hair back off her shoulder. ‘I know.’

‘My brother and Moore’s would be lost without you.’

Her red lips kick up on one side. ‘I know that too.’

Chuckling, I decide to take the opportunity to distract myself with something non cat or Felix related. ‘So what are you working on?’

‘Moore’s has hired my firm to handle new marketing materials for an in-house fashion collaboration they have lined up.’ Bell shuffles some papers in front of her. ‘Camilla Branson.’

I frown, the name somewhat familiar. Probably another actor. I guess I should watch more mainstream movies if I ever did decide to work at Moore’s. ‘Who’s that?’

When my brothers took over Moore’s, they modernized the outdated sales plan and revamped the stores offerings with plans for celebrity-collaborated capsule collections that Moore’s themselves would manufacture. It’s an exciting direction for a store that used to only sell other brands’ designs.

‘A Hollywood socialite. Did a reality TV show recently and became quite famous for her style.’

I scoff, all too familiar with the people who claim celebrity just because they’re rich. ‘ That’s enough to get her a collaboration with Moore’s?’ Though it explains why the name sounds familiar. It was probably one of many on the various invitee lists I helped my mother put together over the years when she was busy being New York City’s charity queen.

Bell considers the question. ‘Well, not usually, but lately she’s been linked to?—’

‘Whoa, dude.’ Not liking being ignored, especially by his mama, Mike climbs onto my lap, insinuating himself between me and the phone .

‘Aw, baby.’ Bell clasps her hands under her chin. ‘You do miss me.’

Tuning out my sister-in-law’s lovey-dovey nonsense, I get back to contemplating the Felix situation. Between the grudge holding, the kiss and today’s Mike-foolery, damage control is needed.

And yet, if I come clean to Ron about Mike being my cat, that might make things worse for Felix. And being unable to take responsibility means I’m left with executing one hell of an apology. Words won’t be enough.

But I have no clue what to do for him. Even if I dipped into my unused account, Felix is just like my brothers – impossible to shop for. What do you get someone who already has the means to buy themselves whatever they want?

‘What’s with the long face?’

‘Hmm?’ I blink back into the phone screen.

‘You look sad.’ Bell’s brows knit together. ‘What’s wrong and who do I have to hurt?’

Chuckling at the 180-degree emotional turn that took her from cooing to murderous, I do something I haven’t done much of this past year. Open up. ‘I’m trying to think of how to say, “I’m sorry” to someone.’

While still frowning, the deadly intent leaves her face. ‘Want me to send them something from Moore’s?’

‘Nah.’ I stare at the Gucci sports bag that Felix left on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat. ‘This person is sort of like Chase and Thomas. They have everything they want, or if they don’t, they can easily get it themselves.’ I shake my head. ‘And as with my brothers, I feel like whatever I get them won’t be meaningful enough.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ Bell’s snort draws back my attention.

‘What? ’

‘I wish I had your ability for gift giving.’

Pushing Mike’s head out of the way, I shift in closer to the middle console so we can share the screen. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Ummmm…’ Bell widens her eyes like the point she’s about to make is obvious. ‘The Mike Hunt printed dress socks you gave Chase for his birthday last year? Or how ’bout the family calendar you made for Thomas with King Richard in different poses for each month?’

I snort, remembering Thomas’ face when Alice hung the calendar on his office wall.

‘Or the paint-by-number you made for Mary from the picture of her on her first day of school?’ Bell levels her expression. ‘Alice cried .’

My face heats remembering how emotional my other sister-in-law became when her and my brother’s adoptive daughter Mary opened the present. ‘But they didn’t cost anything, really.’ I turn up the SUV’s air conditioning. ‘They were just simple things.’

Bell looks like she wants to smack me. ‘I don’t know what’s so simple about somehow segmenting a photograph, then labeling each shape with a number that coordinates to a color, but—’ she rolls her eyes ‘—whatever.’

I fiddle with Mike’s collar.

‘And you should know, growing up like you did, that the best things to receive aren’t necessarily large or expensive. They’re meaningful.’ One of Bell’s eyebrows arches. ‘Like all the family dinners you orchestrated in the hopes of bringing your family closer together.’ A small smile plays on her lips. ‘Thomas and Chase agree that a huge part of them burying the hatchet and making amends was you . You arranging the dinners. You calling them, keeping tabs on them. Inviting them places – together . ’

Suddenly, all my brother’s phone calls this past year don’t seem as troublesome.

Bell scoffs at whatever expression I’m making. ‘What did you do that you have to apologize for anyway?’

The past week flashes through my mind. ‘A lot of things.’

‘That’s surprising.’ Her auburn brows pinch together. ‘I mean, I know I’m biased, but honestly, Lizzie you’re one of the most thoughtful people I know.’ She blows me a kiss. ‘I love you, you know.’

‘I love you too, Bell.’ I angle my face toward the blasting air-conditioning vent to help dry my watering eyes. ‘I— oomph .’

Mike head butts me.

‘Jesus, Mikey.’ Properly scolded for daring to turn the camera away from him, I refocus my phone on the wrinkled terror.

Distracted once more by her feline baby, Bell feigns a speech impediment recounting all the various ways she loves Mike Hunt while I contemplate why, if I’m such a thoughtful person, I’ve been anything but to Felix Jones.

‘Oh, shoot. I got to go.’ Bell, voice back to normal, leans back in my brother’s desk chair. ‘I have a virtual meeting to run for the new campaign.’

‘All right—’ I give Mike a hug for her benefit, his skin sliding up over his ribcage as I do ‘—talk soon.’

It isn’t until after I hang up that Bell’s stunned expression when I mentioned we’d talk soon registers.

Maybe it isn’t just Felix I need to apologize to. I may have thought I needed this past year to ‘find myself’ after discovering the truth about my parentage, but today made me realize that all I’ve seemed to do is avoid the people who already know me. The people who care about me.

I need to plan more family dinners when I get home.

Dinner .

I let the idea take hold.

Unlike arranging the Moore family dinner – aka asking the chef to cook – I’d have to make this one. Which, if I did, would make for a very unpredictable outcome for an apology that I was hoping to make worthy of Felix’s actions today. And making dinner wouldn’t be expensive either. Felix already did the shopping.

But maybe he’d find meaning in me taking over what I essentially blackmailed him into doing for me so that I wouldn’t kick his homeless Hollywood ass to the curb.

It’s just, with my below-basic kitchen skills, I might end up needing to apologize for my apology gift.

Still undecided, I push the ignition button and gather up my belongings.

But as Mike and I are about to get out of the car, a phone rings.

And this time, it isn’t mine.

Felix

Ding .

With my head low, I enter the condo building’s elevator, thankful it’s empty.

Merde , what a day.

Earlier, once I ushered Anne and Mike off set and out the door, everyone got back to work. The crew reset the scene while I donned a dry duplicate outfit from wardrobe and the hair and make-up team redid the work I washed away in NASA’s pool.

Through it all, Ron grumbled about high-maintenance actors and their emotional support animals, stopping every few seconds to palm the back of his torn shorts as if making sure it was cat-free. It’s obvious he wanted to rip into me. But with the tight deadline and the NASA onlookers, he kept himself in check.

It was good that Anne hadn’t argued when I gave her my rental keys.

One, because we didn’t need Mike causing any more trouble, and two, Anne probably would’ve tried to come clean about who Mike belonged to, which would’ve meant me explaining why I lied – an explanation I don’t have.

And three, I would’ve been too distracted to shoot the scene if Anne had been watching.

The last of which is dumb. I kiss people all the time in movies. Most actors do. Even married actors. Yet, for some reason, the thought of Anne watching me kiss someone else bothers me.

Probably because as soon as Amanda’s lips met mine, I stopped pretending Amanda was her character, Julia, and started pretending Amanda was Anne.

Still, it was probably due to that inappropriate imagining that Amanda and I managed to shoot the scene in one take, keeping the film on schedule and giving the crew time to pack up to cede the pool to Park In-Su and his fellow astronauts.

Which – thank God – made Ron happy again. Or happy-ish.

He was truly happy after Park and his cohort of NASA employees invited Ron to watch the footage of Mike Hunt’s undercarriage floating over the International Space Station. Nothing like having a feline’s buoyant nether regions save one’s career.

Ding .

Shuffling out of the elevator, I duck my head as a man sidesteps his way on, then make my way toward the condo door. I forgot my bag with both my phone and baseball cap in the car. Without a disguise or an Uber to call, I ended up having to ask Amanda for a ride home.

It was an awkward ten-minute drive. Her trying not to pry but wanting the details about the infamous emotional support hairless cat, the hot astronaut everyone gawked over and me pretending not to know much about the former or care about the latter. Except that I was very much aware of the latter and how Anne was one of the many looking at astronaut Park In-Su as if he were the leading man in a romantic comedy.

Merde , I’m pathetic.

Shaking my head at myself, I knock on the door, my key to the condo having been attached to my rental keys. I’m prepared to wait the few minutes it’ll take Anne to get from her bedroom to the door. Especially now, with our kiss and Mike’s cat astrophe putting her center stage – something Anne hates – I’m betting she’s past awkward avoidance and now fully committed to using her room as a concealment bunker.

So I’m surprised when, before I can even lower my arm, my hair is blown back from a gust of air conditioning as the door opens wide.

‘Hi.’ Anne greets me with a smile that’s brilliant, if a bit crazed, before spinning away and hustling into the kitchen.

The door swings back to close and, on reflex, I throw out my arm to stop it.

‘Come in,’ Anne calls over her shoulder as my feet remain planted in the hallway, too shocked by what I’m seeing to move.

Cabinet doors open. Fridge ajar. Wafts of steam and the sounds of bubbling coming from the stove top.

And Anne, her topknot off-kilter, a sheen of sweat on her brow and an oil splatter on her t-shirt, twirling one way and then another between the cooktop and the island .

‘I made dinner.’ Anne cracks an egg on the side of the pan, leaving a trail of egg white sliding down the side.

‘I see.’ I also see what appears to be every pot, pan, bowl and utensil in the condo strewn out over the countertops, all in various states of use.

Wiping her forehead with her forearm, Anne wipes one egg-covered hand on the tea towel before grabbing one of two spatulas laying on the counter. ‘I think it’s done.’

If going by the blackened nature of whatever meat is laid out on the plate next to the stove, I’d say it was done quite some time ago.

‘Don’t look at that.’ Anne points to the plate. ‘That was my first try.’

My eyebrows shoot up. First? How many tries were there?

‘ Meow .’ The forlorn sound emanates from the opposite side of the room, where Mike, as if keenly aware of our impending doom, burrows his head in the sofa until only his naked, wrinkled butt is visible between the cushions.

Scanning the empty jar of tomato sauce on the countertop, the half-mangled shallot with the skin somehow still intact on the cutting board, and the open bottle of white distilled vinegar near the stove, I fight the urge to cross myself before entering.

With her free hand, Anne grabs a plate from the cabinet, one of the few things still in there, then gestures to the bar stools with the spatula in her other hand. ‘Sit down.’ Specks of rice arch off the utensil and onto the floor.

She doesn’t notice.

Tentatively, I cross the threshold, closing the door behind me while Anne turns back to the stove and flips the eggs.

Feeling like a passer-by at a car wreck, I’m unable to look away as the yolk breaks and flecks of shell float in the white .

She must not notice that either because she scrapes it out of the pan and onto the plate of rice. Pink rice.

Anne places the plate in front of me and steps back to make jazz hands. ‘Ta-da!’

I ignore the foreboding churn in my stomach.

‘It’s tomato rice.’ Anne’s smile falters. ‘You like tomato rice, right?’

‘Yes. I like it.’ Not that I would classify what’s before me as tomato rice, which is usually red, or the egg as fried. More like barely scrambled.

‘Good.’ Anne heaves a sigh of relieve. ‘Your mom said it’s supposed to be served with chicken, but, ah—’ she eyes the plate of charred meat by the stove ‘—I figured eggs would be a good protein substitute.’

‘Eggs are fi—wait.’ My shoulders tighten when what she said registers. ‘My mother?’ Dread, having to do with the meal before me, coils in my stomach.

‘Yeah, you left your phone in the bag in the car.’ Anne circles the island to sit next to me. ‘She called and since I wanted to apologize to her for the boob incident, I thought it would be okay to answer.’ She glances at me and what’s left of her smile vanishes. ‘No?’

Avoiding her eyes, I pick up my fork. ‘What did, uh, you two talk about?’

Out of the corner of my eye, Anne shrugs. ‘Not much. I apologized to her and then shamelessly asked her to tell me what you liked to eat so I could cook you dinner.’ She ducks her head, adjusting the utensils on the counter. ‘I told her I wanted to thank you for helping me out today. And that she raised a son she should be proud of.’

My stomach tightens, but not from the prospect the dinner before me. Rather, the unsuspecting swell of emotions I’m having trouble controlling.

Anne’s lips twist the side. ‘She said she’s always proud of you but would be even prouder if you stopped taking your clothes off for money.’

I laugh, choking on the lump that had been forming in my throat. ‘Yeah, she isn’t a fan of my recent underwear campaign.’

We smile at each other, warmth filling my chest where dread had been just moments ago.

Anne fiddles with her utensils. ‘My first attempt was piri-piri, but when that didn’t turn out, she suggested tomato rice instead.’

It’s the first dish my mother had me make as well.

‘Tomato rice is great. Thanks.’ I glance around at the mess. ‘But you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.’

‘Yes.’ Anne locks eyes with me. ‘I did. I—’ she goes back to fiddling with her fork ‘—well, I just wanted to say sorry and that, um, you don’t need to be my cook or anything to stay here. We’re friends now and friends help each other out.’

‘Friends?’ My gaze drops to her lips, remembering our kiss.

When I lift my eyes to hers again, Anne looks away, a flush on her cheeks. ‘But you know, I’d still like to go to the astronaut dinner.’

Laughing, I return my attention to the rice. ‘No problem.’ I stab/shovel rice and cooked yolk onto my fork, lifting it to my mouth. ‘I’ve already told Vance I’m bringing a plus one.’

Eyes on my fork, Anne watches me take a bite.

Action heroes get a lot of flak for being meatheads who can’t act. We’re better known for our ab muscles than our acting muscles. And while I have enough self-confidence to know I’m a good actor, and also because Ron wouldn’t have hired me for his romantic comedy lead if I wasn’t, any doubts I may have had about said acting skills are put to rest when I manage to chew, swallow and smile, not even flinching when my teeth crunch over eggshell. ‘It’s great.’

‘Really?’ Her eyebrows shoot up, as if my answer surprises her. ‘I mean, I wasn’t expecting much, with, you know, my previous attempts in the kitchen—’ she laughs nervously ‘—but I was hoping it was at least palatable.’

She’s cute, trying to appear nonchalant but I can tell by the way she won’t meet my eyes and the flush deepening across her skin that she isn’t as unaffected by her cooking gesture as she’d like me to think.

It makes me want to hug her. Kiss her. Eat more eggshell.

Instead, I wait until she lifts her eyes to mine. ‘Really.’

Her answering smile, natural and bright, is nearly enough for me to not notice the overcooked, gelatinous-like texture of the rice.

Nearly.

As she flits between the sink and stove fixing her own plate, I catch sight of my reflection in the microwave door across the way, and the goofy smile I’m wearing.

Somewhere between Anne’s numb face and my unexpected water rescue, Anne has me feeling something I never thought I could feel again, especially not while dealing with the aftermath of the last woman I got involved with.

Content. Happy, even.

Even with my mother still in treatment. Even with Camilla’s threats still unchecked. Even with living with the most cantankerous and diabolical feline known to man.

I’m happy thanks to a woman whom I don’t know near enough about but still can’t help wanting all the same.

And I can’t help but look at the mess around me as evidence of how hard she tried to say thank you and I think that maybe, just maybe, Anne feels the same.

Having retaken her seat and apparently a bite of her dinner, Anne struggles to chew, her eyes watering.

Worried, I stand, about to thump her on the back. Not realizing until she manages to swallow that she isn’t choking but laughing.

‘Felix Jones.’ Grabbing a napkin, she dabs her eyes. ‘You are such a fucking liar.’

Then again, maybe she doesn’t feel the same.

‘I cannot believe you would eat that.’ She double facepalms herself. ‘That’s just what I need – Ron coming after me for giving his lead actor food poisoning.’

‘It isn’t that bad.’

Dropping her hands, she stares at me, her brow furrowed, but her lips twitching. Like she can’t decide if she wants to laugh or yell at me. ‘Really?’ Reaching over, she plucks a large chunk of eggshell from my plate, then drops it back down.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Snorting, she wipes her hands on her napkin. ‘Why in the world would you eat that?’

The answer to that is the same as the answer to why, weeks ago, despite Jack’s logical warnings, I followed Anne from a bar to a hotel. The same answer to why I wanted to stay in this condo, with her, rather than a five-star hotel. And it’s the same answer to why I couldn’t stand by and watch Anne get yelled at today, despite the repercussions it may have had on my career.

And while I’m well versed in improv and could probably romance a soliloquy that would make men and women weep like they do at my movie’s happy endings, a good actor knows when to talk, and when to take action .

Leaning towards her, I grab her chin in my hand and do what I did this afternoon by the pool, what I’ve been dying to do since she first laughed at my beard in the bar.

I kiss her.