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“How long do you think we can pull this off?” Maurice whispered.
“I don’t know! I’m kind of winging it.”
Rogan returned and handed me the beer. “I heard you’ve had some trouble with crazy fans. Death threats, stuff like that?”
I shrugged and sipped my beer to give myself a moment to think. “Oh, you know. The same as anyone in Hollywood!”
Rogan sat down in the seat in front of me and rested an arm across the back. “HLS Security offers a variety of protection services, depending on what you need. Or what youthinkyou need. It’s okay to be over-protected, as long as it makes you feel comfortable.” He gestured at his two partners in the other seats. “Brady, Asher, and I started the company when we got back from the Middle-East. We have fifty-five other bodyguards working for us—mostly in Southern California, the Bay Area, and New York—but we’re the original three.”
“I would love to have a guy like you watching my back,” I said, like a fawning teenager.
Rogan smiled back at me with his confident, dark-eyed gaze. “Trust me. The pleasure would be all mine.”
Maurice must have felt left out because he cleared his throat. “Do you know where Jonah Weiman went?”
“He had to take a phone call. He’ll probably be back soon.” Rogan stretched his neck to look back into the suite. “How do you like him?”
I hesitated. “He’s, uh… I think he’s a nice guy? I don’t really, um…”
“I meant how do you like him as an agent?” Rogan clarified. “He said he’s working on getting you a part on a movie?”
Shit-nuggets. This Amirah Pratt woman was already a client of Jonah Weiman. That meant two very important things. One, Maurice and I wouldn’t be able to convince him to take us on as clients.
And two: he would immediately know I wasn’t Amirah Pratt. Because he knew therealAmirah Pratt.
As soon as Jonah Weiman returned, we were screwed.
Double shit-nuggets.
4
Heather
Sitting in my seat with Maurice on one side and Rogan in front of me, I felt like a trapped animal. There was only one way out of the suite, and Jonah Weiman might walk through it at any moment and reveal that we had been lying.
We have to get out of here.
“I’m going to get some more food,” I said.
Rogan perked up. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get you a plate, so you can stay and enjoy the game.”
“No, no, that’s okay! I’m not sure what I want.” I stood up. “Maurice, want to come with me?”
He smiled up at me. “I’m having fun chatting with our new friend Rogan. I want to hear all about theserviceshe can provide.”
“Maurice, I need yourhelp.” I grabbed his arm and practically dragged him out of his seat. Rogan had already turned around and was watching the last two minutes of the quarter.
“What’s the matter with you?” Maurice whispered when we were back in the suite.
“Jonah Weiman is my agent. Well, notmyagent. Amirah Pratt’s agent.”
“I was distracted by Rogan McDreamboat’s eyes,” Maurice said wistfully, “but Ididhear that part of the conversation.”
I made an impatient noise. “If Weiman is her agent, then when he gets back he’ll know I’m an impostor! We have to get out of here.”
Maurice grabbed the food tongs and began refilling his plate. “Youhave to get out of here. I’m not pretending to be anyone I’m not. I’m just Maurice, the charming—and sneakily-sexy—young actor who wants to hear about all the ways these bodyguards are going tocoverme.”
“I had to practically drag you in here,” I hissed, “and now you’re refusing to leave?”
