Page 24 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
She pressed her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
“He’s so ugly.”
“He’s the worst.”
With dark hair, blue eyes, and a magnetic smile, he was the complete opposite, and he was also a natural in front of the lens. While I loved the celebrity stakeouts, every now and then I enjoyed the pace of a publicity shot like this. There was something rewarding about capturing pics of people who wanted to be photographed.
After I snapped a few more shameless shirtless photos for team publicity, I chatted with Jillian. “Thanks again for giving me the opportunity to work for you,” I said, dropping the teasing and sarcasm. I truly did appreciate the chance, and I needed her to know that.
She flashed me a bright smile. “You know you’re my girl. How is everything going?”
I caught her up to speed—mostly—on life and classes and work, and then Jones and Cooper joined us.
“Nice work, gentlemen. Should only require minimum photoshopping to make you look like star athletes,” I said playfully.
Jones laughed, a rumbly, warm sound. “Good thing you won’t have to work too hard.”
“Some days it’s hardly work,” I said.
His eyes strayed to my friend, lingering on her as she brushed her hair from her cheek. “Yeah, I feel that way, too,” he said, his voice a little lower.
I watched him, snapping mental shots, as he roamed his gaze over her from head to toe. His eyes were full of heat, full of desire. Whatever was forbidden between them looked like it was about to ignite.
When I grabbed a moment alone with her as we finished, I whispered, “He was completely checking you out. He’s into you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t think so.”
I nodded. “Think so. I promise.”
Celebrity dog trainer Claire Tinsley was ready. She was twenty-three and had been born on November 2. She was an organ donor, which was quite thoughtful of her. After an early class, Claire’s alter ego had spent the rest of the day after the photo shoot outside the most star-studded Starbucks in the city, snapping latte runs, coffee breaks, and the no-fat frappuccino fixes of the famous. J.P. happily took my work, handed me two hundred dollars, and then gave me the fake ID.
“You look good as a brunette,” he said, then gestured to the plate of miniature Meyer lemon cupcakes on his desk. “Take one.”
I wrapped a napkin around a cupcake, and J.P. pretended to tip over in his chair and faint from shock.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve never seen you take food before. I thought you survived on the blood of celebrities.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not for me.”
“For a boyfriend? You holding out on me?”
“Hardly,” I lied, but I looked down so he wouldn’t see my eyes as I tucked the wrapped-up cupcake into the front pocket of my backpack.
“You all set for tomorrow? Need anything else?”
I mentally ticked off the pieces I’d need for my wedding costume and the plan to bring my camera inside the event. I’d picked up some wrapping paper at the drug store earlier, along with a pretty white bow, so I even had a gift for the bride and groom. I was good to go, and the twenty-four-hour countdown had started. “I’m ready.”
“When do you think I’ll see the shots?”
“They’re checking cell phones at the gates, so I probably won’t be able to get to any sort of device to email you pictures for a couple hours. But by four, for sure.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Oh man, I’m like a kid at Christmas. Can. Not. Wait.”
“Neither can I,” I said, and left J.P.’s office. I stopped at a nearby mall, set up camp on a quiet bench in the courtyard to finish up my bio homework that was due on Monday, and only checked my phone every five minutes for a text from William, so I reasoned that my self-restraint was still strong. I crossed my fingers, hoping he was uncovering the missing scenes—what had happened in the first act.
* * *
William
* * *
Things I never want to see on my laptop again—this many photos of Jenner Davies. He dominated my computer screen as I studied image after image of the bleached-blond teen star. There was a shot of him at the soup kitchen on his whole helping-the-less-fortunate quest, then a picture of him visiting sick children, and finally a photo of him cleaning up the beach. But before he became so philanthropic, he was photographed working out quite a bit.
The paparazzi had captured many images of Jenner pumping iron, running on trails, and doing crunches at a gym with his trainer.
I zeroed in on the gym shot because something about it felt eerily familiar, so I stared hard at Jenner as if I could put the pieces together like that. When I glanced away from Jenner’s face to take in the rest of the picture, that’s when the clue blared loudly at me. His trainer had a goatee. I flashed back to the stakeout with Jess when she’d told me about gym shots, trainers, and Nick Ballast.
