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“Sometimes a few hours or the day. Sometimes only a couple of minutes. Occasionally, the place I’m at sells me out and tips the media off. It depends.”
I frowned at the thought of such disloyalty. “That’s not cool.”
“No, but they’re just trying to get their slice of the pie, ya know? So I can’t really get too angry with them. They want publicity for their place just like anyone else, and having me dine at their restaurant or shop at their store or whatever doesn’t really pay off unless people know about it.”
It was a generous way of looking at it.
“One time,” he continued, “I rented this amusement park out, and I had almost an entire day before they found me. It was . . .incredible.”
He shook his head and stared down at his coffee, smiling at the memory, and a wave of sympathy crashed over me before I brushed it off.
I didn’t want to feel sorry for him. After all, wasn’t this the life he chose? It was a trade-off. Fame and fortune for constantly being in the public eye. It sucked, but at any moment, he could leave, and eventually, he’d go back to being a nobody and have a normal life if he wanted. Besides, he was one of the wealthiest men in the country, and ninety percent of America’s youth idolized him. How awful could it be?
Still, the sadness in his eyes told a different story, and because it made me feel sorry for him—an emotion I was convinced he didn’t deserve—I asked, “Is it true you might get kicked out of your new movie?”
He wheezed out a breath. “I know what you’re thinking. That I bring some of this on myself, that if I’d just stay out of the news and stop getting into trouble, then maybe the paps would leave me alone.”
“Wouldn’t they?”
“Not hardly.” He took a sip of coffee, then set the mug down as the nutty aroma drifted toward me. “They’d just find something else to report on. They’d speculate on who I’m dating or how crappy I looked leaving my hotel. They’d still snap their pictures and run their stories. Only they’d be slightly less interesting or completely fabricated.”
Still, it didn’t help that he was constantly getting into hot water, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I pressed my lips into a flat line and said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“But I’m turning over a new leaf,” he said.
Oh, here we go. This should be rich.
“That’s why I needed those treats for the hospital.”
“Mmm-hmm. And why am I here?” I asked because, really, I’d been wondering since the moment he asked me to join him tonight why exactly he was so adamant I go out with him. What kind of business could he possibly have with me?
“Sometimes, it gets lonely being on set for a new movie.” He offered a half-smile, and in it, I saw a hint of vulnerability I chose to ignore. Because Thorne Roberts, lonely? I could hardly believe it.
“Right,” I drawled, “and the cure to that is taking out some random girl at a bakeshop.”
I opened my mouth to inquire about his so-called business proposition when the waiter brought our appetizer and sat it down. It was the largest plate of loaded cheese fries I’d ever seen.
“That’s your usual starter?” I asked, eyes wide.
“Name one person who doesn’t love a good cheese fry?” He lifted a shoulder and popped one in his mouth. “These have bacon and ranch. They’re not on the menu, but they make them just for me.”
Why did that not surprise me?
“Only on special occasions though,” he said, misreading the look I gave him. “You can’t eat junk like this all the time in my industry and expect to get the best roles. After all, my body is my real estate.”
I snorted, and when the waiter asked to take our order, I realized I hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. I quickly opened it and nearly choked when I skimmed the entrees and realized I couldn’t read any of them.
“This is all in . . . French,” I said. That much I could decipher, thanks to the French class I took last semester. Still, half the words were foreign to me, despite my schooling.
Thorne tossed his menu down and looked at me pointedly. “Okay, I do love this place because they give me whatever I want and let me rent it out on short notice.”
And serve you wine,I thought.
“But the menu is a little stuffy,” he said. “Hence the fries.”
I laughed, surprising myself. “Well, they are French, right?”
“Exactly.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “See, you get me.”
