All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) (9 page)

Very carefully, Colt reaches deep in between the stems to retrieve the small white card that seems to be placed exceptionally deep within the bouquet. Even though he’s taking every precaution, his knuckle scrapes against one of the sharp barbs while lifting the card out.

“Fuck!” He spits while pulling his hand quickly from Mother Nature’s weapon. The rectangular envelope flies free of his hand and flutters to the floor.

I reach for it, lifting the small flap and withdrawing the inner card.

“What?” Colt asks as he sees my face drop while I silently read the handwritten words.

“You should read it yourself.” I hand the note over to him. I can’t help but notice the small drop of my blood smeared along the edge of the card stock.

It seems poetically ironic.

Colt reads the note aloud. “And the award to the best new couple goes to… Colt and Daphne. Two great actors putting on a good show. Too bad I know the truth. Welcome to the jungle, Daphne. Game on. Audrey.”

His eyes remain frozen to the card.

“I should clean this cut. I think I’ll probably just get some sleep after,” I rise and move away, placing as much distance as I can between the evil flowers and the eerily cryptic message.

“Daphne--” Colt begins to follow.

I cut him off. “Colt, it’s fine. Really. I’m just really tired.”

He bites his lip. “Of course. You take the bedroom. I’ll take care of these.”

Nodding, I escape behind the safety of the master bedroom door. This is a fucked up situation. One that I don’t know how to make sense of. The only thing I do know right now is that I can’t look at those flowers. I can’t look at that note. I can’t look at
him
holding that note.

Turning the faucet on high, I let the cool water rush over my finger, carrying away the last drops of blood with it. Once the sink is clear of all traces of pink, I cup my hands under the running water, collecting a puddle of the cool liquid within, using it to splash my face.

The bitter cold water is sobering.

I let the drops fall from my cheeks, noticing that before long, they’re diluted and mixed with my own tears. What’s
wrong
with me? This isn’t me! I’m not the girl to go off weeping in a corner.

Get your shit together, Daphne!

One more splash of cold water to cool my heated cheeks works wonders. Standing tall, I take stock of the girl staring back at me in the mirror.

“Oh, fuck!” My mascara begins to run. I sop it up quickly with a tissue, and wipe away all evidence of my mini-meltdown.

I’m
better
than this.

I’m
stronger
than this.

I’m not going to let that chick get to me like this. This is what she wants, and I’m not gonna let her have it, let her affect me. Struggling to reach behind my back I fumble for the zipper of my dress, unable to find it. I twist and turn, contorting myself thinking it will somehow help in the endeavor, but it doesn’t.

Exasperated, I try one last time before giving up, resigning myself to the fact that I won’t be able to do this alone. Kicking off my very expensive new shoes, I walk barefooted back to where I’ve just run from, the living room.

I haven’t been gone long, but several things have changed.

First, and most importantly, the flowers are gone. I’m not even the slightest bit curious as to where they’ve gone. I don’t care, just as long as I don’t ever have to see them again.

Second, Colt is no longer standing stunned, unsure of what to do. Instead, he’s lying on the sofa shirtless, his arm over his eyes.

“Colt?” I whisper, afraid he may already be asleep.

He jumps to his feet at the sound of my voice, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I need your help.” I gather my hair high above my head to allow him unfettered access to the zipper. Once I’ve turned my back to him, it’s very clear what I need him to do.

Unaware that I’m holding my breath, I feel my lungs grow tight as he steps close, his body heat radiating between us as he closes the distance. Anxiously, I wait for his touch, needing it, missing it, craving it.

His fingers swoop across the base of my neck, clearing away some loose strands of hair. A chill courses through me. I feel the fabric tug. I hear the sounds of the zipper as it travels downward, exposing my skin, and it makes me tremble. Once he’s completed the task, his hands rest on my arms.

I can feel his breath over my shoulder and I know his lips are mere inches from my ear, a fact that is only confirmed when he speaks, hushed, in a low raspy whisper.

“I’m sorry about the note. About the flowers.” My eyes close at the sound of his words. I know he is.

“Don’t be.” I turn in his arms. “I don’t scare that easily.”

He laughs. “I didn’t think you would.”

Our eyes lock, and the torment begins. The thick sexual tension that was abruptly interrupted earlier begins to return. I feel it. I can see in his eyes that he feels it, too.

It’s not lost on me that he’s standing here half naked, while I have on a dress that’s dangerously close to falling to the floor. I can feel my eyes hood themselves, the lids heavy.

One good thing has come from the flowers, even though I hate to admit it. They’ve given me a moment to pause and think about what I was about to do, realizing that it was too much, too soon, too fast.

There’s no rush, and this is definitely
not
something that should be rushed. Arching my feet and standing tall on my toes, I brush my lips gently across his lips. I can tell he’s fighting the urge to take my mouth, and I pull back quickly. One taste of him and I’ll lose whatever resolve I’m fighting to hold on to.

“Good night, Colton Webb.” I feel his stunned eyes on my backside as I step slowly back into the bedroom, softly closing the door. I can’t help but smile as I undress and crawl into bed, yawning myself to sleep.

I’m crushing on Colton Webb.

Colton. Webb.

How is this even happening?

CHAPTER NINE

COLT

Berlin

“Danke.”

I do a double take. “You speak German?”

Daphne laughs, holding up her thumb and index finger, spaced just an inch apart. “Kleine.”

She takes the plastic room key card from the receptionist. It’s after eleven at night, and we’re just getting to check in now. Everyone’s tired, me included, having been running nonstop since the premiere two days ago.

The studio had secured a private jet for my team and I, spending the last seven and a half hours crossing the Atlantic. The small aircraft seemed to amplify Daphne’s fear of taking off, but we got through it, just as we did the first night I met her in L.A.

Once in the air, she slept like a baby, waking only once to stretch her legs.

“Sir,” I turn my attention to the receptionist when she hands the next key across the table. It’s mine.

Smiling to Daphne as she waits by my side, I use the language of the land. “Danke, Fraulein.”

Daphne play scowls at me. “
You
speak German?”

Most of our luggage has already been piled onto one of the brass rolling carts being tended to by the bellhops, even though plenty of bags had been shipped earlier. Picking up not only my own, but her carry-on bag as well, I showcase my language skills. “Naturlich.”

Daph keeps up, bringing up the rear as our group heads toward the elevators. “Show off,” she chides me.

Once the metal doors open, we pile in, squeezing to the back, making room for everyone, including Albert and his jumbo-sized white mink parka. We’ve all been assigned to the same floor, easy to maneuver between rooms while we prepare for the Berlin premiere tomorrow night, but also efficient for managing security. After the incident with Audrey’s flowers, I’ve decided not to take any chances. We’ve added two more bodyguards to work under Marcus, left strict instructions with the front desk not to allow any deliveries, and made sure that my ex and her own team of stylists would be in another hotel, clear across the city.

I watch the lights move along across the numbered buttons on the control panel, mentally counting down until we reach our rooms on the seventeenth floor. The space is getting cramped, the air getting stale and warm. I’m not an overly claustrophobic person, but I’m feeling the itch right now. It doesn’t help that Albert’s coat is practically pawing at me.

I shift, clear my throat, stretch my neck,
anything
that will pass the time.

“You feel okay?” Daphne leans in to whisper.

I’m fine. I just need to get out of this damn elevator. “I—I’m good. Tired. Got a million things to do tonight and being stuck in an elevator with the abominable snowman here isn’t one of them.”

Light laughter seems to move from one person to the next, with Albert literally shaking the insult off. “He’s just grouchy because we got the script for TIME COP 2 today.”

The bell chimes, with the automatic doors opening, freeing us from our captivity. The group splinters off to their respective rooms, with members of our security team taking the seats already strategically placed throughout the hallway, setting up the first of two night shifts.

“Nine AM in the gym, Daph?” I eaves drop as Shauna shouts out from down the hall to Daphne whose own door is next to mine.

I know the two of them are getting to know each other. Shauna’s been with me for a long time, but regardless, I make a mental note to have a chat with her tomorrow. I’m fairly certain Andrea and I are the only two people that know the exact circumstances of how Daphne came to be here, but I’m not taking any chances. The last thing I need right now is for Daphne to find out about all that.

Things are going well,
too
well, actually, to be fucked up by something that shouldn’t even matter but probably would. In my mind it’s a non factor what brought her here. She’s here, with me, and we’re both enjoying it. So what if I had to tell a little white lie to make it happen? If I hadn’t, she’d still be stuck in that tiny, cramped New York apartment, probably eating ice cream and watching chick flicks, depressed about not getting that damn job in LA. In actuality, if I’m playing devil’s advocate here, I did her a favor, really.

I tell that to myself over and over, although I know in my gut that if the shit ever hits the fan, with Daphne finding out the truth, she’s not going to be as level headed as I am, she won’t see things the same way.

There’s only one option here. She can’t find out.

“Oh, no.” I tease Daphne as she uses her magnetic card to open the door before her. “You’re getting sucked into Shauna’s world. You’ll be a gym rat like her before you know it.”

She rolls her eyes. I’m lucky Shauna can’t hear me from down the hall. That woman lives at the gym, and even though I’ve got a solid sixty pounds of muscle over her, she does MMA fighting and could probable kick my ass if she really tried to.

“It can’t hurt to work out a little, right? I mean, if I’m gonna be getting dressed up all the time now, I might as well make sure I look good.” Daphne defends herself.

I can’t help but smile. She’d agreed before we left the States, to accompany me to all of the premieres, not just style me for them. I’d wanted to ask her, because honestly, at this point, I don’t like the idea of being there without her. She makes me laugh, she makes me smile, she makes me think wicked thoughts and she makes my dick feel alive. Most importantly though, she makes me happy. Yes, I want to take her to bed in the worst way, but she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who I like standing almost as much as I imagine I’d like her lying down under me.

I couldn’t tell her those things now, not yet anyway. After the other night in my hotel room after the first premiere, I’m fairly certain she feels some of those same things for me, too. That was, until Audrey’s psychotic flower arrangement attacked us. I can’t risk telling Daphne so soon how I’m starting to feel about her, and have her shut me down.

I wouldn’t be able to handle it. So I do what I do best in these situations. I avoid it. Luckily for me, Daphne is good enough of a person to agree to help me out by escorting me to all of my events, for the reason I’d actually given her; “she’d proven herself invaluable to me and I can’t do it without her”. Her antics at the Manhattan premiere were crazy, but they did the trick. She’d gotten me to interact more with my fans, and made the big studio bosses love her at the same time. She’s an asset.

I laugh to myself, when I think about that.
She’s an asset with a great ass
! I don’t want her getting carried away and losing that luscious, soft, backside of hers to be more like to rock hard thing that Shauna has.

I decide I can’t take the chance of that happening, if only for my own selfish reasons  “I’ve got my personal trainer meeting me tomorrow. Gunnar. I’ve been using him for years. Let him take a crack at you. Lord knows I pay him enough, let the man earn his salary. That is, unless you want to look like the Terminator over there. If so, then by all means, let Shauna train you.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” She flashes the perfectly simple smile that I’ve come to adore these past few days. It’s not too big, it’s not fake- it’s just…
real
.

She closes her door and I find my heart-beat jumps, knowing I won’t see her again until morning. It’ll give me something to look forward to. Lord knows, tonight, I’m gonna need it.

My carry-on bag is left near the pile of luggage delivered earlier, by the entrance to my closet. I’ll leave those for Albert to take care of- he needs something to do. If he’s left idle and bored too long, he’ll probably go shopping and buy another hideous coat like the one he wore tonight.

In a large plain yellow envelope marked simply with only my name on the front, is what I’ve been dreading since reading my emails earlier today. It’s the script for my next movie, the sequel to TIME COP. The movie is doing great, breaking records, making tons of money even though it hasn’t even gone international yet. I knew a sequel would be inevitable, given the studios’ blood thirst for profits, but I had dared to hold out hope that they would leave this franchise alone.

TIME COP is a good movie, a solid movie, one I’m proud of. Chances are, a sequel is only going to tarnish it. Everybody knows that sequels almost never live up to the expectations. But, contractually, I’m bound to do it. That’s not what’s really bothering me about it though.

If I get stuck doing this film, then it means I’ll be stuck working with Audrey again, for months on end.

My frustration begins to build and I take it out on my jacket, peeling it off and throwing it across the room violently.

Fuck!

The more I think about it, the angrier I get.

Refusing to speak to my ex, I’d sent her assistant a text message the other night, immediately after I’d given Marcus the thorny roses to dispose of. In very simple terms I’d told her that if Audrey comes
anywhere
near Daphne, or attempts to contact her in any way, that I’ll leak some unflattering information to the media about my ex-girlfriend.

We were together long enough, where I’ve got enough shit on her to fill a goddamned novel. If she comes for me, I’m gonna go gunning for her where it hurts the most; her image. That includes Daphne, too. If Audrey makes even the slightest move against Daph, then all bets are off.

I need a distraction. Something, anything. My German isn’t nearly as good as I let on that it was, messing around with Daphne downstairs. I don’t really feel like watching TV in a foreign language where I won’t understand most of their conversation.

I know we’re all going out tomorrow night after the premiere and I don’t feel like getting the whole security team together to make a trek to a local club, so that’s one more thing that’s not an option tonight.

Running through the list of possible things to do right now proves itself useless as I check each one off. The only thing left to do is to read through the joke of a script that’s sitting on the desk and see how bad it really is.

Wait.
I’ve gotta be in the right mindset for this.

Being familiar enough with hotel rooms, I quickly find the bar and help myself to the full, unopened bottle of Jack Daniels on the shelf, taking it with me to the corner sofa. The sound of the seal breaking is like music to my ears as I peel off the foil covering the cap.

All right. Here goes. With a tumbler of the whiskey in one hand, I use the other to pick up the script off the desk, sit down on the sofa and start flipping the pages as it lies out on the ottoman in front of me. It’s pretty much exactly what I’d expected. Subpar, rushed writing and very little storyline. Actually, that’s an overstatement. There’s
no
storyline. It’s just one long sex scene with some words thrown in, just like I’d imagined it would be. It’s obvious that this was written to capitalize on the hype around Audrey and I.

I take a sip of the dark drink and close my eyes, imagining what a fucking disaster this project is going to be. There’s a knock at the door, and I abandon the pages, but keep the whiskey when I answer it.

“Hey,” Daphne looks cautious. “Am—am I bothering you?”

She’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants that are clearly at least one size too big, rolled at the waist to get them to fit. A small t-shirt fits snuggly, hitting just below her belly button, exposing a small strip of flesh that I fight the urge to trace with my finger.

The brown, wavy hair, that I like to imagine falling down on me if she were to straddle me, is tied high in a ponytail. Her beautiful skin is scrubbed clean. She’s clearly ready for bed, with a pair of pink fuzzy slippers to top off the look.

I lean against the doorframe casually, resting on my elbow. “Sweetheart, you could
never
bother me. What’s up? Everything good with your room?”

She’s quick to answer. “No, it’s not that. My room’s good, perfect, actually. I just- I can’t sleep. I don’t know if it’s jet lag or adrenaline from all the flying, or what, but I can’t seem to sit still.”

I take another sip and lick the cool liquor from my lips as I listen to her, watching her lips move.

“I don’t know anyone else well enough, so I thought I’d see if you were still up.” I can see right through her. But I’m a gentleman, sometimes at least, and I don’t need to let her know that I see what she’s doing here. It’s a booty call, and baby, I’m answering.

Stepping aside, I sweep my arm wide. “Come on in. You can help me run lines. That’ll get rid of all your energy and put you to sleep in no time.”

Hopefully in my arms, naked,
after
I’ve made her scream my name a dozen or so times.

“Run lines? What’s that? Please, tell me you’re not talking about drugs,” She’s serious. That makes me laugh. The door closes behind us and she follows me over to my impromptu work area.

The humor can’t be hidden from my voice. “Not lines of coke, Daph. Lines of dialogue. I got the script for TIME COP 2, LOST IN TIME.”

The piles of pages spread out offer visual proof. She takes a seat on the sofa and picks up the top page. “Albert said something about this. He made it sound like it was a bad thing though.”