2. Jenna
Chapter two
Jenna
Stepping out of the car, my heels sink into the carpeted floor. A hive of paparazzi are bunched together, and are taking photos of all the nominees for tonight. The blinding lights from their cameras flash from every direction, with Mara Scott their main attraction. She is Hollywood’s most wanted actress, known to have a romantic link to all of her co-stars at one point or another.
I watch her for a moment. Jealousy radiates through every inch of me as I compare parts of her with parts of me. While we’re both blonde with blue eyes and a fair complexion, she has a star power about her that’s palpable from the moment you catch a glimpse of her.
The way she smiles, shakes the hand of the man beside her, or throws her large waves over her shoulder…it all just screams, ‘Look how important and pretty I am.’
And she is both of those things.
Pulling my attention away from her, I sneak in the back entrance as advised by the production company, grateful to not be recognized.
Because as of tonight, I’m not Jennifer Rogers—L.A.’s Hottest Hair Stylist. I’m ‘Unknown Guest at table forty four’, sitting way back in the corner of the room.
Laurel Jo, executive producer of the movie—my movie—asked me to keep an eye out for Mara Scott and Cole Green so the three of us could become acquainted before working closely together, and I agreed.
Mara is intimidatingly beautiful. She and I met briefly at an event a year ago when I styled the hair of one of her then co-stars. But Cole Green is new on the film scene, and because he’s new, I not only don’t know who he is, but I’m also forgetful.
Which means, it slipped my mind to do a quick internet search, and now I have no idea what he looks like or who to search for in the crowd tonight.
I would do a quick social media stalk, but the announcer just reminded everyone that the show is about to begin. Which means everyone needs to turn off their phones and find their seats.
But, it’s okay.
It’s fine.
Maybe he did his research and knows to find me.
And if not, I’m an extrovert. Day one on set will be a breeze. He and I will hit it off like we’re old friends who have known each other for years.
“It’s Jenna, right?” I hear a soft, high-pitched voice from over my shoulder. I thought I managed to avoid being spotted, but I guess not.
I force a smile on my face and turn to see Mara Scott in a lavish, tight-fitting, deep red ball gown.
I nod. “Hi, Mara, it’s so nice to see you again.” Smiling, she leans in for a hug. It’s brief, but long enough for my senses to fill with the smell of cherry blossoms and champagne, and it feels like I’m trapped in whatever spell she just cast on me. But the moment I can no longer breathe her in, the rush I just felt is all but gone.
“I’m looking forward to working with you in a few weeks. It helps that my leading man is hot.” She wiggles her brows with a smirk, and I awkwardly laugh in response. The announcer makes his last call for everyone to take their seats, and she gently squeezes my hand. “See you then.”
“See you.” I pull a deep, shaky breath, running my clammy hands down the front of my dress, praising past Jenna for listening to her best friend who suggested I wear black.
That wasn’t so hard , I tell myself as I fumble through my clutch to triple-check my table number. When I do, I decide then and there that I need a drink to get through this night while flying solo.
I figure now is the best time to go. Everyone is frantic and in a rush back to their tables, leaving the line at the bar almost non existent.
“What can I get you?” The bartender asks. His hair is a fresh, clean buzz cut, his jaw so sharp it could shatter glass, his eyebrows the nicest I’ve ever seen on a man without any obvious maintenance. “Options are endless, everything is on the house,” he says with a wink and I feel funny in the stomach.
Is it butterflies, or the need for my third nervous run in with the toilet? I’m not sure.
While part of me wants to believe he’s flirting, the other part—the logical one—tells me that his girlfriend probably follows my business account online and has seen the work that I’ve done: therefore, she’s told him all about who I am.
It’s the only explanation as to why someone as hot as him would be looking at someone like me in the way that he is.
Or maybe he’s just good at his job.
“I’ll take your most expensive vodka. Heavy on the ice, please,” I tell him, returning a smile. Only, mine’s accidentally forced, and I hate that I’m in my own head already when I’ve only just walked through the door.
Taking my tall—filled to the top with ice cubes and vodka halfway—glass, I attempt to make my way to my table, but I’m stopped in my tracks when I feel fingertips gently tap me on my shoulder. Releasing a steady breath, I force myself to turn and look in the direction of someone I’ve never met in my life.
“Hey, sugar.” He slurs. The night has only just begun, and I’m already dealing with arrogant, drunk assholes.
“Hi, sorry. I have to get back to my seat,” I say in an attempt to scurry toward my table, but he tugs at my wrist.
“What’s the rush?” he asks, loosening his grip, and I shake off the feeling that his hands left on my skin. “You came in alone. I saw you. I’ve been watching.” He winks, probably thinking that telling a girl you’ve been stalking her is the right way to go about getting laid. But I shiver visibly, making my discomfort clear.
This isn’t one of those dark romance books. This is my life, and the sooner I’m out of this situation, the better.
“I did,” I confirm. “But just because I’m alone, doesn’t mean—”
“There you are!” another man calls out from behind me, looping his arm around my waist. “Sorry I’m late, baby. Should we take our seats?” he asks me. I think I’ve accidentally fallen in love for the night with the man of my dreams.
It happens to me often.
I see a guy for the first—and last—time, fall head over heels, and forget all about him the next day. It’s part of my personality at this point.
His eyes are dark—so dark, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like them before—paired with lashes so curly they should be illegal on a man. His hair is black and long at the top, combed over to the side, with slight growth of facial hair covering what I bet is a defined jaw, but it’s not enough to hide his deep, cheeky dimples.
His skin tanned, almost like he’s been chasing summer around the globe ever since the day he was born. He is dressed as though he’s just stepped off a GQ photo shoot before walking through those doors.
God , yep.
Definitely in love.
“Ah, so you do have a boyfriend. Sorry, man. I don’t mean to overstep,” the creepy guy says to my savior, seemingly ignoring me. He walks off as if the conversation, stalking admission, and near harassment was all just my imagination.
“What just happened?” I ask, jaw hanging open. My fingers are numb from gripping onto my ice-filled glass for dear life. “And why did he apologize to you?” I shake my head, turning to face him with my eyes widening in disbelief.
“Who knows why the men at these things do what they do,” he tells me.
“I don’t mean with him.” I nod at the creep who has now latched himself onto another woman. “I meant, why did you pretend to be my boyfriend? I had him handled.” I huff with a sigh, sipping my watered-down vodka through a straw.
“Just go with it, Snow. It’s easier that way.” He moves his arm from around my waist to over my shoulders. A shit-eating grin spread wide across his face, exposing his dimples. And I do.
I, for some reason, just…go with it. The smell of oak and rosewood overriding any logic I once had.
“Snow?” I ask, raising a confused brow in his direction, but his smirk grows wider, arrogance seeping out of every single part of him visible to the naked eye.
“Like I said, just go with it.”
We walk in silence, side by side, for a few steps, his arm still snugly around my shoulders, and I’ve somehow found myself threading our fingers near my collarbone. We stop when we reach my destination, and I turn to face him, letting his hand go. “This is me,” I say, as I throw my thumb over to my table, placing my drink down in front of the last remaining seat.
I won’t lie. Part of my stomach twinges at the realization that the love of my life isn’t seated next to me.
“Well then, I’ll see you later,” he says, planting a soft kiss on the corner of my lips, and my knees almost buckle. My stomach does a triple backflip, not even close to sticking the landing.
“Later?” I ask, wishing I had my glass still in my hands to keep them from fidgeting.
He dips his head, lips hovering next to my ear. “You didn’t think your boyfriend would let you end your night unsatisfied, did you? What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t show my girl how her evening is supposed to end?” His mouth lingers, breathing down my neck, and all I want to do is walk out that door and drag him by his tie back to my place.
Consequences be damned.
“And how is a night like this supposed to end?” I’ll admit, his confidence is really doing it for me. My lady bits are already wanting to know what he feels like buried deep inside me.
He takes a step closer, and I shuffle backward, my bare back colliding with the cold wall behind as he cages me in. “Count how many orgasms you’ve had in one night,” he whispers, teeth nipping at my earlobe. “Then triple it.” He pulls away, and my heart climbs up my rib cage and out of my throat, breaking every single barrier I’d ever set in place to protect it. “I know where to find you.”
“Well, fuck me,” I whisper as I watch him disappear into the crowd. His dark hair and broad shoulders blending in with most of the men here.
Stumbling forward on legs made of jelly, I reach for the drink on my table and chug it back in one gulp, desperate for the ice to cool me down. Because that man has set me on fire, and he hasn’t even touched me.
Yep, he’s definitely the love of my life for tonight.