Page 30

chapter

twenty-nine

Stella

I was scrolling through the blind items and updates on social media that loved to post celebrity spotting. I’d missed a couple of breaking scandals this week living with the boys. The sex was incredible—so no complaints there—but I swore Seven had something new every damn evening.

While I could try my luck at day shots, the best scores were during parties, which, by and large, happened at night. People drank, they got tired, their judgment grew questionable, and if I was in the right place at the right time, then I would have it made.

When my passenger door opened, I jumped. Then Ollie slid into the seat next to me. “Hey Snow.”

“Ollie.” I tilted my head to give him a once-over. “What are you doing?”

I flicked a look out of the car. I was parked not far from Mann’s Chinese Theater. There were some rumors about filming permits for right at the theater, which could lead to some fun shots. Although today wasn’t looking promising.

“I’m helping,” he said, grinning. “I came disguised, see? I even brought my own secret spy camera.” He palmed something from his pocket and held up what could be a laser pointer from the size of it. “Takes pictures in bursts. So you can get a lot all at once. It’s not noticeable, so we can get up close if we need to.”

If we … “Ollie, you do remember which side of the line you actually live on when it comes to the paps, right?” Though I had to admit, his enthusiasm was adorable . Probably wise to keep that particular compliment to myself. His disguise consisted of jeans, a button-down shirt that was open over a dark T-shirt, a dark baseball cap, and sunglasses.

“Hence the disguise.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to worry you don’t listen to me, Snow. But it’s fine. I’ll forgive you.”

Tongue against my teeth, I fought the urge to laugh. “Gracious.”

“I can be,” he said firmly. “So what are we doing? Who is the target? Need me to flush the big game out of a store?”

Since we were nowhere near a store, it was a safe bet the answer to that one was no. Before I could answer though, my phone rang.

Dad’s contact information popped up. “Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, holding up a finger to Ollie’s lips to silence him. “Everything good?”

I’d made it to the house once to make sure he was stocked up and to check in with Mom while she was on shift. When they divorced, I doubted she ever planned on being his at-home care nurse, but she hadn’t hesitated when asked.

We might not be as close as some mothers and daughters—yeah, I’d always been a daddy’s girl—but I could rely on her. She’d always come through. She was getting frustrated with Dad pushing it constantly, and I was going to arrange some downtime for her, but that meant getting more money in, which meant more photos.

I wasn’t paying rent right now—my apartment was totally uninhabitable—so that might be enough to bring in an additional nurse to cover her shifts for a week. It was something to think about.

“Everything is fine, Shutterbug. But I need a favor.”

“As long as it’s not asking me for contraband of any kind to sneak past Mom or the other nurses, I’m in.”

He coughed through a laugh. “Sometimes, I wonder where you got your sense of humor.”

“Me too, then I remember who raised me.” His chuckle deepened at the verbal poke. “What’s the favor, Dad?”

“Shutterbug, you know I love you and your mother more than life itself.”

Uh-oh.

“But I need a break from her and I’m pretty sure she needs one from me.”

That fell right in with my line of thought, but I still had to bite back a smile. I hadn’t told either parent about the break-in and vandalism. Frankly, the police seemed to have almost no leads. Their bottom line had been that I’d been fully doxed online. It could have been literally anyone, since my photo, name, and address were out there for any psycho Seven Harrison groupie to find.

Their less-than-helpful responses had frustrated Gem so much, he’d said something about hiring his own detective. I thought I’d talked him out of it, since the police had a really valid point. Maybe.

“Done,” I said without needing him to convince me more. “I’m already trying to work out a plan to give Mom a few days off. That means we’ll probably have to use one of the nurses you don’t like as much.”

“I don’t care if I like them,” he admitted. “I don’t generally feel bad when they tick me off and I scold them. Your mother has been letting me get away with it, and I just…I can’t be a bastard to her, Shutterbug. She doesn’t deserve that from me.”

She’d probably been letting him do it for the same reason he didn’t want to do it to her: they still loved each other. Living together and sharing a life together just wasn’t in the cards. They disagreed on too many things, but their divorce had never been about a death of feelings.

“That’s ’cause you’re the best,” I reminded him. “But if you can hold out another couple of days, I just have to get everything squared with the home-care staff.”

“Have I told you that you’re my favorite child?”

Funny guy, since I was an only child. “Yes, many times, and I’m glad, but I’m still not bringing you beer.”

His laughter this time wasn’t populated by a phlegmy cough, so I’d take that as an improvement. Then we were getting off the phone and I met Ollie’s curious gaze.

“I want to meet your father.”

Six words I never imagined coming out of Ollie’s mouth. “How about?—”

“It can wait, obviously. We need to get you settled and he’s healing, but I want to meet him. He’s only met Seven, and I don’t think that’s the impression I want him to have.” He rubbed his jaw, looking thoughtful.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “You like to cause trouble.”

“I do,” he admitted without shame. “I suppose I could curry favor with your dad if I brought him beer, but that would definitely cost me points with you. So what if I bring him some fake beer that tastes like it and has no alcohol content? He gets to enjoy the flavor and you don’t have to worry about him.”

That was…ingenuous. “I don’t know if he’d go for it.”

“No harm in trying,” he said. “Right?”

“Right,” I admitted. Then my phone vibrated with an update. Oh, good. Celebs spotted at the Grapevine. It was a fun, little wine bar, very popular with younger actresses. “I need to go.”

“I’m in,” Ollie said, grinning. “Really, put me in, Coach. Make me work for it.”

This was never going to work, but I headed for the Grapevine anyway. There were a couple of B-list actresses having lunch with an agent. I checked them out through the telephoto lens.

Nothing about the meeting looked squirrelly or even particularly interesting except…

“Do we know if he’s the agent for both of them?”

“No idea,” Ollie said. “Let me check their website. It usually lists all the clients.”

The blonde was definitely working the agent; she was leaning forward and the dress she was wearing was cut low, so the man seemed to be in an intense conversation with her breasts. While I wasn’t there, I could practically hear her talking…

“Yes, please focus on my breasts some more. I see that you completely respect me. You’re really listening to my issues, and I feel like I can rely on you to represent me in my attempts to make it onto the A-list somewhere. On it, not under it.”

Next to me Ollie chuckled and I cut a glance at him.

“Am I wrong?” I motioned to the man who hadn’t lifted his gaze from the actress’s boobs the entire time we’d been sitting here.

“No,” Ollie admitted. “She’s also not his client yet. I’d imagine this is her vetting a possible stepping stone, because he has a higher caliber of actor in his stable and she’s looking to trade up.”

“So a better agent can do that?”

“A good agent is better than a good script. Everyone thinks that a good script is the unicorn. It isn’t—there are a lot of good scripts out there. But those scripts don’t always have four quadrant appeal, nor do they promise to make back the investors’ money and turn a profit. You want to make a good script into a movie, you get to be your own executive producer and find the financing. Then you can make art, and there are people who appreciate it.”

“But money is in the spectacle.”

“Exactly. I don’t really see her talking to this guy as anything more than testing the waters.” He shrugged. “Then again I don’t know her, so I don’t know what her chances are to make a break somewhere. A good agent, though, they will fight for that script for you. They will fight for you to get the roles you want and need. They make your success vital to their own.”

“Is that Jerry for you guys?”

He shrugged, then leaned back in the seat. “So far. He’s repped us since we were kids—well, teenagers. He came in and listened to us, not our parents, then worked with us to get what we wanted. So far so good.”

I smiled. “I’m glad.” I snapped a few pics, but I doubted they would be good for anything. Still, it didn’t hurt to have a backup for another story down the road. “It’s nice that you have someone keeping your best interests at heart. I can imagine it’s a lonely life.”

My phone rang again, and I frowned at the number. I didn’t know it so I sent it to voicemail. I’d been getting a lot of those unknown caller or blocked caller numbers. Some were spam. Others were gossips. A couple of the really odd ones had been my college roommate from freshman year and a woman who’d lived next door to me up until last year, asking if we could “meet for drinks,” as if that were something we did.

The phone buzzed again. Blocked number.

“You should turn off the ringer for unknown numbers.”

“Not always helpful to me. Some of these could be about work or tips—occasionally it’s about Dad.”

A third blocked call came through and then three messages popped up in rapid succession.

Blocked Number : Hey, it’s Flip. You should put me in your contacts. I wanted to reach out and see if maybe you could help me set up an audition with Seven? You guys seem like a cute couple.

I stared at the message, and Ollie leaned over to look at my phone. “Who’s Flip?”

“I—” I shook my head. The name was familiar. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe some random, just block him.”

Sounded like a plan when “Flip” sent through another message.

Oh you should watch Dirt-TV tonight. They’re covering your first date with Seven and I’ll be in it. Hope you don’t mind, but it’s such an adorable story.

Groaning, I leaned my head back against the seat. “Flip the bartender. From Cactus.”

“I’m sorry, Snow,” Ollie murmured. “Celebrity gets a weird reaction out of people.”

“I know—it’s how I pay bills but this…” I stared at the message, then just cleared it off the screen. “I think I need a drink.”

“Well, it just so happens that I know a great place.”

Someone jogged up to the passenger side of the car and knocked on the window. Two someones. They backed up a little and looked in the car. They were practically bubbling over with excitement.

“You’re busted,” I warned Ollie.

He rolled the window down. “Hello, girls, what can I do for you? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Can we get your autograph Mr. Griffiths?”

“Please,” the other girl said. “We love you so much.”

“Well, since you love me so much,” he said, before signing the one girl’s book and the other girl’s backpack. He declined to sign a boob though. “Sorry, ladies. Even if you had an ID declaring your age, I’m afraid I have to draw a line somewhere.”

Then he conceded to taking a selfie with them, but he didn’t get out of the car. “Now, I’m afraid we need to go.”

“Of course,” the first girl said, then she stole a look at me and let out squeal. “Oh my god, you’re Seven Harrison’s girlfriend.”

Kill me.

“Yes,” Ollie said. “She is. But shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “The fame gets to her and I was trying to show her that we can have normal dates too.”

“So you’re on a date?” girl number one said, eyes wide.

“A fake date?” the second girl said. “’Cause you can’t date your best friend’s girl. Right? Doesn’t that break the code?”

“Girls,” I said, before Ollie dug us in any deeper. “Ollie’s doing a little stint pretending to be a photographer—” I patted my camera. “I’m just here as his beard. But you’re drawing attention, so could you…” I made a shooing motion.

“Oh, yes, sure, sure! Bye! Thank you!”

“I can’t believe they recognized me,” Ollie mused.

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, stud, but you still look like you even in the hat and sunglasses. You aren’t Clark Kent.”

His grin didn’t diminish.

“What?”

“You called me stud.”

I rolled my eyes and then focused on the traffic.

“I like it,” Ollie continued. “Stud. I accept that as my nickname.”