Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (46 page)

‘Yeah, James Jacobs,’ he nodded, holding up a hand in a short wave. ‘Have a great evening.’

All three of the girls paled and stood openmouthed for a split second as James buzzed the window back up. Then they broke out into an ear-piercing, glass-shattering scream. Before I could lean back into my seat, they were on the car. Actually on it.

‘Enough games, James?’ Blake sighed, as the limo began to move at a crawl, leaving the girls behind us. ‘This is all going to end up in her freaking magazine. Is that what you want?’

‘Does that happen everywhere you go?’ I asked, staring back at the girls standing in the middle of the street, clutching at each other just to stay vertical.

‘More or less everywhere,’ James laughed. ‘You didn’t notice it today?’

‘Only in the restaurant,’ I said, thinking back over the day. It was quite possible that people had been collapsing left, right and centre, but I had been so busy trying not to fall in love with James myself that my own mother could probably have passed out in front of us and I wouldn’t have noticed. ‘Wow. That must be a nightmare.’

‘You learn to live with it,’ he said, smiling at Jenny, who had been silent (for the first time in her life) for the whole journey but sat staring at James with the most ridiculous grin I had ever seen etched into her face. Joe, however, had a face like thunder. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea ever. ‘Shall we go in?’

Teddy’s really was fun, if not completely surreal. Like the rest of The Roosevelt, it was gloriously old Hollywood, and wandering through the darkened bar, past the subdued booths lined with wine-coloured velvet and mahogany-coloured people, I felt just like Elizabeth Taylor. If Elizabeth Taylor had been incredibly self-conscious about weighing at least as much as two of every other woman in the room. Whilst having to restrain her best friend from physically attacking every man in the room. But then maybe Elizabeth Taylor did have to do that, how would I know?

‘Jesus, Angie, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ Jenny whispered as we were escorted through to a VIP table. ‘This is totally where I belong.’

‘Well, don’t rely on me hanging out with you when you’re here,’ I whispered back. ‘I feel like someone stuffed an Olsen twin down my dress. How thin are these girls? And I think Joe is going to deck James. Or Blake. Or both.’

Despite James’s attempt at conversation, Joe had maintained an impressive stony silence, except for when he was addressed by me or Jenny. Plus he and Blake had been exchanging stares ever since we got in the limo and it had only got worse since we arrived at the club.

‘So, Joe,’ I started with my quickly formulated plan of distraction. ‘Do you come here a lot?’

‘Mmmm,’ Joe nodded, swirling the beer he had insisted on buying himself at the bar, ‘with some of the guys from the hotel. And you know, sometimes I model a little. I actually did a job at the Tropicana a couple of weeks ago, the roof bar here.’ He sat down in between me and Jenny, sliding an arm around each of us. It might have looked casual, but the firm grip on my shoulder said it was anything but.

Jenny idly caught his fingers and entwined them with her own, even though her eyes were firmly locked on James. I was working extra hard at not making eye contact with anyone other than myself in the mirror behind the bar. And someone that looked just Kristen Stewart. Oh. And Kristen Stewart.

‘Have you ever thought about acting?’ James asked, pouring everyone a generous measure of vodka from the bottle that had just been brought to our table.

‘Whatever,’ Joe replied, looking away. ‘Modelling is one thing but dancing around in tights for a living? I don’t think so.’

‘Hey,’ Blake turned sharply.

James laughed, seemingly oblivious to Joe’s enormous attitude problem. ‘It’s just one of the perils of superhero movies. But you know what, tights are surprisingly comfortable. You do get used to them.’

‘Tights, really?’ Jenny mooned, dropping Joe’s hand and giving James’s knee a quick squeeze. ‘Are you wearing them now?’

‘Seriously?’ Joe narrowed his eyes at Jenny as she let out her most impressive flirty laugh. ‘Everyone knows actors are just delusional egotists. They all end up in rehab sooner or later.’

‘Are you taking Jenny on for title of the next Oprah or what?’ I forced out a laugh but this was all getting a little bit too tense and I really wasn’t one for confrontation.

‘I’m gonna take a walk.’ Joe measured his breathing and draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. ‘You coming, English?’

James looked over at me but I really wasn’t sure what his dark blue eyes were trying to say. I opened my mouth to stall but Blake beat me to it.

‘Maybe that’s not a bad idea,’ he challenged Joe, taking a swig straight out of the vodka bottle. ‘Maybe you should both just go.’

‘Me?’ I asked, snapping to surprise. ‘What did I do?’

‘You brought this asshole,’ Blake replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the interview is over. In fact, James, we’re leaving.’

‘Great, why don’t you just move on, fag?’ Joe said into his beer bottle.

‘What did you just call me?’ Blake stood up suddenly, followed in a heartbeat by Joe and then James.

‘Hey, guys, come on.’ James pushed himself in between the two as they squared up. ‘This isn’t happening.’

‘No, this is bullshit.’ Joe pushed his way past the two of them, knocking Jenny off the edge of her seat and into me as he left. The weight of the Lopez wasn’t ever going to cause me trouble but the vodka soda she spilled all down my dress wasn’t exactly ideal.

‘Oh, shit,’ I said, leaping up, right into James’s waiting arms.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Blake said, pulling at James’s shoulder. I froze for a second, pressed against James’s chest, my wet dress soaking through against his shirt, until it was warmed by the heat of his skin. It wasn’t until he’d scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, as if I was half an Olsen, let alone three strapped together, that I realized we were moving out of the club.

‘Angie?’ Jenny yelled over the music, still on the floor beside the wreckage of our table. ‘Wait!’

‘Jenny,’ I protested, preferring the view of James’s dark brown curls to the stares and whispers all around us. And, oh dear God, the camera flashes.

‘Blake, go back for her,’ James commanded, striding into the lift, leaving an incensed Blake standing stock-still. ‘Now I remember why I stopped going out.’

I didn’t know what to say. On one hand I felt awful about leaving Jenny – sick, actually –?but on the other, I knew that the second James put me down, the interview, my job, possibly my visa and then more or less my entire life was over. I had to try and get this back on track somehow, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have a roommate to be mad at.

‘James, I am so incredibly sorry,’ I said as we scrambled into the limo and tore off up Hollywood Boulevard. ‘I–I should just go back to my hotel and—’

‘That’s not a good idea,’ James said quietly. ‘Have a look out of the back window.’

Twisting against my seatbelt, I turned to look back, trying not to get dizzy at the speeds we were travelling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see but, whatever it was, the sea of bright lights and industrial-strength flashes was not it. True, I still had an issue with what side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, but these cars were literally all over the road. The honking, the screeching, even the screaming was so loud, so intense. It made a wander down our block in New York sound like an episode of Songs of Praise.

‘What’s happening?’ I asked, slightly dazed and very nauseous.

‘Paparazzi,’ James sighed. ‘My good friends, the paparazzi.’

‘How did they know where you were?’

‘Who knows? Maybe someone overheard us this afternoon and tipped them off. Maybe they were already outside Teddy’s on the off-chance someone would show up. Maybe someone called them when we arrived.’

‘But we were only there for half an hour?’ I couldn’t believe it, no matter how fast we went, they came at us faster until they were swarming all around the car.

‘Get away from the window.’ James pulled me into the centre of the limo, on the floor between the seats. ‘Some of the flashes are bright enough to see you through the tinted glass.’

‘Wow, this is glamorous,’ I said, trying to shuffle my dress around my thighs to avoid any further pant revelation.

‘Yes, the rock-and-roll life of a movie star.’ He held out an arm to steady me as we skidded around a tight corner. ‘But you’re all-over rock and roll, surely?’

‘Me?’ I squirmed across the floor of the car, trying not to nestle against his broad, warm and still slightly damp chest.

‘Your boyfriend, the rock star? Alan?’

Oh. ‘Alex. His name is Alex. He’s so not a rock star. There’s a pretty big difference between him and Bono.’ I fumbled around on the floor of the car looking for my bag. ‘What time is it?’

‘Not even twelve, what’s up?’

‘Just wondered.’ I pulled out my phone. Twelve here, three in New York. And a missed call from Alex. Just one. Twenty minutes earlier and no message. ‘Bugger.’ Just as I was about to redial, James snatched the phone out of my hand.

‘If you throw that out of the window, I will freak out.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, turning the phone off. ‘They’ll hack it.’

‘They’ll what?’ Could this get any more bizarre?

James nodded slowly. ‘They can hack your phone if you use it near enough. I don’t know how.’

‘But how do you call anyone, ever?’ I asked.

‘I don’t. It’s like living in Nineteen ninety-five.’ He shrugged. ‘If I really need to get hold of someone, Blake goes out and calls them for me.’

‘So you can’t text your friend to see what flavour muffin they want?’

‘Can’t go out and buy muffins. Can’t really eat muffins.’

‘And you can’t call a taxi when you’re hammered?’

‘To be fair I have a driver.’

‘What if you need to extend your credit limit to buy something amazing?’

‘Yeah, that’s not really a massive problem right now. Unless that something is a Bentley.’

‘I might be able to live with not having a mobile phone if I was you,’ I said, feeling less sympathetic by the second.

James nodded. ‘But if I wasn’t me, we wouldn’t be running away from the club now. The paparazzi wouldn’t be chasing us. And you wouldn’t be sitting on the floor of a car ruining your beautiful dress, not able to call your boyfriend.’

‘But if you weren’t you, I wouldn’t be in LA at all, I wouldn’t have met you and, well, I wouldn’t have been able to wear my beautiful dress in March anyway.’ I shuffled back up onto the seat as the limo twisted around some invisible corners and then slowed to a stop. The din from the paparazzi got quieter and quieter until I couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of the cooling engine as we climbed out.

James ran his hands down my sides, smoothing down the creased-up skirt. I breathed in sharply as they ran back up my bare arms. ‘It’s a great dress, did I tell you that already?’ he asked, towering above me. He was awfully tall. I hadn’t noticed how awfully tall. ‘Phillip Lim, right?’

‘Every so often, you throw me off completely, you know?’ I said, cricking my neck to get a better look at him. ‘If you weren’t all Hollywood, I’d think you were gay. Which would just about break Jenny’s heart.’

‘Good to know,’ he said, fumbling for keys in his jeans pocket. I was right, his backside did look great. ‘We should have just stayed here. You know what they say, if you’re going to get into trouble, do it at the Chateau.’

He wanted to get into trouble? Meep. ‘I really should go back to my hotel,’ I choked. ‘It’s late and I was supposed to be conducting an interview with someone tomorrow.’

‘I heard he’s a delusional egotist who likes to prance around in tights,’ James said, opening the door and pulling me inside. ‘So I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I can get that dress dry cleaned inside twenty minutes and then get you a car home once the paps have moved on outside. Come on, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

Following him into the bungalow, I shrugged. I couldn’t argue with a well-thought-out plan.

‘Can I use my phone in here?’ I called from the bathroom, peeling off my damp yellow dress. The bathroom was full of products: Clinique, Anthony Logistics, Peter Thomas Roth. Sent over by PRs, I figured, but still, men with more moisturizer than me made me edgy.

‘The landline should be OK, but I’m keeping your mobile hostage until you leave.’ James knocked once on the door and then came in. Giving me just enough time to grab one of the robes hanging from the back of the door. But not enough time to put it on. ‘Nice knickers, Calvin Klein?’

‘Erm, yes,’ I said, trying to slide into the robe without revealing an inch of flesh or white lace. Not an easy task at the best of times, and even more difficult when you were a) ridiculous clumsy and b) in the hotel bathroom of a stupidly hot actor. A stupidly hot actor who had taken off his shirt. Oh. It was pretty.

‘Don’t tell your model friend, but I did a campaign for them last year.’ He took one arm of the robe, in theory to help me put it on, but in practice just to help me get even more wound up in the acres of jersey. ‘I think that’s the set Eva wore.’

Perfect. Who didn’t want to be compared to Eva Mendes in their underwear?

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I said again. ‘I don’t know what his problem is. It’s just … God, Jenny is going to kill me.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’ James pushed his hair back off his face. Had his cheekbones always been so high? What else were those brown curls hiding? ‘And please stop apologizing for that knobhead. I’m just surprised you’re friends with him, to be honest. You did realize he was all over you? Do you know, I haven’t called anyone a knobhead for ages. You really do bring out the English in me.’

‘Thanks, I think.’ I pushed past him, moving very quickly through the bedroom, accidentally glancing at the rumpled bedsheets and settling in the living room. In an armchair. Made for one. Could he please just put a shirt back on? I was only human, for God’s sake. ‘And, just for the record, he’s absolutely not interested in me. I don’t even really know him; we’re not really friends. He and Jenny used to work in the same hotel in New York, that’s all.’