“What the hell was that?” I yelled.
“Whoa. Calm down,” she eased out of my lap. “I’ve got some great news! Aren’t you going to ask me what the great news is?”
You asked for this…
“Aren’t you going to tell me anyway?”
“Duh! Tomorrow, you and I are going to do an exclusive interview with Ryan Seacrest on E! They’re doing a special taping here in New York!”
“Yay,” I said dryly.
“Oh come on. Don’t be like that. You said you’d do this for two more months.”
“Yeah, but I get the feeling you’re going to try to push me further than that.”
“Of course I will,” she bit her lip. “I’m always going to push you to go further with me…”
Is she trying to have sex with me right now?
“I have an interview to finish,” I stood up and walked to the door.
“So we’re not going to have sex anymore?”
“No. That’ll make it that much easier to drop this act two months from now.”
She crossed her arms. “I read that you’re having an affair with Emma Stone. Is that true?”
“What? No. I barely speak to her between takes. Are you sleeping with Bradley Cooper?”
“No, not currently. We did do it once, but—”
“Just go Selena,” I shook my head in exasperation.
“I’m sorry…Are you still coming to my launch party tonight?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
She planted a kiss on my neck before I opened the door. She winked at me and walked out as Joan and security re-entered the room.
“Where’s Miss Turner?” I asked.
“I told Miss Turner we would continue the interview later. You have two free hours tomorrow so we’ll do it across town, perhaps at your dance school?”
“You’re the best, Joan.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “The boys and I are going downstairs to speak to the general manager. We’re going to get you out of here as quietly as possible.”
“Don’t worry about that. I don’t mind now.”
“Okay well, we’ll go retrieve the car. Do you want one of the boys to stay here with you?”
“I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
She shrugged and they all left the room.
I walked around the suite and turned on the TV. Nothing was on except celebrity news and I did my best to avoid those types of shows. I refused to believe I was the only celebrity involved in a pseudo-relationship and it didn’t make sense to watch anyone else’s staged for TV romance.
I decided to get some fresh air.
I stood in front of the elevator and waited. As the doors opened, I collided with a woman and a crate of papers.
“I’m so sorry,” we said in unison. We both bent down to scoop up the folders. When I stood up, Melody Carter was facing me.
“Oh. It’s you,” I purposely dropped the folders to the ground.
“You’re more mature in person than you are in your movies, Mr. Sterling,” she bent down to pick them up.
Get down there and help her!
Before I could help, she’d collected the folders and was staring at me. I stared back. We stood staring at each other for a few more seconds before she broke the silence.
“Weren’t you going to use the elevator?”
She’s definitely blushing!
“I was until some lady tripped over herself and dropped her folders,” I pressed the down button. “I seem to have that effect on all women though.”
“That sounded halfway convincing, like you actually believed what you were saying. You should try more of that when you’re on set,” she rolled her eyes and turned away.
Say something! Say anything!
“Maybe you could teach me?” the elevator doors sprung open.
She turned around. “In your dreams, Matt Sterling.”
If only you knew.
Chapter 9
Melody
I pressed the gray button on the remote and watched the curtains draw back. I walked around my suite for what must have been the hundredth time, running my fingers along the Fendi furniture and lush linens.
I wanted to live there, to forget about shopping for a condo of my own. Then again, the elaborate design of the room was beginning to anger me. Everything from the selection of books on the shelf, to the grooves of the soap dishes, seemed planned—like every single detail was fretted over and calculated. Like Sean.
I contemplated playing sick to avoid going out. I hated going to parties, especially launch parties. The debut product was the topic of discussion for all of five minutes, and the remaining hours were dedicated to watching snobby people interact with other snobby people.
The press always did their best to create massive stories out of the smallest moments: “Tom Cruise danced with Mariah Carey!” “Brad Pitt drank two cocktails!” And the rest of the partygoers took advantage of the necessary open bar.