Stalking the Billionaire Celebrity (Sweet Bay Billionaires Book 2)

by Rachel Taylor

  “Okay, fine. But if I find out you told anybody, you get nothing.”

  She nodded then pulled her smock off and handed it to me. I slipped it on then took a deep breath. I was officially undercover.

  Chapter 5

  Beau

  When the door closed behind me, I suddenly felt more alone than ever. I was all by myself in a huge hotel room, in a strange town, and, as far as I knew, only two people in the whole world knew where I was — my manager and Calvin Montgomery. Well, three, if I counted the babyfaced bellboy who’d taken me to my room. I was surprised Calvin hadn’t been there to meet me, but the bellboy assured me my presence would be kept secret.

  I wasn’t sure I believed him — he looked like he might run tell all his friends as soon as he left. But I had to trust that Calvin had carefully vetted his staff. I’d told him I needed to keep my visit under wraps since the world believed I was in rehab. Of course, that also meant I’d be totally alone.

  I’d felt alone in the world since my parents died, even before that, since they’d always been too busy with their socialite lives to pay any attention to me. So I’d surrounded myself with people to try to fill the emptiness. When I was working on a project, I’d spend 14 hours a day filming with my costars. In between, I’d travel to guest appearances with an entourage of staff and party with other celebrities like every night was my birthday.

  But now, I was completely isolated, and I had to stay hidden if the world was going to believe I was in rehab. Could I handle being alone with my own thoughts? Usually, whenever I had too much time to think, my emotions started spiraling. I’d have to find some way to keep my mind occupied.

  I killed a few minutes checking out the suite. At least my prison cell was luxurious. With glossy, teak floors and decorative wall panels, satiny wallpaper with a subtle palmetto print, and a forest of tropical plants, it had the same elegant, tropical theme that carried all the way through the resort but was even more opulent.

  Long drapes framed the massive bed and broke up the wall of windows that looked out over the ocean. I walked over to the glass door and stared at the gorgeous view of the harbor. Bright blue sky with wisps of white clouds met teal blue water at the horizon. Birds soared and dipped between them like they were putting on an aerobatics show for me. The water foamed onto a stretch of golden sand dotted with umbrellas and lounge chairs.

  I stepped out onto the deck for a better look and found a hot tub bubbling away. It was too hot for that now, but maybe I could use it in the evening. Too bad I didn’t have a couple of supermodels to enjoy it with me.

  When I looked over the railing, I could see the pool area below me. Water flowed down a manmade waterfall and into the aqua pool, stirring up gentle waves. I couldn’t believe how few people were down there, but then I remembered that Calvin said they hadn’t officially opened yet. I wanted to go down there and float around in that serene water, but all it would take was one person to spot me, and my secret would be out. I was a prisoner to my own fame.

  A full kitchen outfitted with professional-grade appliances filled one corner of the suite, but I didn’t care about that. The only thing I knew how to make was reservations. Maybe I should try to learn, anyway. I didn’t have anything else to do. I chuckled at the thought of me in a flour-dusted apron, trying to be domestic. But a quick look revealed empty cupboards. I sighed and let them fall shut on sound-dampening hinges.

  A huge TV hung on the wall in front of a massive, sectional sofa. I flung myself over the back of the couch and grabbed the remote, clicking on the television. I flinched when my own face, crazed with panic and three times bigger than life-size, filled the screen, along with a news ticker that read, “Beau Bennett in rehab after public meltdown.”

  I quickly flipped the channel. A commercial for vodka made me wonder if the room had a minibar. I glanced around for it and saw a wet bar in the corner. I started to haul myself off the couch, but the daylight streaming in the window blinded me for a second, reminding me it was too early to start drinking, especially alone.

  I wasn’t an alcoholic; I mostly drank socially. Of course, I was pretty social, so that meant I spent a lot of nights liquored up into a haze of oblivion. Maybe I did need rehab, but for alcohol instead of drugs. I made up my mind to see how long I could go without it, just to prove to myself it wasn’t a problem.

  When the commercial ended, a movie came on. I smiled at first at the sight of Ashley, the leading lady on one of my first films and a girl I’d enjoyed a lot of time with. I wouldn’t mind having her company for a couple hours, even if it was only onscreen. But then the camera switched angles, and my own face appeared again, albeit looking much better than the picture on the other channel. What were the odds they’d be playing one of my movies? Pretty good, I supposed. They were all blockbusters.

  I watched the movie anyway, mainly to see Ashley, but also because watching it helped me pretend I was the suave guy on the screen instead of the loser on the couch. Why did I feel this way? I had everything — good looks, a job most people envied, a family pedigree, a billion-dollar fortune that allowed me the luxury to go anywhere or do anything I wanted. The only thing missing was my family, but I hadn’t been any happier when they were alive. What would it take to make me happy?

  I spent the next several hours watching television and lamenting the behavior that had landed me there. If I hadn’t been out partying so late, I never would’ve overslept and missed my commercial flight. Then I wouldn’t have had a hangover or a melt down. The thing was, all I wanted to do was go out partying again. I craved the noise and chaos that kept me too distracted to think, and the alcohol that dulled my brain even more.

  I walked over to the bar a dozen times, each time forcing myself to step away. I didn’t want to be controlled by an addiction, and I didn’t want to have to numb myself just to stand my own company. But as the hours went on, my brain and body cried out for the cure it offered to my misery. Eventually, I gave in.

  The only thing worse than waking up with a killer hangover after partying all night is waking up with one after drinking alone. Talk about pathetic. A knock on the door forced me awake, but I didn’t have the energy to get up and answer it. I mumbled something resembling, “Go away,” and pulled the covers up over my head.

  The knock came again, this time followed by a tentative voice that said, “Housekeeping.”

  I gave a little sigh of relief that it wasn’t Dave, there to make demands or give me bad news, or Calvin, there to welcome me since he hadn’t the day before. The housekeeper was a non-entity in my book. She could come and go without me having to acknowledge her. I rolled over and ignored her.

  She waited a good minute before slowly cracking the door open. “Hello? Housekeeping.”

  I grunted something unintelligible just so she’d know I was here, and she yelped when she realized I was in the bed. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were still sleeping. Do you want me to come back later?”

  I normally would’ve said yes. There was no way I’d be able to go back to sleep with her vacuuming or picking up the dozen mini bottles of alcohol I’d left on the coffee table, and my head was pounding enough the noise would only exacerbate it. But after so many hours alone, I felt desperate for some human contact, and she might be the only person I would see all day.

  “No, no, you can stay. I don’t mind.” I flicked back the creamy, satin comforter, exposing my upper body, and giving me a glimpse of her. The move startled both of us. Her, obviously because my face was recognizable to most of the modern world, and me because she was nothing like I expected a maid to be.

  She was at least 20 years younger than I imagined, and 20 pounds lighter. Although a loose, white smock covered up her figure, I could tell it was a nice one. With big, peridot green eyes set in a pale, clean face and strawberry blonde hair dangling over her shoulder in a long braid, she epitomized natural beauty. She looked nothing like the tucked, sprayed, and painted Hollywood women I was used to seeing, but I apprec
iated it.

  She stared unblinkingly at me for several moments, her eyes traveling from my face to my naked chest then back up again as she gulped. The scrutiny didn’t surprise me, but her reaction afterwards did. She didn’t shriek, or jump up and down, or rush towards me like most girls did when they saw me on the street. Instead, she stayed calm and cool, like she either didn’t recognize me or maybe didn’t like me. Both possibilities were so unusual, I was immediately intrigued by her.

  “Hello, I’m Cara.” She stepped forward like she was going to offer her hand, but then she stopped and let it fall.

  “Beau Bennett.” I scooted up onto my elbows, letting the comforter drop onto my lap. Her eyes followed the sprinkling of hair on my chest down my abdomen and back up.

  Surely she’d recognize my name if not my face. But all she did was nod. What did that mean? Did she still not know who I was? Or did she not care? I didn’t know why it mattered so much to me, but her ambiguity ignited a flame of curiosity in me. “Did Calvin tell you who was staying here?”

  She clutched at the hem of her smock like the question made her nervous. Why? It was another mystery. “No, he didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh, okay, well, I’m sort of in hiding right now, so I need to make sure that you won’t tell anyone I’m here.” Maybe that would spark her recognition. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back in my signature move, to give her memory another nudge.

  She quickly turned away and headed towards the mess I’d left on the coffee table, picking up one of the empty liquor bottles. “I thought you were supposed to be in rehab.”

  I ignored the judgmental tone she might’ve had because I was too caught off guard by her words. She did know who I was! And she knew enough about me to know I was here under false pretenses. Was that why she was so aloof, because she was offended that I was lying? I suddenly wanted to defend myself.

  “Everyone assumed I was on drugs after that video came out, so my agent suggested rehab, but I’m not an addict. I’ve only done drugs a few times. I was just having a really bad day.”

  She picked up a few more bottles and tossed them into the trash can on her cart with a smirk. “I guess yesterday wasn’t so good, either.”

  I gaped at her. I couldn’t believe she talked to me like that! Most people tried to suck up to me. I crossed my arms and glared at her. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know anything about me.”

  She wiped down the coffee table she’d finally cleared and looked up at me. Was she holding back a smile? “So, tell me. What was so bad about yesterday?”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. Wasn’t it obvious? Just the thought of it made me cringe with humiliation. “Well, I totally ruined my reputation, and I have to stay in hiding, pretending I’m in rehab till the world deems me cured. Even then, that meltdown will haunt me forever.”

  She grabbed one of the cushions on the couch and fluffed it, beating it like she was taking out her own frustrations. “If you’re not a drug addict, why’d you act like that?”

  She asked it so casually, I almost didn’t realize how personal the answer was until I gave it. “I was having a panic attack. I’d missed my commercial flight, and I was going to have to take a private plane to an appearance. Ever since my parents died, I’ve been afraid to fly, especially on small planes.”

  Since she knew who I was, she probably already knew about my parents; it had been all over the news, but my fear of flying wasn’t something I readily admitted. It made me feel weak, even though everyone who knew about it told me it was a reasonable fear. But I knew my terror was an irrational overreaction, especially the way I’d acted the other day.

  But once again, she didn’t respond the way I expected her to. All she did was walk over to the bed and say, “Do you want me to change your sheets?”

  I climbed out of the bed automatically, waiting for her to spout the same platitudes that everyone else said. Instead, she yanked the sheets off the bed then asked, “So why did you miss your first flight?”

  I cringed and crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling a little too exposed. I didn’t want to admit it was because I was hungover. I don’t know why I cared what she thought, but the fact that she didn’t seem impressed by me like everyone else made me want to win her over.

  When I didn’t answer, she looked over at me, giving a quick perusal of my half-dressed body, clad only in boxers. I felt like she could see straight through me when she said, “Was it because you were out partying the night before with Tamara?”

  I shook my head, smirking. This girl was something else. She obviously knew plenty about me and wasn’t too keen on me. I’d never gotten that reaction from anyone, especially not someone who was, to be blunt, in a different class than me.

  She put a fitted sheet over one corner of the bed, and I grabbed the other corner. I felt kind of guilty watching her clean up after me. “It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened between us; we were just hanging out.”

  Together, we stretched the bottom sheet over the bed, then she snapped a top sheet over it. “How do you know, if you were so drunk?”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “Because I woke up alone, alright? What is this, 20 Questions?”

  She gave a guilty shrug then turned away to pick up the comforter. “Sorry, just making conversation.”

  She stayed quiet for several moments, smoothing the bedding, putting the pillows back in place, and wiping down the nightstands. I leaned against the dresser and watched her, kicking myself for snapping at her. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if she was asking hard questions I didn’t want to answer. When she moved towards the bathroom, I followed her.

  She pushed aside the shower curtain to clean the tub, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Don’t bother. I haven’t used it yet.”

  She glanced around the room, probably noticing that the only thing I’d touched was the toilet. “Do you want me to leave so you can shower?”

  I scratched at my pits, sure I stank, but I didn’t want her to leave. “No, no. Stay. Why don’t you tell me about you?”

  She cocked her head towards me and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because it seems like you already know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”

  She squeezed some cleaner around the inside of the toilet then turned towards the counter and examined it for a moment before spraying it down and wiping it. “I’m just the maid. Why would you care?”

  I sighed and leaned up against the doorframe. “I’m stuck here for who knows how long. I can’t go out, or someone will see me. Calvin hasn’t even stopped by to say hello to me. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

  She stopped cleaning long enough to glare at me. “Calvin’s brother is in the hospital with a brain tumor. He’s kind of preoccupied.”

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t know that.” I contemplated that for a moment, feeling like a heel when I realized I never even bothered to ask Calvin the basic, “How are you?” He might not have told me; we weren’t very close. But I’d skipped right over it, too caught up in my own problems.

  “So, tell me about you.”

  She squirted some glass cleaner on the mirror then wiped it down with long, screeching swipes of her towel. “You don’t really want to talk about me. I’m not important.”

  “You think you’re not important because you’re a maid?”

  She snorted then turned to scrub the toilet. “No, but you probably do. Don’t worry about it, we can talk about you some more.”

  I winced. The truth was, I wouldn’t have given her a second thought if I’d been surrounded by my normal entourage. But the conversation about me hadn’t made me feel very good about myself. I might be rich and famous, but I didn’t feel like I deserved any of that. Maybe I could learn something from this maid who wasn’t impressed by my status like everyone else was.

  “No, really, I’d like to hear about you.”

  She sighed and wiped her brow with her wrist th
en moved past me, heading for the kitchen. I hadn’t used anything in there, either. When she got there, she looked around at the spotless counters, probably concluding the same thing. But I didn’t want her to leave just yet, so I didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask, just started cleaning. Did she want to stay and talk to me, or was she only trying to be thorough?

  I waited quietly for several moments for her to respond, watching her as she sprayed and wiped the counters. Finally, she said, “I’m just a small town girl with a boring life. There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m sure your life is much more exciting. What’s it like being a movie star? Do you like your job?”

  I shrugged. “It’s something to do.”

  She snorted and rubbed at an invisible spot. “Must be nice to have the luxury of working just for something to do.”

  “I mean, it is exciting. I like the thrill of fame. But it’s tiring, always being in the spotlight. What about you? Do you like your job? Or do you want to do something else?”

  She waved off my questions again. Why didn’t she want to talk about herself? Most people did. “It’s a stepping stone to something better. Isn’t that why you became a celebrity, so you could be in the spotlight?”

  Something about her question gave me pause; not like she was judging me, but more like she understood. What did a hotel maid know about being famous? Was that why I’d done it, for attention?

  “I guess so. But it’s not as gratifying as it seems. The world says they love me, but it’s not real. I’m just a curiosity to them.”

  She stopped cleaning then and stared at me for a long moment, a strange look of unfulfilled longing on her face. What was going on in that head of hers? Her silence intrigued me.

  “So, what’s this a stepping stone to?”