Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3

by Isabelle Peterson

  “Chase!”

  “Chase! Look this way!”

  “Who’s the girl? Is it serious?”

  Chase posed us this way and that. I used the clipboard that I’d been clutching all afternoon to shield my face from the blinding flashes. Holy shit, this sucks! I glanced sideways at him and watched him eat it up. He loved this. How? He even planted a kiss to the side of my head for one of the photogs. What????

  The Town Car pulled up and Chase gave a wave to the ‘animals’ and their cameras then, helped me into the back of the car.

  “Wasn’t that fun?!” he asked, laughing and grinning.

  “Not exactly my choice of fun. How do you stand it?”

  “Hey, if they stop being interested in my every move, it means my career is on a downward spiral,” he said, sitting back.

  We started on our way to Rockefeller Plaza, and in the tight confines of the limo backseat, I couldn’t help but notice that the air was charged again with that EMP. He sat sideways in his seat just looking at me.

  “What?” I asked, brushing the sides of my mouth. “Do I have food on my face?”

  “Nope. You’re as put together as you have been all day. That was a really nice dinner. Thank you,” he said simply.

  “Oh yeah. That was somethin’. Gotta love the fans. Fans and paparazzi. Good times,” I said, trying to be casual about the groupies.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I’m happy that I have fans. It’s what keeps me working, but it’s actually nice to get some peace and quiet, you know? It gets old. I was talking about the dinner, before the bimbos. Thank you.”

  “Um, you’re welcome?” I muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. It was weird that he was thanking me for dining with him. Yes, it was surreal eating with a mega-star, but he seemed so ordinary for that short period of time. Not arrogant like the papers stated. He didn’t even finish his beer, so the accusations of him being a raging alcoholic were out of line. Come to think of it, when I first met him shortly after Dana had quit, he didn’t seem drunk at all. She said he was passed out drunk, but he seemed as sober as the day is long.

  He laughed his hearty laugh. “God, you’re adorable! You’re single? Really?”

  “And staying single,” I reminded him of our dinner chat. “And you. You don’t know if you have a girlfriend or not. So we’re both off the market, it seems.”

  He didn’t reply. He only stared at me, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. What I wouldn’t give to know what was going on behind those violet-blues.

  Single.

  Most girls said to me that they were single and that was an open door. That was the invitation for me to rip off a pair of barely-there skivvies and give it to her good. The proof was in my pocket with the phone number.

  But Fifi, er, Phoebe… It was natural to ponder, What would she be like? When it came to Phoebe, that question was heavy. For so long, I have been surrounded by fake, and easy, and superficial. Phoebe was real. She was tangible. She was honest and reachable. My cock twitched at the thought of her under me. Shamelessly? No. I was a guy. That’s what happened to all of us red-blooded American men. Thoughts of a beautiful, mysterious, and sexy woman made our dicks ache. It was normal.

  Single. She made it sound like such a challenge.

  Was she one of those relationship girls? Is that what it would take? I had never wanted to be in a relationship. I’d sworn them off. I enjoyed my free wheeling ways. And besides, I had a reputation.i I was Chase Smythe.

  Single. Ha! Challenge accepted.

  CHAPTER 9

  Once we got to Rockefeller Plaza, we were hit with another group of photographers. Safely inside, we checked in with the producers of the Late Show with Jimmy Fallon, and were whisked away into the studios. As Chase’s “personal assistant,” the thought of which still made me giggle, I was given the opportunity to sit in the Green Room with the other stars on the show that night, or sit in the audience. Last week I remember watching the promos for this week’s shows. Jimmy was calling the whole week “Summer 2013 MoviePalooza,” the other stars on that night were Jennifer Lawrence from Catching Fire (and Hunger Games), which was coming out soon and I couldn’t wait, and musical guest Ed Sheeran. No brainer. Green Room all the way for me.

  The taping moved at a breakneck speed and was a flurry of activity, unlike the shooting at The Met. I got to meet all the stars, including Jimmy Fallon, but was so star-struck, just like I had been meeting Chase for the first time, that I forgot to ask for autographs. In fact, I could barely introduce myself without feeling like a total dork. But everyone was so incredibly nice.

  Chase’s interview was first, but before he went out, he changed clothes. He’d changed out of the tight black t-shirt and ratty jeans, and was now wearing a pink button down shirt that made his skin glow and pair of tight black jeans that left little to the imagination.

  “Hug for luck?” he asked. Omigod. Touching Chase, again? Surely I was not going to survive the day.

  “Like you need it,” I said with a half smile, which apparently he took as a yes to his request, because before I knew it, I was swept up in his arms, my whole body buzzing with off the charts electricity. I inhaled quickly and got a nose full of Chase, that heady mix that left you swimming.

  “Come on,” he said setting me down and taking my hand, dragging me from the Green Room. “You can sit in the wings. It’s a better view.” And in the whirlwind that was Chase Smythe, I was whisked away and seated on a stool, just off stage behind a curtain.

  Chase’s interview on the show tonight was not only about his guest appearance as Detective Young on the show, Cops Undercover, that I was his PA for, but also about his new film releasing next month, Book Ends. Of course, conversation turned to the burning question of nudity on screen.

  “Oh, my trainer was brutal with my workouts so my ass would look it’s best. Wanna see?” Chase asked all full of himself, eating up the screaming and applause from the audience.

  Chase stood and turned, shaking his booty for audience. In a matter of seconds, the audience started chanting, “Take it off! Take it off!” And The Roots, the Late Show’s band, started to play stripper music. Chase ate up the attention and started to unbutton his pants, swinging his hips from side to side. The girls in the crowd went crazy! Hell, even I wanted to see!

  Then he turned around and buttoned back up his jeans. “Nah. My girlfriend wouldn’t like it too much, if I showed ya. Sorry,” he said, shrugging to the clearly disappointed groans of the audience.

  “Oh-ho-ho!” Jimmy Fallon said, clearly surprised, nearly jumping out of his seat. I nearly fell off of the stool. Just an hour ago he said he was single. “Are you off the market, Chase? This is, like, breaking news! I just saw your Twitter this morning and looked like you were still a free agent. What happened between breakfast and dinner?”

  “Jimmy, my heart has been captured.”

  “But, dude! For years, you’ve always said you’re going to be a bachelor forever. A beacon for us married guys. What happened?”

  Chase smirked and shrugged. He shook his head, his dirty blonde waves falling over his forehead. He regarded the audience, he glanced at Jimmy Fallon then, he stared into my eyes while I sat the wings, perched on my stool.

  “I dunno,” he said coolly.

  “And who is the lucky lady?” Jimmy asked.

  “Oh, we’re keeping it quiet for now. It’s new and all,” Chase said, winking at ME!

  I was in a fog, not hearing the rest of the interview, until Chase was pulling me from the stool I’d been frozen to since his wink. I watched him talk and laugh. Jimmy played a game with Chase. A clip was shown. But I don’t really remember any of it. Like when you wake up from a dream and you have a vague idea of what went on, but can’t really put your finger on it. Chase walked me back to the Green Room, as Jennifer Lawrence was heading to the wings for her introduction. Chase and her shared a couple of comments and hugged, but I was still dazed.

  Suddenly
fingers were snapping in front of my face. “Earth to Phoebe,” a voice said. I shook my head slightly and focused in on the face in front of me. The chiseled good looks, the floppy blonde hair, the violet-blue eyes, the wickedly charming smirk.

  “Huh? What?” I said, looking around, noticing that not only Chase was staring at me, but Ed Sheeran was sitting and watching our exchange as well.

  “You might want to sit for a minute before we dash. You look like you might faint again,” Chase said, laughing quietly.

  I lowered myself to the sofa and stared blankly at Jennifer Lawrence and Jimmy Fallon’s banter on the giant TV hanging on the wall. I had no idea what they were talking about. I tried to clear my head and tried to process not just the last chunk but, my whole day.

  The start of the day was shuffling papers for programming schedules and press conferences. Shortly after lunch, I was suddenly face-to-face with one of my favorite actors, Chase Smythe, and was escorting him around a town I barely knew. I was with him on set for a location shoot for a new program and on the Jimmy Fallon show. Moments ago—not sure how long exactly—Chase made some declaration of finally being off the market with someone new and winked at me. Me! He certainly couldn’t have meant me. We only met. And I was sure he was a player, no better than Dickwad Danny. My head was spinning and I was exhausted.

  “C’mon,” Chase said, extending a hand to me. “You look beat.”

  I looked at his hand warily. I tried to stand on my own, but was so tired I ended up letting him help me. I was so off balance. When his hand took mine, I don’t know what happened. I felt like crying. The buzz was there, even through my exhausted state. Yet the charged electrons that flowed between us were somehow—comforting? I was a mess. “Yeah. I need a good night’s sleep.”

  We started past Ed Sheeran when Chase moved his hand to my lower back causing the zing and zap of electricity through my body again and keeping me more awake than I felt, and outstretched his other hand to Ed. Chase said something like “Good luck, man.” and in my electrical haze I think I heard Ed Sheeran’s British brogue come back with, “Thanks. You two make a cute couple. Way to go, man.”

  Crawling into the back of the Town Car, I felt like I was sleepwalking. Yes that had to be it. It was still Tuesday. A regular day at work. And I was asleep on the sofa. The TV was influencing everything in my dream. Chase. Being on set of a cop based drama. Jimmy Fallon, Jennifer Lawrence and Ed Sheeran. I was going to wake up and it’d be a regular day. Sitting back onto the leather seat of the limo, the exhaustion I was feeling washed over me. I felt an arm pull me to a shoulder. I went with this crazy dream my brain concocted and rested my head on the firmness of Chase’s chest, and let his scent soothe me as I drifted off to sleep.

  Phase One of “Win Phoebe Over” complete. I dazzled her. I made a public declaration of my heart being captured. I was sure she picked up that I was talking about her. And she was comfortable with me. Clearly. She was sleeping on my shoulder right now. Surely I had put a dent in her armor. I sat back with her tucked under my arm and inhaled deeply. She smelled good. Sweet like vanilla with a slight kick of spice.

  It was just a matter of time before she was all mine. I was going to win. I always did.

  CHAPTER 10

  Funny how exhaustion can lead to a restless sleep, and thus, oversleeping. My alarm hadn’t gone off, but a beam of sunlight poked through the window and did the job instead. When I looked over at the clock on the bedside table, I nearly broke a leg jumping out of bed. It was 8:17am. I had just a hair more than forty minutes to get showered, dressed, and to work. I grabbed my phone and pressed the home button, but nothing lit up. Shit! My battery had died. No wonder my alarm hadn’t gone off.

  In a rush, yesterday flooded into my mind. And it clearly wasn’t a dream. Filming of Cops: Undercover at The Met. The Late Show with Jimmy Fallon at NBC studios. I vaguely recalled stumbling into my apartment at 8:36 pm and being exhausted. I must have been so tired when I got in last night from the crazy ass day that I’d not thought about charging my phone overnight.

  As I raced off to the shower, I played yesterday over in my head. I had actually been Chase Smythe’s assistant. His thick hair, his intense eyes, his sinful body. Even his scent… All still fresh in my head. I’d been on set with him, had dinner with him, battled the paparazzi with him, and sat on set of Jimmy Fallon with him, along with Jennifer Lawrence and Ed Sheeran. Then there was his cryptic “off the market” chat with Jimmy. Part of me wondered if I would be doing the same today, but part of me was terrified. He was dangerous with a capital D.

  Somehow I managed to get myself out the door in twenty minutes. I had opted to throw my wet hair in a tight bun to avoid having to style it, and if Erin and Jade had a problem with it, so be it. I chose a nice, black A-line skirt and white shirt with a frill down the front. No time to do makeup, I grabbed my cosmetics bag and planned to do my face in the office’s bathroom.

  I was proud of myself that despite my adrenaline rushed morning, I was coherent enough to get on the downtown train this morning and today it panned out perfectly. I made it to work with only three minutes to spare, but I desperately needed a dose of coffee.

  I decided to duck into the coffee shop I had picked up breakfast at yesterday and couldn’t believe my luck that there was only a short line. When it was my turn, I ordered a coffee and breakfast sandwich from the same girl I had seen yesterday. She stopped and looked at me kind of funny.

  “Wait. It’s you! PhoebeFair, right? Chase Smythe’s Girl!” I stood confused. She pulled her cell phone from her apron and tapped an app. She checked out the photo and me a few times, then showed me the picture. There I was—yesterday, outside of Ed Scott’s. In one photo I was mostly behind Chase’s shoulder, and another with me shielding my eyes from the flashbulbs using the clipboard. She flipped the page again and there was a picture of Chase kissing me on the side of my head. The next one she showed me, he had his hand at my lower back pushing me into the Town Car. And another picture of him ushering me into the back doors at Rockefeller Plaza as we headed into the studio to do his interview at Jimmy Fallon. And not one of those pictures was flattering. The hashtag #ChaseSmythesGirl was on all of them. I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s me, but I’m not his girl. I was just his assistant yesterday, that’s all,” I managed, brushing it off, mortified that pictures of Chase and me made the TwitterVerse.

  “But there was what he said on Jimmy Fallon last night, too. It has to be you! You were the only one seen with him!”

  “Thanks, but not his girl. Can I get my coffee, please?” I asked, my head starting to pound. Not sure what was causing the headache. The photos or the need for coffee and food.

  “Sure!” she chirped and moved into action scribbling on a cup and calling back to get my sandwich made. She rang the order up and I paid, then stepped aside for the next person to place their order.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and prayed that I could turn it on, that somehow—miraculously—my phone had been charged. It hadn’t. And then it hit me. She called me PhoebeFair. That was my Twitter handle. How did she know that? I’d only ever told her my name was Phoebe. How did she know my name was PhoebeFair? I felt my whole body flush and heat up. I was now desperate to get out of there and plug my phone in so I could access my Twitter account.

  God, this was horrible. If coffee girl saw all these connections, surely workaholic Valerie saw them. She didn’t miss a beat. One thing she harped on over the past week was the importance of social media in today’s world. I was going to lose my internship over this I was sure. I was also sure that if my phone were working, there would be a voicemail from Valerie, or worse yet, Alex, telling me to not bother coming into work.

  Racing into Valerie’s office five minutes late, coffee and sandwich in hand, I was grateful that she wasn’t there. I set my breakfast aside and stashed my purse, but not before grabbing my phone and charge cord to plug it in. I had just gotten logged into my computer
terminal to get my schedule for the day, when Valerie walked in. She had an offbeat smile on her face. Shit. Now I was certain she’d seen the same pictures the coffee girl had. Now she was going to get to fire me face-to-face. Bye-bye internship. Bye-bye NYU.

  “Did you have fun yesterday?” she asked.

  “Ms. Cocozza, I swear. Nothing happened. They’re just paparazzi pictures. I’m not his girl. And what he said on—” I rushed, feeling light-headed.

  “Calm down. Breathe. It’s okay. I know the games he plays. It’s all good. Just don’t let it get to your head. Little known industry secret: Chase’s manager, Michael, is my older brother. I know better than most that Chase can be a pain in the ass, but the upside is, he’s trending big time on Twitter and Facebook right now. That can only work in the network’s favor.”

  I looked at her for a minute, unable to tell if she was serious. Not just about being related to Chase’s manager, but that she was happy with the trending rumor that Chase and I were somehow involved. I sat back in my chair and took several deep, shaky breaths. “I didn’t even know any of this because my phone had died and I learned about the Twitter pictures at the coffee shop next door.” Just then, my phone lit up, apparently having gotten enough juice to turn on. I glanced at it the screen which immediately started flashing missed texts and alerts.

  “Go ahead,” Valerie said, taking her seat and shuffling a few files.

  I scanned the first five text messages that filled the screen.

  JESSICA LEISTER

  What r u doing w/Chase Smythe? Lucky!

  LAURA BRADLEY

  Does Chase smell as good as they…

  PEGGY KOWALSKI

  Chase Smythe. Nice upgrade from…

  KEVIN PARKER