by T Gephart
Shit!
Marilyn Steal was not who I was here to see.
Goddamn it I cursed under my breath as I turned, hoping I could slink my way back to the front again. Fat chance if Mr.-Ten-Feet-Tall had anything to do about it.
“Oh my God.” The words wheezed out of me as all the oxygen escaped from my lungs. My chest tightened like I’d been kicked right in between my ribs.
There he was a few feet behind me slowly making his way toward me.
“Eric, look here.”
“Eric, this way.”
Both sides of the line screamed at him as he patiently walked from side to side, signing autographs and taking selfies. Each step he took inching him closer to where I had frozen, my eyes bulging out of my head like a complete lunatic.
There he was.
Eric Larsson, right in front of me.
And not even internet stalking could have prepared me for what he looked like in real life.
Breathtaking.
So handsome he almost didn’t seem real, and as much as I tried I couldn’t stop staring.
Say something my mouth begged as my brain continued on its mental vacation. My eyes scanned every inch of his body like it was planning to build a 3-D replica.
Holy hell he was wearing the absolute fuck out of that suit. Every inch of the fabric curling around his delicious body like its life depended on it. And believe me, even though he was covered from head to toe in tailored Tom Ford perfection—I’d seen photos of him in this particular suit before—it did nothing to hide how obscenely hot he was.
My heart thumped loudly as he took another step closer, his eyes remaining on the crowd.
“Larsson.”
It rang out clear despite the noise around us. It took me a minute to realize that while my brain had stalled, my mouth hadn’t suffered the same fate. My lips still open as his name left them.
Who the hell yells out his last name? I panicked, unable to tear my eyes from him as his head lifted and his eyes settled on me.
Dear. Lord. In. Heaven. And. All. The. Saints.
Eric Larsson was looking at me.
At me.
At ME!
His brow lifted in acknowledgement as his lips curled, momentarily blinding me as he flashed his trademark smile.
Well, if that wasn’t an invitation, I didn’t know what was.
So, even though I was struggling to breathe—my ability to remain upright also not guaranteed—my feet moved me closer toward him. My internal pep talk worked overtime as I reminded myself we were on a mission. Two minutes of eye contact, conversation . . . and something about me finding out what an asshole he was.
“Hi.” The best I could do given the circumstances.
Intellectually I knew the man was tall. I mean, in my head I figured I knew what six-foot-four looked like. But as I lifted my eyes, it didn’t come close to where I should be looking, my gaze hitting his chin before I tilted my head even higher.
“Hi,” he responded, the single word sent a shiver down my spine as he unleashed another blinding smile.
Those eyes were something else. The clearest blue I had ever seen, and though I knew it wasn’t possible it seemed like they illuminated from the inside out. Like magical orbs, the weight of their stare hypnotized me, pulling me in closer like a force field. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. Not that I tried, and not that I wanted to.
And oh Lord have mercy, did he smell good. Mouthwatering. Ridiculous that it would even get a mention given I already had those eyes, his face and his delectable couture-wrapped body to contend with. Yet there was his scent wafting up my nose uninvited. A sadistic mix of sexy, clean and masculine—probably Calvin Klein—overwhelmed me as I fought the urge to bury my head in his neck and inhale him like a line of cocaine.
Say something you dumbass. My mouth begged as my hand, completely of its own accord, reached out and rested on his arm.
Holy. Freaking. Shit. I. Was. Touching. Him.
Do not moan, I reminded myself.
“Congratulations on the movie.” Words poured out of my mouth, thankfully in a sequence that made sense, as my fingers struggled not to caress the fabric of his suit. My fingers didn’t listen, slowly stroking in small—slightly inappropriate and rather suggestive—circles.
Wow, this is a really, really nice suit.
Do not lick it.
Yes, my hand was still on him. And he didn’t ask me to move it, so it was staying exactly where it was.
“Thank you.” He seemed amused; the words paired with an intrigued smirk emitted the equivalent force of a concussion grenade. “I hope you are sticking around to enjoy it.” His brow rose as his smile widened.
Oh my God, what does that mean?
What?
Lord knows any ability to reason had left me hours ago; I was amazed I still had the ability to stand.
And while reading between the lines was not a quality I currently possessed, I wasn’t stupid enough to think he was flirting with me.
Which is probably why rather than answer him like the sane person I clearly wasn’t, I stood there looking deranged.
How he was able to resist the crazed look I was giving him was a mystery.
“Are you okay?” He laughed, his eyes flashing down to where my fingers had unconsciously tightened around his arm.
I stayed mute, bewildered by how he could be so unfazed by the crazy woman who was gripping him like a life preserver. No guesses as to who that crazy woman was.
“Yes.” Nod. “Fine.” Nod. “I should go.”
It wasn’t my best work but all I was capable of as I unlatched my claw-like grip on his arm, caressing the soft fabric of his suit one last time—dear God, had it been constructed from the hair of angels—and turned around.
“Bye,” I muttered under my breath as I walked toward the entrance of the theatre.
“Hey, wait,” someone called out behind me, probably security wanting to haul my ass out of there for sexually harassing Eric Larsson’s suit.
Crap, they’re onto me.
Without skipping a beat and maintaining my focus on a man with a fascinating bald spot in front of me, I kept walking, ignoring whomever was trying to get my attention. My plan was simple, get in and seated ASAP because surely they wouldn’t want to cause a scene and drag me out. At least that is what I was counting on when the usher gave me a pointed look as I walked aimlessly down an aisle.
“Your seat is here.” She shone her flashlight at a vacant seat not far from the front. It was on the side with easy access to an exit. Good. I was already planning my possible escape route should it be necessary.
My head and body felt completely detached as I lowered myself into the chair. The people around me gave me polite smiles as I tried to tame my wide-eyed expression that was bound to tip off security I didn’t belong there. I’d had a good run, surely at any minute I would be discovered for the fraud I was and I’d get tossed out on my ass.
My phone came out immediately, its screen my sole focus as I tried to look inconspicuous. Not an easy feat when I’d just touched Eric Larsson.
That hadn’t even been part of the plan.
And God.
That smile.
Those eyes.
I couldn’t even reconcile how wet he’d made me.
If I did go to jail, it would have totally been worth it.
And FYI, my panties were toast. How they hadn’t spontaneously combusted was still a mystery.
Oddly enough, it hadn’t occurred to me until now that I would have to sit through the movie after meeting him. Which was hysterical considering that’s what the invite I procured was for.
The microphone popped at the front of the stage, the spotlights focusing on the man who identified himself as the director as he spoke. I had no idea what he was saying, his lips were moving but he could have been talking Swahili for all I knew. Slowly he introduced each of the actors who joined him up front.
Eric was the last to join the gro
up, my heart beating wildly as I watched him confidently stride across from my side of the theatre, literally a couple of feet from where I was sitting.
He smiled in my general direction and despite it being unreasonable that he saw me in the dark, I convinced myself that smile had been for me. I was so far gone with the insanity, why stop now.
“Thanks for joining us.” He looked incredibly relaxed as he nodded to the rest of his cast. “I loved working with these guys, only thing I won’t miss are those three a.m. wake-up calls.”
Marilyn laughed before taking her turn at addressing the audience. I’m not even going to pretend I heard a word that she said. Instead I sat there silently, perched on the edge of my seat trying to send subliminal messages to Eric that he turn and look at me. Because that would help with my out of control heartbeat and inability to sit still. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Enjoy the movie.” Mr. Director nodded to the crowd as the spotlights dimmed. Eric and the rest of the cast exited stage left.
This was not how it was supposed to go down. The plan had been to meet him, find out he was a dick and be cured of my infatuation. Instead I’d been thrown headfirst even deeper into it.
Firstly, as impossible as it seemed, he was even better looking in person. He was gorgeous. That body. That smile. Those eyes. No shit, it was like staring directly into the sun.
Secondly, he hadn’t been an asshole. No, instead he’d been fucking charming and kind—well as much as you can be in a few minutes—and incredibly polite considering I was probably giving him crazy eyes.
And therein lies the problem. No asshole-ish behavior. That wasn’t going to work for me. Nope. Not one little bit.
So as the movie rolled—Eric’s face filling the massive screen—I realized two things.
One, this was going to take some more work on my part. And two, I was in serious trouble.
UNLIKE THE MOVIE PREMIERE, I hadn’t even tried to get an invite to the after-party. Not because I thought I’d be pushing my luck—we’d already established I had issues with boundaries and authority—but because I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Honestly, a rookie mistake and one I would not be making again if given the chance.
So when I stood at the end of the movie—which had been brilliant, no surprises there—I had another panic attack when the good-looking, tuxedo’d man with amazing hair sitting beside me asked me if I was going.
I hadn’t even noticed him when I sat down—too caught up on not acting like a fugitive—which just goes to show how out of my mind I’d been.
“I’m Rafe and this is Blaine. You should come with us.” His head tipped to his equally tanned, tall and good-looking friend who was smiling at me expectantly. “It will be good networking. You’re an actress, right?”
“Umm. Yes. Yes, I am.” Well, technically not a lie considering the performance I was currently giving. “Tia.” I held out my hand, my smile a little too enthusiastic.
“Well, Tia.” Rafe hesitated over my name. “Then you should definitely come. All the big dogs will be there, it will be a great career move.”
“Yes, I think I should.” I nodded, completely ignoring that Rafe and his buddy were probably looking at it as an opportunity to network themselves into my pants. Oh well, I guess if everyone was being dishonest I wouldn’t have to feel guilty ditching them. I had already secured my place burning in Hell, what difference would an extra misdemeanor make.
Partly because I didn’t want to lead them on any more than I already was, and partly to ensure I didn’t wind up roofied in a strange hotel room—I agreed to meet Rafe and Blaine at Bar Koko, the location for the after-party. They’d offered to give me a ride—I’m sure not just the one in their car either—but didn’t put up too much of a fight when I’d hustled myself into a cab and assured them I’d see them soon.
And like they’d said, Bar Koko wasn’t too far away. The six-dollar cab ride would have been completely walkable if I wasn’t in heels, in L.A. and pretending to be something I wasn’t. So, I tipped my driver and reminded myself this could all be chalked up to research. Who doesn’t love a good story?
“You made it.” Rafe exited his shiny black Jaguar and tossed the valet the keys. “You ready to go in?” Blaine joined him on the sidewalk.
“Yep. Completely ready,” I lied as I fixed the smile on my face and straightened my dress.
“Awesome.” Rafe smiled as he put his hand around my waist and led me right past security.
They didn’t even scan their guest list for our names. Not even check our ID. Just a smile from Rafe and boom we were in.
And instead of being thankful and walking right in, I had to open my big mouth. “Don’t you think they should have better security?”
Blaine laughed and then gave Rafe a funny look. I’d seen that look before, the kind where everyone knows the joke except you.
“My dad owns the production company.” Rafe smirked. “They pretty much let me do whatever I want in this town.” His hand slid seductively down to my ass and gave it a squeeze. “You want to audition for me?”
Great.
Just fucking great.
While I had avoided being arrested for trespassing, I had somehow stumbled into the biggest fucking cliché of all mankind. I should have been horrified that the octopus—seriously, did he have more than two hands?—was currently groping my ass, but instead I was relieved. My way out of this mess was so easy, I almost felt sorry for him.
“Oh, wow. That’s so awesome.” The smile exploded on my face as I dug into my clutch and pulled out my cell. “I can’t wait to tell my mom I’m dating a millionaire.”
“Errr.” Rafe looked at me and very quickly dropped his hand, taking a step back.
“Let’s take our picture together. We make such a cute couple.” I angled the phone, switching the camera so we could take a selfie. “Get close so my mama can see how much you love me.”
“Um . . . Tia.” He blinked from the flash.
“Oh, I know. It’s sudden.” I threw myself at his chest, circling my hands around him tightly. “We just met and everything, but I can already tell you are the real deal. Tell me, do you believe in love at first sight? Because I’m feeling the magic between us.”
“Look, clearly there’s been a misunderstanding.” He laughed nervously, adjusting his bow tie and shooting wide-eyed looks at Blaine who was looking at me like I was insane. “Why don’t you enjoy the party and maybe we’ll catch up later.”
“Oh really?” I pouted trying to sound disappointed. “Make sure you come back for me though. I’ll miss you if you’re gone too long.” My head bobbed enthusiastically.
“Yeah, whatever.” He took a quick step backward, Blaine swift at his side. The unmistakable, “She’s fucking crazy,” heard as they scuttled away.
So long, asshole. I laughed heading toward the bar. Of course it would have been easy to do the whole indignant slapping him across the face or telling him I was going to wear his balls as a necklace. But you want to put the fear of God into a man like that all you need to do is throw commitment at him. It was the equivalent of wearing a sign that advertised you had herpes and gonorrhea. I’d guarantee you he was going to spend the rest of the evening avoiding me. And I wouldn’t get escorted to the door like a hand slap might have earned me. Winning all round.
“What are you having?” The bartender leaned across the bar.
I debated asking him to toss me a bottle of his most potent liquor to save time on refills, but I relented. Necking a bottle of tequila in a place like this wouldn’t be smart. Still, I was going to need more than champagne or a fucking Lemon Drop.
“Okay, so I’m probably going to be one of those customers you hate.” I didn’t bother smiling knowing the barman had little interest in anything other than my drink order. “And that’s totally fine. I will completely ignore you calling me an asshole or bitch or whatever colorful name you think of to your bar friends as long as you keep the drinks coming. Actually, I’m goin
g to need them to keep coming. I promise your tip will be worth it.” I put down a fifty on the bar hoping that people weren’t tipping hundreds.
“Tough night?” He laughed as he leaned in closer.
“You could say that.” I smiled, easing my butt onto the newly vacated barstool. “There’s more fake smiles and plastic in this place than the Mattel factory.” I looked around at the extra tanned, tall, exaggerated smiling, beautiful people not far from us. “I’m positive no one here actually has real boobs.”
“Right.” He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. “So you have any preference to this drink I’m making?”
“Strrrooooong.” I looked enviably at the shiny bottles lining the bar behind him. “Vodka is good. The higher the alcohol content the better. But mix me up something that resembles a cocktail so I don’t look like an alcoholic. And don’t even think of giving me a cosmo, in fact anything with juice is a no go. Juice is strictly a breakfast drink and my brain is already scrambled as it is without trying to figure out what time it is based on what I’m drinking.”
“Quite a list of demands.” A voice came from behind me.
Oh. Fuck.
I knew that voice. I didn’t even have to turn around, the shiver down my spine and the clenching of my girly-bits were enough of a confirmation.
I knew who it was.
“Heyyyyyyy.” I swiveled around casually on my stool trying not to flash my panties and look nonchalant at the same time. Pretty sure I was only able to achieve one of those things. I went with keeping my panties hidden.
“Whatever you’re making, we’ll take two.” Eric moved closer, his hand resting on the bar. “It sounds interesting and she’s right about the juice.”
“On it.” The bartender left to go make our mystery drinks.
“Did you enjoy the movie? You looked pretty excited on the carpet. I hope we didn’t disappoint you.”
“I-I . . .” My mouth got stuck in a groove as words seemed to elude me. And then realization dropped. “You remember me?” Out of everything that came out of his mouth, that’s the part that stuck with me.
