The Seat Filler: A Novel

by Sariah Wilson

  I was staring at him. In a very stalkery way, so maybe he’d had a point earlier. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it might break free from all the veins and arteries that were (I think?) currently trying to tether it in place.

  “You’re . . . you’re . . .” My mind had turned completely off. Of course, when I was twelve years old I had daydreamed more than once about what I would say to Noah Douglas when we met. Of how I’d win him over with my wit and natural charm.

  That was not happening. I was floundering badly and couldn’t even figure out a way to finish the sentence I’d started.

  This was in large part because he was ridiculously, almost . . . animalistically attractive. He wasn’t conventionally handsome; his nose was a little too big, his lips a tad too full. It shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason on him his features came together in a way that made it hard to look away. He had dark-brown hair like mine, nearly black, and these intense, hooded light-brown eyes that made my stomach flip over and over.

  What was I supposed to say to the man who had played Felix? And Malec? And that other guy whose name I still couldn’t remember?

  “Whatever you do,” he said, his deep voice now so recognizable that I felt stupid for not having realized that it was him sooner, “do not call me Felix. Or Malec Shadowfire.”

  OMG, Noah Douglas was a freaking mind reader, too. This was bad. Very bad. I tried to banish every impure thought I was currently having about him.

  Then, that flare of annoyance was back. Just because I was female and of a certain age, did that automatically mean I should recognize him? That I totally did was beside the point. He shouldn’t have been egotistical enough to assume it. For all he knew, I could have been like . . . my mom. Who loved the theater and didn’t watch television or movies because they were “less than.” She wouldn’t have known who Noah Douglas was.

  So why was he so certain that I did?

  “Why do you think I’d call you by those names?” I asked.

  He gave me a look of weariness bordering on contempt. “Because that’s what people always call me. But I do have an actual name. Use that.”

  That devilish little imp inside me—the one who was still mad at Harmony for stressing Shelby out and at that woman who’d tried to stop me from eating and then stared at my scars—broke free, triggered into a frenzy by Noah’s very large ego.

  And I told the biggest lie I’d ever told in my entire life.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that, because I don’t even know who you are.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What?” he asked, and again, he was totally entitled to the disbelief in his voice. He waited a beat before saying with a scowl, “In that case, I’m Noah Douglas. An actor who is nominated for one of these awards, which is why I’m here. How about you?”

  I looked around for the cameras. The host had come back out, and they had segued into giving Ralph Ramsey a lifetime achievement award. His daughter—and Noah’s recent costar—Lily Ramsey, was introducing her father. Both of those speeches were going to take a long time. I sighed. I was hoping that this segment would end quickly and I could make an exit and not have to sit here and keep lying to Noah Douglas.

  “I’m a seat filler.” I decided that was all the explanation he was entitled to.

  “A seat filler? What kind of job pays you to fill seats?”

  “I don’t know, probably the same kind of job that pays you to pretend to be someone you’re not.” Like being an actor was so much better than being a seat filler. Pretentious, much? “Besides, it’s not my job. I’m helping out my best friend’s fiancé’s mother. I’m volunteering. You should know what that is. Don’t you celebrities love to volunteer? Because you sure do get a lot of pictures taken while you do it.” Not him, though. If he had a pet cause, I’d never heard of it.

  I faced front again. My luck was only going to last for so long, and if I kept fighting with Noah freaking Douglas I was going to get kicked out and ruin Shelby’s game plan to win over her future mother-in-law.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I tried to calm my shaky nerves. They were alive, lit up with excitement from being this close to him. He was so . . . disconcerting. I wished, not for the first time, that my plan to steer clear of all men meant that I wouldn’t feel any attraction to them. Especially not the kind I was feeling right now for this arrogant movie star sitting next to me. That would have been super helpful.

  “What is your job, then?”

  It took me a second to process this. Had he really just asked me what my job was? Why did he care? “A groomer.”

  “Of people?”

  “What?” I asked, turning back toward him. What the actual— “No. Dogs. I’m a dog groomer. I have my own business. And what kind of weird world do you live in that you think I meant a people groomer?”

  “I have a groomer. Annie. It’s how this happens.” He gestured to his face and hair. His dreamy hair that was in short, tousled waves pushed back from his face—it reminded me a little of a lion’s mane. I had to curl my fingers inward to keep them from reaching out to touch it.

  “That and good genes,” I responded, shaking my head, trying not to get sucked in by his sexiness.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Up to you. I wouldn’t.”

  A satisfied smirk settled on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I? You essentially just said that I’m hot.”

  He so, so, so was. Blood rushed to my face, making my skin feel heated. “No. I said your genes were good. I could have been referencing your ability to fight off infection or your chances of not getting dementia when you’re old. Anything past that is just your ego and you jumping to conclusions.”

  Noah still wore his smirk and he was just . . . staring at me. Like he was trying to memorize my facial features for the police report he probably planned on filing. I saw when his gaze slid down to the right side of my neck, and I swore to all that was holy if he asked me how I got my scars, no matter how much I loved Shelby, I was going to throat punch my favorite actor on live television.

  But to his credit, he didn’t say anything about it. The smirk turned into an actual smile, and it did funny things to the backs of my knees. I was glad I was already sitting down. He so rarely smiled at these kinds of events or on red carpets that it felt like I’d just been given the rarest of gifts. It lit up his whole face. And he had a completely adorable dimple in his right cheek.

  Swoon.

  “Are you negging me?” he asked, sounding almost delighted.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Some guys will make negative comments in an attempt to try and manipulate a woman in hopes she’ll pay attention to them. It’s called negging.”

  “Is that how you get women?” I asked.

  “What? No!” His smile faded and he looked really insulted. Had that somehow been intentional on my part? Maybe I was subconsciously negging him and hadn’t even realized it.

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  “I got this script where . . . never mind.” He folded his arms across his very broad and appealing chest, and I forced myself to look away. His tone was dismissive, and I took it to mean that our bizarre interaction had come to an end.

  Which I should have felt relieved about, but instead I found myself saying, “I bet women just fall at your feet, right?”

  “That’s usually how that happens, yes.” He sounded sarcastic and I couldn’t figure out his meaning. Was he just acknowledging the reality of his love life? Or was he indicating that I had no idea what I was talking about?

  I didn’t understand what he meant and it irritated me so much that I was back to being completely annoyed. Which made me remember how hungry I was. I couldn’t recall any rules about not eating. Although maybe that fell into the don’t-do-anything-embarrassing-on-camera category? Regardless, I was going to have some chocolate and calm myself down.

  The zipper on my clutch was stuck. I tugged at it once, twice, three times. N
othing. I pushed at the fabric near the zipper, wondering if it was caught. Things were about to get really bad in this auditorium if I wasn’t allowed to have something sweet to soothe my savage beast. Maybe I should use my teeth.

  While I was thinking over the best way to get this thing open, Noah Douglas had reached over and taken the clutch out of my hands. He quickly and efficiently unzipped it and handed it back to me. I was so surprised by his actions that my fingers turned into Jell-O and my purse fell to the floor near my feet.

  Of course.

  I reached for it and heard him say, “Nice shoes, Cinderella.”

  I was wearing my pink Converse high tops. I loved these shoes; they were probably my favorite things in my entire wardrobe. They didn’t really scream “Hollywood awards show,” but I’d been told (rightfully so) that Shelby and I would be on our feet for most of the night and that nobody was going to see our shoes, so I’d dressed for comfort.

  Straightening back up with my clutch, I said, “Like you have room to talk.” I pointed down at his shiny black shoes. “What did you do, raid a funeral parlor?”

  “I was told that these are worth several thousand dollars. I didn’t get them off a mortician.” That rare smile was back. As if I was amusing him. Which irritated me more.

  “Huh. So in addition to being rude, you have bad taste and you’re easily taken advantage of. Though on the plus side, when those legions of women fall at your feet, at least they’ll be landing on some expensive shoes.”

  He made a sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh, but I was too angry to try to make sense of him. So instead I ripped open the wrapper to my candy bar and realized that at some point in the day it had gotten smushed. It was in bits and pieces.

  Again, of course.

  I carefully lifted up a chunk, trying to get the flaking-off chocolate to land in my clutch and not on me. The rental place would charge me extra if I brought this dress back with stains on it.

  “Are you eating?” That indescribable tone was back in his voice, as if he was amused but hadn’t experienced that kind of emotion recently so was rusty at expressing it.

  “Yes. Did you want some?” I thought that was awfully big of me.

  “No.”

  “Your loss.” I got another bite of my squished and now slightly melting candy bar into my mouth. I blamed Noah Douglas for the melty part. Because him sitting there was having the same effect on my insides.

  “Is that a Snickers bar? What if I had a peanut allergy?” he asked.

  “Then you’d be dead and we’d both be happy?” Sucking in a deep breath, I turned to face him. “I’m so sorry. Stress and hunger are not my friends, and they make me into some kind of she-demon who says really inappropriate things. I didn’t mean what I just said. That was awful. I don’t want you to die. And if you do have a peanut allergy, I would . . . I don’t know, stop eating and hold my breath. I’d call an ambulance and I’d try to find you an EpiPen. Do you have a peanut allergy?” My pulse was pounding. He was annoying, but I didn’t want to actually hurt him. Or anyone else. I zipped my clutch back up.

  His eyes twinkled at me. Like, literally sparkled with delight. “No.”

  Now I was mad that I’d apologized to him when he’d obviously said it just to make me freak out and be sad about the thought of him dying. Because I would be very sad. In part because then they couldn’t film a much-needed sequel to Duel of the Fae where Aliana Morningsong goes to the Realm Beyond Realms to rescue Malec from death.

  “You have chocolate on you. There.”

  Noah pointed toward my neck and reached forward with his massive hand, and I actually backed up as far as I could in my seat. “Dude, don’t touch me.”

  He seemed surprised by my reaction and held both hands up, like I was mugging him. A cameraman noticed the movement and turned toward us.

  “Put your hands down,” I hissed as I ran my fingers along my collarbone, trying to figure out where the chocolate was. I found it, a pool of brown liquid. My skin was still flushed from interacting with Noah, and the chocolate had probably melted on contact. I didn’t know if I’d actually cleaned it off or if I’d just made the mess worse.

  “Are you always like this or is it just something I’ve brought out in you?”

  I glared at him as my response. And even though I didn’t want to, I asked, “Did I get it?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “More or less.”

  More or less? What? Was I covered in chocolate or not? A bolt of anger pierced my gut. I really was going to end up in jail tonight for having attacked a movie star.

  Ralph Ramsey, who I had completely forgotten about, finished his speech, and everyone around us gave him a standing ovation, cheering and clapping. It took me a second to get myself together enough to rise up and do the same. And I noticed again how tall Noah was, how broad and masculine. He had to be six three, six four. I was the girl who joked about being five twelve, and he made me feel like I wasn’t the tallest person in the room.

  It was nice.

  The lights went down, indicating a commercial break. Noah sat, and I realized my mistake. I should have squeezed past him immediately, because now I’d have to climb over him to get out. But was I supposed to leave? Shelby had told me to stay put until the original seat owner returned. And the original owner was Noah’s date. Maybe she’d made a break for it after she found out what an egomaniac he was.

  I sat down, ignoring him, still wiping at my skin and hoping I hadn’t been on camera with melted chocolate all over my throat.

  But it wasn’t like before, when I’d just sat here minding my own business. Now I felt this weird, awkward energy between us. I’d read once that he had social anxiety and hated making small talk. Although what we’d just been doing wouldn’t exactly qualify as small talk. More like “you suck” talk.

  He cleared his throat. “So . . .” His voice trailed off, and I found that I was desperately curious to find out what he was about to say, but he got to his feet.

  There was a gorgeous woman standing next to him. She had on one of those body-contouring dresses that had been made out of thin strips of white fabric. Almost like bandages. It showed off her perfect figure but also had me wondering if the national museum in Egypt knew she had escaped their exhibit.

  I’d bet anything she didn’t have an emergency Snickers bar in her clutch.

  “Excuse me, but you are in my seat.” She said the words through her clenched, perfect white teeth.

  “I’m the seat filler. Just keeping it warm for you,” I joked, but she glared at me. I stood up and was suddenly at a loss as to what to do. If Noah had moved over into the aisle, it would have been very easy for me to get out and head backstage.

  But he stayed put, standing there.

  Which meant that I would be forced to brush past him to escape, and honestly? I didn’t think my shot nerves could take the sensation of full-frontal touching.

  Then Barbie Mummy made the decision for me by coming into the row. I backed up as much as I could into the poor woman who had been seated on my other side, apologizing to her as I did so.

  Noah’s date took her seat, shooting me a look of triumph. I could go out the other way. But then I’d have to climb over, like, twenty people, and that did not sound appealing to me.

  Time to swallow my pride and just get out of here. “Sorry,” I said to his date, “I just need to . . .”

  She didn’t move her legs and in fact kept them close to the seat in front of her, as if daring me to hop over her. Did she think I wouldn’t?

  Not sure of how Shelby would want me to handle this, I just stood there awkwardly and weighed the pros and cons of going either direction. Whatever I was going to do, it needed to be soon. I was running out of time.

  Noah had pulled out his cell phone and sat back down, which made the choice for me. Now that I didn’t have to worry about being sandwiched between him and the seat in front of him, this would be the best way out.

  I tried with his dat
e again. “Excuse me. I just need to get past.”

  But she was also on her cell phone and ignored me. I tried nudging her legs, but she didn’t budge.

  Fine.

  I hiked my dress up to my thighs and stepped over her legs, which apparently surprised her so much that her knees shot up into me, which made me lose my footing and fall headfirst against Noah’s legs.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as he reached out to help me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, brushing his hands away. I could feel dozens of eyes on us as I struggled to stand back up. He tried again to help me back up to my feet, and I resisted both him and the urge to kick his girlfriend in the ankle.

  When I stood up, the only thing between me and the aisle was a still-seated Noah.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked with what sounded like real concern in his voice. He was such a good actor, putting on a show for everyone around us. Most likely for the benefit of his girlfriend.

  “I told you, I’m fine.”

  I could see a smile hovering around the edges of his mouth. “Okay. Well, when you get backstage, remember the food goes in your mouth and not on your neck.”

  My hand flew up to my throat in surprise. Was the chocolate stain still there? “Listen up, you smug, arrogant, condescending pain in the—”

  I was cut off by the lights coming back up, and a spike of adrenaline coursed through me.

  They were back from the commercial break and I was stuck with no chair to sit in, and even if I climbed over Noah, there was no way to get backstage in time.

  So I did the only thing I could think of.

  I dropped to the floor at Noah Douglas’s feet.

  CHAPTER THREE