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

by M. E. Carter

  Then a familiar face with bouncing blonde curls comes into view. Her bright smile is welcome. Familiar. Friendly. Beautiful.

  “Hey you. Nice to see a familiar face,” I say as she moves in closer. Celeste just smiles as she gets into position.

  Opening my mouth to ask about our meeting tomorrow, I’m cut short by the photographer. “Okay, smile.”

  “So what time—?” she starts.

  “Alright, thank you,” Andy interrupts as he motions Celeste out of my space. She pauses only briefly, her mouth opening and closing as she’s shuffled out the door.

  A soft hand runs along my forearm pulling my attention back to the task at hand. An older woman, probably close to my grandmother’s age flutters her long lashes my way. For the fourth time today, my smile is genuine as I settle her into my side.

  After another hour of smiles, I’m finally released from my duties and head back to the green room to use the facilities and check my email for the location and time of my meeting with Celeste. Drying my hands with a paper towel, I open the door and step into the private room, tossing the wadded up paper into the trash. Some of my co-workers and event coordinators are meandering about and I nod my head in acknowledgement spotting the kid who kept me on track all weekend lingering.

  Extending my hand in thanks, he greets me with a hearty shake. “Thank you for all you did this weekend. If you’re around next year, hell if I’m around next year, I’m requesting you as my point person.”

  “I appreciate it, sir. It was a pleasure working with you. If my luck changes maybe I’ll be here as a colleague next year.”

  “Oh, are you an actor?”

  “Writer. I finished my first screenplay and have begun the query process.”

  Slipping a card from my wallet, I offer it to the kid. With a large grin, he takes it and smiles up at me. “If you want, send it to my agent. He’ll get it to me and I’ll take a look at it. I can’t promise I’ll be able to do much, but you never know.”

  His eyes are wide, not only at my offer but with hope and determination. I remember those days. Early in my career, I was wide-eyed and earnest, looking for a break. Wishing for a break. Whether he sends the screenplay or not, just knowing someone is willing to take a chance on him may make all the difference as he works to break into the industry.

  He nods his head before looking from me to the card and back again. Before he can make this more awkward, he’s called away by someone with a clipboard and furrowed brow.

  “Thanks again, Mr. Stone. Have a safe flight.”

  My flight. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time. Four hours. I have hours until my flight leaves. It’s enough time to meet Celeste and grab a bite to eat. Leaning against the wall, I check for new text messages from Eddie. Nothing. Maybe he just included me in the email confirmation with the Celeste.

  Tapping the envelope icon, I scroll through my emails. This isn’t my professional email; this is the personal one I use to communicate with Eddie and my non-celebrity life. Coupons, sales, and some Viagra should I need it. Good to know when the time comes. Hell, it’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman, I may need it. Who even knows?

  Running my hand through my hair, I scroll and scroll. Nothing from Eddie. It’s unlikely he’s in my spam folder but I check just the same. Again, nothing. I mean, there are more Viagra ads but no word from Eddie.

  I should have gotten her number to set something up myself. I was playing it cool. Or at least attempting to by using my manager to set up the meeting. Cleary playing it cool is so not my strong suit. Maybe I should’ve tapped into my character Nikolai’s persona. He may be a blood sucker, but the guy has moves. Not that I was going to put the moves on Celeste. We were going to grab a meal, talk theater, and maybe I’d remind myself why I started this life in the first place. Tap deep into my love of acting again.

  Disappointed that she apparently didn’t follow through, I push off the wall and move about the room, dropping my John Hancock on some last minute photos for the volunteers, and thanking everyone for a great event.

  This weekend should have been my final commitment until we start table reads for the new season. Instead, I have months of promotion before the action film I snagged the lead role in releases. I knew taking on the part had the potential to launch me into a different caliber of stardom. What I hadn’t counted on was how much the studio would invest in marketing the action flick and how interested they were in making me their new go-to leading man. That means interviews and photo shoots across the country. I’ll be lucky to sleep in one hotel room two nights in a row.

  What I need is downtime. A few months of letting my beard grow, not counting macros, and sleeping. It’s been so long, I forget what it’s like to curl up with my own pillow, in my own bed, and sleep until I wake because I’m rested instead of having to catch a flight. Moving down the hall, I stroll toward the private exit set up for the talent. When I approach security at the exit, I nod in acknowledgement as I’m shuffled into a waiting car.

  As drained as I feel, one would think I’ve spent most of my life in the spotlight. The reality is, I’ve paid my dues, but my big break only happened a few years ago. Eddie warned me. He said the day would come that all the shitty parts and Ramen nights would pay off. What he failed to tell me was that I wouldn’t have time to enjoy it.

  I live a modest life. My home is nice but nothing extravagant. Taking care of my parents and providing for my younger siblings’ education was never a second thought. The one indulgence I can claim is my fully loaded truck with a kick-ass sound system. Unlike many celebrities my age, I don’t have a specially designed garage filled with sports cars.

  Then there are the hotels. That’s one area I don’t skimp on and, thankfully, these conventions are usually booked at the higher end chains which means, privacy for the actors and my luggage waiting for me in my ride to the airport.

  Pulling up Eddie’s contact, I press the call button. Two rings. Three. Voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s Hunter. I’m just leaving the hotel. I was looking for an email from you about an interview… Anyway, give me a call when you have a chance.”

  I end the call and settle back into the plush leather. The buildings are a blur as the car maneuvers through downtown Chicago. Glancing at the console, I note the time. Not that the minutes are moving quickly. The least the city could do is offer a little traffic to make the drive to the airport longer. Give me a little more time before I have to be “on” again.

  Still, no call from Eddie. I fire off a message regarding my early arrival at the airport, so the TSA escort is ready for me. I don’t expect to be mobbed by paparazzi or fans like some, but I’ve learned to never assume.

  Yawning, I lean my head back and close my eyes. In just a few hours I’ll be home and able to block out the world for a few days. Catch up on some rest and plan a trip to see my family. I could use some of my mama’s home cooking and uncle time with my nieces and nephews.

  I startle when the door opens, pulling me from my dream-like state. Unfolding myself out the car, I rise to my full height and put on a smile. When I turn to thank the driver, he’s already rounded the car and is settling behind his seat. Well, okay then.

  “Sir, if you’re ready?” The TSA agent asks. This guy is huge and pushing the sleeves of his shirt to its limits.

  “Sure…”

  “Joe.”

  “Lead the way, Joe.”

  Following my guide, I keep a light smile on my face and my gaze low and ahead as we weave through the crowd and to the special security lane. Not all airports offer this luxury and while it makes me uncomfortable to be singled out, I can’t imagine the level of anxiety I’d feel or how much of a distraction it could be to be one of the hundreds in the regular security line.

  Once my backpack and I are both scanned, I slip my earbuds in and resume listening to the classic rock playlist I had on this morning. Double checking the app on my phone, I confirm I need to walk to the far end of this
terminal for the airline’s private lounge. So far I haven’t been noticed, and I hope to keep it that way until I make it to the elevator, which will drop me in the lobby of the lounge.

  A small child darts in front of me and I stop short of running her over. The mother offers me a small smile before stumbling. So much for going unrecognized. On instinct, I reach down to help the woman, my earbud slipping from my ear. Catching it before it hits the ground, I slip it in my pocket.

  “You’re… Ohmygosh…” Before she can say another word, the little girl screeches in the distance. Abandoning me, the woman rushes to her child.

  Picking up the pace, I rush to the sign identifying the lounge elevators. By some miracle, they open, and a woman steps out, pulling a suitcase behind her. Slipping between the doors, I push the close button just as I hear my name again.

  Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder, I pull the rogue earbud from my pocket. Just as I set it to my ear, I hear my name in the distance. Shit.

  Chapter Eight

  Celeste

  When I booked my flight home, I thought leaving before the convention was officially over would be fine. As long as I got my picture, my autograph and my round table discussion with Hunter Stone, I would be sitting on Cloud Nine without a care in the world.

  I was wrong. I’m sitting in an airport chair with a rip in the upholstery that keeps pinching my leg and lamenting the fact that I am missing the closing ceremony simply so I can catch the cheapest flight home. Not that I had much of a choice. I used almost all my points on the hotel for Carrie’s wedding which meant my options for cheap flights were more limited. Still, I feel like something amazing is going to happen back at the hotel when I’m not there. Which is likely given my track record with even getting to the con in the first place.

  Who knew that I, Celeste Pumperkin, hater of all things vampire except Hunter Stone’s artistic interpretation, would become a fangirl over a TV show about paranormal crime fighters? But after spending three days immersed in the Prince of Darkness fandom, I get it now. And I’m almost ashamed to admit I might try that vampire series Carrie has been pressuring me to read for several years now. It helps that I can visualize Hunter Stone in the lead role of that series. No one has to know that part except me.

  Opening up my email again, I blow out an exaggerated sigh. Still no response from this Eddie guy who allegedly manages Hunter’s schedule. I’ve triple checked that I sent my email request to the correct address and I have made sure it isn’t stuck in my drafts. I don’t understand why I wouldn’t get a response. Not even a “Buzz off stalker, he was kidding.” or something equally humiliating. The whole thing depresses me, which is ridiculous. I did everything I came here for. That moment, where Hunter offered me an interview, was just an additional memory no one else in the world has. That’s what I need to focus on, not the disappointment of no follow-through.

  I sigh again and push my phone back down into my crossbody purse and glance down at my laptop. There are still forty-five minutes until we start the boarding process so I could work on my screenplay. If only the words would come. I still can’t figure out why the story is so vivid in my brain but when I start writing, it turns into unorganized, unreadable crap.

  Maybe now isn’t the time to try and be creative. My mind is still reeling with images of this weekend so I might as well begin uploading pictures for the blog post I’ll be doing about the convention. While the focus of the weekend was primarily the television show, Carrie’s forte, the tie-in to the upcoming movie makes it easy enough for me to report on. Besides, it’s an event people would love to see on our page regardless of which one of us attended.

  I tap my fingers against the keys, but don’t actually depress them as the creative juices in my head begin to flow. The hum of the airport with its squawky overhead announcements and people racing back and forth make an oddly calming background noise. Chaos is my calm. Strange as that sounds.

  Just as my thoughts begin to settle and the words put themselves in the right order, unexpected movement in my peripheral vision distracts me. Looking over, it appears a child has darted out into foot traffic causing some sort of collision. The women who I assume is the mother is frozen in front of a man who looks an awful lot like the one I’ve been trying to track down, although he’s clearly incognito.

  “You’re… ohmygosh…” she says before darting after her screeching child who is still running.

  Holy crap. Now is my chance.

  “Hunter!” I yell, feeling bad to call him out in public like this, but not wanting to miss him again either.

  He doesn’t stop, in fact his pace seems to pick up. Closing my laptop and shoving it into my bag, I move as quickly as I can, which is about as quick as a salmon swimming upstream. Fortunately, I only have my electronics bag and my purse, but unfortunately, the zippers on both seem to have stopped working at this exact moment. I race after him, trying to juggle everything without dropping my water bottle and phone.

  “Hunter!” I call again just as the elevator door he disappeared into closes.

  I come to my own screeching halt when I notice it’s one of the airline’s VIP lounges. I’m not sure how to proceed. I don’t fly often, but when I do, I take the cheapest route, my only goal to get from Point A to Point B safely. I don’t need the extra frills. But that also means I’ve never been inside a VIP lounge before. Well, except for the one this past weekend at the hotel. I wonder if they’re the same.

  One thing is for sure—I need to get in there, even if it is only to have Hunter tell me he changed his mind and doesn’t want to be interviewed anymore. That I can deal with. What I can’t deal with is this “in limbo” feeling.

  Balancing as my bag slides off my shoulder and down my arm, I do a quick search on my phone about who can use a VIP lounge in an airport and how. And wouldn’t you know it, my freaking Wi-Fi isn’t connecting.

  Making a spontaneous decision, I decide to go for it, so I push the up button and wait. And wait. Wow, for luxury this thing isn’t in much of a hurry. When the chrome doors open, I exhale in relief that it is empty and not manned by a stern security guard. The whoosh of the elevator causes me to stumble where I stand, clutching my bag and electronics to my chest. As quickly as it took off, it stops and the doors open.

  With a deep breath, I exit and step into a bright foyer. A large reception desk with three uniformed women fills one side of the space while the other is a large mirror. People meander around in the distance. Some on their phones, others carrying drinks and food in their hands. My stomach takes that moment to grumble. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. Food and an interview.

  Shaking off the cobwebs in my head as I take in the opulence of the room, my shoulder is hit by a man wearing some sort of uniform. I don’t know his role here, whatever it is, but the job must not include apologizing for our near accident. He doesn’t say anything. Instead he gives me the once over, clearly assessing my threat level. I’m unclear what, exactly, I’m a potential threat to, but I don’t make any sudden movements while he looks at me. I don’t really have time to be tackled to the ground and stuck in a windowless room while security decides if I can get on the plane home.

  Eventually, I see a small shrug and he turns away from me, never saying a word. Just leaves.

  That was weird, but not entirely unexpected for how my life goes when it comes to a convention weekend. Four years’ worth of the universe playing with me is not easily written off as coincidence.

  As I step farther into the foyer, I right my scattered mess and suck in a deep breath, calming my nerves and racing heart. The woman at the desk greets me with an immediate smile.

  “Hello. How can I help you today?” She’s tall and blonde with her hair pulled back in a perfect chignon and dressed in an outfit that reminds me of a Pan Am stewardess circa the 1950s. She’s very glam. If that’s any indication of how the lounge is run, I’m a fan already.

  Flashing her a kind smile I step up to the counter. “I’m
not a Premiere member but I’d like to see about using the lounge for the day.” And by day I mean the next half hour before my flight begins boarding.

  “Absolutely,” she replies. “We have some availability at the moment and our dinner buffet was just put out for your enjoyment.”

  “Wonderful,” I say demurely even though I kind of want to clap my hands together at the thought of a fancy meal. Maybe I need to become a Premiere member after all for perks like this.

  “I’ll just need a photo ID and your boarding pass please.”

  Finding my driver’s license is easy and I hand it over quickly. My boarding pass, on the other hand, seems to be hiding from me. I’m not surprised. I shoved everything in my bag when I was racing after Hunter. It probably got smooshed at the bottom. This is why I hate disorganization. It’s so much faster and easier when things are in their proper places.

  A few clicks of her keyboard while I search for my ticket and she “hmms.” “I’m not finding you in our system, Miss Pump…er…Pumperkin. I’ll have to search it by your itinerary number.”

  Feeling a little flustered from this mess, I blow a wayward curl out of my face. “I’m so sorry. I’m usually more organized than this.” Unless I’m chasing after movie stars… “Give me one second. It’s my first time using the lounge.”

  “Take your time.” Her words are very polite, but I notice a tinge of unhappiness at me being frazzled. I suppose those who use the lounge regularly are probably better prepared than I am to check in.

  It takes a few more minutes and practically emptying out my bag all over the floor to remember what I’m looking for is actually in my purse. Sounds about right for my day.

  “Sorry about that,” I say sheepishly as I hand it over. “I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it. Typical, right?”

  She is not amused. Even less so when she looks at my boarding pass.

  “Ma’am, you’re not flying our airline.”

  “Does that make a difference?”