Chapter 12
TJ
An hour later, it’s just Ned and me and what remains of the security team.
“Well, that was something.” Ned takes down the barricade rope he had in place to corral the line of eager women.
“It was alright,” I say, stretching my arms.
“No Cinderella, though.”
I shake my head. “Wasn’t really expecting her to show.” It’s good she didn’t, I remind myself, when a twinge of regret wiggles through the wall around my heart.
“Yeah, no.” Ned nods. “It was a long shot. You were a good sport about it all.” He holds up his phone and gives it a tiny shake. “The fans ate it up, so on behalf of the comms team, thank you.”
“Anytime, man.” I smile, forcing away the conflicting feelings in my chest. “You need anything more from me?”
“Nah, we got this. You head on home. It’s been a long day.”
“Alright. Later.”
I get downstairs and am halfway to the exit when a person in a dark grey hoodie, baseball hat, and aviator sunglasses steps out from an alcove, holds up a slender hand, and flags me down.
“Can I help you?” I slow as I approach. I’m not super worried about stalkers or anything like that.
I haven’t had issues in the past, unlike Anton, who has dealt with his fair share of crazed fans, but my guard is up as I take in the way this woman shifts her weight, like she’s nervous.
Marissa better not have come back with more stuffed animals.
“It’s me,” she whispers, darting a look over her shoulder before facing me again.
“Pardon?” I glance around for hidden chipmunks.
“It’s me.” She accentuates the word. “You’re afraid of zebras,” she adds after a beat of hesitation.
My pulse thuds in my ears, all thoughts of taxidermy evaporating.
“You’re here.” My words wobble, like they can’t decide if they want to reveal my happiness or my dread. Deep down, I know having another moment with this woman—another conversation—is only going to make me want more … and more will only cause me pain in the end.
“I know.” She looks around. “I can’t really believe it myself.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—she waves a hand in a circular motion in front of her face—“I don’t want to be seen.”
“By me, or …?” I let my question hang in the air, forgetting my own uncertainty in the face of her obvious distress.
“By anyone. By everyone.” She glances over her shoulder before grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the small alcove with her. She’s got a strong grip for someone with such elegant hands. This isn’t a big space, so when we face each other, there’s maybe six inches between our bodies.
I angle my head to look down at her.
She tips her head up, her sunglasses mirroring my own reflection back at me. “The only reason I came is to ask you to please stop with the whole Cinderella hunt thing.”
“I’m sorry.” I wince, not really understanding the big deal but also not wanting her to be uncomfortable.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s fine, I just …” She shakes her head. “I needed to tell you not to draw any more attention to me because I’m sort of in hiding.”
My eyes bug out. “Like witness protection?”
“What? No! Nothing that serious.” She groans. “I should show you.” She peeks out around the wall, down the hallway.
“I think we’re alone,” I tell her. I have no idea what’s going on, but privacy seems paramount in her mind. “The security team’s finishing up on the Mezzanine level.”
She leans back and faces me, slowly taking her sunglasses off, and I stare down into the hazel eyes of none other than Lucy Dupree, disgraced starlet who left the spotlight after an outburst to end all outbursts on national TV.
“Whoa” is the first word that comes out of my mouth.
She flinches. “Yeah. Hi. It’s me. It’s okay if you hate me. I wouldn’t blame you.”
I hold up my hands. “I don’t hate you. I don’t know you.”
“Well, I appreciate that, but I’m here to close the book on this thing.” She offers me a tight smile. “I wanted you to know who you’re dealing with so you’d stop with the hunt. That’s what I came here to tell you.” She pushes her sunglasses back onto her face and moves to leave.
Voices reach my ear at that very moment, and Lucy freezes. She spins in my direction, and though I can’t see her eyes, I can picture the worried, frantic look in her green and gold flecks, and I want to erase it.
I reach behind me and blindly try the handle on the door in the alcove. It swings inward, and I step back, motioning for Lucy to join me. She doesn’t hesitate, moving forward into the darkened conference room. I shut the door silently as someone walks past.
Lucy sucks in a breath, and we wait in silence until the footfall disappears. Since it’s dark and quiet, all my senses kick in like a snare drum beat. There’s a tropical scent emanating from Lucy’s skin or her hair, something fruity mixed with a hint of coconut.
As my eyes adjust, I can make out the lines of her jaw. She’s got a diamond face shape, with strong, defined cheekbones. I knew she was beautiful even when she was wearing the mask, but seeing her full face now … even in the dark … it’s obvious she’s a knock-out.
Of course she is. Everyone knows Lucy Dupree is beautiful.
“Do you think they’re gone?” she whispers.
I clear my throat, pawing for the door. When my hand connects with the handle, I crack it open and peer into the hallway. “Coast is clear.” I motion for her to go ahead of me.
She steps out of the room, but I catch her arm.
She freezes and shoves her sunglasses up into her hair, giving me a clear view of her eyes.
They’re cloudy with apprehension. She arches her brows, and I’m rendered momentarily speechless by her freckles.
Your honor, I love them. They were covered by her mask at the gala, but now my fingers itch to feel them.
To connect the dots and trace the path from one to the next, like it’s a personal roadmap.
It goes against every rule I’ve held for myself since Tess died. Rather, the one rule I’ve held for myself: Don’t get attached. Before I know what I’m saying, I blurt out, “Let me buy you dinner.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s not necessary.”
“I’d like to, though. You obviously went out of your way to come down here. It’s the least I can do.”
I tell myself this is okay. I’ve gone on plenty of first dates. Even a few second dates. That’s all this is—a token of appreciation and a way to satisfy my curiosity about Lucy. And it’s not even a date.
“I don’t do public outings. Not anymore,” she adds ruefully.
“You could come back to my place. I’ll make you something.”
Her eyes widen even further.
I backpedal. “I mean, only if you’re comfortable with that. I’ve got chicken marinating, and there’s plenty. I think I have a salad and maybe some grapes.”
Grapes, TJ. Really? That’s what you’re offering Lucy Dupree?
Her eyebrows hitch up, and I’m certain she’s going to politely decline, which I tell myself would likely spare me a world of potential hurt. But then she squares her shoulders and gives a firm nod. “Alright. Let’s get out of here.”