Page 16

chapter

fifteen

Stella

N ormally the five hundred dollars to fix my broken window would have sent me into a deep pit of money despair and I’d likely have ended up driving around with a plastic trash bag taped over it until I could save the money. But thanks to my slightly shady deal with Seven, I was able to confidently accept the price and drive away with my repaired car by the end of the next day.

Paulie called to say my equipment had arrived early, and I spent a stupidly enjoyable evening at home with a bottle of wine, setting it all up. I even splurged and ordered home delivery Thai food, since Seven was paying.

If I thought about it too much, yeah it did feel a little bit dirty…essentially getting paid for sleeping with Gem. But I justified it by reminding myself that Seven paid me and it was for the NDA not for the sex. Sure one was needed due to the other but…semantics.

About four days after making my deal with the demon spawn, I packed myself a little picnic lunch and went to a park to take photos of strangers as test shots. There was no sense trying to familiarize myself with new equipment when I was on the job and potentially miss a prize shot.

An hour or so after I set up, my phone buzzed in my pocket and I set my camera down on my picnic blanket to check. Probably Dad, bored at home and wanting to know if there had been any new scandals in the celebrity sphere. You could take the man out of the paparazzi game but not the paparazzi out of the man.

To my surprise, though, it was a message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Are you going to be at the wrap party for War of the Mesozoic tonight? I hear there will be lots of great photo ops… Here are the details, just in case.

The next message contained an address in Malibu and a time. I blinked a couple of times, confused, then suspicious.

Stella: Who is this? I think you have the wrong number.

Unknown Number: Nah, it’s the right one. Come on, Snow… take the olive branch. This party has been kept top-secret so there won’t be many other paps there to steal the scoop.

I smiled, unable to help myself as I saved the number into my phone.

Stella: Olivier, did your lawyer give you my number? So much for client confidentiality.

Olivier: Wash your mouth out, Snow. My lawyer would never break confidentiality. Peter is the epitome of professionalism.

Shaking my head, I chuckled. What kind of old-fashioned gentleman uses “epitome” in a text message? Then before I could reply, my phone lit up with an incoming call from him.

“Okay, so if not Peter, then it must have been Seven,” I said by way of answering.

Olivier gasped. “Seven has your number? How and why?”

Was that genuine shock or exaggerated sarcasm? It was so hard to know, over the phone, but his voice gave me a tingly warmth regardless.

Crap on a cracker, did I have a little crush on Olivier Griffiths? Yes, undoubtedly yes. I wondered if bro code would prevent anything happening between us, since he and Gem were so close. Which then made me wonder… how close? Close enough to share? Dirty Stella.

My week was so freaking odd because the idea that I even had a chance with one celebrity—let alone two—was actually laughable. Gem was just a random stroke of luck…twice. Olivier?

“Why are you calling me? If it’s about Seven’s NDA?—”

“I honestly don’t give a flying fuck about his NDA, Snow,” Olivier replied with a laugh. “I just wanted to say thank you for intervening with the police…by slipping you some inside info. The wrap parties for the Mesozoic franchise get crazy wild. I bet you could get some great photos if you’re in the right place at the right time.”

I pursed my lips, thinking it over. It sure seemed too good to be true…but I had saved him and his lawyer a whole lot of drama with Dillon attempting to press charges for assault. So fair was fair.

“I could possibly check it out,” I murmured. “Will you be there?”

He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that did scandalous things to my insides. “Do you want me to be, Snow? If you asked nicely, I feel like I could squeeze it into my schedule. Just for you, though. The rest of the assholes working this movie are not the kind of people I’d willingly socialize with.”

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and I peered at my phone to check the call was still connected, and I wasn’t fucking imagining things.

“Olivier Griffiths, are you flirting with me?” I gasped, enjoying myself far too fucking much. Then again, he had saved my life, so surely it was only natural I’d developed a little infatuation.

“Call me Ollie, please,” he replied with a chuckle. “Only fawning press and fans call me Olivier . And as to whether I’m flirting…clearly, I need to do a better job of it if you’re unsure.”

Oh shit. Wait, maybe I had taken more head trauma than I realized after Dillon smacked my head into my car repeatedly. Suspicious as hell, I pinched myself just to be sure. I felt it but it didn’t hurt so I did it again…just in case.

“Ow!” I exclaimed because that one really did hurt and left fingernail marks in my forearm.

“Ow?” Olivier—or rather Ollie —repeated in my ear. “Did you just fall from heaven?”

I snort laughed. “That was awful. You clearly aren’t allowed to improvise on set with cheesy shit like that as your go-to.”

“Ah, but it made you laugh. So…will I see you there?”

I bit my lip, trying to ignore the butterflies his voice was creating. What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d literally slept with his best friend twice . Recently. And had a great time with him too.

“What about Gem?” I asked, unable to push that fact aside. I liked Gem. I just didn’t want to get fucked around by some celebrity who felt like slumming it. So why, genuinely why , was I entertaining this call from Ollie? He was surely no different from Gemini… In fact, he was still an active movie star himself, so an even bigger red flag than Gem. Right?

Ollie gave a thoughtful hum. “You want to see Gem at the wrap party? He’s not big on industry events, but I think if he knows you’ll be there?—”

“No, I meant… Ugh . I meant why are you flirting when you know I was with Gem like four days ago?” Not that I was mad about it, but at the same time… why ? This seemed fishy.

He wasn’t quick to brush off my suspicions, which was a surprise. Instead he paused a moment before replying, making me feel like he maybe wasn’t 100 percent sure himself. Or maybe I was delusional.

“Well, Snow, the way I figure it, if you and Gem were going to be a thing , you’d have at least given him your name and number. But you didn’t, which leads me to think you have no intention of walking the red carpet on his arm anytime soon.” He drawled his reason with a wry tone, bordering on teasing and oozing flirtation. “I also thought we had a bit of a vibe the other night. Am I wrong?”

My heart raced. What the fuck was happening? “You aren’t wrong…”

“Great. So maybe I’ll see you tonight. Or maybe not. No pressure or anything, but just in case I’ll text you the location of the back alleyway gate where lots of guests sneak in and out to avoid paparazzi out the front. I can almost guarantee you’ll get some moneymakers there.” He paused, then gave a small chuckle. “Then once I feel like our scores are settled, maybe I can take you out on a nonworking date some time.”

My jaw nearly hit the grass. “We’ll see,” I replied, aiming for cool and collected but actually sounding like a strangled pigeon.

Another of those deep chuckles that blew my fucking mind. “I guess we will. Thanks for the chat, Snow. You really brightened up my day.”

The call cut out, and I sat there for ages just staring blankly into space wondering whether I was, in fact, in a coma somewhere after my psychotic, abusive ex-boyfriend beat me into brain damage.

But when I didn’t wake up to some nice nurse checking my blood pressure and IV line, I figured I may as well enjoy the delusion while it lasted. So I packed up my things and headed back to my car. If I was going to work tonight, I needed to make a plan.

I also needed to stop by Dad’s house and do some meal prep, so he wouldn’t keep surviving on tuna and rice with siracha for every meal. Come to think of it, I needed to do some grocery shopping for him and now that my bank account was nice and juicy, I could actually enjoy the task.

Several hours later, I found myself somewhat regretting going crazy at the store because Dad was raking me over the coals asking what images had earned me so much cash. I could hardly tell him that I’d sold my silence to Seven Harrison for a cool fifty grand, so I took the mature approach and made a bullshit excuse to leave earlier than intended.

The fact the conversation was merely on pause rather than ended followed me back to my apartment. Dad would want me to answer, and I would work on that between now and then. Still, maybe I could distract him with something else.

I checked the cast list for the latest Mesozoic film: A-list, A-list, A-Minus-list. B-Plus, B, B-plus, holy shit…two A-plus plus stars. Those two were from the original film so them coming back for the final was huge, especially considering the first of the two had a nice political career, including six years as governor since then.

My nerves lit up like I’d been struck by lightning. When Olivier—Ollie, whatever—described their wrap parties as “getting out of hand,” he was completely underselling it. The previous wrap party was rumored to have lasted almost twenty-four hours, involved a lot of drugs, alcohol, and lube as well as a pool party. The after -party was a lot worse.

No wonder they kept the location on lockdown. Dad had actually nabbed a couple of the juiciest photos of his career between the previous wrap party and the after-party.

Threesomes sold like you wouldn’t believe, especially if you had the money shots—and he’d gotten one of the best ever. The director, his singer wife, and their very married actor friend as well as another costar. Three men, one woman.

So Ollie wasn’t kidding about the opportunities there. The money from Seven was going to do a lot of good, but the kind of photos I could get at the event could take care of the next couple of months of home nursing staff and the mortgage on the house.

If I absolutely had to give up the apartment and move back in with Dad, I would. I’d been prepared to since his diagnosis. But for both of our sakes, it would be better for him to maintain his independence, illusion or not.

In front of my closet, I stared at my options. The address Ollie sent me was for a huge house in Malibu. Phone in hand, I checked the area around the location. Getting in to private parties was challenging, even more when it was on secured property. Didn’t mean it was impossible, but I wanted to see what I could see first .

The house itself was not far from Carbon Beach near Billionaires Row. Swanky. The location off the PCH made it a lot harder to get to. They’d probably have a shuttle or valets. Valet…

I snagged a red vest, then a black one, and flipped through my hangers to find a button-down white blouse. The location near the beach said fancy but also casual. A skirt it was, even if pants would be easier. I also pulled out the quintessential little black dress.

It was a practical slip of fabric. I was taking all of this with me. The nice thing about this dress, I could compress it down; then if I got inside, I could always change so I looked more like I belonged. For now, though, I’d rather keep my distance and get my shots.

Clothes ready, I changed into something basic and then grabbed a snack and water before going over the equipment. Some of it was new, so I made sure I knew what I was doing. Not even being this prepared settled the jittery feeling bouncing around inside of me.

It was where I was going…

Not a lot of other paps, isolated location, and a real chance I could be cornered by some nutjob like Dillon. He’d hardly been put off by being in public or visible to the street when he went after me at the car.

Yeah, going there alone, without a backup or anyone knowing where I was going? Bad idea. Flirting with Ollie was fun, but better safe than sorry. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts.

Pulling up Rod Mills’s number, I hit text. He was one of Dad’s oldest and best friends. He had slid me a tip more than once. This was just returning the favor. It also meant someone else I trusted would be in range.

Not perfect but definitely better.