10. Chapter Ten
And the Instagram post read, “In Hollywood, famous actresses eat lettuce and famous actors can eat anything they want.”
* * *
Christina is fuming as she makes it to my car and pulls open the door. I can’t hear what names she’s using for me, but there is a string of them being muttered under her breath.
Seriously, this could be a lot of fun.
She settles into the passenger seat and puts on her seatbelt.
I don’t say anything to her. I start the car and drive out of the parking lot.
I’ve made reservations at a restaurant in the hotel in which her mother’s new spa is going in. I’ve asked for a corner table, but not a private area. We’re supposed to be seen, but I don’t think either of us is ready to be seen in the middle of the dining room.
When I pull up in front of the hotel, Christina turns to me. Her large, dark glasses shield her glare, but I know it’s there.
“We don’t have to be here for another hour and a half.”
I unbuckle my seat belt as the valet walks toward my car. “I thought we’d eat here and then we won’t have to hurry over.”
There is irritation in her sigh as the valet opens her door and holds his hand out to help her from the car.
I watch her climb out with practiced elegance. I can appreciate that she’s flawless on the outside.
Once the valet closes the passenger door, he starts toward my side. I step out and hand him my key and a twenty. He thanks me, and before we even walk to the front door, my car is driving away.
I’ll never not think about Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when it comes to a valet.
I catch up to Christina and rest my hand at the low curve of her back as we enter the front of the new posh hotel.
“You don’t have to touch me,” she growls as she takes off her sunglasses.
“Then that wouldn’t be realistic, would it?” I ask.
Her shoulders push back, and I can see that defensive stance go into place. I’m used to it. I can make her standoffish just by saying hello most times.
We walk through the lobby toward the restaurant, and there are eyes on us. A few phones have been less than discreetly lifted to take pictures.
Christina steps up to the counter, and I step to her side to give the hostess my information. She tries to not appear star struck, but it’s there. By the way Christina’s face has gone hard, she’s not much in the mood for showboating today. To be honest, I’m not sure if that’s my fault or her mother’s.
The hostess walks us to a corner table, just as I’d requested. I pull out Christina’s chair, but she doesn’t thank me. She sits and begins to tuck away her sunglasses.
I take my seat and look around the room.
There isn’t much of a lunch crowd yet, which is good for one of our first public appearances.
Christina picks up her menu and studies it. I study her.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Large diamond studs adorn her ears. Her fingernails are a different color than they were the other day. I wonder if she did that herself or if she had a salon day yesterday, since I didn’t see her or talk to her.
She has on the same diamond bracelet she wore to the award ceremony, and a single silver band on her right middle finger.
There is something about her that screams simple elegance, but I know she’s probably spent hours looking this simple.
Christina sets her menu down and picks up the water that was poured for us. She sips and then replaces the glass. Easing back in her seat, she crosses her legs and rests her hands on her knees.
She’s taking in the room.
“See anyone you know?” I ask as I read over the menu again.
“Bob Hanson is having lunch with his assistant,” she says nonchalantly, as if she’s a spy and feeding me information. “Gretta Jones and Martha Bloom are having martinis. Bob Mills is at the bar, alone, except for some fan girl who just approached with an actual autograph book.”
I can’t help but grin at that. Is her tone disgust or jealousy?
“Bob Hanson is having an affair with his assistant,” I say as I put down my menu and steal a quick glance in Bob’s direction.
“How do you know that?”
“Everyone knows that,” I say.
“Maybe the media just made that up. Maybe they don’t like one another at all.”
I shake my head. “First of all, Bob Hanson makes the deals; he doesn’t take them. And second, what would his assistant gain in a fake relationship?”
Her lips twist, and she picks up her glass of water again. “We’re greedy.”
“We established that the other day,” I remind her. “We’re in a different place compared to them.”
She nods.
We both want to further our career, and it’s being handed to us for the price of our personal reputations. I know that this is going to be a short-lived thing, this story between us. Soon, she’ll have her Penelope Mondragon rom-com and I’ll have my Charles Malloy action movie. In another year or so, no one will remember the cheesy romance movies we made together, or that we were ever associated with one another. But for now, it’ll have to work for both of us.
No surprise that when the server comes to take our order, Christina orders some overpriced salad that probably doesn’t have enough calories in it to sustain her until I get her home in a few hours. A glass of sparkling water is added, with a twist of lime.
I’m working with my trainer later, so I’m going to eat. I order some gourmet burger with sweet potato fries and a beer.
“You’re driving,” she points out when the server leaves the table.
“I am. It’s one beer before noon, and I’m not leaving this building for at least another two hours. I think we’re okay.”
She nods and looks down at her napkin, trying to avoid looking at me or having any unnecessary conversation.
I scroll through my phone until our lunch arrives, then I tuck my phone into my pocket.
“You’re welcome to any of my fries if you’d like,” I say.
Christina looks at my plate. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Maybe when we’re done with your mom’s event, I can drive you through an In-N-Out and get you something to really eat.”
“I said I’m good.”
“I think you’re going to pass out one of these days. Is that all you ever eat, or is that all you ever eat around me?”
She stabs her first round of greens with her fork. “It’s not the same for men in this town. One ounce. One wrinkle. One bad Botox injection and a woman’s career is over.”
I snort out a laugh as I take a big bite of my burger. “You think it’s different for men?”
“Um, yes.”
“I don’t see it anymore. I mean, look at the women in this industry who are in their seventies and eighties still making a name for themselves. I think times are changing.”
“Okay, but those actresses are established. They did their time starving themselves, and in a time when they weren’t protected by the venomous predators out there.”
I chew thoughtfully. “So, you’re going to starve yourself on the merit that if you’re too big you won’t be looked at, yet you feel bad for the veterans who didn’t have a choice but to be looked at? You don’t make any freaking sense.”
“I want to work.”
“Then be good at your job,” I counter.
“I am good at my job.”
“Good enough that the masses think you love me.”
She narrows her gaze at me. “I loathe you.”
“Ah, it’s a bright and sunny day in Hollywood, my love,” I say as I take another big bite of my delicious hamburger.