Flirting With Fame (Flirting With Fame) (8 page)

“Interesting.” Her gaze never wavered from my face, and I shifted under her scrutiny. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, you can keep up your guise of being me. It seems to be making your life way easier than it is mine. Plus, you’ll be on a television set. With Gavin Hartley and Leila Clarke.”

“That’s all well and great.” She blew on her nails and buffed them against her sheer white blouse. “But I think, if I’m going to do this for you, I should get something more.”

My mouth went dry and I looked at my empty glass with longing. Perhaps I should’ve accepted that second drink.

“What exactly do you want?” I asked.

She looked up from her nails and her smile sent a shiver down my spine.

“Well, I hate to be a cliché, but it is what it is. I want money,” she said. “More specifically, I want half your royalties from
Viking Moon
.”

V
eronica’s face spun before me as all the air left my lungs. “You . . . you what?”

She crossed her legs and the chic navy skirt she was wearing slipped higher on her thigh. “I want half your royalties. I mean, I’m partly responsible for your popularity. I could’ve said something a long time ago. Perhaps retained a lawyer, sued you for using my likeness without permission. But I didn’t, because, to be honest, I felt sorry for you. Even before I met you today, I felt sorry for you. It’s pretty sad you had such low self-esteem you needed to use my picture instead of your own.”

My voice seemed to have jumped out of my mouth and headed for cover. I closed my eyes and tried to find it. When it finally came, it felt small and weak on my tongue.

“I don’t have the royalties,” I said. I opened my eyes and met her gaze. “My parents are holding the money in a trust until I’m twenty-one.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. If I didn’t agree to her terms, I’d have to find another way. But I’d thought of everything else already. And this was the only workable solution. My parents were reasonable people. I could tell them I needed the money for school or something. They might believe me.

“Fine,” I breathed. “I agree. But it could take some time for me to get the money. I might not have it all right away. And we start filming in two weeks.”

“That’s okay,” Veronica said. “You can give me part of it now and part of it at the end of filming. I’m reasonable.”

My head nodded of its own accord. The room suddenly seemed far too small, and I struggled for a proper breath. I needed to get out of there.

I stood on shaky legs and held my hand out again. This time, she took it. I handed her my phone so she could input her phone number and e-mail address.

“So,” I said, “I’ll send you an e-mail transfer this week. And I’ll let you know the production schedule when I get it.”

“I look forward to it.”

I bet.

“Sure. Thanks for the drink.”

My body felt numb as the door swung shut behind me. I barely registered getting into my car. Leaning on the steering wheel, I took a deep breath, then screamed.

•   •   •

Since my parents lived only a few blocks away, I figured I might as well get my plea for money over with. I knew there was no way I could be honest with them. If I told them the money was to pay a woman to pretend to be me, they would either laugh in my face or have me shipped off to the nearest crazy house. They’d never approved of my decision to put Veronica’s picture on the cover, but they’d silently accepted it because they felt guilty about what happened to me. This seemed above and beyond what they might consider acceptable.

I pulled into their driveway and turned off the car. My father sat on the porch, a glass of iced tea in his hand as he rocked in his favorite chair. His face broke into a grin as he spotted me coming up the walk.

“Elise!” He pulled me into a hug, the iced tea sloshing against my back and dampening my shirt. I shivered as the cold liquid hit my spine.

My father indicated for me to sit in the other rocking chair and set his glass on the table beside him.

How are you?
he signed.
How’s school?

Good
, I signed back.
I like my classes. American Literature is my favorite.

Despite my ability to read lips, my parents had a rule that I was to sign as often as possible around them. My mother felt it was important both for me and for them to keep it up.

That’s with the author you like? Is he nice?

I thought back to Professor Creed signing my book. The way he lit up as he talked to the class about American classics.

Very nice
, I signed.
I think I’ll learn a lot.

Good.
Have you made any friends?

My roommate’s pretty nice. And there’s this cowboy.

I hoped he couldn’t see my face flush in the shade of the porch.

Cowboy?

He just thinks he’s a cowboy.
My father continued to stare at me with question in his eyes.
It’s not like that, though. He’s just a friend. Besides, I’m pretty sure my roommate likes him.

Well, I’m happy you’re meeting people
.
Good for you. It’s about time. Now, not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what brings you back here after only a week?

I took a deep breath. Here went nothing.
I was wondering if I could have access to my book royalty trust fund
.

My father released a long breath and leaned back in his chair, his body rocking away from mine for a moment before swinging back.

We’ve talked about this
, he signed.
Your mother and I chose twenty-one because we wanted you to be old enough to be responsible about having so much money.

My hands shook too much for me to sign without revealing my nerves.

“I know,” I said. “But I’m nineteen. And I’ve proven over and over I’m responsible. I’m living on my own at college; I’ve written three bestsellers and am writing the fourth. I don’t go out partying. I don’t even like being around many people. What else do I need to do to prove myself?”

My father’s body deflated as he exhaled. He took a cue from me and chose to speak instead of sign.

“This is all true. You’ve grown into a wonderful young woman, and I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

I sagged back in the chair with relief. “So I can have my trust fund, then?”

“Not so fast,” he said. “I want to know why. Why now? What’s so important you came rushing here on a Sunday night?”

My father leaned forward, the bottom of his chair partially edging off the wooden planks of the porch. He took my hand and held it to his chest as he looked into my eyes.

“Elise, are you in trouble?”

The words sliced through my skin and dived into my heart. An ache spread through my body to my feet. I reminded myself he wouldn’t understand if I told him the truth. I swallowed the lump that had clawed its way up my throat and shook my head.

“No, Dad,” I said. “No trouble. It’s just . . . school is expensive. Books, food, and tuition. I’d feel a lot better knowing I didn’t have to rely on an allowance each month.”

My father released my hand and sat back in his chair. He rocked back and forth for a few moments. I studied his face each time he swung closer. I’d gotten my light hair from my mother. My father’s mane was dark, with a mustache in the same shade. Lines stretched beneath his eyes and chin, but I could still see why my mother had fallen for him when they’d met in high school. His smile was infectious. It overtook his face and brightened his eyes. I’d always felt a rush of pride when I made my father smile.

At that moment, however, his mouth looked strained and his eyes were crinkled in thought. He rubbed his mustache and took a sip of tea. I stared at my hands, but could feel his eyes on me as he decided my fate.

I risked a peek up at him as he broke out of his thoughts.

“Fine, Elise,” he said. “I trust you. You are a responsible girl.”

I jumped out of my chair and threw my arms around his neck. “Oh! Thank you, Daddy! I promise I’ll take care of it.”

He pried my hands apart and pressed my shoulders so I could see his face.

“Don’t thank me yet. I need to talk to your mother about it first.”

“Oh.” I sat down in my rocker. “Where is she?”

“She’s out shopping with a friend, but I expect her back for dinner. Did you want to stay and talk to her with me?”

I thought about lying to my mother as well as my father and shook my head. One of them was hard enough.

“I have lots of homework,” I said. “I need to get back to the dorm.”

“Okay,” my father said. “I’ll talk to her tonight and let you know what she says.”

“Thanks, Dad.” We stood and hugged. I closed my eyes and breathed in his familiar scent. Irish Spring. Hugs from my childhood flooded my memories, and guilt bit at my stomach with jagged edges. I pulled away from him and turned to head to my car.

He tapped me on the shoulder and I peered back at him.

I love you
, he signed.

Love you, too
.

•   •   •

Reggie was in our room by the time I returned to the dorm. She managed to convince me to head down to the dining hall, even though my stomach still churned as it digested my day. I questioned whether a spoonful of greasy mac and cheese was really going to make me feel any better. But I shoveled it in anyway as Reggie yapped beside me. She hadn’t stopped talking about Clint since the night before. I stared at her forehead, giving myself a break from hearing about cowboy hats and ropes.

My phone vibrated against the table and my father’s number lit up the screen. I choked on a mouthful of partially chewed macaroni as I opened the message.

DAD:
Talked to your mother and she agreed you’ve proven yourself responsible. We’ll be transferring the trust fund to your account tomorrow. Please be careful, Elise. Don’t go crazy. We’re trusting you. Love you, Dad.

I stared at the message for a long time, wincing as I tried to swallow a too-large bite of pasta. Then I pushed the plate away.

Well, that was that.

I had the money. I had the fake me.

Now I just needed the guts to pull it off.

P
roduction of
Viking Moon
started on a Saturday, at a time earlier than I thought possible for the day to begin. I dragged my body out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. At five a.m., I had the place to myself. I took my time under the hot water, letting the droplets wake up my body bit by bit. After I’d brushed my teeth, I stood in my robe in front of the closet, trying to decide what an author’s personal assistant would wear.

Gavin Hartley’s image fluttered through my head and my body vibrated at the thought that, in a couple of hours, I’d meet him face-to-face. I wondered if he was as good-looking in real life as he was in the movies and whether he’d be nice or an ego on legs. He probably wouldn’t even notice a lowly assistant like me.

I chose a pair of black pants and a dark green top that buttoned up to my neck. I dried my hair and fluffed it forward in my signature style before applying a coat of mascara and a layer of lip gloss. The girl who peered back at me from the mirror glowered with disapproval. I stuck my tongue out at her and left Reggie asleep in her bed, one arm skimming the floor.

Veronica and I had decided I’d pick her up and drive her to the set, as any good assistant would. I shrank in my seat as she strutted down her driveway like a model on a cement runway. Yet again, she looked like she’d spent hours in front of the mirror. Her navy button-down dress fit like a second skin, and not a single hair dared to stray from its place in her bob. Carefully applied browns and golds made her eyes practically pop from her head. I grimaced. It hardly seemed fair that one person possessed so much pretty.

Veronica crinkled her face in disapproval as she got into my Camry. “How old is this thing?” she asked. “I know for a fact you can afford a better car than this.”

“I like it,” I said with a shrug. “It’s reliable and unassuming, like me. Buckle up.”

Veronica reached for her seat belt and stopped. “Wait. Can you even drive properly? You know, with the whole . . .” She pointed to her ears and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Being deaf doesn’t mean I can’t drive. In fact, I’m more attuned to other senses, like sight. I keep a good watch for things around me My dad actually wanted me to have a special light panel installed that warns me of sirens and stuff, but it seemed unnecessary—”

“Okay, okay, jeez, sorry I asked!” Veronica interrupted me with a raise of her hand. She locked the belt into place. “Let’s go.”

We didn’t talk the entire ride to the set, since it would’ve made driving impossible for me, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her playing with the broken radio dial and shaking her head.

My eyes widened as we turned onto the usually quiet street leading to Honeycomb Lake. Trucks and trailers lined the road and dozens of people milled about between them. I spotted a sign with the words
SET PARKING
handwritten on it and followed its directions. A broad man stepped into the road and put his hand out. When I’d rolled to a stop, he came to my window and held up a clipboard.

“Name?” he asked.

“Aubrey Lynch,” I said. I pointed to Veronica and she gave the guard a smile so brilliant I was thankful for my sunglasses. “I’m her assistant, Elise.”

He looked down at his clipboard and flipped up a page before he nodded. “Go ahead. Nice to meet you, Ms. Lynch. My daughter’s a big fan.”

“Thanks,” I said. The smile dropped off his lips, and I suppressed the urge to grab his clipboard and whack myself in the face with it. “Er, I mean, on behalf of Ms. Lynch.”

He handed me a parking pass to use for the duration of filming and directed us to the set.

“Well,” I said as we got out of the car. I slung my bag over my shoulder. “That wasn’t so hard. I think this will go fine.”

“Whatever,” Veronica said. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses with a symbol on the side I recognized as belonging to a famous designer.

“Nice sunglasses,” I muttered under my breath and shook my head as we followed the signs leading the way to the set. We moved through a group of trees, their trunks painted with fluorescent arrows, and broke into a clearing. I froze and my breath flew out of my body as I saw what lay on the other side.

Veronica turned and peered at me over her sunglasses. “What? What’s wrong now?”

“There’s just . . . there’s so many people.”

“What did you think? It would be us and Gavin Hartley? Suck it up. It takes a lot of people to make a TV show. It’s fine.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the crowds lining the shore. No one stood still in this place. And they all were in a rush. People darted across the beach, talking into cell phones or headsets. Clipboards were the accessory of choice as crew members examined set pieces and checked things off with exaggerated pencil strokes.

When my breath returned to normal and my heart acquired a somewhat steady pace, I took in the rest of the scene. The little lake in town had been transformed into a Viking paradise. A small shack with only three walls stood on the shore to my right. The crest above the door indicated it was Dag’s family’s house. To my left was a similar, larger shack bearing a different family crest. Thora’s house. In the books, they lived across the water from each other, but I supposed the magic of television would somehow convey the distance.

Veronica released my hand and went to talk to one of the crew members, probably to find out where they expected us to go. A large copper-colored object by the shore caught my eye and I took a deep breath. I glanced around to make sure no one would stop me and moved toward the boat. I’d seen smaller models of the boats in my book, but this was the first time I’d been close to a life-size version. It was as though someone had plucked the vessel right out of my head and shoved it into the sand.

I ran my hand over the smooth wood, and my fingers dipped into the carvings at the front. Dag’s family crest again. My breath came out shallow as I bent to get a better look at the etchings. Tears sprang to my eyes. They were so perfect. This was a product of my imagination, and I was able to touch it. I resisted the urge to cry out, and straightened up right into something that smacked into my face with such force, I fell onto my back on the sand.

Pain shimmied up my cheek and behind my eye and the world spun, threatening to go black. I moaned and closed my eyes, willing everything to stand still.

A hand touched mine, making me jump. I opened my eyes. At first, all I saw was the sun, piercing my retinas and blinding me. I moaned again and squinted against the light. Something touched my face and shaded my eyes.

With my vision cleared, I found the bluest eyes I’d ever seen—in person, anyway. I knew those eyes well. I’d seen them in plenty of movies. But I’d always thought they were too perfect, added cosmetically, maybe a product of contact lenses. At that moment, they were real, though. And they stared down at me with real concern.

“Gavin Hartley?” I mumbled.

He nodded and put a hand under my back. With his help, I managed to get into a sitting position. The beach swirled around me with the movement and I blinked it into place. Gavin released me and motioned with his hands.

Are you okay?
he signed.

My jaw went slack.
You know ASL?

He nodded.
My little sister.

How did I not know he had a Deaf sister? I thought I knew everything about him.

How did you know I’m dea
f
?
I asked.

It was hard to watch his hands and not focus on the lock of dark brown hair that fell in front of his face or admire how his plain white T-shirt accented his muscular chest.

People were shouting for you to look out as they moved the other boat and you didn’t look up.
His fingers worked slowly—as though he had to contemplate each word before he signed it.
When I asked if you were okay,
you didn’t answer. I took a chance.

“Oh,” I said, switching back to speaking. “So, I was hit with a boat, then?”

Gavin exhaled as I spoke. “You read lips? Oh, good. My ASL’s a little rusty. I haven’t used it in years.” He paused for the briefest of seconds. “Anyway, yes, you were hit by a boat. But it’s the boat of my enemy, so I’ll make sure when I fight them on-screen, it’s in your honor.”

Heat flashed through my body, and he held out a well-defined arm and pulled me up. I looked out at the lake and wondered if I could jump in, swim to the other end, and keep on going.

Leave it to me to finally meet the actor of my dreams and get myself smacked in the head while doing it.

Well done, Elise.

“You took quite a hit,” he said. “We should have medical check you out.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.”

I bent to retrieve my bag from the sand, and my legs buckled as everything blurred around me. Two strong arms encircled my shoulders and stopped me from ending up flat on the beach again.

Gavin met my gaze. “Yeah, I’m definitely taking you to medical. You’re bleeding.”

He touched the cut beside my eye and I shrank away from him. I groaned as pain rippled through my head with the movement.

“Okay,” I relented. “Maybe I can at least get an aspirin for this headache. Where’s medical?”

“I’ll show you. Here, lean on me.”

He released my shoulders, but left one arm draped over me so I could lean on him. I inhaled against his T-shirt. He smelled like those cinnamon hearts people with a love life received on Valentine’s Day. I licked my lips. I wondered if he tasted like them, too.

Gavin hitched my bag over his free shoulder and led me to a tent with a red plus sign painted over the entrance. The tent was equipped with first aid kits, defibrillators, and a tired-looking cot in the corner.

It was also deserted.

“Crap,” Gavin said. “The nurse is probably out helping with something else. First day is always full of injuries. You know, hammers, nails, and all the cuts and bruises that go with them.”

“It’s okay.” I spotted aspirin on a shelf and some bottled water in the corner. I grabbed the medicine and popped a couple of white pills into my mouth, chasing them with disgustingly warm water. “That’s all I need.”

Gavin sorted through one of the white kits on a table and shook his head. “We at least need to clean up that cut. Here, come on.”

He grabbed a brown bottle, some gauze, and bandages, and led me to the cot. The mattress sank under our weight and I glanced down to make sure it wasn’t going to collapse beneath us. Gavin’s hand touched my chin as he tilted my face to his.

Now that the sun wasn’t in my eyes and the aspirin dulled the ache in my head, I finally got a better look at him. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he was even hotter in person. His features looked like they’d been chiseled by a skilled artist’s hands. If it wouldn’t have made him think I was a crazy person, I might’ve looked toward the sky and told whoever was up there they’d done some good work, indeed.

Without warning, Gavin whipped my hair off my face and tucked it behind my ear. I instantly pushed him away and looked down at the floor. He tilted my chin to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his fingers soft against my neck. “It’s okay. But we need to clean the cut so it doesn’t get infected. Also, you have blood on your face. I know this show is about Vikings, but I can’t have the crew panicking about the tiny girl covered in blood.”

I studied his eyes, expecting to find the same disturbed expression I’d grown accustomed to when people noticed my scar. All I found in the rivers of blue was kindness and worry for my well-being. I straightened my spine and stopped squirming.

Gavin dumped some liquid onto a cotton ball and moved to the cut on my face.

“This might sting,” he warned. I nodded my consent and he touched the cotton to my face. I winced and gritted my teeth as the peroxide hit the open wound. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do this part fast. By the way, I’m Gavin.”

I relaxed as he pulled the evil cotton ball of pain from my face. “I know who you are, of course. You know, I’m breathing and all.”

“But I don’t know you. All I have to go by is that you were fascinated by the boats and are pretty tough when it comes to being smacked in the face with one.”

“Elise,” I said. “I’m Elise. Aubrey Lynch’s assistant.”

He ripped open the package of gauze. The bottle of water I’d used earlier sat open on the table beside us and he poured some of it onto the fabric before wiping it down my face. He skimmed my scar, causing me to shiver, yet still he made no mention of it.

Instead, he said, “Aubrey Lynch? She wrote the
Viking Moon
books, right? I have to confess, I haven’t actually read them yet.”

I forced down a laugh as he tore into a bandage. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not that I’m not interested in them. I mean, obviously I am or I wouldn’t have accepted the role. But I don’t want to know what happens to Dag, you know? I feel like it might hinder my performance.”

“Do you think you’ll ever read them?”

“Maybe.” He tossed the empty packages and bloody gauze into a trash can. “I guess it depends on how crazy the fans get about it.”