A Beautiful Star (Beautiful Series, Book 5) (7 page)

“That makes no sense. You hardly know me,” I say as I turn around to face him.

He shrugs his shoulders. “If I know anything about this life, it’s that not a lot of it makes sense. You’ve just got to go with your gut.”

“And your gut is telling you to nag the crap out of me?”

He laughs. “Yeah. Something like that.”

"Alright," I say my voice not much louder than a whisper. “I’ll have coffee with you.”

His mouth curves into the most beautiful smile, and for a moment I feel blinded by it. “Follow me,” he says, and I do, all the while wondering what the hell I’m getting myself in to.

***

“Why do you look so guilty?” Jonathan asks, as we take a seat in a quiet corner of the hotel’s restaurant. “Is it because of that guy you’re seeing?”

“Partly,” I admit, as I look around to make sure there aren’t any secret cameras capturing us together.

“Are you exclusive?”

“No. We’ve just started seeing each other.”

“Well then, what’s the problem? We’re just having coffee. Although, if you’re hungry, then please, eat. I don’t want to make you feel like you can’t have whatever you want.”

A laugh escapes my throat at the comment. “You wouldn’t continue to pursue me if you really cared about what I want.”

He leans forward, looking at me with this sparkle in his eyes that makes my heart do a double beat, and he speaks in a lowered voice. “This is what you want, Sandra. You’re just not willing to admit it yet.”

Shaking my head, I hide my smile by picking up the menu and looking over it without really reading it. I’m simply looking at it for something to do.

“Maybe I’ll just get a glass of water…” I muse, and I catch him shaking his head and smiling as he raises his hand to signal the waiter.

“Can I get something for you?” a young and very star struck looking girl asks breathlessly at his side, her hands visibly shaking as she holds her pen to paper in preparation of taking down our order.

“You can get us both coffee and pancakes. But please, leave off the strawberries. I’m not a big fan and I’m pretty sure this one hates them too. The last time I saw her, she threw one at my head, so…”

The girl lets out a little giggle that was much more exaggerated than his joke required and I look away, not interested in watching him flirting with a girl almost ten years his junior.

“Great. I’ll just get that to the kitchen for you,” she says, before adding. “I just loved you in
Edge of Desire
. It was such a beautiful movie,” she gushes. “Do you think…?” she pulls out her phone, gesturing with it to ask if she can take her photo with him.

I grit my teeth and think,
If he dares to ask me to take this, I’ll get up and walk away.

“Sure, here,” he accepts, reaching out to take her phone which he holds out as they lean into each other to fit in the frame, taking the shot.

“Thank you SO much,” she gushes, hugging her phone to her chest as she leaves us to, hopefully, go and do her job.

“That was a nice bit of teamwork,” I comment, playing with the corner of the menu the waitress forgot to take away.

“I’m a king of selfies,” he smiles. “It’s part of the job description when you’re always on my side of the camera.”

“It’s a different life to mine, I suppose.”

“It is. Hope you don’t mind me ordering for you by the way. I haven’t eaten yet and it’s still early in the day so brunch seemed like a good idea.”

“I don’t mind, as long as you don’t mind if I don’t necessarily eat it.”

He laughs. “I don’t mind at all.”

“I, um, didn’t know you hated strawberries.”

He scrunches his nose up, and it looks quite adorable. “It’s not that I hate them, I don’t mind strawberry flavour. It’s just that I have this massive aversion to anything with seeds. It’s ridiculous, but the moment I eat something and I hit a seed, I get this shiver running down my spine. Ugh,” he says, his shoulders rolling as if the mere thought of it causes his body to react. “I certainly don’t hate them enough to throw them at people.”

Dropping my eyes, I feel my cheeks heat in a blush. I find it odd that a man like Jonathan has picked up on a characteristic about me that is really quite insignificant and generally something people don’t pick up on unless I tell them. Most people think I’m crazy for not liking strawberries, but then, here’s a man with a similar aversion who picked up on my distaste simply by noticing that I didn’t eat any part of the one I threw at him in anger. I don’t know if I’m flattered, or slightly creeped out, but I certainly get the feeling that perhaps there’s a little more to Jonathan than meets the eye.

When our coffees arrive, a man who appears to be the manager carries them. I assume that our waitress has been taken off our table for asking Jonathan for the photo, which is a little sad for me because it didn’t seem that Jonathan minded her excitement at all.

We thank the manager and I watch, dumbfounded as Jonathan picks up four packets of sugar and holds them together, ripping off their tops and pouring all four of them into his tiny cup.

“You’ll get diabetes doing that.”

“Thanks, mum,” he smiles, stirring the sugar through with his spoon.

***

For a while, we make small talk, and slowly, I relax and we begin to have a proper conversation. I even eat my pancakes, and order a second coffee as our conversation continues.

We get along so well, finding conversation in the simplest of things, along with a multitude of shared interests. If I really wanted to, I could pretend that Jonathan was just a regular guy and not some movie star with a reputation for bedding as many women as he pleased, despite being in a committed relationship. But that's something I can't look past. No matter how much I like him, or enjoy his company, Jonathan would have the power to destroy me. I mean, what if I allow myself to get caught in his charm and let him become a part of my life? Knowing what I know about him would mean that I’d be forever looking for the moment when he strays, or at the very least, I’d enter into a relationship with him, knowing it was nothing more than a fling that would end the moment he leaves town.

And I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

No. I need to remember who he is, what he’s inclined to do, and why I need to stay away. He’s a heart breaker and I’m a woman who doesn’t share. It’s as simple as that.

Downing the last my coffee, I dig my wallet out of my handbag and place some money on the table. "I better get going," I say.

"Put your money away, they’re already charging the bill to my room."

"No, let me pay. I didn't properly thank you for organising someone to fix my window.”

He pushes my money back to me. "You're very welcome but I'm still not letting you pay.”

Relenting I take the money and put it back in my bag, saying, "Well, this was nice. I actually had a nice time."

"Nice enough to do it again?" he asks hopefully.

"Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

"Come on, you know you want to. There's no pressure or anything. Let's just, hang out, and see where things go. At the very least I think we could be really good friends. And everyone needs a good friend in their life."

“No. They don’t,” I argue.

"Will you at least think about it?"

“I really don’t–” I start but he holds up his hand and stops me.

"Listen, we both know how this is going to go, I’m going to keep texting you and asking you to hang out. And you’re going to keep saying no until one day you say yes. So let’s just skip all that bullshit, admit that we get along like wild fire–and yes, I just called us wild fire–and hang out. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to. I can promise you that much."

I grin in response, shaking my head as I pull my lip between my teeth. "Something tells me that arguing with you will get me nowhere. You just don’t seem to understand the concept of ‘no’."

"Then we’re on the same page.”

"Probably not," I laugh as I stand up and leave.

"Catch you later, Red," he calls out as I walk away, and I frown, releasing a laugh as I wonder how I managed to get a nickname so quickly. And as I leave, I can't help but notice that I step a little lighter, a smile playing on the edge of my lips for the rest of the day.

"I think I might go back to my place tonight," I tell my mother that evening as we sit across from each other eating chicken and avocado salad for our evening meal. “Things seem to have calmed down enough now.”

"I’d be going back too," she agrees. "You can't exactly bring that chef of yours back here to roll around on that tiny bed. Not to mention the floral pattern the boy band posters. That stuff is just embarrassing."

Shaking my head, I spear a piece of chicken with my fork. "No one else I know has a mother like you, you know."

“And thank god for that. Even I know the world can’t handle too many awesome people like me,” she states as a matter of fact.

I press my lips in a smile as I stand up and wrap my arms around her neck. “I love you, mum.”

She pats my arm, her voice sounding serious for a change. “I love you too, sweetheart. Now, eat your food before your father comes home, otherwise he’ll get to the television before we do and force us to watch Sons of Anarchy. I have a Nicolas Sparks movie that you’ll love.”

Taking my seat, I finish my food then help her with the dishes before we settle in to our movie, watching as yet another of his novels plays out on the screen and leaves us all devastated and heartbroken for the characters at the end.

“I hate Nicolas Sparks,” mum cries, blowing her nose into a tissue as tears stream down her face. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.”

“Me too,” my father says as he takes the box of tissues from my mother and dabs one at his eyes. He’d come home part way through the movie and joined us, and being a fairly emotional man, he got wrapped up in the story too. “At least in Sons of Anarchy you know it’s going to end badly.”

“How are you not crying, Sandra?” mum asks, her brow furrowed in bewilderment as she takes in my dry eyes.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s sad and I feel sad for the characters. But, I guess I just see Nicolas Sparks’s stuff as a little truer to life than most romantic stories. He’s all about hope and small moments, which is great, but he also shows that the reality is, it doesn’t last. Bad things happen, people get their hearts broken, and somehow, they have to learn to live on. Learning to be happy on your own is inspiring. Getting married and living happily ever after isn’t real.”

My mother looks at me with her mouth agape. "What has made you such a cynic at your age? I thought things were going well with your chef"

"What chef?" my father asks.

My mother waves him off with her hand. "I'll tell you later, Tony," she says before turning her attention back to me. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," I say as I stand up and get ready to head to my room. "I just think that Nicholas Sparks is right. Life and love can be devastating and there isn’t always a happy ending.”

My father is the one who sucks in his breath like I just swore at him. “How can you say that? Your mother and I are living proof.”

“Dad, not everyone finds what you two have, and that’s ok. You’re the lucky ones. I’d love to find what you have. But the reality is, it’s just not always the case for most people. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m yet to find one man who makes me feel like I belong. All I’ve found so far, are good looks and shallow hearts. This whole soul mate search could take the rest of my life, so I have to be happy with who I am when I’m on my own.”

“What has happened to you?” my mother repeats again.

I wave my hand, as if the action will clear my words from the air between us. I’ve obviously said way too much, and I really don’t want my parents worrying about me when I’m just working through how I feel about Jonathan Masters’s presence in my life. If it wasn’t for his attentions, I’d probably be feeling quite happy seeing Brad on occasion while still living my own life and having plenty of time to work on my career without feeling bad about fitting in a relationship. Brad and his lifestyle, works for me and my lifestyle.

But then there’s Jonathan, and to be honest, I don’t like the way he makes me feel. When I’m around him, I feel like running and staying at the same time. It’s as if his body has a pull on mine and it frightens the hell out of me because logically, I know that if I give into that, then I’m going to get my heart broken, and I’m going be that girl, who is sitting there, crying over a movie star, just like I did over Marcus Bailey, and I can’t be that person again. I can’t be the girl who hopes that she’s that one special person who captures a playboy’s heart. That’s the stuff of books and movies. It isn’t real life, and I need to protect myself from such ridiculous ideas–they’ll only end up breaking my heart.

I move over to my parents and kiss them both on the head. “Nothing is going on, I’m just tired. It’s been a really long day. Goodnight, you two. I’ll get my stuff after work tomorrow then head back to my place if that’s ok.”

And they nod, looking a little disappointed in my lack of whimsy as I head to my room, laying in bed, wide awake, and thinking about two different men and their pros and cons. And the more I think about it, the more one far outweighs the other…

***

“You are not going on that roof!” my mother yells the next morning; it’s her voice that wakes me before my alarm, and I head into the kitchen to see what the fuss is about.

“I’ll do what I bloody well like,” my dad counters, placing his hands on his hips as he argues with her.

Seeing me, my mother tries to rally my support. “Sandra, tell your father he can’t climb up on the roof to fix the leak in the laundry. Tell him we’ll hire a roofer.”

“Is there such a thing as a roofer?” I ask.

“Of course there is. They’re the men whose job it is to climb on roofs and not fall through,” she insists.

“Yeah, and they’ll charge us a thousand bucks just to fix a cracked tile that I can easily glue myself,” dad argues.

“Tony Haegan! I don’t want you up there. I’m putting my foot down.”

Dad laughs and kisses her on the cheek. “You worry too much, Mad Maddie. I’ll see you when I get home from work,” he says, giving me a wink and walking out the door, effectively ending the argument but leaving mum fuming like he always does. And I wonder if they’ve ever had an actual fight because I’ve never really seen my dad angry. It’s like he finds everything my mother does adorable–even her temper.

“Can you please talk him out it?” she asks me when he’s gone. “He might actually listen to you.”

“I’ll do what I can, mum. I’ll make a few calls and find out how much this roofer guy will be, and then I’ll have something to convince him with. I doubt it will cost a grand.”

“He’s such a tight arse with home repairs. Thinks he can do it all himself. Well, I’ve got a pile of bricks out there that is supposed to be a barbeque. He’s as bad as bloody Homer Simpson.”

“OK, mum, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll sort him out.”

She thanks me then I make my way to the shower to get myself dressed and ready for work.  And when I get there, I find yet another gift waiting for me on my desk. It’s a small white box with a blue ribbon tied around it, and the sight of it makes me stop in my doorway and immediately pull out my phone.

“This needs to stop, ” I mumble to myself with an annoyed shake of my head as I pull up Jonathan’s number and dial. He picks up within two rings.

“Good morning, Red,” he chirps.

“Why are you calling me ‘Red’?”

“Because I like the way your cheeks go all red when you’re annoyed with me,” he explains.

“You like the way my…ok, whatever,” I repeat with a sigh. “Will you stop sending me things, please?”

“You’ve got the wrong guy this time; whatever you have, it wasn’t me. Maybe it was from that pretty boy you were kissing in the papers the other day.”

“He’s not a pretty boy. You’re a pretty boy.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” he jokes.

“Well, I’m a sweetheart, what can I say. Listen, sorry to attack you. I should have checked the card first.”

“You can call me anytime. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Ok,” I laugh. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Alright, you do that. But, Red, when am I going to see you again?”

“I haven’t decided on that yet.”

“You’re hurting me. I just want to be your friend and you’re putting up road blocks.”

“I’m totally not buying this friend act.”

“You should. Because it can’t be more unless you want it to be. Besides, we have a good time together. We get along. You want fun in your life, right?”

“You’re trying too hard, Jonathan. I’m going now.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Bye, Red.”

Hitting the end call button on my phone, I walk over to my desk and pull the blue ribbon on the box to get to the card.

For your tastebuds.

Call me.

Brad

Smiling, I open the box and find a red velvet cupcake inside that I bite into–and yes, I eat it immediately–and it’s the softest, most flavour-filled baked treat I have ever had the pleasure of eating. And I’ve eaten a lot, so I know what I’m talking about.

“You’re very popular lately,” Erin, our receptionist, comments on her way past my office. “You’re getting more deliveries than anyone else here. And the guy who dropped that off was H-O-T. Oh my lord, you are one lucky woman.”

“He was here?” I ask, pointing at the box as I talk through a mouthful of cake.

“I think so. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Tatts all over his arms. He was wearing a white bonds shirt and a pair of jeans and some Vans. He didn’t seem like a courier to me.”

“That’s him alright. How long ago?”

“Maybe an hour? I told him you don’t get in until nine, sometimes ten.”

I swallow the last of the cake and lick the crumbs off my fingers and my lips, apologising that there was only one in the box as I do. Then, I thank Erin for dropping by, and when she leaves, I turn to my phone again, this time ringing the correct person for a thank you instead of a berating.

“I was hoping you’d call,” Brad says when we connect. “Did you get the delivery?”

“Thank you. I did. And I ate it already. It was sooooo good, I was in tastebud heaven again. Otherwise I would have called sooner.”

Letting out a chuckle, he says, “Obviously. I was a little worried it wouldn’t get to you. Your receptionist had a bit of a hungry look in her eyes, and I thought she was going to nick it on you.”

“Oh, I think that hunger might have been for a certain tattooed chef. She just left my office after telling me all about her crush on you. I believe the letters h, o and t, were spouted quite emphatically.”

“I’ll bring her a cake next time too,” he says.

“It’s quite possible that I’d just eat both.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he laughs.

“Listen, I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier when you dropped in. I would have liked to have seen you.”

“That’s alright, I was in the area so I wanted to drop in with a little something and maybe make plans to see you again.”

“I see, you used the old bring-a-girl-a-cupcake-and-she’ll-say-yes-to-anything trick, huh?”

“Did it work?”

“I believe it did. Just tell me when and where and I’ll make time.”

“Here’s the thing. Remember how I said I travel a lot? It will have to be next month. Things are crazy at work because we’re working the new menu for spring. On top of that, I have to go to Paris for two weeks for some patisserie research. So, if you can be patient, it will be in four Fridays from today. Can you handle that?”

I admit that I’m a bit taken aback by the length of time between dates, but I can understand a work commitment. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Great. I’m so sorry it can’t be sooner, but I hope the cupcake scored me some brownie points there.”

“Brownie points, cupcake points, either way, it definitely worked,” I smile, even though he can’t see it through the phone, I hope he can at least hear it in my voice.

“OK. Can I call you while I’m away? I’d like to still be able to talk to you if you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?”

“Well, there was a picture of you with that movie guy online again today. So I’m just making sure I won’t be interrupting anything,” he says, his words probing for some sort of an explanation.

I close my eyes, the sweet taste in my mouth suddenly becoming sour as I realise that as long as Jonathan is in my life, then everything I do in public will end up being photographed.

“I’m not dating him, Brad. He was trying to get me to write an article on him but I said no. He does seem a little insistent on trying to be my friend though,” I explain, feeling bad that he had to hear about it from a news source.

“Like I said the other week, we aren’t exclusive so, really, you can see whomever you like. I do however, want us to be honest about this kind of thing. So if things change between you two, just tell me, and I’ll back off.”

“I don’t want you to back off, Brad. I’m not dating him. I can promise you that. If I was, I would tell you, I don’t like stringing people along.”

“OK. Well, I’ll call you, and when I get back from my trip, I’ll see you,” he says, moving the conversation back to more pleasant territory. “I’m thinking we can go to the Botanical Gardens. There’s an open-air movie that happens every spring, so I’ll return in perfect time for it. I thought we could take some food, have a picnic, watch a film, you know, have fun.”