Chapter 22 Stevie
Stevie
The Hollywood Hills greet me in a tight hug as I step out of the limousine and allow my eyes to adjust to the starry night.
The city stretches out before me, dotted with a sprawl of palm trees and the twinkling lights of downtown, the air thick with the scent of cool asphalt and blooming bougainvillea.
Urban grit and floral sweetness. The skyline is impressed with the silhouette of skyscrapers and the distant outline of the Hollywood sign, a promise of dreams destined to come true.
I inhale a big breath.
I’ve always wanted to be here, to drink in the West Coast air, tinged with salt from the sea. Despite my nerves and hesitation, it would be a disservice to not savor every detail.
“Here is your bag, miss,” the driver says, coming up beside me with my carry-on suitcase. “It was a pleasure serving you today.”
I smile kindly at the man, his hair as dark as the sky, expression warm and pleasant. “Thank you. Here, let me give you a tip.”
He stops me as I reach into my handbag for a few measly dollar bills. “No, that’s not necessary. Mr. Hall has it covered. Do you need assistance inside?”
Blinking away from him, I glance across the sidewalk at the upscale hotel.
It rises majestically before me, tall columns framing the entrance, their ivory marble gleaming under the amber lights.
Wrought-iron balconies overlook the bustling street, while a cascading fountain at the entrance adds a touch of serenity.
“Oh…no, thank you. I think I’ve got it covered.
” I peer back at him. “What was your name again?”
“Adrian.” He extends a hand. “Let Mr. Hall know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I’m happy to oblige.”
I nod through a flash of teeth, accepting the handshake. “I appreciate that.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
The driver sends me a nod and returns to the limo, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. But something tells me no one is ever alone in this city. There’s magic on every street corner: music, lights, and swarms of people, always watching, moving to the pulse of Hollywood’s steady rhythm.
I heave in another breath and make my way to the main entrance. My phone buzzes from my back pocket as I check in with the receptionist.
Our family group chat is going off like a rocket.
Mom: The app says you touched down! Are you safe?
Dad: Did you meet any celebrities yet?
Joplin: Sorry, Mom and Dad are unraveling. I’m trying over here.
Mom: Give us a call as soon as you’re free.
A photo of Emmy the cow loads a few seconds later.
Dad: Emmy says you’re a moo-vie star.
Dear God.
Distracted, I try my best to multitask at the check-in desk.
“Staying for two nights?” a woman with a pristine blond bun inquires, tapping away at her keyboard.
Joplin: Udderly ridiculous. I’m sorry Stevie.
Dad: I expect you to milk this opportunity.
My face burns with secondhand embarrassment. “Yes. Thank you.” A few minutes later, I’m given my room key, along with instructions on how to find the elevators. I drag my rolling suitcase behind me, typing out a quick response one-handed.
Me: I’m here! At the hotel.
Mom: Thank goodness! Send us a video of your room. We’re living vicariously through you.
Dad: My daughter is legendairy.
Me: Oh my God. Please stop.
Biting back a grin, I reach my room and use the key to escape inside.
When I flip on the light, my eyes round, brightening with dazzlement.
A king-size bed with crisp white linens sits center stage, framed by a tufted velvet headboard in midnight blue.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city, the Los Angeles lights stretching out like a sea of stars.
The walls are adorned with black-and-white photographs of Hollywood icons, adding a vintage splash to the contemporary space, as a marble-topped minibar glitters in the corner, stocked with high-end spirits and gourmet snacks.
I take a quick moment to video the room and send it off in the group chat, then I jump up and down with a childlike squeal before flopping backward on the bed.
Is this what it’s like?
Is this how Lex lives, day in and day out?
The idea is a mix of sweet and sour as I close my eyes and breathe it all in.
Then my phone pings again with a text message. Sitting up straight, I glance down at the unfamiliar number.
Unknown number: How’s the room?
My eyes slant.
Me: Who’s this?
Unknown number: Guess.
I bite my lip. His agent must have given him my number.
Traitor.
Me: Lex.
Lex: Good guess.
Me: The room is wonderful, thank you.
I watch his bubbles dip and swirl.
Lex: Be ready by eleven a.m. tomorrow. Have a good night.
Rereading the message over a few times, I hover my thumb over the Add to Contacts prompt, then change my mind.
Me: Will do.
I wait for a response, but it never comes.
***
Saturday is a blur.
Makeup, hair, catered lunch, dress fittings. People everywhere. All hands are on deck, and never in my life have I felt so pampered.
So…important.
Luda, a late-thirties firecracker with coal-black hair and a European accent, is in charge of making me shine, flitting around my hotel room in a stunning mustard-yellow dress while draped in chunky gold jewelry.
“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” she chants my name, swishing a huge makeup brush across my cheek.
“Tell me the origin of such a quirky name. Is it Greek?”
“Um…I think it’s rock.”
“Pardon?”
I laugh a little. “My parents are classic rock music buffs. My siblings and I are named after famous musicians.”
“How charming. I love when a good story accompanies a name.” She grins, bopping powder to the tip of my nose. “All set. Mr. Lex will surely be tongue-tied when he lays his eyes on you.”
My throat constricts. Every part of me wants to tell her it’s not like that, not at all, but I know the reason I’m here is to pretend. I force a smile. “Have you worked for him long?”
“Just over a year. He’s a prickly man. Doesn’t enjoy hands all over him, tending to his hair and ties. Makes him cranky.”
He never did like to be touched.
I remember when he held my hand on the rooftop and it felt like I’d uncovered a piece of rare, buried treasure.
“Take a look,” Luda says, ushering me off the stool and snapping her fingers. “Drink in the fruits of my labor. I think you’ll be impressed.”
My skin heats, heart thumping. Standing from the stool, I make my way over to the floor-length mirror, closing my eyes the moment the glass is in front of me.
And when I open them, I lose a breath.
Staring back at me is someone almost unrecognizable.
Luda has transformed me into a vision of old Hollywood glamour with a modern twist. My hair, usually left to its own devices, is styled into soft, cascading spirals that fall perfectly over one shoulder, held in place by a silvery hairpin.
The dress, a deep sapphire blue, makes my eyes pop and my skin glow, layers of silky fabric clinging in all the right places and flowing down to the floor in a way that feels both elegant and daring.
A thigh-high slit on my left leg adds just the right amount of edge.
My makeup is a work of art—smoky eyes that give me a sultry look, framed by long, dark lashes. My lips are painted a matte, bold red, and a subtle hint of shimmer highlights my cheekbones, catching the light with every twirl.
I don’t just look the part. I look like I belong.
“Mr. Lex is a goner.” Luda claps her hands together, dark hair bouncing at her shoulders. “Come on, come on. It’s time to go. Your chariot awaits.”
The rest of the stylists scatter to clean the room and collect their belongings as my heart rate triples, nearing detonation. A knock sounds at my hotel door.
I spin around when it whips open, and Lex’s agent, Rudy, zips through, dressed to impress in a peach-hued suit, garnet tie, and a pair of kitschy glasses. Light-hazel eyes pop against warm brown skin and a mop of inky hair.
“Stevie, you’re up,” he says, waving me forward with two fingers. “Limo’s outside. Paps are out in full force, so try not to panic. I can handle panic, but I don’t love it. I’m used to Lex and his nonexistent feelings and stone-cold heart. Are you good to go?”
He says it all with a smile.
I glance around the room, as if Mom or Dad or Joplin will materialize from the walls and hold my hand. “I–I think so. Should I say anything? To the photographers?”
“Eh.” He makes a face. “Not yet. We’ll go over lines when we get there.”
“Lines?”
“The story. We’re being vague and mysterious, so the lines will be brief. We’ll give them just enough to wonder and whisper but not too much. We want to keep milking this.”
“Vague…mysterious…” Frowning, I blink back to him. “How long are we milking this?”
“Time to go.” He spins around, giving me an animated hand gesture while Luda douses me in a final cloud of hair spray and waves me off.
“This is Castle, the muscle. He’s solid.
Literally. He’ll keep you safe and sound,” Rudy rambles off before I’m even able to catch up to him in the hallway.
Castle hangs back, waiting for me. “Lex is in the limo. There’s champagne if you need it.
Bubbly for the butterflies. Any questions? ”
I skip ahead on my bedazzled heels, sending the bodyguard a nervous smile. “How long are we milking this?”
Rudy scratches the back of his head. “As long as we can.”
I’m not sure how much we can accomplish in one night, but before I can overthink his answer, we’re in the hotel lobby, and flash photography is blinding me through the double doors.
Rudy holds the door open for me, his eyes gleaming with premature apology, and then the world narrows to a pinprick.
I don’t remember stepping outside.
I’m just here, standing amid a cloudburst of noise and lights, shell-shocked and wide-eyed. Frozen. Incapacitated. I don’t know where to look, what my name is, or how to breathe.
Snap, snap.
“Stevie!”
“Miss St. James!”
“Are you and Lex official?”
Flash, flash.
“Can we get a statement?”
“You look amazing!”