Page 2 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

A ndreas

“And when did they start hiring contestants from Miss America for receptionist positions?” I flatter Marilyn as I enter InTuition’s main office building.

The receptionist huffs and rolls her eyes although her cheeks redden. “Andreas, you’re such a flirt,” Marilyn retorts.

“Only for you, sweetie.” I stick out my arm. “And to prove it, I swung by the coffee shop you like and picked up your favorite chocolate croissant.” Just as I predicted, Marilyn’s eyes flash in interest at the bag in my hand.

“Is that coffee, too?”

“One small flat white, just for you.” I offer the to-go cup in the carton holder with the bag holding the croissant on top.

“I’ve been married for thirty years, and my husband still can’t get my coffee order right. You, on the other hand …”

“Are you saying I’m thirty years too late?” I raise an eyebrow.

She laughs. “You weren’t even born thirty years ago.”

I shrug. “If I had known what I was losing out on, I would’ve made an earlier appearance.”

Her cheeks flush red once again at my wink.

“You’re impossible,” she says before taking her first sip of her drink. Her eyes close in appreciation as she hums. “I skipped my coffee this morning because I knew you were scheduled to come in for a fitting today.”

“Sounds like I’m already gaining points on that husband of yours.”

She waves me off. “The last thing you want is an old lady like me.” Marilyn is almost thirty years older than my twenty-six years of age.

She looks at her watch. “You’re early. Michael and the others haven’t shown up yet,” she says of Michael Keith, the director of the film of which I’m playing the leading role.

I hold up my cell phone. “Early call with my manager. Is there a meeting room I can use? I prefer not to take the call in my car.”

“Of course.” She immediately turns to business mode, but then frowns as she checks her computer screen. “The conference rooms are booked for breakfast meetings and the main room …”

“Is already swarming with people for the fitting,” I finish for her.

She looks at me regretfully.

“I can take it downstairs. I doubt there’s much happening down there.” The ground floor of the building is mainly used as a storage closet for extra clothes and equipment used by the studio’s design team.

“Are you sure? I think there are a couple of our staff down there now, but it’ll be much quieter than anything on the other floors.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I nod before heading toward the stairwell. Marilyn holds up her coffee and croissant, a silent thanks before the door closes behind me.

My phone rings as soon as my foot hits the bottom stair of the ground floor. I hear voices in the distance, but they’re not a distraction.

“Morning, sunshine,” I tease my manager, knowing he’s not a morning person.

“Yeah, morning,” Stan grumbles.

I chuckle.

Stan Donovan has been my manager since I turned twenty-one, and he’s helped lead my career as I transitioned from the actor of the hit teen series Heartbreak Academy to an adult actor.

“How are you feeling about today’s fitting?” he asks.

“A fitting is a fitting,” I say, glancing around as I start walking toward the opened door at the other end of the hallway. “It’s not the fitting I’m thinking about.”

“The first day of shooting starts in next week. Are you ready for it?” Stan asks.

“I am,” I tell him confidently. I’m extremely aware of how pivotal this role is for my career. The movie, titled Late Nights , is an original screenplay written by Michael Keith himself.

At the center of the film is a twenty-seven-year-old man coming out of a decade long addiction and learning how to live and form relationships without the comfort of his drug of choice.

The story is gritty and emotional.

It’s a role unlike anything I’ve played before. And it’s exactly what I’ve been wanting to sink my teeth into.

So yeah, I’m ready for it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand all that rests on my shoulders to deliver what the film is asking.

“I have classes scheduled with Victor to go over that one scene in the coming weeks.” Victor Rivez, my acting coach, is one of the most successful in the business.

“That’s excellent. I know you’re going to kill it,” Stan reiterates. “That is one of the things I wanted to speak with you about this morning. I’m aware you’re heading out of town in a few days for work before you begin filming next Monday, so I wanted to catch you now.”

I listen to Stan, but another, slightly husky voice captures my attention. I’m standing just outside of the opened door of the room known as “the closet.”

Throughout the room there are rolling racks full of clothes, shoes, and accessories strewn on the various tables and chairs. None of that holds my attention as much as the woman wearing a pair of white jeans with a leopard print, button-down top tucked in at the waist, and light brown heels.

When she turns, my heartbeat quickens.

“It’s her.”

“Yes, her. Amber Jones. She’s perfect,” Stan says, making me remember we’re still on the phone.

Annoyed, I pull the phone away from my ear. I can still hear Stan speaking, but the bulk of my attention is on the woman. I remember her from that night at the club.

I sat up in the VIP section of Vibrations nightclub, not wanting to stay for too long, but Michael Keith—along with some of the producers of the film—had wanted to have a meeting with me and Ron Stokes, the second lead in Late Nights .

Really, I knew it was because the producers wanted Ron and I to be seen out in public. Being a Hollywood actor not only requires acting on screen but also playing the part in public.

Guest appearances at Los Angeles’ latest hotspots come with the territory.

I had been there for almost an hour when I was preparing to make my exit and then I saw her, on the dance floor. She wore a sequined blue dress that moved in rhythm to the sway of her hips. I spotted her from behind at first.

After ten minutes of watching her, I swear I willed her to turn around so I could see her face.

And she did.

The smile she wore knocked me out almost immediately. Words can’t describe it, but it looked like that smile had been hard won.

The urge to keep it on her face overcame me.

“Andreas, where are you going?” one of the producers had asked me.

I didn’t even realize I’d stood up, my body moving before my brain could catch up.

“Bathroom,” I told him before excusing myself. Unfortunately, it took too long for me to make it past the throngs of clubbers, many of whom had to be held back by security. By the time I reached the dance floor, she was gone.

I cursed myself for not just having someone from the security staff tap her on the shoulder for me to invite her to the VIP section.

Why the hell hadn’t I done that?

The disappointment I felt that night fades away as renewed hope sprouts in my chest while watching her only a few feet away from me.

From what I can make out of the conversation, there’s something wrong.

“That’s not what we ordered,” she’s saying to the girl who doesn’t look much older than nineteen.

“That’s what Rebecca told me to order,” the girl replies.

“The color is all wrong, and this sizing isn’t going to fit Andreas Knight correctly.”

“Fuck,” I whisper, hearing her say my stage name. Her voice is magnetic.

“Well? What do you think?”

I look toward my phone. I’ve never spaced out on a professional meeting in my damn life. Not even as a teenager completely new to Hollywood and this type of lifestyle.

“What?” I ask Stan.

He takes a beat, which tells me he’s annoyed.

I shrug, uncaring as I put my attention back onto the woman in the room. What is her name? She knows mine, it’s unfair that I don’t know hers.

“This deal with Amber and her team,” Stan continues.

I know what he’s referring to and I tell him flat out, “I’m not interested.”

“Andreas, it’s the perfect time for something like this. We can?—”

“I’m not hooking up with Amber again,” I tell Stan.

“You don’t really have to hook up with her if you don’t want, but?—”

“My fitting is soon. I have to go. We’ll talk next week.” I disconnect the call, not wanting to hear the rest of that bullshit conversation. Stan is a great manager, who’s worked with some of the best, but I have final say in the direction of my career.

“Rebecca?” the woman in the closet calls, catching my attention.

I peer up to see she’s on the phone. When she pivots to look toward the doorway, I take a step back. I don’t want her to see me yet. For now, I want to watch her.

“There was a problem with—” She cuts off like the person on the other end of the phone interrupted her. “But …”

A pause.

“Yes, I’ll be right up.”

There’s urgency in her voice, and I don’t like it.

“We’re going to have to trade this one out,” she says as soon as she hangs up the phone.

“What are you going to do?” the other girl asks.

“There’s another top at the back that’ll go better with this scene. I just need to make a few adjustments.”

I watch as she pulls a different shirt off of one of the rolling racks and then dashes to the sewing machine that sits on the large table in the back of the room. Within seconds, the loud hum of the machine whirls around the room.

I watch as she focuses. An errant curl spills from the topknot she’s tied her dark brown hair into, but without stopping she blows it out of the way and continues the sewing.

She’s perfect.

The same thought I had that night a few weeks ago. I study her coffee brown skin, a small oval face that I’m betting would fit perfectly into the palms of my hands, and cat-like shaped eyes narrowed in concentration.

Soon, she orders the younger girl to bring over a needle and thread.

“Rebecca just texted me,” the younger girl looks worriedly at …

Dammit, I still don’t know her name.

That won’t do.

Just like that, I have a new obsession.

Books, cars, homes, my career. I’ve had more than a few obsessions in my life. At least that’s what my family jokingly refers to it as. I can get wrapped up in something for weeks at a time, not coming up for air until I’m good and damn ready.

I like to think it’s what makes me a good actor. I get completely consumed into a role. Never has this tendency ever occurred where a woman’s concerned, though. Not even when I dated Amber Jones, arguably one of the most beautiful actresses in my age group in Hollywood.

But it looks like something’s changed.

“We have to go,” the younger girl tells my obsession.

“Just another minute. I have to get this collar right.”

My phone buzzes in my hand. The name that flashes across the screen makes me curse.

“Michael,” I answer.

“Andreas, are you still here? Marilyn said you showed up early. We’re up in the meeting room with everyone else.”

“On my way,” I tell the famous director.

I give one last look to the woman I’ve coined my new obsession, reluctance weighing on me, but I know that this is the beginning. Not the end.

I turn and head in the direction I came to head up to my fitting.