Better than the Book: A Romantic Comedy (Charitable Endeavors Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  I pull out the square paper and hand it to Klarissa. “Number nine! Head on in and make yourself comfortable at the number nine chair.”

  I do as instructed and enter the room, leaving her to deal with the other fans that have finally found the room. Locating my assigned seat, I settle in and wait, content to go over my schedule once more.

  11:30 – Meet and Greet with Hunter Stone in room 413D. DO NOT BE LATE.

  12:15 – Short lull to shop and grab lunch. Must get free t-shirt then.

  1:00 – Meet in convention hall for panel discussion with writers and directors. Take notes.

  2:00 – Photo op with Hunter Stone in room 123A. DO NOT BE LATE.

  3:30 – Meet in convention hall for panel discussion with actors. Unknown if Hunter Stone will be there. Arrive early for a close seat.

  Content that everything is in order, I flip the page of my notebook to one that is blank and ready for me to take notes. Sitting back in my chair, I cross my ankles and watch the others as they begin to file into the room. So far, eight of the ten chairs are filled. That means either Hunter Stone will be sitting right across from me, or…

  Right next to me.

  Deep breathes, Celeste. He’s just a person. The most talented, super-hot person. But that’s beside the point. Stay focused. Concentrate on the older woman on the other side of the table. Why is she wiggling her ass at us? Is that… yep. Someone signed her ass. Poor bastard.

  Suddenly, another woman, because that seems to be the vast majority of the convention participants, comes racing through the door.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says through deep pants. “I got chatting with Michael Ornaste and, well, you all know how he is when he gets going.”

  The other women nod their heads. I, on the other hand, have never met the star of the show so I wouldn’t know how long-winded he may be. But I am wondering how I ended up with the guest pass and she didn’t if she knows him.

  Glancing up, I catch Klarissas’s eye and she gives me a look that screams, “I told you so.”

  I don’t have time to respond though. A young guy with weird 80s glasses comes sauntering and behind him…

  Holy shit, Hunter Stone is here.

  And why do I keep referring to him by his full name?

  That’s weird. Stop it, Celeste.

  I will my brain to quit calling him by his full name and my heart to stop beating erratically by continually reminding myself he’s just a man. The man of all my theater-loving fantasies, but a man, nonetheless.

  “Hunter!” the woman who arrived late says as she immediately wraps her arms around him, pulling her flush against her. Hunter Sto—Hunter doesn’t resist which makes me wonder, yet again, how I’m the one with the guest pass.

  “Martha,” he greets kindly, his arms draped around her. I’ve never been jealous of another woman getting a hug, but I admit, the feeling is running through me right now. “How long as it been? A month since the last con?”

  “You remember.” Martha is clearly delighted. “St. Louis. And a couple months before that in New York. And don’t forget San Antonio.”

  “I couldn’t forget San Antonio if I tried. I think that’s the first time you ever came to my meet and greet.”

  “And you haven’t been able to get rid of me since.”

  They both laugh as Hunter Stone turns to the table, his arm still over Martha’s shoulder. “I think Martha here holds the record for attending the most consecutive Prince of Darkness conventions in history. What, eight so far?”

  She nods proudly. “Hoping to go for a solid twelve this year, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while.”

  Hunter Stone smiles and takes a few seconds to look at every single person sitting at the table. He misses no one, making sure to catch each person’s eye. It feels very personal. Intimate. I’m impressed by the effort it takes to give everyone that experience.

  And then his eyes catch mine and they flicker in recognition. One eyebrow raises slightly as his lips slowly lift into a smirk. A flutter settles low in my belly at the idea that he’s recognized me. Of all the hundreds of people he’s met today, he remembers me.

  Matthew. He knows Matthew. It is a mutual friend recognition not about me. Of course.

  Clearing his throat, his eyes skirt the room. I note the moment he spots the empty chair next to mine. Releasing a reluctant Martha, he shifts out of her personal space and makes his way my direction. Or rather, the direction of the empty seat. Clapping his hands together his voice commands our attention “Alright ladies, my handler over there says we’ve got thirty-five minutes for chitchat so what should we talk about?”

  Hunter Stone pulls the chair out and sits gracefully, but in a manly way. There is no lack of confidence in this guy. Why would there be? With dark, ink-black hair and stunning green eyes, he’s absolutely irresistible. In the business-sense, of course.

  What is not at all business related is whatever cologne he’s wearing.

  Dear Lord, do not let me pass out from how delicious he smells.

  But of course before I can pull myself together, he turns and looks right at me. “Celeste, right?”

  I know my eyes widen because he laughs at my reaction. Laughs! If I wasn’t trying to make a good impression I might smack him, but I’m too flattered he remembers my name.

  “Um, yes. I can’t believe you remember.”

  “It’s not everyday someone remembers my very first performance on a New York stage.”

  “That was your first role? That’s… incredible. I knew you were talented but to come out of the gate with a performance like that. Well, it’s no wonder Hollywood snatched you up.”

  For just the briefest of seconds, his expression darkens, like he’s having memories he doesn’t particularly care for. But it’s gone just as quickly as it came, and he barely misses a beat in the conversation. “Do you live here in the city?”

  I shake my head. “I used some miles to get here. I live in New York. Brooklyn, actually. Close enough to get to any theater in the city in a reasonable amount of time, but far enough from Manhattan I don’t go homeless.”

  His head cocks to the side. I can almost see that he has a million questions running through his mind. Or maybe I just have a million running through mine.

  “So you really are a theater buff.”

  “Stage manager, actually. I haven’t done Broadway yet, but I’m up for a second assistant stage manager in a huge production that starts this summer. I haven’t heard back yet, but fingers crossed.” Like an idiot, I cross my fingers. “And I run a blog with my best friend, Carrie. She has a pet squirrel which is a story for a different day, but yeah. I cover theater and movies on the blog. Lots of critiques. Of course I always recommend your stuff. It’s always so good…”

  My words taper off as I realize I’m not only babbling; I’m taking up time that needs to be spent with eight other people.

  “So, um, yeah. That’s it for me.”

  Hunter Stone nods. I really need to stop using his full name. I don’t even know another Hunter. But, it just rolls off my tongue so easily. “Thank you for that, Celeste. I love meeting fellow theater nerds.”

  My breath hitches at the word love. Not because he loves me. Because that would be stupid. He doesn’t love me. I mean, he probably does in that he’s-a-human-I’m-a-human kind of way, but not love, love. Oh boy. I’m losing it.

  For the next half hour, I sit quietly as Hunter Stone makes sure to speak with each participant one by one, asking where they’re from and their favorite story lines. His ability to engage every single person in the room, handler included, is amazing. He makes everyone feel welcome, everyone feel important. He has more charisma in his little finger than I do in my whole body. Without a doubt, my professional crush on a colleague’s talent is quickly turning into a full blown romantic crush on the actual man. I’d call myself out on it except there are worse people to be attracted to.

  “Five minutes,” the volunteer handler cal
ls out and everyone shifts in their seats expectantly. Everyone except me. It appears I’m the only one who hasn’t been in a meet and greet before and I have no idea what’s happening.

  Hunter Stone pushes his chair back and stands. “Anyone want to take a selfie before we go?”

  Immediately everyone is out of their chair and standing in a short line, phones ready to hand to glasses man for optimum photography. There are conversations with Hunter Stone, pictures, and lots of hugs.

  Unfortunately for my schedule, but maybe fortunately for me, I’m the last one in line.

  “I’ll take your phone,” Glasses demands more than offers. By the way he keeps looking at his watch, their schedule is probably tighter than mine.

  I hand it over and Hunter Stone puts his arm around me. Me. Celeste Pumperkin is wrapped up in Hunter Stone’s arms and if I die right now, I will die happy.

  With my face next to his shoulder, I’m close enough that I swear I hear him sniff my hair. I’m probably imagining things, but since I just did my own quick sniff of his neck, I’m not judging. No, I’m smiling as Glasses says, “One, two, three… and again one, two, three. Here ya go.”

  He practically throws my phone at me and I know it’s time to go.

  “Thank you, Hunter Stone.”

  A deep, masculine chuckle rumbles through him. “It’s just Hunter.”

  Embarrassed, I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “Sorry. I call you that in my head and it’s hard to change when I say it out loud. Thank you… Hunter.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt”—although the look on Glasses’s face says he actually does mean to—“but we’re on a tight timeline and need to boogie. If you’ll just follow me, Hunter…”

  “Give me a minute, Andy.”

  Huh. I never would have taken Glasses for an Andy. He’s a little hipster I thought for sure he’d be an Atticus or something more original.

  His eyes widen slightly. “It’s just that we have to be downstairs in a matter of minutes and I want to make sure you have ample time to use the facilities if you need to.”

  “I’m fine,” Hunter says firmly. “And they’ll deal with me being a few minutes late.”

  Andy clenches his jaw and nods once before turning on his heel.

  Hunter Sto—Hunter, doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by the conflict. “You have a theater blog?”

  “Oh, um, it’s a lot of things. Carrie, my friend who is engaged to your friend, Matthew, covers books and television. I focus on theater and movies. My roommate, Anna, is a musician so she’s obviously the one to write all concerts and albums. Anything with the music scene.”

  “Do you have a lot of followers?”

  “We’re close to a hundred thousand and growing.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it is a very big milestone to us. I keep suggesting a blog party. Carrie continues to shoot me down. She has no imagination.

  Hunter whistles quietly. “That’s not bad. Especially for a side gig.”

  “How do you know it’s a side gig?” I feign offense, my palm resting on my chest.

  The bright smile Hunter flashes is a contrast to the brooding personality he normally shows the public. I feel like I’m seeing a side of him reserved for people who are really in his life, not just popping through for an hour.

  “You’re a stage manager by trade. That passion doesn’t just go away when your blog hits it big.”

  He’s right. Only a fellow theater nerd would catch that, but only if he was paying attention to certain details. I can’t believe he was paying attention.

  “This may come off presumptuous of me, but I was wondering if you’d like to interview me for your blog.”

  I feel my eyes blink rapidly but I’m too stunned by his offer to care. An interview with him would put us on the map with online entertainment news. I can only imagine the number of new subscribers we would reach. And advertisers.

  “I would be honored. Wow. Thank you.”

  He looks oddly relieved that I’ve accepted his offer. But how would my answer have been anything other than yes? There’s no way this man has been turned down before.

  Pulling his wallet out of his pocket, he snags a business card out and hands it to me. “This is my manager’s information. He makes sure I’m where I’m supposed to be and when. Shoot him an email and he’ll get it set up. Maybe tomorrow after the con but before I fly home?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  Popping his head into our space once again, Andy looks more flustered than ever. “I’m so sorry, but we really have to go. The boss is starting to freak out in my ear.” Sure enough, Andy has an earpiece that seems to be attached to the walkie talkie at his hip. Old school, but effective I’m sure.

  “He’s right. Don’t keep your fans waiting,” I encourage, despite my own desire to stay here, talking to Hunter for as long as he’ll let me.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hunter looks like he’s preparing to put on a show again. Which means maybe this right here is the real Hunter Stone. The man, not the actor, and certainly not the vampire cop. “Well, it was lovely getting to know you, Celeste.”

  “You too,” I say and give a quick wave as he walks away, Andy rapid-firing bullet points of the next event.

  “I have to say, I’ve volunteered at a lot of conventions,” Klarissa says next to me, but my eyes are still glued to the now empty doorway. “But I have never seen an actor offer an interview or provide manager information.”

  “I’m as shocked as you are.”

  “Why don’t you take a minute and email his manager before you forget. I’ve got a little time to set up for the next meet and greet.”

  Smiling gratefully at her, I take a seat at the table and let the last ten minutes of my life sink in. Then, I send a quick, yet professional email asking for an interview time for tomorrow, per Hunter’s request.

  Then I wait for a response.

  It never comes.

  Chapter Seven

  Hunter

  I should apologize to the rest of the people in line. Their pictures are going to feature an insane looking version of me. Exhaustion explained how I felt this morning but now, it’s straight fatigue. My back is tight and my jaw aches from the perma-grin I’ve had plastered on all day. It’s the “actor” smile not the “me” smile. No, I’ve used that only twice today. Both times talking to Celeste.

  Celeste.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had an opportunity talk theater with someone other than my mom. Even then, it’s more about my days in the theater and not the craft itself. While Celeste and I didn’t speak long, the time we were together was enough for me to note how her eyes danced at the topic. Her smile. Damn, she has a beautiful smile.

  “Hunter, do you need anything?” Not Toy Story Andy asks while we have a short lull between attendees. It’s the first free second I’ve had to grab a drink of water in close to two hours.

  “A lobotomy,” I mumble, rubbing my temples.

  “What was that?”

  Inhaling, I lift my lips to a small smile as I exhale. “Nothing. Do you think maybe they can turn the music down a little? The bass has somehow burrowed into the deep recesses of my brain.”

  “Like a worm?”

  Chuckling, I nod my head and slap a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. Like a worm. If you could scale down the house music a little I may make it to the end of the line.”

  Stepping aside, Andy walks over to the photographer whose motto is the louder the music the better the pictures and leans in to speak in his ear. After a tense moment where Mr. Photog stiffens and pretends not to roll his eyes, the thumping music quiets a bit. It’s not off, but it’s quieter at least.

  Hey, I get it. I’m an artist. We all have our own creative process. But it was about to make my brain explode. I need to remember to call Eddie, my manager, and tell him next con, no loud music in the tiny-ass rooms. Better to address that before an event to give everyone time to prepare themselves.
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br />   Taking a pull from the now room temperature bottle of water, I stretch my back and shake off the cobwebs in my head.

  A scream rips through the room and I’m no longer sure which is worse—the shrieking or the music from hell.

  “You’re Hunter Stone. Ohmygosh!! I’m dying. I mean not like dying dying. Obviously, I’m still standing here and you—you’re standing there. Holy crap on a cracker.”

  The young girl, maybe all of sixteen is rambling and hopping on her feet. She hasn’t taken more than six steps toward me and the way she’s bouncing on her heels, I don’t know that she’s going to. Rolling his eyes, the volunteer steps up next to her and gently nudges her forward.

  Stumbling, she plasters on a huge smile. Her bright blue eyes widen.

  “Ohmygosh. Oh. Hi. Um… I mean… this is the coolest thing ever.”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  I’ve heard Michael talk about women swooning and fainting at his feet. Until this moment, it isn’t something I’ve experienced. Standing up straight, shoulders back, she plasters a shy smile on her face.

  “Sarah. It’s Sarah.”

  “Well, Sarah, how about we get that picture?”

  Nodding, she steps next to me and I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. To my surprise, the rambling girl from a few minutes ago is gone and in her place is a teenage vixen. Turning so her front is nestled into my side, she tosses her head back, lifts her leg, and puckers her lips for the camera.

  Well, okay then.

  The look on Andy’s face matches my thoughts as he chuckles and ushers Sarah out of the way. As she steps out, another woman is already posed and ready for her photo. It’s a never-ending line of giggles, blushing women, and shy girls. The occasional man rolls through the line, a huge fan of the movie or someone who got a preview of the upcoming release.