A-List Kiss: A Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedy Page 4

  Thank you, Todd. I grinned at his back. The expression of shock on Jessica’s face made it worth putting up with him.

  My smile was confident as I beamed it straight at Jessica. I had a date with Gavin. That was true. One date could be considered date-“ing” in the general sense. I’d certainly dated him enough in my mind.

  “Well, good for you.” Jessica’s eyes skittered over the necklace. “You had to do something to get ahead. You were never going to make it on talent.” She laughed. “Kidding!” Her laughter continued. No one joined her in it. “Just kidding. I’m sure you have many hidden assets to interest Gavin Braddock.” Her tone said she was sure of no such thing.

  “And yet it was my reporting talent he noticed first.” I shook my head in pretended contemplation. “I’d better not get too good, though, right? Or else someone’s anchor spot might end up being newly available...”

  Her eyes went wide as the threat hit home. My chest swelled with newfound power and I hid my smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have chickens to interview.”

  ∞∞∞

  I’d just finished packaging the Gavin interview for air when my cell phone rang again.

  “Hello?”

  “Son of a bitch,” was the greeting from the other end.

  “Not quite,” I responded. I really had to stop answering my phone. “Sorry, wrong number.” I pushed the end call button and glanced at the caller ID. Another number I didn’t recognize. I’d be happy when I started getting calls from people I actually wanted to talk to. Like my mom. We usually talked every day, and here it was after six my time which meant it was nine her time, and she still hadn’t called me. I was dying to tell her about Gavin. My phone rang a second time.

  “Don’t hang up!” the voice yelled before I could say anything. It was the same voice that’d called me a son of a bitch.

  “Why? Do you have something else you want to call me?”

  A hefty exhale sounded in my ear. “I’m sorry. You have my phone.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear. It looked the same as it had since I’d bought it two days ago—shiny, unscratched, and naked without a cover I still needed to shop for.

  “Who is this?”

  “Special Agent Matthew Decker. We met this morning? Under cover of gunfire?”

  Mean Hotness. I should’ve suspected his voice would be as attractive and distracting as the rest of him. I leaned back in my chair. Having his phone instead of mine explained all the wrong numbers, but I couldn’t resist messing with him. “What makes you think I have your phone, Mr. Decker?”

  “Because I dialed my own number and you just answered.”

  “You must be a brilliant agent.”

  “Special agent.”

  “What makes you special?”

  A charged pause followed during which I could almost hear his teeth grinding.

  “It’s a designation that—”

  “It’s your patience, right?” I interrupted. “You’re obviously really patient and helpful. Are you the one they have train all the new hires? So polite and encouraging. Super special. I see it.”

  The giant exhale in my ear prepared me for the temper explosion to follow. Except it didn’t. Instead, a carefully modulated tone choked out, “Would you please do me the favor of meeting me to exchange phones? I’d like my life back. Apparently, you’ve stolen it.”

  His life or his phone? Both? “Stolen your life? Are you kidding?”

  “Sorry.” His response was immediate. “I really need my phone back. Please. Thank you. I’m sorry. Just give it to me.”

  “Of course. Since you asked so politely.” Though I hardly knew him, I could see him rolling his eyes across town. “I want my phone back too. It’s been very inconvenient without it today. All the important calls I’ve missed.” From my mother. “I’m not sure why you’re so anxious to get yours back. The only person calling your phone was some goofball frat boy.”

  “My brother,” Special Agent Matthew supplied. “Sorry my stolen phone wasn’t more exciting for you. We mere mortals can’t all get movie star booty calls.”

  “What?” I yelped, squeezing the phone harder than a squish toy.

  “Oh, yeah. Gavin Braddock called me this afternoon and cooed that he couldn’t wait to see me again.”

  “‘Cooed?’ Really? Didn’t he notice you have a deeper voice than I do?”

  “I think he thought I was your assistant. He asked me if I was taking notes.”

  I laughed. I was sure super-patient Special Agent Matthew loved that. “What else did he say? As my assistant, you should have details.”

  “Something about being captivated by my—your—adorableness.” Matthew’s voice dropped in volume on the last word as if my adorableness—or having to mention it—caused him physical pain.

  “Seriously? He said that?” Gavin thought I was adorable. My heart squeezed.

  “Just give me my damn phone back!”

  I jumped. “Geesh! All right already! Let’s meet up and swap them back.”

  He blew out a breath. “Thank you. Meet me at the Starbucks on Madera in Simi Valley in half an hour.”

  I held my—his—phone out just to glare at it before responding. “No, sorry. We’re about to go live for the seven o’clock news. I can’t leave right now.” As the lowliest of the lowly reporters on staff I personally did not have to “go live” at seven, but I was expected to be there through the show. Just because his job was probably more important than mine—okay, it totally was—didn’t mean that he should think that his job was more important than mine.

  “Then when and where do you want to meet?” He spoke as if he were being strangled.

  “I could meet you at Starbucks near the station in an hour or so when I get a break—that’d be here on Sunset—or I could meet you somewhere near Pasadena tomorrow. I have the day off. Or somewhere in between.”

  “Starbucks on Fair Oaks and Orange Grove in Pasadena. I’ll be out that way tomorrow.” His words were emphatic, his tone telling me to make no mistake. “What time?”

  “How about nine in the morning?”

  “I’ll be there. See you tomorrow.”

  “See ya,” I said to the empty air.

  Chapter Four

  I went home after working the eleven o’clock news. The minute I stepped into my apartment I was treated to the mouth-watering aroma of batter frying. My roommate, Sophie, was cooking, which was rare. She was living my dream job, training to be a chef at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts in Pasadena, and said she spent too much time cooking at school to want to “work” when she came home.

  “Help me out, Eed!” Sophie was scooping hush puppies out of hot oil while trying to turn fried chicken in another pan. I dropped my purse and shoes by the door and hurried over to help.

  Sophie and I had been close from the start. We bonded over our common love of food. Although I never trained to be a chef like Sophie, I was a dedicated foodie. I loved to eat at five-star restaurants and did so every chance I got. The fine dining in Los Angeles would be reason alone to move here. I also loved to buy cookbooks written by my favorite celebrity chefs and make gourmet meals for my family and, now that I was here, for Sophie. She always said how much she loved my cooking—and she ate a lot of it, which I considered proof that she meant it. My cooking was influenced by my Southern upbringing thanks to my mother who was an old-school Southern cook.

  “This looks terrific.” I finished flipping the fried chicken, which was browning nicely.

  “Thanks,” Sophie said. “I was craving fried chicken and hush puppies and you weren’t home to make them for me, so…”

  “Looks like you did a great job. After you graduate in a few months you can charge a hundred dollars a plate for a meal like this.”

  “Can’t wait until I’m one of the celebrity chefs with a cookbook we’d buy,” she said. “Strike that—I want to be so famous that I’m a celebrity chef other people want to dress up as on celebrity chef cooking them
e nights.”

  Yeah. We do that. As food nerds, we may not know how to seriously party, but we know how to cater one.

  “Not sure anyone besides us does that.” I started setting the table for our very late dinner. “But if they do, they’ll definitely want to be you. Speaking of celebrities, I have something to tell you.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the hot guy answering your phone today?” she asked.

  I snatched a hush puppy from the serving plate and paused with it halfway to my mouth. “You talked to him too?” I took a bite. It was the perfect combination of firm and crispy on the outside and hot and mealy, almost sweet on the inside. “How could you tell he was hot?”

  She shrugged. “His voice was all deep and authoritative. Just sounded really hot. Who is he?”

  “Matthew Decker. An FBI special agent who jumped on top of me this morning. And before you ask, yes, he is super hot, but he’s also an impatient, self-important pain in the ass. And rude.” I swiped another hush puppy from the plate but waited to eat it. I was dying to tell her about Gavin. “But Matthew’s not what I wanted to tell you about. I—”

  “Honey, you’re from Georgia,” Sophie interrupted, “where it’s required that everyone say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘bless your heart.’ You think everyone in LA is rude.”

  Sophie may have had a small point, but she should know by now that “bless your heart” is not a polite phrase in Georgia. Most of the time it’s the Southern lady’s passive-aggressive way of saying, “You suck.”

  She went on, “And if he’s so mean, why are you letting him jump on top of you and answer your phone?”

  “I went to The Langham to interview Gavin Braddock today…” Sophie screamed and dropped her spatula. I continued. “I know, right? I was freaking out too. But the guy in reception sent me to the wrong room, and I got caught up in this FBI deal that was going down and this totally hot FBI guy was all glaring at me, and then the room went crazy and some guy pulled a gun, and Hotness jumped on top of me so I wouldn’t get shot.”

  “He saved your life?” Sophie got the same wistful lovey-dovey look she gets when we watch The Notebook together. Or Pretty Woman.

  “I guess, technically.” I frowned at her. I didn’t want to be the woman in The Notebook who had Alzheimer’s—or Pretty Woman who was a hooker. “But he was really mean about it. So I don’t think it should count. I dropped my phone when he tackled me, and I picked up the closest phone on the floor thinking it was mine, but it was really his, and he got mine instead.”

  Sophie clasped her hands to her chest. “They swapped their phones and then they swapped their hearts. It’s so romantic!”

  “It’s really not! It was hate at first sight. Apparently, I walked in the room at the wrong critical moment for his case, and Todd and I ruined it even though he’s not at all blaming Todd. And he’s saying I stole his phone like I did it on purpose to ruin his life. He’s mean. Seriously. I’m a shell of my former self.” Another hush puppy found its way from the plate to my mouth.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “You’ve never taken anything lying down.” Sophie wiggled her eyebrows so I’d be sure to note the double entendre. “I’m willing to bet that he’s more wounded than you are.”

  “Well, I don’t think either of us likes the other enough to care, but he’s got quite a temper.” Unlike Gavin who had the patience and beatific countenance of a saint. “But Soph, what I really wanted to tell you—”

  “Ooooh!” Sophie exclaimed and clapped her hands. “You know the saying, ‘a man with a hot temper is on fire in the bedroom.’”

  I gave her a skeptical look because Sophie was crazy for fortune cookies, horoscopes, and the Magic 8-Ball, and often quoted as ancient wisdom things I’m sure no person ever said, but she continued, oblivious. “Eden, you’re not getting any younger and LA is a young town. You need to look out for your happily ever after.”

  There was a knock at the door. “That’s Corey,” Sophie said. “I told him to join us for a late dinner.”

  “I’ll get it.” I made the short trek through the living room. “I hate to kill your fiery-in-bed-happy-ending idea, but I actually have my own fairy tale already in progress with Gavin Braddock,” I finished as I opened the door. Corey walked into the apartment and obviously caught the last bit of what I said.

  “Gavin Braddock? Are we talking about Gavin Braddock? Just you wait!” He slammed the door shut behind him. “Gonna have my own fairy tale with Gavin Braddock.”

  “What?”

  “That man is gay!” Corey kicked my purse and knocked it over as he walked farther into the room, but I was too outraged over his Gavin slander to pick it up.

  “He’s not gay!” I protested.

  Sophie poked her head out from the kitchen. “SO not gay!”

  Corey jerked his chin. “As gay as a unicorn in a bow tie!”

  “He can’t be gay.” I paused dramatically. “He kissed me today.”

  Sophie dropped her jaw and the plate of chicken. And Corey, who’d started to sit in a kitchen chair, missed it by an inch and landed on the floor.

  “All right, just on the cheek,” I admitted. Then I told them the whole story—how I bungled an FBI case, met Gavin Braddock, got an interview and a date, received some beautiful flowers which I kindly left at the office for Jessica Downing to ogle while they lasted, also received chocolates and jewelry, and ended up with Mean Hotness’s cell phone.

  Corey and Sophie stared at me with wide eyes and open mouths. They almost fainted when I pulled out the necklace.

  “I called it!” Corey’s smile was triumphant. “He’s gay! That’s the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen in the under five-thousand-dollar range. No way a straight man chose that! And what’s with his giving you something like that the day you meet? Très weird, no?”

  “It’s not weird.” It was totally weird. “He’s Gavin Braddock. World-famous movie star. He’s super rich. He just operates at a higher level of consumerism than we do. Maybe it’s the equivalent of me buying orange Tic Tacs or a coffee for you, comparative wealth-wise. To Gavin, a diamond necklace is just Tic Tacs. I don’t know. Whatever. I love Tic Tacs.”

  “You do love orange Tic Tacs,” Sophie threw in.

  “Tic Tacs have nothing to do with a gorgeous, famous, super-rich stranger buying Eden expensive jewelry.” Corey propped his elbows on the table and turned to me with a serious expression. “What if he expects you to put out on your first date?”

  Sophie and I squealed with laughter.

  “Yes, please!” I almost swooned. I lifted the necklace from its red and gold box and slid it across the back of my hand, watching the diamonds and sapphires dazzle with refracted light. A million tiny rainbows—and they all sparkled for me.

  “Have you tried it on yet?” Sophie asked.

  “Not yet. I’ve been too busy petting it.” I turned my hand to the left, following the dance of rainbows.

  “You should put it on,” Corey said.

  “I will. I’ve been delaying the gratification.”

  “Just put it on!” Sophie yelled.

  “Okay, okay!”

  I slipped the necklace around my neck, its delicate weight a caress against my throat. There were gasps and sighs from Corey and Sophie. I went to the mirror to see it for myself. It was gorgeous…and very sexy. I almost felt like someone else wearing it. Someone who dated Gavin Braddock.

  Huh. That would be me.

  Chapter Five

  I was only ten minutes late to the Starbucks on Fair Oaks, but with the way Special Agent Matthew Decker was steaming, you’d have thought it was two hours. I’d rushed my shower and makeup and had barely remembered to grab my purse off the living room floor on the way out the door. He was pacing back and forth by the entrance, totally not noticing—or not caring—that he was intermittently blocking everyone who entered. The aroma of coffee and pastries made me wish I’d gotten there earlier so I could have had breakfast before being yel
led at.

  “You’re late!” Matthew barked as soon as he spotted me.

  “Sorry.” I hurried over to him and pushed the urge for coffee from my mind. Matthew was casual today in dark jeans, a khaki-colored T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. I’d thought he looked handsome in a suit, but the clothes he wore when he was off duty were—wow. If only he could refrain from talking, he’d be devastating.

  I dodged closer to the wall as another Starbucks customer came through the door we were obstructing. Once he’d passed by, I stepped toward a table to lead us out of the flow of traffic. Matthew remained oblivious.

  “Never mind.” He shook his head. “Here’s your phone. You missed more than twenty calls. And don’t get me started on your mother.”

  I glanced up from my phone. “What were you doing talking to my mother?”

  “Listening. She talks a lot.”

  “Why did you even answer?”

  “Well, I thought it was mine, didn’t I?”

  “The first time, maybe. But by my count you spoke to Gavin, Sophie, and my mother.” A middle-aged man in a brown coat stared at us as he edged past to the counter for some napkins. I moved closer to Matthew.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Your mother wasn’t my fault. After eleven calls in half an hour I figured someone must have died, so I picked up. No one died. But your mother thought you had. She was convinced you weren’t answering because you’d been murdered and were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

  I nodded, my mom’s worried voice playing in my mind. “Makes sense. She’s big on ditches. What did you tell her?” I slipped my phone into my pocket.

  “That I’d seen you and you were fine and that I knew you weren’t murdered because I’d saved your life.”

  My stomach fell to the floor. “You said what?”

  He shook his head and closed his eyes like he was trying to gather the patience to continue speaking to me. “Your mother needed reassuring.”

  “Telling her that I was almost killed is not reassuring her. Now she’ll try to make me move back home. She’ll say it’s too dangerous in LA with people trying to kill me, when they’re really just trying to kill you. She will make me miserable.”