Red Carpet Arrangement. Vicki Essex
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blond bob and huffed. “I’m not offended. I’m just sad to see you go. And I’m worried. I mean, is this guy okay?”
Kat understood her fears. A few years ago, Jamie had been at a bar in Key West where Kat had worked, and the man she’d been traveling with had had a few too many drinks. When Jamie had tried to make him leave, he’d hit her. Kat had seen it all, got the bouncers to kick the guy out, called the cops and stayed with Jamie. She’d helped her pick up her things from the hotel and invited Jamie to stay with her for the rest of her vacation—they’d become fast friends. When they’d parted ways, Jamie had left her an open invitation to stay with her in LA.
“I think he’s still in shock. But he wants to help. That’s all that matters.”
Jamie gave her a long, assessing look, her thoughts shrouded behind suddenly shrewd green eyes. “C’mon, you can tell me the truth. You didn’t even see the movie last night, did you? So who is this guy?”
Now Kat was entirely uncomfortable. Instead of responding, she hugged Jamie. “I’ve got to go. I’ll keep in touch, I promise. Thank you so much for everything.”
Reluctantly, stiffly, Jamie hugged her back. “Call me. For anything. I don’t want to lose track of you.” Something hung in her voice—something that wasn’t quite a threat, but somehow darker than a warning.
Kat hurried from the apartment and cabbed it back to the hotel, relieved to be out from under Jamie’s scrutiny and a little troubled by her friend’s behavior. Maybe her departure had offended Jamie. In the three months Kat had lived with her, she’d learned that toxic family dynamics had skewed some of Jamie’s perceptions about healthy relationships. As a result, her friend sometimes hung out with the wrong people, and she could hold a grudge like no one else.
Kat hoped she hadn’t made an enemy.
* * *
“SO WHO WAS the mystery girl you whisked away in your limo the night of the Infinite Destinies premiere?”
Riley bared his clenched teeth in a wolfish smile. Every single reporter on the press junket had asked this question. The only reason he answered was because Sam had insisted not answering would be worse. As if lying through his teeth was any better.
“A fan who needed to get to the hospital,” he replied, same as he had the past twenty-two times. He shifted in the tall director’s chair set on the carefully lit soundstage. There were no cameras on him at the moment, but he was utterly aware of his body language, every telling gesture, every nervous tick. “I saw she was in distress, so I offered to help.”
This was the part where the reporter was supposed to laugh and make a joke about how he was a superhero in real life. That was the line Sam had been feeding the voracious public.
But this guy... This reporter was something else. Older than most of the other entertainment reporters, and greasier, too. His thin frame, baggy jeans, polyester shirt and white running shoes suggested that he was a strictly off-camera guy. He thumbed through a well-used notepad and glanced up at Riley. “I interviewed the security men working that area of the red carpet. They said you knew the woman. That she was pregnant.”
Take control of the interview. Don’t let this guy rile you. “That reminds me of a funny story. On my first day on the set—”
“Eyewitnesses said she was at least five months pregnant. Is the baby yours, Riley?”
He gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “Who did you say you write for again?”
“I’m freelancing this piece to Hollywood Weekly. Who was she, Riley? Where did you really take her? I checked all the local hospitals but none of them have any record of a young pregnant woman checking in.”
Either this guy was lying, or he was the real deal and had actually done some hard-core investigative journalism. “Do you like kids? Let me tell you about the screening of Infinite Destinies I’ll be doing with the Starlight Foundation.”
The reporter let him ramble on about the charity for inner-city youth his friend and stunt-fight trainer, Brett Hawkspear, had turned him on to. The studio had given him special permission to do a screening for a bunch of kids, and Riley and a few other cast members would be there to hang out with them. He was particularly proud of the charity events he’d insisted on as part of the promotional tour. Giving less-fortunate kids a chance to be happy was important to him.
He expected the reporter to ask him about his other charity work.
“I have one witness saying you called this woman Kat.” The reporter’s eyes stayed on his face.
Riley knew he hadn’t hidden his reaction well enough when the muckraker smiled broadly. “So her name is Kat?”
“I’m sorry, we have to move on.” Bobbi, a junior publicist the studio had sent, rushed in and motioned for the man to leave. A security guy stood behind her, bolstering her carefully cheerful request. “You can leave any further questions with me.”
“What the hell?” Riley whispered when the reporter was gone. “Who was that guy?”
“I don’t know how he got past us...” Bobbi shook her head, eyes full of fear. “That was Charlie Durst from Limelight Whispers.”
Shit. Durst was one of the most relentless paparazzi and newshounds out there, a man who’d do anything to get a story. He’d done incredible real award-winning journalism stories for numerous magazines about the shadier side of the movie business, but after he’d been caught plagiarizing he’d turned his talents to digging up dirt on celebrities.
“He must’ve had a fake ID,” Bobbi went on. “Fake credentials, too.”
“You guys know he’s a freaking master of disguise.” Riley raked his fingers through his hair. He was still mad at himself for tipping his hand. Now Durst would dig even deeper into his relationship with Kat.
Bobbi apologized repeatedly. It took Riley a while to calm down before he was able to greet the next reporter with a smile.
By the end of the junket, his nerves were shot. Answering the same few questions over and over again was stultifying and exhausting, but having his private life put under a microscope was the one thing he absolutely detested.
When he returned to the hotel late that afternoon, he discovered his mother had left only an hour earlier with Kat. He regretted not seeing them off, but considering his mood, it was for the best. In the empty suite, he downed a minibottle of Scotch from the bar in one gulp, then tore into a roasted-veggies-and-goat-cheese sandwich his mom had left for him in the fridge. He could count on his mom to know what he needed after a hard day.
“Bobbi tells me you had a run-in with Charlie Durst,” Sam said when she arrived in his room an hour later. She looked as severe and fearsome as a tiny, fashionable undertaker in her black designer suit.
“It’s not Bobbi’s fault. I kind of went off on her already.” He rubbed his forehead. “How was your day with Juliette?”
“Uneventful in comparison. No tantrums or outbursts, at least.” Juliette had refused to do interviews with any of her costars. She’d wanted the spotlight on her alone. “I should’ve stayed with you.”
“I think I handled everything okay up until Durst. He’s going to be an issue, Sam.”
“He’s been known to bullshit to make people show their hands. Whatever he has may be made up.”
Riley shook his head. “No. He knew Kat’s name. He’s on to something, and you can believe he’ll shake that tree until it falls out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and swore. “Christ, I’m beat. Any chance I can skip tonight’s party?”
“Harlan will be there, and so will Juliette. I hear some big producers and directors are coming, too.” She named them, and Riley nodded. He’d met most of them, but it was always good to reintroduce himself.
“Guess I’d better go.” Work came first,