Finding Chris Evans: The Hollywood Edition (7 page)

He’d been pissed, wondering what the hell kind of game she’d been playing with him, why she’d bothered texting him at all if she wasn’t interested. Then he’d been worried something had happened to her, but he hadn’t known her last name or even which medical school she was going to, so he couldn’t check up on her—and even if she’d been hit by a bus someone at the hospital probably would have picked up her phone and let the man who was sending her repeated texts knew what had happened.

He’d nursed his bruised ego for a week. Then his phone had fallen into a cement mixer on a job site. “About a week later my old phone was destroyed. When we replaced it, Marty had my new phone set up with my old backups, but I hadn’t backed up to the cloud since before I met you so I didn’t have your contact information anymore. I never got your last name. And for all I knew you never wanted to see me again.”

“It’s Mitchell,” she murmured. “Katrina Marie Mitchell.”

The name of the mother of his child. Jesus. His heart kept swooping up and down, not seeming to know what to feel.

“So, losing touch with me had nothing to do with Daniella?”

He frowned. “I didn’t know you knew about her.”

“I didn’t. Someone in line today said something about you two getting back together and I thought maybe…”

“No. Daniella and I were a mistake from the beginning. I haven’t even seen her in over a year. We were over long before you and I...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, recalling the result of their one night together two months ago. “How long have you known about the baby?”

“Just a couple weeks. Sorry to spring it on you like this. I tried calling your PR people, but they’re very good at making sure no one gets to you.”

“They’re going to love this,” he said dryly. “Marty’s probably having a stroke right about now.” He shook his head trying to process it all. “We used protection. We were careful.”

“I know. But when they say those things are only ninety-nine percent effective, I guess they mean it. Welcome to the one percent.” She squirmed under his gaze, her face flushing. “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. The only other person who knows is one of my med school friends and she thought I ought to just post a message on your Facebook wall, but I thought you had a right to hear privately—then I go and blurt it out in front of everyone. I didn’t plan it like this, Chris.”

“No, I know that. You aren’t in it for the fame.” He knew women like that. Trina was nothing like Daniella.

“They weren’t going to let anyone else see you and I panicked. I’d been waiting so long and Ellie—this woman I met in line—offered to create a disturbance to distract your security so I could sneak past and all I could think was that we were both going to get dragged away as soon as they caught us and I wanted you to know so badly so it just…” She waved a hand. “Came out.”

“I understand,” he said, with the Addition Magician’s legendary calm, though this time it wasn’t covering humor or frustration. It was covering a low level panic mixed with a healthy dose of shock.

“Please don’t let Ellie get in trouble for helping me.”

“I won’t. I’ll have Marty talk to the mall people.”

“What am I talking to the mall people about?” The flap rustled as his manager returned—and Chris felt himself stiffening—for the first time bothered by the way his manager just breezed in and out as if he were king of the world.

He and Trina could have been having a private moment. They hadn’t been—and from the twelve feet separating them and the rigid way she was standing they weren’t likely to—but they could have been, for all Marty knew.

His voice was sharper than usual when he explained, “Our serenade was provided by a friend of Trina’s to create a distraction. Let’s make sure she doesn’t get hassled for it.”

Marty nodded, making a note on his phone. “I’ll take care of it—but right now we really need to get you on the road. Air traffic control waits for no man.”

Part of him wanted to leap at the opportunity to return to his regularly scheduled life—but then he saw Trina’s face, the raw, stricken look on it. “I can’t go yet.”

“Chris…” Marty began, but he cut him off before he could get going.

“There will be other flights.” He turned to Trina. “How did you get here?”

“I drove.”

“From Chicago?” That had to be ten hours.

She nodded.

“Do you have plans after this?”

She released a short, startled laugh. “No. My social calendar is light at the moment.”

“
Chris
,” Marty said sharply. “You have a live interview in New York tomorrow morning at seven. And another at nine.”

“Then it’s lucky there are lots of flights into the city. I’ll be there, Marty. Book me on a later flight.” He mentally mapped the route back to the Chicago. “Out of Twin Cities.” He looked to Trina. “Do you mind giving me a ride to Minneapolis?”

She blinked, looking a little dazed at the reminder of what his life was. “Sure.”

“Chris,” Marty snapped again, no longer making any attempt to hide his displeasure. “Can I have a word with you?”

His manager wasn’t going to let them leave until he had his pound of flesh, so Chris nodded easily. “Of course.” He turned to Trina with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t go anywhere. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

She nodded mutely, watching Marty like a bunny watched a viper as Chris followed him out of the tent.

Chapter Six

“Tell me this isn’t why you were off your game after Atlanta.”

“I wasn’t off my game.” Chris glowered at Marty—then realized that even though they were mostly blocked by the stage that didn’t mean he was completely hidden. He wiped the expression of his face, ready to wave and smile for any fans who had lingered in the hopes of catching one last look at him.

“You dropped your phone in a cement mixer and failed to catch three different permit issues on our next build. What do you call that?”

“Okay, fine, I was distracted. It happens.”

“She’s a gold-digger.”

Chris stiffened at Marty’s unilateral verdict. “You don’t know her.”

“I know her better than you do. Who announces they’re pregnant with a celebrity’s baby in public if they don’t want their five seconds of fame? Or a payoff. Do you know the kind of backflips we’re going to have to do to spin this?”

“We don’t need to spin it.”

Marty rolled his eyes. “Wake up and smell the manipulation, Chris. I realize you probably slept with her and I’m sure she was amazing in the sack—”

“You need to stop talking now.”

“Why? Because she’s
The One
? You don’t have time for The One right now. The One is for after you get this new contract signed, sealed and delivered. Or did you forget about your career as soon as that piece of ass walked in?”

“Careful, Marty,” Chris growled. “Just because I’ve never punched you, don’t think I won’t.”

Marty’s eye-roll reached epic levels. “You aren’t going to punch me because you know I’m right. This is a complication your career doesn’t need right now. What do you want? To ride off into the sunset toward the nearest wedding chapel with a girl you don’t even know? You’re a heartthrob and heartthrobs are, by definition,
not married
. Especially not with a kid on the way.” He gripped Chris’s arm in what was doubtless designed to be a brotherly gesture but fell far short. “The network doesn’t want a family man, Chris. They have a family man. They want the stud.”

“So what would you like me to do?” Chris snapped. “Throw her out on her ass? Is the guy who abandons the woman carrying his child better for ratings?”

“A baby with a woman you don’t have a relationship with is fine, as long as you aren’t a deadbeat dad. Single father could work. But don’t get ahead of yourself. We don’t know that she’s really carrying your child,” Marty insisted. “We don’t know anything about this girl. Are we even sure she didn’t target you in Chicago?”

“Relax, Marty. I came on to her.”

“Or she made you think that. How well do you really know her? We need a pregnancy test. Maybe an ultrasound. And a paternity test. Then we can worry about damage control.”

Chris ground his molars—his instincts told him Marty was wrong, but he
didn’t
really know anything about Trina. “We can get all those things eventually, but I am not starting off my relationship with the mother of my child by calling her a liar and a fraud. And you need to get it through your head that there will be no damage control because
this isn’t damage
.”

“It is if you want the primetime gig.”

“Of course I want it. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get it, but this isn’t a case where deny-deny-deny is going to work. I need to figure out what she wants.”
And what I want
. “And to do that I need to talk to her. So get me a red-eye out of Minneapolis and I’ll meet you in New York.”

Trina held her breath inside the blue tent, Marty and Chris’s conversation carrying clearly through the canvas. They really should have walked farther away if they didn’t want her to overhear them—which made her think they must have
wanted
her to know what they were saying.

Or Marty wanted her to hear every word and Chris was too frazzled to notice they were within eavesdropping range.

Though Chris didn’t seem frazzled.

And neither did he seem happy.

She’d had so many stupid fantasies as she was driving out here—stupid now that she was looking back on them. She didn’t know why she’d thought he would be happy about the pregnancy, happy to see her again, happy to have his life suddenly complicated by her presence—but she’d pictured that over and over again as the miles flew by under her tires.

His smile lighting up at the idea of their child, the feel of his arms as he swept her into them, the low words of reassurance.

The reality was much harder to swallow.

His confusion. His hesitation. The way he calmly
managed
the situation with no emotion.

The tent flap moved and Trina jumped, moving guiltily away from her eavesdropping post. She wrapped her arms tight around her middle and turned to face Chris as he paused just inside the flap, studying her face.

“You heard,” he said.

“Some,” she admitted—and she hadn’t heard every single word, but she’d certainly heard enough. “Canvas walls.”

He eyed the tent. “Right.”

“I’m happy to get a paternity test,” she volunteered. “It’s probably a good idea. I haven’t been with anyone else, but you don’t know that—”

“I trust you.”

“Then we’ll get it for Marty. I don’t think he trusts me.”

Chris snorted. “Marty doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Occupational hazard, I guess,” Trina murmured. “What did he mean? That the network won’t want you if you have a kid?”

“It’s an image thing,” he said dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Marty seems awfully worried about it.”

“That’s what I pay him for.” When she frowned at him, he relented, explaining, “My show’s popularity depends on me being perceived as being available, if unattainable. Marty worries that if I’m in a relationship with a kid on the way, I’m doubling down on being off the market and my viewers will flock to whichever sexy single contractor they find to fill my time slot.”

Unease fluttered in her chest. She’d anticipated one of two outcomes—either he would want her and everything would magically fall into place or he would want nothing to do with her and she would at least get closure. This in-between uncertainty made her stomach roil. Or maybe that was morning sickness deciding to hit in the afternoon.

“I didn’t realize it might affect your career.”

“Welcome to show business.”

The flap rustled again and Marty entered. “I have a security team ready to escort you to her car whenever you’re ready. I’ll be in touch as soon as we have your flight change finalized. Your bags will be waiting for you at your hotel in New York,” he rattled off efficiently before turning his attention to Trina. “Your friend Ellie already sprinted off the premises, and no one is talking about pressing charges.I’ll arrange to have a fruit basket and autographed photo sent to her as an apology for her inconvenience. Was there anything else?”

“Thorough as always,” Chris said, clapping his manager on the shoulder before turning to Trina. “Ready to go?”

She nodded, feeling that strange disorientation again.
This
was the stranger. Chris the Celebrity. She’d fallen halfway in love with Chris the Man, but she hadn’t seen him yet today. Chris the Celebrity was the only one present. But maybe if she could just get him away from Marty, all that would change. Maybe when he wasn’t at a mall, where he’d just greeted several hundred adoring fans, he’d be himself again—and she wouldn’t have to be so scared that she was going to go through this alone.

Because even as they walked together, flanked by a security team and shouted at by fans, even next to him and surrounded by people, she’d never felt so isolated.

Chapter Seven

Trina’s car was approaching retirement age, but it was spotlessly clean and the maintenance reminder stickers on the windshield indicated she kept it well-maintained. The hallmarks of someone who cared about her possessions, but couldn’t afford anything resembling the tricked out Land Rover he was almost never home to drive.