Catch A Falling Superstar: A New Adult Erotic Romance

Title Page

Copyright Page

Prologue

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F
rom the gossip section in
Hollywood Week:

––––––––

A
RCHER ON THE HUNT AGAIN?

––––––––

B
y Moira Zandt

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T
his has us both mystified and excited. It's a leaked text convo between Archer Stratton (
Last Ninja
,
The Quiller Memorandum
) and Czech starlet Genevieve Bilka (
Vixen, Guild of Thieves
). If real, it looks like it was “leaked” from super hot Gen's phone, because she's the “Me” in this. And what's more, we're pretty sure it
is
real. But we can't tell you why we think so – their lawyers wouldn't like it.

Anyway, it's starting to look as if superstar heartthrob Archer is open to suggestions, after his seemingly self-imposed hiatus from the world of romance enters its seventh month.

Enough from us. Take a look:

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A
rcher:
u again

Me:
hehehe, u remembered. I made an imperession on u

Archer:
k

Me:
how u doin these days? been very quiet ???

Archer:
fine

Me:
So I was wondering; do u want come over?? new house now, I need someone to help me break open the new pool ;) :)

Archer:
is it frozen over

Me:
No, I mean break open as in take the first dip and swim??? like, open it offizially ;)

Me:
It's not frozen over its in california

Me:
Too hot for water to freese here silly :) ;) hahahah

Archer:
where

Me:
It's 224 Bluejay Way in Hollywood Hills in Los Angeles city Calif. Pink house and pretty bog no one can c u swim in pool

Me:
I mean prety big hahahah not bog

Me:
So u want come? I need bath now Arhcie help me :( :(

Me:
I will be skinny in the pool too u can too if u want ;) <3

Archer:
girl, u're always skinny

Me:
I mean skiny dipp in the new pool no swimsuit and like that

Me:
I mean I be naked swimming ;) ;)

Me:
Hahahaah yeh I'm skinny out of the pool too of course :) :D :)

Archer:
k

Me:
u will be comin now ?

Archer:
k

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S
omeone please tell these two young millionaires about the fancy new feature called “spell check” on their phones. But this whole exchange speaks for itself, right? Seems like they had a nice swim together, because we hear Archer not only turned up, but stayed the night, too.

And even if this fling with the European hottie doesn't pan out, how long can the brooding hunk take solitude before something has to give? We think he needs some lovin' right about now.

––––––––

A
falling star?

Because rumor has it that Archer's acting hit a serious slump after his legendary performance in
Fists.
Apparently, director Martin Moers had his hands full just trying to get Archie to do anything other than sleepwalk his way through mega budget movie
The 9
^th
Directive
, which opens in two weeks. By coincidence (yeah, right), that was right after his stormy affair with Johanne Wilhelmsen (
Saboteur, Kennedy Approach
). We guess he needs a muse in his life to give his all.

It's even said that his tenure as super-secret agent Quiller in the already successful franchise is under threat if he doesn't shape up.

Is this superstar about to fall? We hope not, unless it's in love. All we know is that the mysterious movie icon has been away from the limelight for weeks now. Secret project or exile? We'll tell you when we know.

H
ave you ever met a famous person? I mean really famous, world famous, A-list famous, the kind of famous that journalists can't really come up with a word for, so they call him an icon?

The first time I met one, I didn't even recognize him.

I think we all have that dream, don't we? That we'll suddenly cross paths with a super famous guy, and that we'll act all cool and witty, and that he'll fall for us? I've had that daydream, plenty of times, about many different stars. But never about the one I met that morning in the alley outside the LuckyStop convenience store where I worked. I guess I didn't think he was my type before I met him.

I was emptying a trashcan into a dumpster, preparing to open the place at eight in the morning. It had been a pretty bad morning so far. I overslept, discovered that I was out of cereal and juice, could find no clean socks and when I was halfway to work, I noticed that my name tag was on my other work shirt. Well, I could live with not every stranger I would meet that day calling me by my first name like dear, old friends. But there were crash inspections by the region manager sometimes, and the manager of my branch was in some trouble with him already. Oh well.

I opened the padlock on the dumpster and tossed three trash bags in there. You'd be surprised how much trash is generated by even a small store like the LuckyStop, and how stinky it is.

I guess I was still sleepy, because I didn't notice him right away. Then I saw movement in the corner of my eye and peered into the alley, which was still pretty dark.

There was a someone there, his back turned as he tried to climb over something.

He looked like a hobo. And he sort of did behave like one, climbing on top of a heap of junk in the back of the alley, where the contractors who were renovating the house next door had dumped all the discarded building materials.

So I was alone in an alley with a guy who, for all I knew, could be a homeless criminal. I should have gone back inside and locked the door beside me. But what can I say, it was early in the morning, and all I could register was annoyance. That was sort of
our
alley. What was that guy doing there? It was not a good day to annoy me.

“Excuse me,” I said loudly, and probably a little angrily. “Can I help you?”

He turned around, very calmly. Well, at least he was not drunk as far as I could see.

I didn't recognize him at all. He was a man in his twenties, in baggy jeans and a dirty looking t-shirt under a leather jacked in the most unflattering shade of brown you ever saw. He seemed to be wearing makeup around his eyes, and he had a red splotch beside his nose, as if he had been in a fight. If so, I was pretty sure that he had lost it. But he didn't give off any other unsavory vibes. He had a good face, strong and rugged, I could see that.

“Oh, hi,” he said in a deep and very clear voice that sort of rang a bell in my mind. Where had I heard that before?

“Yes, you can, as it happens. Help me get a hold of him?”

He pointed to the far wall of the alley, where there was another heap of trash. There was movement there, a little dark shadow that scurried back and forth along the wall. It was at least twenty yards away from me, but I yelped and instinctively took a step back.

“No, it's okay!” the man said. “He won't hurt you. Probably.”

“Is that a
tiger
?!”

“No, it's not a tiger. He's an ocelot. His name is Alfredo. I'm not sure he knows that, though. He doesn't seem to react to it. Nice Alfredo, come to Archie.”

He made smacking noises with his mouth, and I guess that was supposed to lure the animal closer. He had a coiled-up leash in his hand.

“Now,” he said to me, “if you could just come a little closer to me, we can sort of gang up on him and close off his retreat...”

Nope. I was not going to move any closer to that wild animal, which sure did look like a little tiger to me. Or maybe a leopard. They have spots, right? I just stood halfway behind the open door into the store and peered around it.

The man climbed higher on the huge pile of construction junk. A length of plastic tube clattered hollowly down to the asphalt, followed by a small avalanche of old tiles and pieces of mortar as he placed his weight on them. But he was nimble, recovered his balance and kept climbing.

Then the animal decided it was bored of the back wall and shot towards the man like an missile, in easy, springy bounces. The man slipped on the trash he was standing on and almost lost his foothold, but was able to stay upright. The little leopard halted for a second, then jumped straight for me. I yelped and tried to pull back, but its speed was no match for me that early in the morning. It came very close very quickly, and then there was a confusion of sharp teeth and whiskers and yellow fur and some growling and claws and a rank, very catlike smell.

I yelped again. Okay, you got me: I squealed like a lady seeing a mouse in a 1950s sitcom.

By the end of it, the man stood there with the animal thrashing wildly in his arms, while he was furiously trying to attach the leash to the collar around its neck. A sharp click from the lock told me that he succeeded, and then he none too gently let the large cat down to the ground. It stood there, suddenly all calm, looking disinterestedly into the distance.

“Thanks,” the man said. “You were able to hold his attention just long enough.”

I wanted to say something with a little ice in it, but nothing came to mind before it was too late.

Because then I saw who he was. Actually, I thought,
that guy sure sounds like Archer Stratton
. And immediately after, I thought,
and he looks like him too
.

Then it clicked: It
was
him. I'm slow in the morning. Well, I'm always slow, some would say. But especially in the morning.

The world reeled a little, and it was as if I was standing beside myself. In an alley in my own little hometown. With Archer Stratton.

There was no doubt. I'd seen him many times before. In movie theaters and on television shows, I mean, never in the flesh, never as a living man standing in front of me, brushing down the front of his atrociously hideous outfit with a worried look on his face.

“Hmm. I hope they don't notice this,” he said to himself.

He was pretty tall, around six feet, I guessed. And his face was very... I want to say
manly.
There was no fashion model smooth perfection or soft, androgynous features. He had a strong chin and deep-set eyes. If he were to act in a fantasy epic, he would be a prince or a warrior, not an elf. This actor had reached the peaks of success not because he just had the looks, but because he had something else.

“That who notices what?” I ventured weakly after a minute, still trying to get a grip on myself. I was starting to feel light headed.

“The wardrobe lady is fierce. She puts a lot of work into every little detail. If I come back to set with one little thread out of place, she'll have a tantrum.”

I looked closer at his jacket. It had a little rend beside on of the buttons where the ocelot might have scratched it.

“So that's not supposed to be there?”

“I don't even know. But if it isn't, she'll tell me all about it.”

Alfredo stirred a little, angling his ears in different directions.

“So is that your pet?”

“Not really. I mean, in the movie he's my pet. But in real life he has another owner.”

“And you're walking him because...”

“See, the owner says that I have to bond with this thing, to get him to perform right on camera. Not that he performs that much anyway. So I walk him around the neighborhood every morning so he's used to me when we do scenes together. Which means that I have to get up an hour earlier.”

He didn't seem too happy.

“Not enjoying the ocelot experience?”

“Oh, Alfredo is great. I like him a lot. Except when he does things like this. Yes, you!”

He addressed that last part to Alfredo.

“Bad kitty! You look so innocent, but I know you're listening, because your ears are turning like crazy.”

They were. Alfredo's pointy, furry ears that seemed too big for his little head were rotating in their sockets while he was casually turning his head this way and that.