Not Another Diva (Hollywood Stories #1)

9. Boy Toy

NINE

boy toy

My foot bounces. I rub my hands up and down my thighs obsessively to dry the sweat, knowing I’m about wrap said sweaty hands around Brianna’s. In front of everyone. The whole world will potentially see us out in public for the first time. Talk about a fuck-ton of pressure.

“Zack, are you paying attention?” Char sits across from us in the back of the limo, one of those back-facing seats. She’s been tapping the clipboard that’s practically surgically attached to her hand while she’s talked the entire ride.

And no, I wasn’t paying attention. I shrug and grimace in answer to her question.

She sighs and starts over. “After today, I need you to give notice at the dojo. Your face will be plastered on every magazine, and you’ll probably be followed everywhere you go. Where you go needs to be wherever Bree goes now. Your bodyguard duties officially start the second you two step out of the limo.”

I think the pressure is getting to me. I was feeling relaxed about the whole bodyguard thing while I was just hanging out with Brianna at her house. She hasn’t gone many places in the past couple of weeks, mostly hunkering down alone in her room. The friendly vibe I tried to create seemed to have backfired, and I got the cold shoulder instead, so I’ve spent most of my free time working out in her home gym. I hoped the further we got from our kiss, as intense as it was, the easier it would be to forget it had happened.

Unfortunately, I’m as far from forgetting it as a guy can get.

Now here we are, about to hop out of a limo and paw at each other again.

Char decided a healthy level of PDA would cement our fake relationship. It’s what she’s been going on about the whole time we’ve been trapped in this limo.

“Zack, you’ve got one really important task tonight.” Char pauses—her favorite way to dramatize any statement. “Be a badass.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that at an afternoon premiere for Bree’s latest perfume?” I’m not even in a tux. They shoved me into some designer jeans and a classic-rock band T-shirt. Brianna’s look is similar. Her hair and makeup are over-the-top, her blonde locks teased to within an inch of their life, making them poof out from her head. Thick lashes and dark eyeshadow and deep red lips. Too much, if you ask me, but it’s not like anyone did. They dressed her in a skimpy tank top layered over some type of lacy bra and added a bunch of necklaces, all jumbled together.

Char gives me the eye. The one she’s perfected. Seriously, she should give my mom some pointers in that stink-eye look. “Don’t smile. Don’t make eye contact with anyone except for Bree. Keep one arm around her waist at all times. And for the love of God, don’t talk. They will goad you, Zack. Those photogs will say anything they can to get a reaction. Do not give them one.”

“Stay silent and look pissed. Yeah, okay, I can do that.”

I agree mostly to shut her up. I get it that Char is the most trustworthy person in Brianna’s life, but dang , if that’s the case, her life is pretty messed-up. I’m sure she has Brianna’s best interests in mind, but it seems like she’s forgotten about the real girl—the one who’s scared out of her mind anytime she sets foot outside of her house or her office. I’ve seen it. I know it. Does anyone else even give a shit?

Char leans forward. “Zack, just keep your eyes open for anything ... unusual. Anything that seems off. Go with your gut on this. Don’t hesitate to get Bree out of there if you need to. Keep your arms around her so you can steer her away from anyone who gets too close.”

Her directions should freak me out, but they actually do the opposite. Char does get it. She sees the fear. Instead of worrying, I feel better.

“That’s what I was planning on.” I have been planning. I’ve studied the layout of the venue, the streets surrounding it, and all possible escape routes. I just hope we don’t have to use any of them.

“Okay, we’re pulling up now. It’s go time, everyone. Smile, Brianna. Remember the plan.”

Brianna just nods. On the outside she appears calm and confident, but I’ve learned to read her, and this is what she does when she’s freaking out. She stops speaking and sits stone still, as stiff as a board. She takes a deep breath, and then bam . Diva.

The limo stops, and the driver comes around the car to open our door. I take the initiative to get out first since I should scope out the crowd before she enters it.

As I stand up just outside the limo door, I peer from side to side. Then I grasp at every acting tip Jacob’s ever given me to hide my shock at the number of flashes in my face. I’m sure I look a little surprised, but it can’t really be helped.

I turn back to the limo and reach in to give Brianna my hand. She grabs it, gripping tightly. Her anxiety must be suffocating.

But the second Brianna steps out of the limo, I watch as the diva takes over.

It’s kind of eerie that the change in her demeanor is so strong I can watch it happening. It starts in her eyes. They turn cold, hard. Then her mouth curls into a smile I’m positive is fake. The only time I’ve ever seen her smile like this is in one of her videos.Then Brianna stands straight, smiling at the crowd despite the explosion of flashes.

I slide my arm around her waist, trying to appear possessive without looking too protective, a.k.a. an unaffected asshole, per Char’s request. Brianna shoots one hand in the air, waving and calling out to the people surrounding us.

“Hi! Oh, my loves, I’m so glad you’re all here!”

Even her voice has changed. It’s turned all nasal and high-pitched. This is the diva I expected the day I met her up on the roof of Siren Song studios. Not having seen any of her media for the past couple weeks, I forgot Brianna gives off this kind of phony vibe out in public. I didn’t pay any attention to her music career before going to the audition callback, and what I saw when I looked her up, I really didn’t like at all.

But right now, my arm is wrapped around a phony diva version of the girl I’m getting to know. I understand her reasons for putting on this show. I get it. But I still can’t stand being next to her this way. The unaffected asshole isn’t so fake at the moment. I guess this is what they call method acting.

Cameras flash in our faces. Brianna gives her pursed-lip glamor shot to each one of them, slightly rotating her face so each one can get her best angle. I’m doing my best to appear like the douche Char demanded I be, my lips firmly glued together, my eyes slightly narrowed as I look off into the distance and once in a while down at my girlfriend.

Brianna never looks at me though.

My hand grips her waist, my arm becoming my leash. I’m following her around like a pissed-off puppy. Like her dog. Exactly what I didn’t want to be. My brain reminds the rest of me this is necessary. This is how I’ll keep her safe, which is the entire reason I agreed to this insane deal. The past few weeks have lulled me into a false sense of reality. We’ve been isolated from the public and from each other .

What a fucking mistake. I should have made a bigger effort to keep working on our friendship. Maybe this wouldn’t be so awful if I had.

“Brianna! Quick question from Star Tracker News!”

A reporter calls Bree over to his camera crew. We’ve only walked about half of the red carpet, pausing for pictures every foot or so in front of one of those backdrops with the sponsors’ names plastered all over it. Brianna hasn’t stopped for any questions yet, but I guess Star Tracker News is a big enough organization that she can’t pass it up.

My heart hammers against my chest. This is a test I can’t fail. Stay silent. Look pissed. Watch for threats. I can see the end of the carpet only a few feet away, and I wish like hell we could make our escape. My eyes dart in every direction, making sure no one gets too close, no one stares too hard, and I’m relieved to see everything appears normal.

Well, as normal as more than a hundred cameras flashing in your face can be.

“So, this is a highly anticipated fragrance,” the reporter says as we stand awkwardly in front of him. Well, I’m awkward; Bree looks bored. I try to adopt her expression while the reporter speaks. “How excited are you to be launching the newest in your designer perfume line?”

Brianna laughs and touches one of her many necklaces. It’s her tell. She fidgets when she’s nervous.

“Oh, Jim, you know I love my perfumes! This one is extra-special, because it was engineered to complement my next single.”

“Of course! ‘Rescue Me’ is scheduled to drop soon. Any hints on when that might be?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Brianna raises one finger and shakes it back and forth, chastising the reporter in a teasing way. “You know that’s a highly guarded secret.”

The guy gives a fake laugh. “Well, since you won’t spill details on your song, how about your date? Who’s with you tonight?” The guy turns his focus to me .

I feel his stare, but I don’t return it. Instead I alternate between looking off toward the end of the carpet and down at Brianna, never smiling or saying a word.

“Come on, Jim. Every girl needs a hot accessory to bring to these events.”

My gaze shoots down to Brianna just in time to see her wink at the douche with the microphone. She’s smirking. I know it’s all a show. I mean, that’s the whole point. So why in the hell does my stomach turn queasy when she calls me her “hot accessory”?

“Yes, I’m told you divas love your boy toys.”

I can’t help myself. I finally look over at the guy, Jim, and find he’s looking right back at me. I don’t let my eyes linger or stare him down the way I want to. I quickly find something to focus on elsewhere, but not fast enough to miss the look he gives me. His face says it all. I’m an idiot in his eyes, probably some gold-digger or someone who wants Brianna to help me with my career. That’s what I’ll be to the world.

I feel sick. Maybe I am an idiot. The reporter thanks Brianna for her time and wishes her success on the perfume line. At least I think that’s what he says. I’m not paying attention anymore. I need to pull it together, otherwise I’ll end up getting her killed. Because my focus is shot now I’ve realized what a joke I’ll be to the world.

Brianna moves down the carpet again. We make it to the end and enter the event center where the launch is happening. Thank fuck. I need a break from the intensity of all eyes on us before I lose it.

But now there’s a different distraction.

I feel the tension rolling off Brianna in flaming-hot waves, but I don’t feel bad for her. I’m just here to do a job, not to be her friend. I’m just her boy-toy bodyguard. That’s why they hired me. Not to care about her. Definitely not to remember how soft her lips felt against mine. I need to wrap my head around why I’m here and keep things straight. Starting now.

But then I feel Brianna’s hand touching mine where I’m holding her waist. Where my grip has been since we got out of the limo. Her fingers touch tentatively at first, then they squeeze. Is this an apology? Is this her telling me thank-you, or that she hates this as much as I do? Or is that what I’m wishing for?

Before I can analyze it, her touch is gone, and the diva returns, with a dramatic sigh and air-kisses on the cheeks of some executive who called her name.

It’s going to be a long night.