Anyone But the Superstar (Anyone But You #3)

Chapter 22

22

FELIX

A loud trilling invades my dream.

It trills twice, just long enough for my brain to start functioning. In the following silence, a low murmured conversation starts lulling me back to sleep.

‘Felix.’

Someone nudges my shoulder.

‘Wake up.’

Another nudge and my head falls to the side, jarring me.

‘Hmmm…?’ Blinking, I wake to Amanda, one knee resting on the sofa cushion next to me, leaning in.

‘Jack’s looking for you.’

‘What—’ I clear my throat, wincing as I look around for my manager. I’m still in Amanda’s suite, sitting on the sofa, just as I was when we started watching the movie. ‘What time is it?’

‘Eight.’

I pause in stretching my stiff neck. ‘In the morning?’ I mean, it must be considering we didn’t get to the hotel until midnight. But still, I slept here all night ?

My mind goes to Anne. I never texted or called like I said I would.

Amanda grimaces. ‘You fell asleep at the start of the movie, and I hadn’t wanted to wake you what with you having a headache and all.’

‘Fuck.’ I struggle to my feet, reaching for my phone. Dead.

‘So sorry.’ Amanda’s chin sinks between her shoulders.

Shaking off my exhaustion, I take a deep breath. ‘Not your fault.’ I stare at my blank phone screen. ‘But where’s Jack? And how do you know he’s looking for me?’

‘I guess when you didn’t answer your phone, he called around.’ She points to the suite’s phone on the nearby desk. ‘He’s waiting in the suite the studio booked for you at the start of filming.’

The one I left to escape paparazzi and fans. Jack must’ve assumed keeping the room in my name would trick people into thinking I’m still staying here.

‘All right.’ I pocket my phone and pull out my wallet, thankful I never threw out the room key. ‘Thanks for the ibuprofen and letting me crash here last night, Amanda. I appreciate it.’

She cuts her eyes to the side with a weak smile. ‘No problem.’

‘Why the fuck were you in Amanda Willis’ room?’

The heavy suite door clunks to a close. ‘I fell asleep.’

At Jack’s incredulous look, I raise both hands, one still holding the hotel room’s card key. ‘Honest.’ Turning to the door, I latch the inside lock. ‘I was waiting for you to arrive, and I fell asleep on the couch. Nothing happened. ’

‘Fine.’ Jack sinks back into the chair I found him in when I entered the room. ‘That’s the least of our problems anyway.’

I toss my key card on the suite’s entry table. ‘What do you mean?’

He points to his bags on the bed. ‘Grab the file in the front pocket of my briefcase.’

Exhaustion drags my feet as I walk across the room. Despite almost eight hours of sleep, I feel groggy. I guess no one feels well rested after spending the night sleeping upright.

‘First—’ Jack pinches the bridge of his nose as I pull out the file ‘—I want to apologize.’

That pulls me up short. ‘What do you mean?’ I glance at the plain manilla folder in my hands. ‘What do you have to apologize for?’

‘I haven’t been doing a good job as your manager.’

I scoff. ‘You’re a great manager.’

‘No.’ His resolve sobers my amusement. ‘If I was, I would’ve intervened with Camilla sooner. Or at least vetted her before you went out.’ He shakes his head, sighing. ‘But I was thinking as your friend, not wanting to overstep into your personal life.’

My fingers tighten on the folder. ‘Is this about her? Did she do something else?’

Damn my dead phone battery. I haven’t been able to check the headlines this morning.

‘No.’ Jack shakes his head. ‘This is about Elizabeth.’

Huh. ‘Who’s Elizabeth?’

He points to the folder in my hands. ‘The real name of the condom woman from the hotel. The woman I should’ve been more concerned with finding.’

My brows pinch together, the headache from last night threatening to resurface. ‘That’s not her name, her name is?—’

‘Elizabeth.’ Jack pushes off his knees and stands. ‘Elizabeth Anne Moore.’ Sidestepping the coffee table, Jack walks over to me, taking the folder from my hands. Opening it, he turns it back to me.

I take it, confused as I stare at a photo of Anne. Except it’s not Anne. Not really.

It’s a woman who looks like her, but different. This woman has her blonde hair pulled back and sprayed in a formal updo. And her features, while similar, have been contoured and masked with make-up, making her look airbrushed and flawless. No freckles. No natural flush. No expression.

There are diamonds in her ears and around her neck and wrists. Her body is clad in head-to-toe designer. Reminding me of red-carpet events I’ve attended.

But it isn’t how she looks that’s the most jarring part of this being Anne. It’s who’s with her in the picture.

She’s standing front and center in a group of women, all of whom look eerily similar to each other. All holding a champagne glass, all posing for the camera.

And she’s standing next to Camilla Branson.

Liz

I never thought I’d be back in Boondoggles, but here I am. Once more sweating from my trudge through the hot, crowded parking lot as I approach the hostess stand.

‘Hi, I’m looking for?—’

‘Yoo hoo!’ I glance over the hostess’ shoulder to see Trish waving like a beauty queen. ‘Hey there, sugar.’ She flops back down in her seat, the effort of holding a half-stand half-squat probably too much for a pregnant woman. ‘Over here. ’

With a smile at the hostess, I move through the crowded restaurant part of Boondoggle’s, toward a semi-private table set up inside a huge, old-fashioned fireplace. The semicircle of brick walls remains while the flue is covered and hearth has been removed to fit a table inside.

When I reach the table, the loud noise of the restaurant becomes a more manageable din thanks to the brick walls acting as a barrier to the sound. ‘I hope you weren’t waiting long.’

‘Nope. Just got here.’ Trish notices me looking at the empty chairs. ‘Don’t worry. Rose and Jackie are coming in about—’ she checks the thin Cartier watch on her wrist ‘—thirty minutes or so.’ Lowering her arm, she sits straight, looking like a pregnant beauty pageant queen. ‘I asked you to come a little earlier so we can get work talk out of the way.’ She smiles kindly at me. ‘That way, you’ll be free to ask Jackie all your astronaut questions.’

My return smile feels awkward as I second-guess my decision to wear jeans, a t-shirt, and my standard ponytail. After hiding treats around the condo in the hope that the food hunt would keep Mike from causing chaos while I went to brunch, I hadn’t much time left to get ready.

As I grabbed Felix’s rental keys from the counter, I told myself this was an opportunity to meet my sister without all the trappings of a Moore. That I should simply come as I am and not burden myself or her by attempting to be overly impressive. But now, toes wiggling in my Birkenstocks, I’m thinking maybe I should’ve at least worn some make-up.

Assuming my hesitation has to do with which seat I should take, Trish pats the one next to her.

Pushing my self-doubt aside, I sit while Trish pulls a laptop out of her bag hanging from the back of her chair.

‘Ron was sweet enough to send me your storyboards that Amanda had mentioned. ’

I blink at her, unable to imagine curse-my-cat-out Ron being sweet to anyone. ‘Oh.’

‘Hope you don’t mind.’ Trish sets the computer between us and flips it open. ‘I didn’t wanna put you on the spot asking you for them because I wasn’t sure if you were legally allowed to, so—’ she lifts her slim shoulders ‘—I went straight to the source.’ She turns the laptop to me, my storyboards already on screen. ‘I love them.’

My chest, feeling battered after everything that happened with Felix since last night and shaky from nerves, warms at her compliment.

‘I’m a bit of an Asian pop culture nerd. I love all the graphic novels that have come out recently. They remind me of manga, even though the modern ones are all in color.’ Pulling out romance book after romance book from her bag, she stacks them on the table. ‘I’m interested in turning all my romance novels into webcomics. And when I saw your work—’ she pauses to point to the computer screen ‘—I knew I wanted you to do it.’

I eye the considerable stack of books, feeling both excited and overwhelmed. ‘Me?’

‘Yes.’ Finished, Trish resituates herself on her chair. ‘Whew.’ She exhales a long breath, resting both palms on her belly. ‘Being pregnant really takes a lot out of you.’

Flagging down a waitress, I ask for water to be brought to the table.

‘Thanks.’ Seemingly recovered enough to resume talking, Trish points to her computer again. ‘I think what you did with the storyboards is exactly what I had in mind for the manga.’

Looking at my work from a different perspective, I can see what Trish means. While the compositions were driven by required camera angles and the finished storyboards aren’t as clean of a finished project as I would normally make, they do tell a story. Trish’s story. ‘I never considered being a webcomic artist.’

‘Well, now that you have—’ Trish props one elbow on the table, leaning toward me ‘—what do you think about it?’ Her elbow slips off the edge, her belly having prevented her from sitting close enough to the table. ‘Oops.’ She giggles her jingle-bell laugh.

I can’t help but smile with her.

I like Trish. She’s genuine. Nice. And a talented writer. And now that she’s planted the idea of being a webcomic artist, it feels… right .

Although I haven’t enjoyed the Hollywood nonsense involved in my internship, I have enjoyed the work. Drawing all day and getting paid for it. Creating art from words on a page. It made me feel like the talent I have, the talent that Stanley Moore always said was useless, is actually worth something.

My smile, unrestrained and engaging every muscle in my face, stretches the corners of my mouth. ‘I think I would really, really like it.’

Trish claps. ‘Great!’

The two of us spend the next thirty minutes discussing her books, timelines, and costs. Afterwards, she insists I take all of her romances home. She even signs them for me.

Pulling my tablet out of my bag to make room for the books, I lay it on the table. ‘I don’t have my hard copy portfolio with me, but I save most of my work on this.’ I click the screen open and hand it to her. ‘I know you liked the style of what I did with the storyboards, but you can compare it to the other things I’ve done in case you see something else you like.’

Trish lights up over the drawing I did of my niece Mary holding King Richard. ‘I should start implementing more animal sidekicks into my novels.’ She swipes right, moving through the images I’ve saved.

Still lifes, portraits, the cartoon I made of Mike Hunt in space.

She snorts at the one with Mike on the spaceship. ‘These are great.’

Feeling a little embarrassed over the praise, I busy myself and take a sip of water.

‘Oh.’ Her fingers pause over the screen, her brown eyes meeting mine over my water glass. ‘I really like this one.’ She sounds like she’s holding back laughter.

Placing the glass back on the table, I lean forward. And when I see what’s there, my mouth drops.

Felix in his blue apron.

I’m surprised there’s no smoke pouring from my lips because my insides are combusting from embarrassment.

I’d forgotten that I used my tablet to take pictures of my sketch book. I transfer the drawings I’ve done into my illustration app to save time online work when I want to convert the sketches into a digital file.

Which is why Trish, looking more amused than shocked, is holding a tablet showcasing my deprived inner fantasies of a Hollywood action star.

‘I love how the sky blue of his apron contrasts with the deeper, olive tones of his skin,’ Trish says, turning the tablet back to her. ‘You have a gift for color.’

‘I, ah…’

Trish laughs at whatever expression I’m making. ‘I take it you didn’t mean for me to see this?’ She pats my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pretend I didn’t.’ Returning to the tablet, she swipes again. ‘Oh.’ Trish’s cheeks match her lips. ‘Maybe I should just hand this back to you. ’

She clicks the screen off, but not before I remember what else I transferred to my tablet.

Nude Felix.

My hands shake as I take the tablet from her.

‘Don’t be embarrassed. Art is art.’ Trish waves the air like she can somehow cool the embarrassment choking the words from my mouth. ‘And it answers the other question I needed to ask before we start working together.’

Clearing my throat, I try and not sound like one of Mikey’s squeaky toys. ‘And what is that?’

‘If you’d have a problem drawing sex scenes.’ Her mouth kicks up on one side. ‘Because, as Rose mentioned last night, I want the webcomics to be rated mature.’

‘Porn. I said porn.’

Trish and I – along with quite a few nearby tables – startle and turn toward Rose, standing at the table, hands where her hips would normally be if it weren’t for her belly.

‘It’s hotter than balls outside.’ Rose blows Trish a kiss, then me before waving both hands at her cheeks. ‘I can’t tell you how much I regret these damn leggings.’

My gaze drops to her bright-red, leopard-print embossed maternity leggings under a NASA emblem t-shirt.

‘But honestly, I couldn’t do another dress after all the thigh chafing from last night.’ Asking a passing waiter to turn the ceiling fans on high, she pulls out the chair beside me. ‘I also resorted to slipping the hostess a hundred-dollar bill and asking her to pump the AC as high as it’ll go.’ She points, moving her finger back and forth between Trish and me. ‘So if your nipples start puckering—’ she shrugs ‘—sorry, not sorry.’

‘Where’s Jackie?’ Trish asks, saving me from doing it myself.

‘She dropped me off at the entrance so I didn’t have to waddle through the parking lot.’ Rose pours herself a glass of water from the pitcher the waitress left on the table. ‘That’s true friendship.’ She downs the glass in one go, wiping a drop of water off her chin when she’s done. ‘But enough about me.’

‘That’s something I never thought I’d hear her say,’ Trish murmurs, shooting me an amused smile.

Rose ignores her with a wave, before staring into my eyes. ‘How are you doing?’

Her sudden concerned tone has me exchanging frowning glances with Trish.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘The whole thing that blew up this morning with Felix and Amanda,’ Rose asks, scanning the TVs hung around the restaurant. ‘I mean, I know you’re just his pet sitter, but I’m sure his whole team has been in an uproar.’

I stare blankly at the back of her head.

‘There.’ Rose having found what she wanted, points to one of the TVs in the corner. One of the only ones not playing ESPN. ‘See what I mean, everyone’s talking about Felix and Aman—’ She stills. ‘Oh fuck.’

The split screen of Felix and Amanda’s headshots fade, replaced with a different picture.

‘Is that you?’ Trish asks.

Wordless, I nod, my eyes staring at a photo of Felix and me at the Neutral Buoyancy Lab. Kissing.

‘That was for work, I, uh, had to stand in. For the scene.’ My stammers are met with sympathetic stares.

Rose pats my hand. ‘That’s good. It’s bad enough that he’s cheating on his fiancée by having an affair with his co-worker. I wouldn’t have wanted to like a guy who was also sleeping w?—’

‘I’m sorry?’ My brain still doesn’t seem to be working. ‘Fiancée?’

A pinch forms between Rose’s brows. ‘I mean, he didn’t bring it up last night, so I didn’t, but I thought he just got engaged to Camilla Branson not too long ago.’

‘Engaged.’ The word falls from my lips, sounding foreign and dangerous.

Rose nods and pours herself another glass of water.

‘Um, Rose?’ Trish’s eyes bounce between me and the TV screen.

Not seeming to hear her, Rose points at the screen. ‘Someone at the hotel last night said Felix entered Amanda’s room and didn’t leave until this morning.’

‘Is that so?’ My voice sounds very far away.

‘Yeah, and I consider myself a good judge of people and I didn’t get a hint of cheater from Felix last ni?—’

‘Rose!’

‘Huh?’ The pitcher slips in Rose’s hand, water sloshing on the table. ‘What?’

‘ Read the room .’ Trish’s Georgian accent hardens.

Catching my expression, Rose stills. ‘Oh.’ She bites her lip. ‘Fuck.’ She mutters something about Vance, super sperm and pregnancy brain. ‘I should’ve put it together sooner.’

‘Anne?’ Trish’s hand covers mine on the table. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’ I nod, plastering a smile on my face. Feeling very much like my old society doll self as the television shows a woman with white-blonde hair, tanned skin and perfectly contoured cheekbones dabbing her dry eyes with a tissue. The closed captions flashing words like, Camilla Branson. Fiancée. Other woman. Home wrecker .

‘Um, just so you know,’ Rose offers, ‘you can’t really trust anything you read on the internet.’

‘Yes, sugar.’ Trish pats my hands again. ‘I’m sure Felix’s management team will be right on this.’

I concentrate on tilting the corners of my lips up, just enough to give the appearance of grace and poise in the face of my worst fears coming to life.

But when the TV screen flashes a picture of Felix’s mom with the question, Where is Sofia Jones? my old fa?ade cracks.

My hand, under Trish’s, contracts into a fist. ‘Fuck. A. Duck.’

Rose shares a mother glance with Trish before frowning at me. ‘Fuck a what, now?’

‘A duck. A motherfucking duck.’ I grab my tablet and my bag of books.

‘Yep.’ Rose nods. ‘That’s what I thought you said.’

I stand, shouldering my bag. ‘I have to go.’

And when they continue to glance uneasily at each other, I pull a trick from Douchebag Felix’s playbook – ‘Everything’s fine’ – before excusing myself from the table.

Passing my sister on the way out.