Page 27 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
“I know. Trust me, I know.”
“But I’m sure you can get something else,” I said, trying to sound hopeful because as much as I considered us short-term, there was a part of me that wanted him to stay.
“We’ll deal with that another time. Because it’s not shitty anymore, since I have good news for you.”
Then he told me about his afternoon, every last detail, and I bounced on my toes from the excitement racing through me as I assembled the remaining puzzle pieces. “Are you saying Nick wanted out of the movie to do the show? And Jenner wanted in on anything since he needed a job? And since he and Jenner have the same trainer, the trainer hooked them up with each other and they planned to blackmail Avery Brock together the whole time? That Nick never got the screw? That he actually wanted off the film because he had a better role?” I asked, my brain whirring wildly with the details.
“I’m saying that’s an entirely plausible scenario. It answers a lot of questions, doesn’t it? Nick and Jenner go to the same gym, they have the same trainer, the trainer is like a good hairdresser and he knows everything about his clients’ hopes and dreams, so he sees an opportunity to make a deal. He connects the boys, and there you go. You’ve got your guy on the inside—Nick. He must have been the one on The Weekenders who overheard that Avery was making the moves on Riley, so he and Jenner set up the plan to get the photos with Jenner’s publicist. They get the shots, they blackmail Avery, and they get what they want—Nick gets off the movie. Jenner gets on. Nick goes to Canada for a bigger part. Jenner is happy just to have a part. At least that’s what I put together with my esteemed private detective skills. Amazing the lengths an actor will go to get or not get a part, isn’t it?”
“Amazing, too, how everyone has an agenda,” I said, and I didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. Nick was a jerk, Jenner was a jerk, Avery was a jerk, and everyone was angling for something. All I had to do was profit from it and shoot it, like J.P. said. I wasn’t going to let myself suffer any emotion any more for any actor. They were all jobs to me, and jobs I knew how to do. “Do you know what this means?”
“What does it mean?”
I grinned wildly, and pumped a fist. “It means I don’t have to beat myself up about Nick Ballast any more since he engineered the whole damn thing. I didn’t screw him over. I didn’t make him lose the job. He wanted this to happen, so I don’t have to feel guilty about anything any more. Oh, but speaking of guilt, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” I said and reached into the front pocket of my backpack. I offered him the cupcake. “I brought this for you. J.P. made it. I hope it didn’t get crushed.”
“I’d eat it even if it got crushed, and I also won’t feel guilty about it at all.” He bit into the cupcake. “Damn, that bloke can bake. By the way, I said that for you.”
“And it sounded heavenly. Bloke,” I repeated in a British accent.
“And my stomach thanks you. I’ve barely had anything to eat today.”
“How’s that possible? I thought you and food were like this,” I said, twisting my index finger around my middle finger.
“This girl I’m working with had me on an all-day stakeout.”
“This girl is very impressed with what you learned. And this girl wants to thank you for all that you did.”
“Good. Because I want to impress this girl. And I want her to go to the wedding tomorrow, get the pictures, and not feel bad about a damn thing because she shouldn’t.”
“She’s definitely not feeling bad about anything at all right now. In fact, she’s thinking about how much she’s looking forward to this evening with you.”
“Good,” he said in an approving voice, pointing to the nearby Santa Monica Pier, with its Ferris wheel and roller coaster. “Do you like roller coasters, by the way?”
“Do I like roller coasters?” I tossed back as if he was crazy for asking. “Do you think there’s a chance I don’t like roller coasters?”
“I bet you love them,” he said, draping an arm around me as we walked. My stomach flipped from the slightest contact. Or maybe it was from the realization that I’d agreed to be his girlfriend last night. That I found myself liking being his girlfriend. We turned onto the pier, strolled along the midway, then past the ring toss and Whac-A-Mole games.
“You know how everyone has an agenda?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“I have an agenda, too, Dr. Leighton,” he said, dropping his arm to my waist and trailing his hand along the small of my back, sending shivers through me. I was putty under his hands. Everything he did melted me from the inside out.
