The Sweetest Star: Under the Stars Book 2

by Raleigh Ruebins

  I had to admit that I got a little swept away when Eric talked—it was kind of impossible not to. He looked at my eyes as if I was the only important person alive. His eyes had a sleepy, bedroom vibe to them at all times—it only added to the notion that he seemed like he was constantly flirting, and being on the receiving end of it was a little dreamy.

  But I knew he was just a player, and I knew I couldn’t do the show. It would be too complicated, too much. The last time I’d tried to push myself too hard was in culinary school, and that had ended badly. It was pathetic, maybe, but I was resigned to a solitary, simple life, working alone from home. Maybe I didn’t need more than that.

  So as I waited for the end of the conversation, I was resolute. I’d say thanks but no thanks. And they’d move on, and easily find someone who would enjoy the job. Someone who could tolerate working with Eric Ronson.

  But then Andrea suggested we head to another room.

  “If you have time for a quick screen test, we should do that now,” she said. “Our assistant director has some time this morning.”

  “Oh—already?” I said. “But you haven’t even really interviewed me.”

  “In the world of TV and movies, the screen test kind of is the interview. That is—if you have time?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  I pictured the rest of my day. After this, I would just drive back to my 1-bedroom apartment, and maybe cook later on in the evening. That was it. Essentially, I had zero plans.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” I told her, realizing that it might be fun to see what a TV set looked like, even if I wasn’t going to take the job.

  I followed them down the hallway to a small studio, where they had a camera and lights around a kitchen set.

  “Okay. You and Eric literally can get behind the counter and talk. We obviously don’t have any food prepped, but this is just to see how you’ll look on camera, Dash.”

  I took in a deep breath. Fuck it, I thought—at this point, I had absolutely nothing to lose. For some reason, the lack of pressure about caring if I’d get the job allowed me to completely relax. I stepped behind the counter with Eric, knowing it would probably be the last time I’d ever see him.

  “So a food blog, huh?” Eric asked, leaning against the marble countertop and looking at me. “I thought they’d hire another chef, but…. what’s that entail?”

  Great. Now Mr. Ex-Boy Band was mad that I wasn’t a chef? I shrugged. “Yeah, I thought you’d be a chef too, but no luck, I guess,” I said, raising my eyebrows at him. “And… food blogging entails sitting around in front of my laptop or behind my camera in my pajamas, then acting like it’s totally normal that I never leave the house.”

  Eric laughed, as if my words had bounced right off him.

  I looked over at the cameras and realized that they had started recording, and two camera operators were playing with different zoom lengths and moving around the room.

  “Yeah, you definitely seem very… New York,” Eric said, his deep brown eyes scrutinizing me as he smirked. “Why’d you move here anyway?”

  “I mean…. getting away from my ex, for one,” I said, breaking eye contact briefly.

  “Oh,” Eric said, pausing a moment. “Yeah. I just got dumped, too.”

  “I’m… I’m sorry. How long were you together?”

  “Just about six months. Way too long,” he said with a laugh, but his eyes suddenly fell to the counter. It was clear he’d been hurt.

  “…Oh. Being dumped really sucks, Eric. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He shrugged, as if he was trying to ignore his feelings. “What about you? How long were you with your ex?”

  I cleared my throat. “Ten years… not that it mattered.”

  “Wow,” he said, his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, that’s intense. She must have been really special.”

  “He was special, to a lot of people, but, uh… didn’t have much time for me.”

  “Damn if that doesn’t sound familiar,” Eric said, shaking his head. “God, why are we talking about breakups right now? This is a screen test, we need to at least pretend to look happy.”

  I kept silent and didn’t mention that I didn’t really care how the screen test went. Though, admittedly, it was a little nerve-wracking seeing all those gigantic cameras pointed right at me.

  “So,” Eric started again, “I wanna get to know you.”

  Great. More small talk. “Trust me, you don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m… kind of an asshole?”

  “That’s never stopped me before.” Eric was smiling again. I should have been looking anywhere else, but my eyes kept drifting over his body. His clothes fit so well, highlighting his every curve, tight but not too tight. Clearly he worked out and I couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like naked.

  God damn it. I should not have been wondering that about him.

  “Why am I even here?” I said, not knowing if I was asking myself or Eric.

  “You’re here because Andrea likes you. And I might too, if you gave me a chance.”

  I felt myself blush a little, but I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m really not looking for your approval, but thanks.”

  “Wow, more attitude, never saw that coming,” he said sarcastically.

  I didn’t respond, instead looking around at the set. I’d started to feel hot, and had no idea if it was the bright studio lights or just me.

  Incredibly enough, Eric started talking again after a minute. “Okay. How do you feel about really fucking cheesy jokes?” Eric asked, meeting my eyes.

  I wanted so badly to be irritated with him. What the fuck was he talking about? But the smile on his face was threatening to make me smile back—so I had to give in.

  “Cheesy jokes? They suck.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna tell you some anyway. Dash, get ready. These are going to be some of the dumbest things you’ve heard in years.”

  I looked down at the counter, hiding a slight smile. Once I got it to disappear I looked back up to him. “Fine. What is it?”

  He rubbed his hands together. “Alright. Why do watermelons have fancy weddings?”

  I paused, shaking my head.

  “Because they cantaloupe.” He gave me the silliest smile.

  “Brilliant,” I said, as dry and sarcastic as I could. “I mean, Jesus, someone should give you a comedy show.”

  He laughed, and although his joke was ridiculous, I couldn’t help but think that he was stunning when he laughed, head thrown back slightly, exposing the curve of his neck. Not that I should have been looking at him there, anyway.

  “Okay. Round 2. Why did the banana go to the doctor?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Why, Eric?”

  “…Because it wasn’t peeling well.”

  I met his eyes. “Do you have, like, a never-ending well of cheesy food-based jokes? I mean, wow,” I said. “And you can stop now.”

  “I mean, let’s be real, I’m just trying to make you smile.”

  I shook my head. “Why?”

  “Because I want to,” he said, looking me right in the eye. He turned toward me, facing away from the camera, as if we weren’t in the middle of a room with a bunch of other people. “And I like getting what I want.”

  I paused. Blinked. Felt like he’d pinned me against a wall. That had been far too sexy, and my cock responded with a throb in my pants.

  “Dash,” one of the assistant directors called out a moment later, “The smiling was better than the deer-in-the-headlights look.”

  Ugh. I stood up straighter, breaking eye contact with Eric. Had that been one of his tried-and-true flirting tactics? Telling someone a bunch of cheesy jokes, and then saying that he “likes getting what he wants?” I hated the thrill it sent through me.

  I muttered at him under my breath. “Shut up, Boy Band. This camera crew is probably wondering why the fuck I look so stupid on camera. You’re messing me up.”

  “Hey,” Eric said, looking at me
intently, almost earnest. “In all honesty—who cares what they think? Seriously. Be yourself.”

  I pressed my palms against my pants, trying to steady myself.

  “I’ll let you in on a secret, here,” Eric said, leaning in close to me. He smelled amazing, and it kind of made me panic. “This show is really Andrea’s baby, and to a lesser extent, my baby. She’s the one who makes the final decision, not any of these other people in here. And… I can already tell you’d be good on the show.”

  Oh God. Why did he have to say that? And why did he keep looking at me like he was? I felt weirdly vulnerable all of a sudden, like Eric held all the cards. He’d been on TV before. He was helping create the show. And I was just a food blogger they’d pulled in to put next to the notorious boy band member.

  It was all just too strange and suddenly the world felt like it was caving in on me. I was hit with a distinct wave of déjà vu from when I was in culinary school, preparing for an exam where three older men would watch me julienne carrots into perfectly even pieces. I’d been so sure I was going to fuck up that I fainted onto the cold cement floor, and the knife in my hand had narrowly missed falling onto my leg.

  And there was a fair chance I was going to pass the fuck out right now.

  “Uh—I—I’m sorry,” I said, “I can’t do this.”

  I stepped away from the set and started back toward the hallway. I had to get away. Far away, and fast. My chest tightened, and I struggled to breathe deep. I made it halfway down the hallway before Andrea called out to me.

  “Dash,” she said, and I felt her hand gentle on my shoulder. “Dash. Listen. It’s fine if you want to say no, but at least come back into the office with me and hear our offer. We haven’t even showed you the amount yet.”

  I took a deep breath, turning to look at her. “Fine,” I said.

  I felt like an idiot, both for staying and for almost leaving, like I couldn’t even handle an amazing job offer being essentially placed in my lap. I knew I was being an idiot, and knew that I was probably coming off as a total asshole when in reality I was a coward.

  So I followed Andrea to her small office, wiping sweat from my forehead and hoping she didn’t notice.

  It all hit me at once: the idea of being on TV with a guy who is supremely irritating, but also irritatingly handsome, and kind of infamous. But part of me knew the real reason I feared doing the show was that I feared any real job. I’d avoided them for years, but now it seemed like I was being selected.

  Back in the office, Andrea printed out a document, enclosed it in a folder, and handed it over to me.

  “Take it home,” she said, looking at me earnestly, “think it over, and give us a call by next Friday if you are interested. It was really nice to meet you today. And—Dash—it’s normal to be nervous your first time on screen. Just remember that.”

  I shook her hand and walked back out, through the building, past the test kitchens and reception desk, and out the parking lot.

  I thought of what Andrea had said earlier. That for TV, people needed a good look, good voice, and resilience.

  I sure as hell knew I’d fucked up that last one.

  Three

  Eric

  “Yeah, it… definitely doesn’t seem like he’s gonna accept,” I said to Andrea. I was lying down on the rug in her office, because the chair seemed like too much effort at the moment.

  “No shit,” she said, looking down at me. “Even though you two had great chemistry.”

  “Um… were you in a different room than us, Andrea? What chemistry? Pretty sure Dash despises me.”

  She shrugged. “Chemistry can take a lot of different forms. It’s there, whether you think so or not. People like seeing conflict on screen. There are too many TV shows where the stars are cutesy married couples, anyway.”

  “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “Think about Gordon Ramsay, or the other angry chef guy—people love conflict on TV shows. It wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing if he had some of that New York attitude on set. You guys could be… healthy rivals, or something.”

  “Guess it’ll be great television if he doesn’t kill me first.”

  “I don’t know if he even wanted to be on TV, though,” she said.

  “Well… maybe,” I said. I reached up and grabbed a Rubik’s cube she had sitting on a bookshelf, and began twiddling with it. “Some people just get nervous during screen tests, but he actually seemed more comfortable than most newbies would be. Until I… sort of… made him uncomfortable.”

  “Oh God, Eric, what did you say to him?”

  “Nothing bad! Nothing bad. I guess I said I wanted to make him smile? And that I always get what I want. Oh god, when I say it out loud it sounds bad.”

  “Jesus!” Andrea reached down and swatted me on the shoulder. “No wonder he ran so fast out the door. Seriously, Eric, we’re trying to hire someone here, not get you a date. Isn’t that harassment?”

  “Is it harassment to tell someone you wanna make them smile? We were bantering, I was trying to… banter.” I asked, incredulous.

  “If it’s unwanted, then yes, it could be harassment.”

  “I know. You’re totally right. But I had no idea if it was unwanted.”

  “Not everyone wants to hear that from another guy, Eric. He probably isn’t into men.”

  “He had just gotten done telling me he got out of a ten-year relationship with a guy, so… that’s not it.”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you kidding? He just got out of a long-term relationship? Okay, then that’s why. Not to mention how unprofessional it is to flirt with someone you’re trying to hire. God damn, I don’t blame him for leaving.”

  Dash really had been hard to read—he was cocky one minute, nervous the next, smooth but then fidgety. The only underlying theme to his entire interview was that he seemed uncomfortable. I had wanted nothing more than to make him feel welcome and at ease, but no matter what I did, he only seemed to retreat further.

  And no matter how much he tried to hide it, I saw the vulnerability through his exterior. He’d been terrified.

  And I had only made it worse.

  I groaned, rolling over on my side and burying my head in my hands. “You’re totally right. I’m a fucking idiot. I’ll give him a call and apologize later. Jesus, I feel terrible.”

  “Um…” Andrea said, her voice sounding weird. “Looks like you won’t need to wait ‘til later.”

  I rolled over onto my back, propping myself up onto my elbows. I brushed a wayward lock of hair away from my eyes and looked up to see that Dash was standing in Andrea’s doorway, looking a little more bedraggled than he had in the studio.

  “Oh. Hey Food Blogger,” I said, standing up, dusting off my pants, and sitting down in a seat like a normal, dignified human being.

  “Hi Boy Band,” he said, looking me up and down. “What was that you were saying? About apologizing later?”

  “Oh,” I said, actually feeling myself blush. Since when did I blush? It just wasn’t something I did. “I’m sorry, Dash. When I said I wanted to make you smile, it was completely unprofessional of me.”

  And then he was blushing a little, looking down at the folder in his hands. “That’s not why I walked out. I… got confused. I just walked in here for a ‘casual chat’ and then all of a sudden I was doing screen tests—which, by the way, before today I didn’t even know what a screen test was… and I didn’t know if I was really the best person for this job.”

  He turned to Andrea, taking a couple more steps into the office.

  “But—I opened this folder in the parking lot and to be honest, it’s shocking. Are you sure this isn’t a typo? You want to offer me that much?”

  Andrea nodded, clasping her hands together. “I thought it was a fair offer,” Andrea said, simply.

  “Wow,” Dash said, taking a seat. “Um… okay then… I just really have to ask: why do you want me?” Dash said, looking at Andrea.

  “I’ll be com
pletely honest,” Andrea said, looking at him. “The first reason is what I mentioned earlier—you have an incredible, fiercely loyal following online, and we are moving more and more to an online focus with the company.”

  Dash nodded, his face serious.

  “But also, we are looking for an everyday type of personality. We want someone our viewers can completely relate to. Sure, you’re new to this, but that can be a benefit, and you do look good on camera. I could sense that you were nervous during the screen test, but I know you’ve got a presence that could do well, especially next to Eric’s personality.”

  I looked at Dash, and noticed that the folder was a little shaky in his hands. I felt a flash of affection, and wanted to reach over and hold his hand, steady him.

  “Anyway,” Andrea continued, “the offer stands. You can take it or leave it, and really, feel free to sleep on it if you need to.”

  Dash paused for a moment, and I was almost sure that he was going to walk out again. He gave me a brief glance, then looked back to her.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, and then repeated a little more confidently, “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Andrea asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “That’s fantastic news, Food Blogger,” I said.

  “It is,” Andrea added, “And stop calling him that. But still—we won’t have to sign the official contract for a few days. You have time to consider—I don’t want to force you into anything. But we’d be so glad to welcome you to the team.”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t picture any other co-host but Dash. I barely even knew him, but…. I wanted to figure him out, to see what was under that hard exterior.

  I wanted to know what made him tick.

  The next few weeks passed in a flash. We’d been planning the show for so long, and now that it was finally getting close to happening, time felt compressed. And then out of nowhere, I found myself stepping into the Eat Network studios on the day of our first rehearsal.

  I would be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of nervous. I hadn’t seen Dash at all since the interview, though I knew he’d come in to see Andrea and sign his contracts.