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I get up from the table to throw out my cup, and when I turn back around, Ash is behind me.
She wraps her arms around me. “Call me and let me know how you make out with Nico.”
I hug her back, and her sweet perfume fills my nostrils. “Wish me luck.”
She taps my shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
Chapter Four
Willow
I’m officially a stalker. Yep, that’s me—big fat stalker. For the past three days, I’ve practically camped in front of Nico’s Beverly Hills estate. Not a single car has passed through the tall, wrought-iron gates in the past seventy-two hours. He’s holed up inside his mansion, living the life of a famous movie star.
What does that even look like? My life is far from glamorous. I couldn’t even afford to rent a room inside his house.
A few paparazzi have shown up occasionally, hoping to snap a picture of Nico. He’s the talk of the town. With his movie premiere in a few days and the news about his agent spreading like wildfire, everyone is dying to interview him. And me, I’m worrying about him.
What if he took the breakup with Vinnie harder than anyone thought? Nico is from a small town in upstate New York. He doesn’t have any family that lives in Los Angeles. No one will notice if he goes off the grid.
My pulse races when the gates open toward me, and a black Mercedes emerges. Nico is alone, with aviator sunglasses covering his eyes and a Dodgers ball cap on his thick, unruly black hair. He makes a left out of the driveway, forcing me to duck down in my seat.
Did he see me? I hope not.
It’s bad enough I’m stalking him. Assuming he’s gone, I let out a sigh of relief. But I have the worst luck on the planet.
As I sit upright, Nico throws a soda at the driver’s side window and yells, “Get lost!”
He peels off down the street without looking over at me. So, at least there’s that. I fan myself with my hand, still in shock by our brief encounter. And then, I remember… I’m supposed to be following him. Yeah, that will not happen in my ten-year-old Toyota Corolla.
Shit, shit, shit.
I panic for a few seconds and then get myself together. Maybe he’s stuck at a red light. This part of town is a nightmare on the weekend. It took me thirty minutes to get through all the traffic earlier, and it was only nine o’clock. If I’m lucky, I can catch up to him. I whip through Nico’s neighborhood with a purpose. Even though there’s no sign of him anywhere, I’m determined.
When I’m down the street from The Beverly Center, I hear tires screech on the asphalt. I glance over, and my blood pumps harder at the sight of Nico’s car. But the second the light turns green, he’s gone. Like I imagined him next to me. I weave in and out of traffic, hoping to catch up to him. He drives like he’s on the Autobahn. I bet he’s used to avoiding tails from paparazzi. Some of those guys are relentless, known for causing accidents in their pursuit of a celebrity.
He turns off the street. I trail behind him as he valet parks his car at the La Cienega Blvd. entrance. Somehow, I’ve kept up with him. I dig through my purse as I wait for a valet attendant. It’s twelve dollars to park my damn car.
Ugh, I’m not prepared for this.
I have a five-dollar bill, a few rolled-up ones shoved into the pocket of my purse, and the spare coins in the ashtray. By the time the attendant opens my door, I blush ten shades of red.
“Welcome to The Beverly Center,” he says, holding the door open for me.
Using the bottom of my shirt to hold the change, I get out of the car. He gives me a strange look that makes me uncomfortable. He tears off a ticket I stuff in my pocket, and then he looks down at the change in my hands. He holds open his palms, and I dump my sad collection of change into his hands. A few of the quarters and dimes fall onto the ground. One even runs under my car.
Oh, my God. Someone, please help me.
I could die from embarrassment right now. Hey, I’m no stranger to weird, shame-inducing encounters. But this incident just moved to the top of my list. As if I’m not humiliated enough, I still have Nico’s soda running down my window. Streaks of brown cover the parts of my window where the tint is peeling.
Yeah, it’s a real shit show, and I’m the mayor of the freak town. I look like a weirdo driving my rusty, crusty shit mobile to this fancy pants mall.
I crawl halfway under the car, my ass sticking up in the air. When a car horn blares from behind me, I jump and almost hit my head on the undercarriage. I push myself up from the ground and give the attendant the rest of the change, apologizing profusely. A line of cars forms behind me, people are angry they have to wait for me.
