Chapter 4 #2
Let’s hope that enthusiasm serves him well and I didn’t just push him into a terrible situation.
“You’ll be paying for his enthusiasm,” I remind him, stepping behind the counter and waking up Chuck’s computer.
“I’m guessing he would have made a couple thousand dollars if you hadn’t prematurely closed his store.
” I’m highballing like crazy, but I figure this will turn into a negotiation, so I need to start strong.
Chuck certainly won’t be reminding Derek about his promise to cover lost sales. “So five grand should do the trick.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to laugh, but Derek barely looks at me as he joins me, examining the poorly organized space. “I’ll send him ten,” he says, distracted by a little clay frog that I’m pretty sure Chuck made himself during the slow season.
I lift an eyebrow, debating the impertinent question on the tip of my tongue. I know what he means, but I’m curious how he’ll react if I say, “Dollars?”
Derek’s whole body tenses up before he looks at me, and the almost hurt expression he gives me makes me feel…slimy. “Thousand,” he says gruffly. Like I’m crazy for thinking he would give any less.
If I knew how to ring up an item for ten grand, I would do it right now and make him prove it. That won’t stop me from trying. “Sure,” I mutter as I type in Chuck’s password. “Ten thousand dollars for a few minutes of hiding.”
“He’s doing a lot more for me than that, Donovan.” He looks at the computer as the storefront software loads, and frowns. “Do you work here?”
Me? Cooped up in a building all day long? “Ha! No.”
“So you and Chuck are…”
I wait to see if he’ll finish that sentence, and when he doesn’t, I shake my head.
“Friends, Riley. Believe it or not, men and women can be friends without forcing romance into it.” Chuck’s an incredibly sweet guy and has asked me out a few times, but I don’t trust myself with men, no matter how good they seem.
So far, it hasn’t worked out well for me.
“I know that,” Derek says. Again, he says it like it’s crazy for me to believe otherwise. “Two of my best friends are women.”
“You also dated one of them,” I mumble before I can remember to keep that little tidbit of knowledge to myself.
No, I don’t like celebrity gossip, and I couldn’t care less about the lives of movie stars and musicians.
But this is Derek Riley. I can’t step into McDonalds without one of his movie trailers popping up on the lobby TV or buy some groceries without seeing his face on a magazine in the checkout line.
This guy is everywhere, and it drives me nuts.
Silence stretches between us for longer than I’d like, but I refuse to turn and meet Derek’s gaze. He’s either wondering if I’m secretly a fan or trying to decide how best to get himself out of this situation.
Apparently it’s the second option because he clears his throat and says, “I don’t have a card on me, but I’ll make sure Janie sends him the money as soon as she can.” He grabs a pad of sticky notes and a pen and starts writing something.
I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Ah, the classic ‘forgot my wallet’ dodge. I thought men only used that on bad dates.”
“You’re dating the wrong kind of men,” he mutters. Finished writing, he pulls the note from the pad and sticks it front and center on Chuck’s computer screen. It’s a phone number with the name Janie Young written beneath, along with Derek’s flashy signature.
He left Chuck an autograph. Chuck’s going to die when he sees it. Then he’ll either die again when he gets a ten-thousand-dollar tip or he’ll lose his faith in his apparent hero when he ends up with nothing for his trouble.
Honestly, I’m not sure which way things will go.
Derek is harder to read than I thought he would be, and I’m usually pretty good at figuring people out.
Then again, this man’s one of the best actors out there right now, so there’s a good chance nothing I’ve seen so far is indicative of the real Derek Riley.
“We should go.” I grab the key from the drawer under the register and head for the front door.
If we wait too long, someone will figure out they’re not following Derek across town and come back to check the store again.
I peek beneath the sleeve of the t-shirt taped to the top half of the door, checking for any straggling fans.
Chuck must have made a convincing body double; it looks like the coast is clear.
Right as I start turning the lock, Derek puts his hand over mine to stop me. “Are you sure this will work?” he asks. His soft words brush the hair by my ear and spur an involuntary shiver as I get a deep breath of his clean scent.
Instead of asking how much he paid for the tantalizing cologne he’s wearing, I spin to face him and give him my best deadpan expression.
“Trust me or don’t, Riley, but I’m leaving this closet.
It’s your choice if you come with me.” Pushing him back with a hand on his firm chest, I twist the lock and pull the door open.
I half expect him to stay behind, but he follows me out, head down and shoulders hunched as he waits for me to lock the door behind him.
I’m actually impressed by how little he looks like himself as we start walking down a side street toward his hotel, but that only lasts as long as it takes him to reach full speed, which is far from the average walking pace.
And he keeps his head low and his body stiff, so while I scramble to keep up with him, he looks like he’s in a desperate search for a toilet.
I hurry forward until I’m at his side. “Dude, relax. You look super sketch right now, and that’s only going to draw attention.”
His steps falter. “Did you just call me dude?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Emperor Silver Screen. Or do you prefer Supreme Hot—”
“I prefer Derek.” His eyebrows pull low as we continue to walk at a hurried pace, which is definitely the wrong move if this plan is going to work.
I slow my steps, glad that it only takes a few paces before he notices and slows down to match me. “Just chill, okay?”
“Chill,” he repeats, shaking his head as he does a quick glance behind us.
There must not be anyone following us because his shoulders relax a bit.
But not enough. He’s making me nervous, and clearly I have no control over my actions when I’m on edge.
“It may come as a surprise, Donovan, but my life is rarely chill.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised at all.”
“No?”
His curious expression makes me chuckle. “When you’re so busy making women swoon with every perfectly delivered line?” I say with mock seriousness. “Of course you don’t have time to chill.”
“You don’t like me.” It’s not a question, and I can’t tell if he hates the fact or not.
He seems more confused than anything; he’s used to being fawned over.
This guy has spent the bulk of his life being loved by complete strangers and likely has no idea what to do when he encounters someone who couldn’t care less.
I bite my lip but fail to fully hold back my grin. “Don’t feel too special. I don’t like anyone.”
He exhales, almost like a laugh but not quite. “So why are you helping me, Donovan?”
“Because my momma taught me to take pity on any poor creatures I come across.” I chuckle when he does that same not-quite-a-laugh exhale. “Oh, would you calm down? I’m obviously kidding.”
“Obvious is a subjective word.” He glances back again, thick eyebrows pulling low. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me, given his profession, but he’s more expressive than I thought he would be. “Do you think they’ll be okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “Chuck’s tougher than he looks. He does the Portal Trail at least twice a year.”
Derek frowns at me. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Bike trail. On a cliffside above the river.”
“Oh. That’s cool. And Hunter will be fine. He deals with this sort of thing all the time.”
So many things I could tease Derek about for that comment, particularly when it comes to his fans, but I refrain. I have to praise my self-control because now that we’re outside and I don’t have to worry about his fans anymore, I’m getting a lot more comfortable. And when I’m comfortable, I tease.
Curious to see if he keeps talking to me, I say, “Your girlfriend, on the other ha—”
“Assistant.”
I snicker. “A little quick to clarify that one, Riley. What are you trying to tell me?”
He groans softly, shaking his head in clear irritation. I’m starting to get on his nerves. Good. It means he’s relaxing too. “Nothing. I don’t like when people believe things that aren’t true.”
“Hmm.” Can’t say that I blame him. Tabloids can be brutal, and some people will believe anything they read on the internet. Sometimes that’s a good thing; it makes the truth easier to hide when it’s masked by all the lies.
“Thanks.”
I look at him, eyebrows shooting high. “What?”
His jaw tightens for half a second before he forces himself to relax again. “I said thank you. For helping me.”
“I didn’t realize celebrities knew that phrase.”
“Thank you?” Lifting an eyebrow, he studies me for a long moment, then stuffs his hands into his pockets and shifts his walk into something more leisurely.
It’s less about his speed and more about the way he holds himself, and I’m a little fascinated by how easily he changes his whole bearing.
I know he’s an actor and all, but he’s not in front of a camera right now.
He must be used to hiding if he’s putting on a show for the likes of me.
I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it.
“Yeah,” I say, belatedly realizing he asked a question. “In my experience, people like you have never heard of gratitude.”
“Do you encounter a lot of people like me in Moab?”
“Nope.” And this is a perfect time for me to ask, “Why are you here?”
Whoa. It’s like all of his emotion vanishes in an instant, leaving him looking oddly blank. That’s some skill right there, but it instantly makes my hackles rise.
“Vacation,” he says lightly.
“Liar.” The word is sharper than I mean it to be, backed by a years-old desperation for honesty that I thought I buried long ago.
Whether it’s because he was caught in the lie or because he senses my growing tension, he lets the facade slowly slip away until his confusion and frustration and hints of interest are painted on his face again.
“How did…” He shakes his head, though I don’t know why he would be surprised that I saw right through him when it was such a contrast from what he’s been giving me before now.
Most people must let him get away with wearing a mask.
“Fine. I’m under contract, so I can’t say. ”
“You’re filming a movie here?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness.”
That stops him in his tracks, and he stares at me like I’m a puzzle with all the wrong-shaped pieces. I get that look often, and I can’t hold back my smirk. He’s not the only one who knows how to hide.
“You are…” He trails off, shaking his head.
I fold my arms. “I’m what?”
“Confusing.” It seems to cost him a lot to admit that as he clenches his jaw. “You don’t make any sense.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know if I meant that as a compliment.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“And frustrating,” he growls.
Oh, this man. I’m getting the sense that he isn’t usually like this, since I’m sure I would have come across a story or two of him insulting people he encounters if he was ever this honest when he’s out in public.
I’ve clearly brought out the worst in him, or at least messed with his careful control, and I feel a strange sense of pride when I realize I actually did knock him off balance.
Not as perfect as you seem, Derek Riley.
I gesture to the swanky hotel just ahead, glad to be rid of him so I can get back to my normal, quiet life and forget I ever met this man. “Your humble abode, Mr. Hollywood. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but I’d be lying.”
A disbelieving laugh ekes out of him, followed by the subtlest of smiles on his open mouth. Almost like he appreciates my honesty. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Look on the bright side, Riley.” I pat his arm and have to try so hard not to comment on the impressive muscle that greets my fingers.
He’s the most famous person in Hollywood right now; his ego is big enough.
“I can’t say it was a waste of my evening either.
” I give him a salute, laughing at the sight of his baffled stare, and then I turn and head back the way we came.
Glad that’s over. Derek wasn’t as awful as he could have been, but thankfully I’ll never have to see him again.