Out of the Box 7 - Sea Change (8 page)

“Kat!” a woman in a glittering gown squealed. I didn’t recognize her, but that didn’t mean anything. Kat made a squealing noise of her own in reaction, and I let the girl pass without dislocating her arm trying to stop her, which was what I’d been preparing to do when Kat acknowledged her. I hadn’t done much bodyguarding in my time, though I’d certainly acted as protector to people on a few occasions.

“Guarana,” Kat said, running her hands lightly and briefly over the girl's bare arms before folding them over each other and returning them to covering her nearly-exposed crotch. I frowned, wondering if Guarana was the girl’s given name or if she’d just been a fan of staying caffeinated. “How have you been?”

“Just terrible,” Guarana said, holding a hand over her heart. “I heard what happened to you earlier. I felt so bad.” She was a terrible actor, too, but Kat’s sadface response made her look like an award-winner by comparison.

What the hell was wrong with these people?

“What the hell is wrong with these people?” Scott asked in a whisper, sidling up to me. Kat heard him and tossed us both a cold look, as though I had anything to do with his simple statement. You know, other than thinking the exact same thing at the exact same moment. What? She’s not a telepath, people. She couldn’t have known.

“Maybe it’s just her and her friend,” I said. I glanced at Taggert. “And him.”

“Kat!” Another voice called, this one belonging to a guy in a tuxedo that was so new-style I barely recognized it as a tux. “I heard about what happened, and I am so sorry.”

“He doesn’t sound sorry,” Scott said. “He sounds … kinda jealous, actually.”

“Whatever,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “at least she doesn’t have the film crew following her around right now.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, his face sort of scrunched up, “I wonder what’s up with that. I thought she didn’t go anywhere without it.”

“Maybe they took my threat to heart.” Or anus, as the case may be.

“Maybe,” he said, blowing air between his lips, then stopping suddenly when he realized how rude it sounded. “Uhm … should we mingle?”

I thought about that for a minute. “Parties are not really my scene, as you know.”

He frowned. “How would I know that?”

I froze. Of course he didn’t know that. It wasn’t like he could have remembered the awful Christmas gala his family held that he’d made me suffer through only a few years ago. I remembered it clearly, of course, every bit of it, but he didn’t. “Do you suppose there’s a buffet table?” I asked to change the subject.

“Can’t have a party without something to eat,” he opined as another guest, this one I recognized from a daytime soap that I might maybe have occasionally watched now that I was working from home—came up to give Kat her not-so-sympathetic-sympathies.

It took three rooms of hunting to find the food, and when I found it, I was actually kind of disappointed.

“Hi,” a woman said as she came up to me with a bright, effervescent smile.

“Hi,” I returned, already put on my guard by her chipper nature.

“How’d you get here tonight?” she asked.

“I … flew,” I said, blinking.

She threw her head back and laughed. “Out of towner, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” I looked back and found Scott missing, nowhere in sight. Probably threw himself behind one of the lampshades when he saw this one coming.

“You can always pick ’em out,” she said, arching her eyebrows. “What do you do?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m in law enforcement.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You’re a cop? No way! My next project has me playing this role as a minor—well, it’s not really minor, it’s a very integral part—”

“Excuse me,” I said, instead of being exceptionally rude and just saying what I meant, which was, “Get away from me before I get sick right in your face.” I wasn’t feeling sick at all, but it was starting to become a danger because I was really hungry and the so-called buffet was not looking very buffet-y.

I pushed past her and found myself in a kitchen that looked like Kat’s, except it was black and kind of brown-toned and … I really have no feel for decorating, as anyone who had ever seen my linoleum kitchen floors would be able to attest to. Ariadne still looked a little ill every time she lowered her gaze in the kitchen. There was no linoleum here; it was a beautiful wood floor with a white-yellow tinge. I was looking in the other direction when I ran into someone, shoulder-checking them into a marble-topped counter.

“Ow,” the guy said, flinching and grabbing at his back. I spun on him, noticing two more of the black-suited security personnel focusing on me and my little disturbance. They even had the earpieces sticking out of their ears, and it made me wonder what nightclub rope line was missing its clown-car full of bouncers for the evening.

“Yeah, you should watch where you’re going,” I said, giving the guy I’d run into the once over.

“I guess so,” he said, sounding genuinely remorseful as he straightened back up. “You pack a full head of steam, huh?” He had brown eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and—

Whoooooops.

I realized after an uncomfortable second of staring that I’d just shoulder-checked Steven Clayton.
The
Steven Clayton. The one who had become Hollywood’s leading man in the last couple years, the one who was two parts Chris Hemsworth, one part Chris Pratt, and a little bit of Tom Cruise before the radioactive disaster site that was Oprah’s couch.

“Oh, shit,” I said, covering my mouth.

“It’s okay, I’m good,” he said, stretching his back and finally taking his hand off his spine. He still had a pained look, but it was—uhh, well—it was kind of a goooood look. Like, really good. Like, ruggedly handsome, just got done filming an action scene where he did something super heroic and then fell off a building but was totally casual about it and—

I’m gushing. In my own monologue. For shame, Sienna.

“Hey,” he said, locking those coffee brown eyes on me, “aren’t you S—”

“I’m nobody,” I said casually, shaking my head. “Definitely not that, uhh … crazy person.” I giggled under my breath and then considered briefly creating a distraction by pulling my CZ Shadow and shooting myself in the foot in order to get out of this awkward situation. It’s not like it would kill me, after all. I mean, I’d just giggled, for crying out loud. Who does that?

“That’s soooo amazing,” Kat said, strolling by with a guy on her arm, emitting a throaty giggle as she threaded her way past me on the other side of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Oh, no. I’ve become
that
girl.

Kat, as if sensing my horror, turned her head and looked right at me then scanned on to Steven Clayton. Her eyes widened in undisguised shock and revulsion, and she promptly rescued her arm from the crook of the elbow of the man she was strolling with, probably dislocating his shoulder in the process. I cringed. That meta strength … you really gotta watch that.

“Oh, hi!” she said, moving around the island toward me with a hustle that I wouldn’t have expected to see from her in life-and-death battles, let alone in a kitchen in Hollywood. “Steven, I’m Kat. How do you do? We have so many mutual acquaintances—”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, looking a little startled by her sudden offensive. “Nice to meet you, Kat. I’m familiar with your show—”

“Oh, you watch my show?” she asked, the falsely modesty oozing like green phlegm down an upper lip. Yeah. I went there. She was subtle as snot, okay?

“Well, I’ve heard of it—”

Unasked, she looped her arm around his, faster than he could say anything, and started to lightly drag him along. “You simply must tell me about your latest movie …” She reminded me of something out of a Jane Austen novel, but with a much more predatory air. She shot me a furious STAY BACK! look as she hauled him out of the radius of my … I dunno, my antisocial slime, probably.

“Oh, good, she got to meet Steven,” Taggert said, easing up behind me. He wasn’t quiet about it, fortunately, which gave me ample warning so I wasn’t surprised. Which would have been bad, but mostly for him.

“Why is that good?” I asked.

“Have you seen the guy?” Taggert asked, like I was stupid. “California’s most eligible bachelor. He’s not just a flavor of the month, that boy’s got staying power. If he could even do a guest spot, maybe as a date for Kitten, we’re talking top-shelf ratings. We’ll gain five points of share that night, it’d be an event.” He squealed a little, under his breath. “Can you imagine the wedding ratings?”

“She just met him.”

“It’d be huge,” Taggert went on, probably not hearing me over the sound of cash register bells in his head. “And the divorce episodes would be a great storyline for—”

“I like how you jump right to assuming they’re going to both marry
and
divorce, mere seconds after they just met for the first time.” The former was kind of optimistic, but the latter was the sort of practiced cynicism I would have tended to hang my hat on. If I ever wore a hat.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Taggert asked with a grin.

“Oh, good,” I said, “I was afraid I wasn’t being obvious enough about it.”

“Listen,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. If I hadn’t had both a jacket and a blouse on, as well as a bra strap, I think I would have needed to scrub myself bloody just to feel somewhat normal afterward; as it was, I was just going to burn the clothes. “I’m connected out here. I’ve got a lot of sway … with the right people, the right causes. I could help you.” His grin stretched wider. “Maybe help make you Teflon. We do the editing right, you come out of this season looking like a hero, maybe help you pick up some lost points in the public relations department.”

I didn’t bother to pretend that wouldn’t have been helpful, but I really despised it when people held that particular carrot over my head, because it was always attached to a stick that they tried their best to get me to ignore. “In exchange for?”

Taggert shrugged broadly. “You’re doing a favor for Kitten. Maybe you could do some favors for me, too.”

He kept his delivery well on this side of randy, but I still frowned. “Such as?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, patting my shoulder reassuringly. “The point is—I’ve got power that could help you. Plus, I drive a 1961 Ferrari 250 GT SWB California Spyder. It’s the car from
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
.” He grinned, his even teeth practically begging to be punched out. “I’m quite the guy.”

“Yes,” I said dryly, “you’re an amazing human being. Why, you could probably even lift Mjolnir.”

“You play ball,” he went on, making me feel greasy just being in proximity to him, “you could have a career out here, maybe—”

“Not interested,” I said, firmly, ready to walk away. He clenched his fingers a little tighter, enough to stop me and get my evil eye, but as soon as I started to spin on him, he let go and held them up.

“I know the president,” he said. “Your boss, technically. I could put in a good word. I’ve heard you had problems—”

“You know Gerry Harmon?” I gave him a wary eye.

“I do,” he smiled even more broadly.

“Tell him he’s a dick and I’m not voting for him,” I said, flashing him an evil grin. Taggert’s face fell in a way that was just—it was like the most beautiful thing I could imagine, and I’d known the guy for all of an hour. I had a feeling he didn’t get the rug yanked out from him very often, and it was sweet.

“Tell him yourself,” came a voice from behind me, chillingly familiar.

I spun around, and I felt my stomach drop like I was on a Midwest Airlines flight that had run out of fuel. Unfortunately, I was unlikely to save it because I was experiencing something of a falling sensation myself at the moment. It was at that moment that I kicked myself for not realizing—
dumbass, dumbass, dumbass
—that the Secret Service wannabes weren’t actually wannabes—they were the real deal.

“President Harmon,” I said quietly, with just a hint of contrition.

“Sienna Nealon,” President Gerard Harmon said, staring coolly at me icy blue eyes, a placid look on his face. “How interesting to finally meet you … and under these circumstances, no less.”

Scott had gotten lost in a hallway, staring at a beach scene painted on a broad canvas. He’d kind of zoned off looking at the scenery for a few minutes, and when he’d turned back to say something to Sienna, she’d been gone. “Damn,” he muttered mildly as a thin woman in a black dress slipped by him with barely more than an acknowledgment. He looked down at his slightly sloppy suit, the same one he’d worn to his business meeting this afternoon, and felt a surge of complete and utter inadequacy.

Another beautiful woman passed him by without so much as a look, and he started to say, “Excuse me,” but stopped himself. Why did it matter what anyone else thought? He wasn’t here because he wanted to be; he was here because Kat’s life was in danger.

Yet another starlet came past, walking in such a way that he had to practically crowbar his head in the opposite direction to keep from staring. “Must lead to the bathroom,” he said, and made his way back down the narrow hall toward a living room.

The crowd here wasn’t too bad, and he could feel a little more humidity in the air than what he’d been dealing with outside. It was actually somewhat refreshing indoors, and he guessed by the green lawn he’d seen when they were driving up that this area wasn’t failing to get its fair share of water, even during drought conditions.

“Scott!” came the booming voice of Buchanan Brock, his broad smile obvious from a mile way and way more inviting than any of the other receptions Scott gotten thus far this evening, save perhaps from Sienna. He had his arms open and was waving Scott over from a small group of people in the corner. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” Brock said, with that drawl of his.

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Scott said, easing up to where Brock stood with two twenty-something lovelies. He tried not to stare, seeing the much older man with the younger women was like a tickling sensation on his upper lip, making him smile awkwardly in spite of himself. “What brings you to this party?”