A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Friday afternoon brings Camille and Bridget packed and ready to go to Boston for their weekend trip.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Camille asks, bag in hand.

“We’re going to Quincy Market and maybe on a whale watch; we’ll probably go to a museum and do some dancing at night, too. You should come; it’ll be fun,” Bridget says, nudging me with an elbow.

“Thanks, but I have so much work to do.”
No, I don’t.

“You and your work.” Camille rolls her eyes. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you. See you on Sunday.”

“Good-bye, ladies, have fun!”

I shut the door and the countdown begins: twenty-eight hours before Mr. Beautiful arrives.

There’s no way I can possibly relax. Not with so much nervous energy rumbling through my shaky veins. So I do the next best thing—I clean.

I start in the kitchen. I scrub the shine off the counters and the finish off the cabinets, clean out the near empty fridge, and then mop the twelve floor tiles again and again and again.

Next I head to the bathroom and wash down every tiled surface, even using an old toothbrush to attack the nooks and crannies of the grout. I polish the mirror and catch a glimpse of my red face. The panic rises. Or is it vomit? I’m not sure, so I dive back into the bleach and cleanser, pushing the nerves far, far away.

After the bathroom, I dust the furniture and vacuum the carpets in the apartment like my life depends on it. I fluff and straighten the pillows on the sofa.

I head to my bedroom where I make the mistake of lying on my bed for a few minutes because the moment I do, every fear, worry, and nerve surfaces and has me nearly hyperventilating.

I sit up and consciously breathe.

In . . .

Out . . .

In . . .

Out . . .

I glance at the clock . . . twenty-five more hours to kill.
Gah!

A handful of crackers make up my dinner. While I crunch, I jot down a list of all the things I need to do. I decide to complete what little work I have from school since that always helps me relax.

Finally, too exhausted to stay up, I wash up for bed and sleep hard.

I wake the next morning feeling good and strong until it dawns on me that there are T-minus twelve hours and counting before Mr. Beautiful arrives on my doorstep.

I go for a run in the park to loosen myself up a little, talking to myself the whole time.

What is your problem, Claire? You’ve been to dinner with him. You’ve talked with him on the phone. You’ve had a wonderful time, every time. What is the problem? Why are you so nervous?

As my feet tap a steady rhythm, the truth hits me—I’m aiming for disaster. He’s young, and I’m, well, not as much. He’s famous, and I’m Claire
Who?
But what worries me the most is that there are no safety nets this time. No roommates to avoid. Nothing. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch. It’s all on me. And if we end up back at my place tonight, I’m going to have to be strong. Very strong.

I run for the longest time, and it isn’t until a bug hits my teeth that I realize I’m jogging with a smile. How embarrassing and gross.

On my way home, I pick up a few groceries. When I get home with them, I notice there’s a message on my phone. I set the groceries on the counter and listen to it.

“Hi, Claire. I, uh, just wanted to let you know I’m boarding my plane, and I’m looking forward to seeing you later.”

A rush of adrenaline shoots through me. I slide down to the very clean kitchen floor and breathe.

In . . .

Out . . .

In . . .

Out . . .

I have things to do! I can’t dwell!
I shake it off and put the groceries away.

Afterward, I shower, turn on the TV, and half-watch some movie while the computer in the corner calls my name.

“Claire, come over here and Google Dan,”
it says.

“No. I am not Googling him.”

“But there’s so much you can learn . . . so much to know.”

“True.”

“And, you can be prepared this time.”

“Prepared? Maybe . . . but if I see something I don’t like, then what?”

“
Then you’ll know.”

“Know? What will I know? I know I’ll be more confused, and God knows I don’t need that. For heaven’s sake, look at me! I’m having a stupid conversation in my head with a computer!”

I get back to my list.

Next up? The outfit. Without the Fairy Slutmothers to guide me, I’m a little lost, to be honest, but I can do it. I can doll myself up.

I ransack Camille’s and Bridget’s wardrobes, finding myself rather entertained at some of the items I come across. I hold up a few bits and pieces, wondering if they moonlight as strippers. It’d make a lot of sense.

I lay out the options on my bed. Trying on one thing after another, I finally decide on a sleeveless black top with a funky, asymmetrical neckline and black, wide-leg dress pants. Sure, no body parts are hanging out, but it’s stylish and sexy in an understated way. I believe the Fairy Slutmothers would be proud of my choice.

The good news is the afternoon flies by. The bad news is by the time I have to get ready, I have a gaping hole in my stomach. I haven’t eaten much all day; I’ve had little appetite. I guess that’s what happens when Mr. Beautiful flies across the country to take you to dinner.

It’s nearly eight o’clock when my heart finally calms down—that, or it’s about to give notice. Sitting on my bed, I strap on my heels, thinking how insane my life has become in the last few weeks. Tonight’s my third secret date with the most famous guy on the planet.
How the hell did I pull this off?

I take a moment to give myself the once-over in the mirror and firmly attach my game face for the evening. It’s a good thing I do since the very next moment, the door buzzer sounds.

My heart tumbles in my chest and plants itself in my belly as I make my way to the door. Even my ears grow hot. I take a deep breath and press the button.

“Hello?” I draw out the word as if I don’t know who’s waiting to be let in downstairs.

“Hi, Claire.”

He’s here!
“Who is this?”

He laughs. “Senior services.”

I snicker and press the button to unlock the door downstairs. As I wait, I realize how easily Dan brings out my silly side. Of course, when he knocks on my door I realize he also brings out my inner scaredy-cat.

With a thudding heart, I open the door to find the most brilliant smile on the most breathtaking face aimed right at me. I can’t help but return it.

“These are for you.” From behind his back, Dan reveals a thick bouquet of wildflowers.

My eyes widen, and I gasp.

“Do you like them?” he asks nervously, handing them off to me.

“Very much. They’re beautiful. Come in, come in.” Smiling and blushing, I step to the side, while he brings that soap and shaving cream scent along. Between the flowers, his scent, and his charcoal gray trousers, blue button-down shirt, and coordinating sports coat, I realize how very weak I am.

“Let me put these in water.” I step into the kitchen as he follows.

“I tried phoning you earlier. I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower is. I thought maybe roses or tulips, but—”

“These are my favorite,” I say, knowing that roses and tulips used to be my favorites until wildflowers just knocked them out of the park. I fill up the vase with water and quickly arrange the fragrant mixture. I lean in and sniff. “Wow. Thank you for these—they’re incredible. You really didn’t have to. I mean, you flew all this way and—”

“I wanted to.” He smiles a smile that actually causes my legs to jolt. Like telekinesis or something. He catches my arm. “You all right?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. Happens a lot when you get older. You’ll see.”

He smiles again, and I get the sense that he’s as ready to burst as I am.

“Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” I answer, though I’m more nauseous than hungry. He helps me with my coat. I grab my keys and purse, and we walk downstairs to his car where he opens my door and waits until I’m in. I ogle his every move as he walks around the front of the car.

I’m a goner.

We arrive at a steak house, entering through a side door. The host leads us to a curved booth, facing away from the majority of the restaurant—a slightly less private area than last time, but intimate nonetheless. A small candle flickers on the table, creating the perfect atmosphere for a romantic evening.

Once again, Dan takes my coat.
His gentlemanly gestures will be the death of me.

We sit comfortably close in the cozy banquette and order drinks.

“So tell me about the movie—how’s it going?” I ask, amazed that he’s right here next to me.

“Not too bad. The weather wasn’t cooperating for a few days, so we had to shoot around it, but other than that it’s going well.”

“Who’s in the movie with you?”

“Ethan Bailey, Mia Herrera, Sophie Miller are the other leads.”

A wave of dread washes over me when I hear Sophie Miller’s name. Sophie Miller is the pinnacle of beauty and Dan’s female counterpart in Hollywood. Every guy wants her, every girl envies her, and it makes me even more nauseated thinking Dan probably made out with her every day last week.
I totally should have Googled him!

Concealing my horror, I casually ask, “How is it working with them?”

He nods. “It’s great. They’re easy to work with. Ethan’s a good guy—a joker. Mia’s quite sweet and Sophie’s fun.”

Sophie Miller is fun? What kind of fun?
I need to know more. “What’s Sophie Miller like? I bet you have a crush!” I tease, not really.

Dan chuckles softly. “Sophie’s cool, and yeah, I’m not going to lie. I do have a bit of a crush.”

Of course he has a crush on Sophie. Every guy does
.

He leans in. “On you.”

“Oh yeah, huh?” I make a joke of it, trying to hide the fact that my stomach just dropped to my toes.

Dan leans closer. “Yeah,” he whispers very near my ear. Hairs on my arms stand in salute to the hotness.

With perfect timing, our drinks arrive, and we order dinner. I gulp my wine and shift topics. “What’s the movie about again? A guy finding himself, right?”

“Yeah, I play this guy who seems to have his life in order, but ends up making bad choices along the way—too many women, drinking, drugs. It’s about how he tries to pull his life back from the edge, so to speak.”

“So it’s your biography?”

He laughs, almost spitting out his whiskey. “Yes, the Dan Chase biopic.”

I smile.  I love making him laugh. “How did you get into acting?”

He takes a moment, thinking. “I started in school productions. It just went from there, so I’ve been at it awhile.” Oddly, he seems nervous. He takes another sip.

“Did you like school?”

He nods. “Yeah, I did, actually. I did rather well, too, but I was more interested in acting.”

“Are there videos of vintage Dan Chase around? I’d love to see them.” I laugh at his wide-eyed, horrified expression.

He shakes his head, laughing too. “I bet you would, but there’s no way you’ll be seeing those. I can only imagine the comments.”

“So what do you like most about acting?”

Smirking, he narrows his eyes at me. “Are you an undercover reporter?”

I sit straighter. “What? No. Sorry, I don’t mean to grill you.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m only joking. I’m just surprised you’re interested, that’s all.”

“Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

He shrugs. “I guess it’s just that most people know my story. You know, Google and all that, so I figured you knew.”

“You think I Googled you?”
I was
this close
to Googling you.

He glances down then back at me, seemingly unsure. “I thought maybe you had.”

“Do you want me to Google you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says sincerely.

“Hiding something?” I smile, teasing.

He chuckles. “It’s hard to hide things when cameras lurk about.”

“Well, we haven’t been fully discovered yet,” I say, shrugging.

“Do you just love taunting fate?” He shakes his head at me, smiling.

I laugh. “No, I don’t. I’ll shut up . . . But, I really am curious. What do you like about acting?”

“Um, I suppose it’s being creative every day. Working on a character’s motivation and their physical attributes. It’s a fascinating process, and I’m always learning something new. Plus, there aren’t many jobs out there that encourage the imagination.”

“That’s true. There definitely aren’t enough.” I sip my wine. “I’ve always wondered—is it difficult to become close to other cast members only to cut ties once filming is over?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s harder than others. Depends on the environment, really, but usually you stay friendly because you go through so much with them emotionally. Plus, there’s the PR thing you do with them down the line.”

“I think I’d have a hard time doing intense emotional stuff with a group of people every day and then leave it all behind only to head to a new place to do the same thing all over again.”

“Yeah, it can be difficult. I suppose you have to like change and travel to be an actor.”

“Of course, you have to like money and fame, too,” I tease.

“True. You do have to be a money whore, and the key to the fame thing is to be seen with very trashy women,” Dan says, nudging me playfully.

I laugh. “I’m happy to help.”

“Have you always wanted to be a teacher?” Dan asks as our dinner arrives.

“I like what I do, but I didn’t grow up with that career in mind, no.”

“Was there something else you wanted to do?”

I pause. He seems to be worming in through the crevices of the walls he’s slowly cracking apart. “Yeah,” I admit hesitantly.

“What was it?”

I take a deep breath.
Go on, say it.
“Well . . . I’ve always loved music, so I guess I hoped I’d be a musician or something one day,” I blurt out quickly, feeling silly.

He stops eating, puts down his fork and leans in. “Really?”

I freeze up too. “Do I not fit the profile of a music nerd?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that at all, it’s just . . . I had no idea. Do you sing or play an instrument?”

“I play the piano and violin, mainly.”

His mouth drops open. “Mainly? You play other things too?”