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“The airline offered me a seat in first class for my misfortunes, but I never saw . . .” She waved her hand, “What was his name again?”
The woman was gritting her teeth. “Reece Collins.”
“Yeah, sorry. If this Mr. Collins was on the plane, I never saw him. I spent the flight sitting by myself.”
“But that attendant said . . .” The woman was clearly confused.
Nicole shrugged again. “I’m sure the attendant was only trying to get her fifteen seconds of fame.”
The woman’s face fell. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Hmmm-hmmm.”
She decided to leave then, with no juicy gossip to pass on to her friends. “I’ll be going now. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she stated, glancing down at Nicole’s notebook.
Nicole smirked. Sure you did. “Don’t worry about it.”
“By the way, what brings you to London?”
Nosy much? “I’m here for a bit of sightseeing.”
The woman grinned. “Yes, you Yanks love to sightsee. Ta-ta.”
“Bye.” She waved the woman away, shaking her head. Would it ever end?
As soon as the story hit London, people were in a frenzy to track her and Reece down. His whereabouts were proving more difficult to discover. No one had seen hide or hair of him since he stepped off the plane.
The press must have waited at the airport all night, checking every arrival from the States, with no sighting of the elusive star. Her whereabouts, on the other hand . . .
Thanks to Sara’s story, the press had tracked her down at her rented flat, plaguing her with questions about her relationship with Reece. The phone was constantly ringing, the doorbell buzzing at all hours of the night, and every news program had something to say. She tried to take it all in stride, but after a day or two . . . If this was what it was like to be famous, give her an apron and a hammer.
Nicole figured she wouldn’t get any work done with people interrupting her left and right, so she packed up her things and walked back to the flat she shared with her friend Laura, another aspiring writer.
She wasn’t accomplishing much of anything, spending most of her time staring at the poster of Reece hanging over her desk in the office. Laura hung it on the wall in anticipation of her arrival.
It was from his last movie, The Avenger, where he played a vigilante. It was one of his sexier roles. He spent half of the movie bare-chested and the other half completely bare. Her pulse skipped just thinking about it.
Reece Collins was what she pictured a fallen angel would resemble; six foot three with dark-blond hair, deep blue eyes, washboard abs she wanted to do her laundry on, and a cleft, smack dab in the middle of his chin. She was a real sucker for a man with a dimple.
She opened the front door, calling out to Laura. “I’m back.” She dropped her bag in the foyer, climbing the short flight of stairs to the sitting room. Laura was reclining on the sofa, a soap opera magazine glued to her face.
“Was your writing time as fruitful as mine?” Nicole asked, flopping down on a chair. “Did you experience any breakthroughs?”
“Not a one. Phone kept ringing with questions about you.” Laura glanced away from the magazine. “Your messages are on the table next to the post.”
She barely glanced at the pile. “Do you remember what any of them were about?”
“One was from your mum. Said to tell you ‘hi’ and she loves you. Another from Audrey. Says she needs you to email the revisions on chapters ten through twelve. She also wanted to know how your research was coming along.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. What research? “Is that all?”
“No, there was another one from someone named Hammer.”
Nicole slumped further down in her seat. “Hammer?”
“Yeah. He asked for you. I told him you were away, and he left his number. He says to ask specifically for Hammer when you call.”
“Did he sound like a reporter?”
