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Annoyed, the attendant takes the key from my hand, his lips pressed together. He holds up a ticket between his fingers. I grab it from him and stuff it inside my pocket. We passed awkward a few minutes ago, and I’m late for my stalking appointment. If I’m lucky, I can still track Nico down.
He slides into the driver’s seat.
All Aboard The Hot Mess Express.
“Take excellent care of my baby,” I quip, but he doesn’t even crack a smile.
Once inside the building, I look in every store window. I spot a few guys wearing the same Dodgers baseball cap. None of them are Nico. As time ticks down, I wonder if he’s even in the mall. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he lured me in here just to ditch me.
By the time I reach the seventh floor, I’m sure he led me down a path to nowhere. And then I see him through the window at the Apple Store. Of all the places, I would have thought he would avoid a place this crowded. No one notices him.
Head down, his eyes are on the iPad in his hand. He’s dressed in dark jeans that mold to his muscular thighs. A black hoodie covers most of his Dodgers hat. The person before me doesn’t look like a movie star. He looks like a regular guy who wants to buy an iPad. No one around him pays any mind to him. Still, to be on the safe side, he turns away from the surrounding people. His fingers scroll down the screen.
I stare at him, like a celebrity crazed idiot, and wonder what he’s doing. Why would he choose this store? It seems like an odd choice for someone who’s been in the headlines for days. With only a few more days until the Flashbang premiere, this is the last place I expected him to go. Stars usually have interviews and more critical things to do in the days leading up to events. And Nico is casually looking at an iPad without a care in the world. He could be anyone right now.
Occasionally, he peeks up from the screen to see if anyone has noticed him. He looks relieved as he goes back to his business. It must suck to have people follow you wherever you go. A part of you belongs to the public.
I consider heading back to my car when Nico sets down the iPad. He glances over each of his shoulders and then exits the store. Our eyes meet for a split second. Nervous energy shoots throughout my body, making my skin tingle.
I blow out a deep breath as he approaches me.
Nico’s mouth twists in disgust. “Why are you following me?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t know you, so stay the hell away from me. Don’t come back to my house. And don’t follow me again.”
“I work for Weston Burke,” I say. “I’m an agent at Brenton-Lake.”
I remove a business card from my purse and give it to him. He glances down at my hand like I have a disease and then takes it from me. Nico studies my card for a few seconds and then looks up at me.
“What do you want?”
“A meeting.”
“And why would I want to work with you?”
“Because I’m willing to take a chance on you, and you don’t have many options.”
He snorts. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”
“The name is Willow—not sweetheart.”
“Whatever.” He shoves the card into my hand. “I’m not interested.”
He walks away, leaving me with sweaty palms and my heart ready to jump out of my chest. Burke says that it takes a few times to woo a celebrity. Nico Chase will need a lot of wooing if I want him to become my first client.
Chapter Five
Nico
I kick up my foot on the coffee table and pound half of my beer. The cold craft brew tastes amazing as it slides down my throat. For days, I hid inside my house, attempting to drink away my problems. I waited for Vinnie to call and apologize. But his call never came. Without him, I don’t know where I stand or if I still have a career.
On the day I leave the house, I find out I have another stalker, Willow Duvall. If she works with Weston Burke, why doesn’t she approach me like a professional? Instead, she followed me around like some fangirl who wanted an autograph. I feel like shit leaving the way I did, but you have to be careful in this business. Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of lunatics approach me.
The front gate alarm buzzes, ringing throughout the house. I lift my cell phone from the couch and open the security system app. A black stretch limousine drives through the gates.
Steven Marx owns this house. I haven’t seen him since the day he agreed to rent to me.
