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He glared at me. “I mean Saberton’s position as a financial backer to one of his productions.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “Why did he want a meeting?”
Andrew’s face bunched in a perplexed frown. “I don’t know. He said it was an important deal that I didn’t want to miss. I agreed to meet him for lunch. But . . .”
“He got whacked before he could give you the deal of a lifetime.” My frown echoed his. More clues and bits of info, but still nothing resembling a full picture. Yet. “Whatcha doing in ten minutes?”
He scowled, and this time it wasn’t for show. “Promo for the Zombies Are Among Us!! documentary. Part of the deal with the production company. Stupid shit.”
I snorted. “Well, try and act like you’re having fun, ’kay? After all, you’re Andrew Saber!” I fluttered my lashes again.
Andrew drained the last dregs from the bottle, then casually flipped me off. “To keep up appearances,” he said with a tight smile. “You understand.”
“Ditto,” I said brightly and returned the gesture, then sauntered off as if I didn’t have a care in the world. But as soon as I was well away from him, I texted Brian.
Queen Bitch is flying to that place you went yesterday. Her puppy says there’s funny business. If the FBI was monitoring my texts I didn’t want to make it easy for them.
Nicole. Portland. Got it. Tell the rest to the doc.
I rolled my eyes. Jerk. See if I ever tried to be cautious again. And you’re an asshole.
10-4. No argument there.
Smiling, I sauntered around the tent until I found a quiet corner where I was sure no one could overhear me, then called Dr. Nikas and filled him in. He asked a few questions, clarified a few points, thanked me and hung up.
Cool. Phase one of my Fest mission complete. Now for phase two: get more free food.
Chapter 14
The crawfish things were gone, but in their place were cream cheese and salmon rolls. I scarfed several down, not only because they w
ere seriously delish, but also because I hoped real food would help keep the other hunger at bay, at least for a little while.
My next stop was the makeup table where I got a shockingly realistic protruding skull fragment attached to my forehead by a woman who kept up a cheerful stream of chatter about the various movies she’d worked on. Damn, Nick would’ve loved this shit. And he must have paid a rotting arm and leg for the VIP passes. It sucked that he couldn’t be here.
By the time my forehead was nicely uglified, the line to get a picture taken with Justine Chu had dwindled to nothing. Probably because she was finishing up for the day, I realized as I noticed her security guard helping the two crew members carry plastic crates full of promotional materials out the back of the tent.
My watch said I still had five minutes before the picture-taking ended, and so I trotted my scrawny ass over. I missed being first by a matter of seconds, beaten out by a tall blond guy in his mid-twenties in red skinny trousers and a dark blue polo shirt. He was tanned and fairly good-looking, and I might have been attracted to him except for his smirk that told me he was used to getting his way. Plus, it was clear he’d already paid several visits to the open bar.
Justine Chu was only a few inches taller than me, which I hadn’t expected. I’d always figured that being crazy tall was a requirement to be a movie star. She gave the blond guy a bright smile as he stepped up, but I didn’t miss the quick flash of dislike.
“Back again!” he announced with a self-satisfied grin. “I know you missed me. I thought of another pose to do with you. You’ll love this one.”
Her smile turned brittle. “Sounds great, Sergei,” she said, making zero effort to sound convincing.
Sergei? I bit back a snigger. He didn’t look like a Sergei to me. Bradford or Ambrose maybe—something more Ivy-League-preppy-I’m-so-entitled.
I waited at the front of the line, marked by a square of red carpet to the right of the photographer. The photo area consisted of three backdrops showing different scenes from the movie. Justine moved to stand in front of the one for the science classroom, but stiffened when Sergei slung an arm around her waist and leered at the camera. Okay, it was official: I never ever wanted to be a movie star. Not if I had to put up with that kind of shit. My opinion of Justine’s acting skills climbed higher as she maintained the smile despite having been through this crap a few hundred times today.
But Justine sucked in a shocked breath when Sergei shifted his hand to cup the side of her boob. I whirled in search of help, but the poor camera girl stood frozen in horror, and everyone else in the tent seemed to be distracted by a door prize drawing. What the hell was taking Justine’s security so long?
To her credit, Justine didn’t stay shocked. “Get off me!” Eyes blazing in fury, she dug an elbow into Sergei’s ribs to push him off, but he shifted his hand to grab even more tit.
“C’mon, one more pic!” He laughed and wrestled her closer. “Let’s make it a good one!”
Screw this. “Oh my god!” I shrieked. “It’s Val Kilmer!” I didn’t have zombie speed at the moment, but I had fuck-this-asshole speed. I bounded forward, and before he had a chance to register the skinny form hurtling toward him, I leaped, and threw my arms around his neck in a death-grip.
“What the—” His words cut off with a croak as I tightened my bicep against his windpipe. He staggered a step then—as I’d hoped—let go of Justine to deal with the crazy chick latched on like a face-hugger. The instant Justine backed off, I released my super-affectionate hold and dropped to the ground, then stepped between Justine and the sleazeball.
