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“Ready!” Mallory re-enters and beams when she sees Alvin. “Looking good, kid.”
“You too.” He jerks his thumb at me. “I see you got this clown into a grown-up shirt.”
She gives me a sly smile as she approaches and gently rests her palms against my chest. “Doesn’t he look handsome?”
“He looks…something.” Alvin grins and I flip him off.
I glance down at Mallory’s fingers, busy unbuttoning my shirt practically to my navel. “Uh, what’re you doing?”
“There.” She pats my chest. “Much better. Show off more of that sexy ink.”
The guys—dicks that they are—howl with laughter.
“I better get going.” Cindy gives Mallory a quick hug. “Have the best time tonight.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Garrett offers.
Since he’s suddenly such a gentleman, I shove Cindy’s makeup case into his arms.
Mallory bites her lip as she watches them leave. “They’d make a cute couple,” she whispers.
Alvin rolls his eyes. “You wanna play matchmaker, find me someone.”
“Aw, Alvin, why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m kidding.”
“You got everything?” I ask Mallory.
She holds up a silver drawstring bag. “Change of clothes.” She twists and turns, checking out the back of her dress. “I’m a little scared if I move wrong, I’ll split this thing down the middle.”
“Don’t give him any ideas, Mallory,” Alvin jokes.
Mallory
“About time.” Jacob tugs on his frilly white sleeves and readjusts his shiny, metallic-blue lamé jacket. “We’re going to be late.”
Chaser climbs into the limo behind me and immediately starts laughing when his gaze lands on Jacob’s outfit.
“What look were you trying to achieve?” Alvin flicks his fingers against Jacob’s shoulder. “Glamorous pirate? Prince Charming meets Optimus Prime? What’s happening here?”
Garrett snaps his fingers. “The love child of Rainbow Bright and the Village People?”
My gaze drops to Jacob’s leather pants and royal blue cowboy boots. “Space Cowboy?” I blurt out.
Chaser chokes on his laughter.
Ignoring the guys, Jacob slides his gaze over my dress. “What look were you going for, Mallory? Cotton Candy Barbie?”
I lift my chin and run my hands over my hips. “Yes, actually.”
That seems to break the budding tension. Jacob grins. “Come on! I was going for twentieth century Shakespeare. Lead singer. Rock star. Poet? Don’t you get it?”
“One,” Chaser says, “It’s a movie premiere, not Halloween. Two—”
“Fuck off.” Jacob thrusts his hand in Chaser’s face and Chaser slaps it away.
Jacob tugs on the lapels of his jacket. “The designer said this was one of a kind.”
“Individually, they’re all interesting pieces,” I concede, taking in the whole outfit again. “Together, it’s a bit much.”
“Just like me.” Jacob grins.
“A-fucking-men to that,” Chaser agrees. “Can we continue this episode of wardrobe tips for the insane later, please?”
“Sorry,” I mouth.
Chaser shrugs.
Jacob seems to be over it and our teasing hasn’t dimmed his enthusiasm for the night. Without a concern for his fancy leather pants, he crawls over the limo’s red carpet to the bar, pops open a bottle of champagne, and passes over-flowing plastic cups full of bubbly to each of us. “May this be the first of many soundtracks!”
We all raise our glasses and cheer.
Crowds of photographers line the sidewalk as we pull up to the theater. I run my hands down the sides of my dress, smoothing out a few wrinkles.
“Stop fussing.” Chaser captures my hand. “You look beautiful.”
“Everyone’ll be photographing Sandra Felton,” Jacob says. “No one’s gonna notice you, Mallory.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. He has a point. The photographers should be more interested in one of the stars of the film more than me, but still. At least I don’t feel bad for making fun of his outfit anymore.
“Go.” Chaser shoos the guys out of the limo when our door finally opens. “You okay?” he asks once we’re alone.
My heart squeezes. This is his night and once again, he’s stopping to check in with me. “I’m great.” I rub my palm against his cheek. “Are you?”
“It’s not that big a deal. But what if people hate the song or say it ruins the film or something?”
I flick my gaze out the window, staring at one of the tall movie posters featuring a half-robot man, with a scantily clad woman draped over his shoulder and a futuristic gun in his hand. “Or, what if people say the movie ruins your song?”
His tense expression melts and he swoops in to kiss me. “I love you.”
While the guys didn’t have any trouble moving up the red carpet, reporters, and photographers swarm around us when we step out of the limo.
“Mallory! Why aren’t you in the film?”
“Chaser, did you write this song with Andrew Lane?”
“Mallory, were you written off of Shallow End because of your affair with Andrew Lane?”
I scowl at that question. For some reason, I expected a higher caliber of reporter at a film premiere.
As we move closer to the entrance, the questions even out to more normal ones focused on music, entertainment, and our engagement. We stop to answer a few of those.
“Have you set a date for your wedding yet?”
“As soon as our schedules line up and are families are able to attend,” Chaser answers.
“Will you be writing a song for the next Bixby Arrowood film?”
“We’d love to,” Chaser answers. “Anytime.”
We meet up with the guys at a small area set up for photos and interviews. I step inside the theater and off to the side to get out of the sun while the guys pose together for a band picture and answer more questions.
“I misjudged you,” a deep voice says behind me.
Startled, I turn, searching for the source.
Davey Revolver.
I should’ve known I’d run into this jackass again eventually.
“Hiding behind the potted plants is awfully creepy. Even for you,” I say, turning away to peer through the doors so I can catch a glimpse of Chaser.
“Didn’t realize you were into gutter trash like Andrew Lane.”
I guess he can’t take a hint. Turning to face him, I glare up. “Don’t worry, Davey. You’re still the sleaziest man I’ve had the bad luck to encounter.”
Yup, when I consider the long, long list of creeps—Andrew included—Davey still sits near the top.
This business is exhausting.
“Besides,” I add, “You should know better than anyone how easy it is to plant fake stories in the tabloids.”
He sneers. “Enjoy it now. You won’t last here long.”
I rub my left hand over my chin, showing off my engagement ring, not that he cares. “Gee, I’m pretty sure it’s more than six months later, and I still don’t regret turning down your charming offer.” I flick my wrist at him like he’s a fly I’m trying to shoo out a window. “Now, run along before my fiancé kicks your ass again.”
“Whore,” he spits out before turning on his heel and stalking away.
“Very original,” I mutter.
“What did he say to you?” Chaser growls behind me.
I whirl arou
nd. The guys are still over by the interview station. Chaser must have ditched them when he saw Davey. He’s snorting like a bull about to charge. “Nothing,” I assure him in a low voice since people are starting to take notice. “Calm down. I don’t want the headlines tomorrow to be about that jackass.”
His shoulders relax and he drops his gaze to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Got some things off my chest. It felt good.”
He curls his arm around my waist and guides me back outside. “I got worried when I lost sight of you, then I saw him talking to you and almost lost my shit.”
“I’m fine.”
Someone more famous must pull up to the curb next because the throng of reporters rushes away, forgetting all about us.
“That was fun.” Jacob adjusts the ruffled, frilly collar of his shirt and ends up tangling his fingers in the ties.
“Come here,” I motion him closer.
He flicks his fingers against the lace jabot. “It’s detachable.”
“Do you want to take it off?”
He glances down and grins. “Nah, it looks too cool.”
“It really doesn’t,” Garrett says.
I untangle the strings that theoretically tie the collar together. “Why don’t we leave this open, so it looks a little more rock star and a little less Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you, Mallory.” He flashes a goofy-kid grin at me.
“All right. Enough of that.” Chaser takes my hand and whispers in my ear. “You know he’s more Wickham than Darcy, right?”
“Chaser Adams, you surprise me every day.”
We’re ushered into the theater and directed to a cluster of seats in the middle. It’s an engrossing film. Lots of action and explosions. I recognize Kickstart’s song immediately in the opening scene and reach over to squeeze his hand. During Sandra Felton’s topless scenes, I pick up nervous giggles from the back of the theater.
After the screening, everyone circulates through the lobby, shaking hands, sipping drinks, talking about the film.
“Mallory, thank you for coming.” A man who looks vaguely familiar holds out his hand. “Rex Hewson.”
“Oh! Yes, Mr. Hewson.” The director was definitely on my list of people Marilyn wanted me to talk to tonight.
