Celeb Crush (38 page)

I’m still working on my laptop when I hear the knock on the door.  Frowning, I check the time.  It’s a little after eleven.  Micah wouldn’t show up this early, and he’d call first if he did.  It better not be another hotel staff member offering complimentary blow jobs.  For Luke, not me.

I run to the door, not bothering to change out of my Spiderman costume.  No one needs to know why I’m wearing it right now.  I put the mask on and crack open the door.

Huh.  It’s Jessica.  I can just barely make her out through the crappy eye holes.  I pull my mask up and open the door wide.  She strides right past me, all glossy dark hair, sharp angles, and expensive perfume.  She doesn’t blink an eye at my attire.  Given her clientele, I’m sure she’s seen much weirder.

Jessica doesn’t go past the foyer, turning sharply on her killer red heels to face me.  I'm sure that form-fitting gray dress she's wearing came straight off the runway, but her extremely gaunt frame makes it look like it's being worn by a hanger.

“I need a favor,” she says bluntly.

That’s what I like about Jessica.  If you don’t have anything to offer her, she won’t bother mincing words.  We used to get along okay—that is, before Luke and I got together, and I became her personal PR nightmare.

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at her.  “What is it?” I ask, not bothering to keep the hostile tone out of my voice.

She glares back at me.  “I know you’re having Ivan investigate Lynn Carver behind Lucas’ back.  Or does he know about it?”

She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.  My scowl deepens.  “What do you want?”

Jessica flashes me a tight smile.  “Relax, Anderson.  I’m not here to blackmail you.  We’re actually on the same side.”  She glances down at her diamond encrusted watch and huffs a little.

When she looks back up at me, her expression is completely business-like.  “You and I both know how Lucas is about…that woman.  I’ve been tasked with handling her, and believe me when I say it’s no picnic.  My actresses are less difficult than her—and that’s saying something.  I like to think of her as my own personal nightmare.”

And I thought I was the only one.  “What did she do?” I ask cautiously.

Jessica makes an irritated noise deep in the back of her throat.  “Several things.  In short, she’s decided she’s not content with just bleeding her son dry.  She wants to be publicly acknowledged as his mother.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you kidding me?  Can you imagine the damage that pig woman would do on the talk show circuit?  I didn't spend years cultivating the 'man of mystery' shtick just so Miss Trailer Trash Nineteen Eighty-Six could come along and destroy it all in one fell swoop."

Her harsh words would stun Luke, but I don't bat an eye.  "What does this have to do with me?" I ask impassively.

"Talk to her.  Convince her to keep her mouth shut if she wants to continue receiving that nice little sum deposited in her bank account every month."

My eyes open wide at this.   "You're paying her hush money?"

Jessica stabs me with a beady eyed glare.   "Lucas pays me very well to protect his image, and that's what I've been doing.  The public doesn't want to know that Hollywood's golden boy came from poor trash inbred yee-haws.   You think he'd be where he is now if they did?"

"Uh, yeah," I snap back, clenching my fists.   "It's called talent.  And just because they were poor doesn't make them inbred."

She crosses her stick like arms and rolls her dark eyes.  "His mother and father were first cousins."

"Um...what?" 

I blink several times until it sinks in.  Then I scoff.  “Luke never—”

"He doesn't know," she replies with a tight smile.  "Lynn admitted it to me the other day.  It’s one of the things she wants to ‘come clean’ about.”

“No way,” I say staunchly, shaking my head.  “No.”

“I had it checked out.  Discreetly, of course.  It’s true.  Turns out she’s the bastard product of Lucas’ great uncle.”

It takes a while for my brain to wrap around it.  So Luke is…  “Oh…no.”

“Exactly.”  Jessica gives me a dry look.  “Now imagine what would happen if that little tidbit became public knowledge?  I’m selling a fantasy here—every fangirl’s dream guy.  What’s going to happen to that fantasy when you start to wonder if maybe he has webbed toes or an extra nipple because of his incestuous redneck gene pool?”

I recoil in horror.  Of course I know Luke is as perfect a specimen as you can get, but...gah!  I don’t even…wow, what do I do with that info?  Should I tell him—or let it fester deep in my soul?

I take a cleansing breath.  “It doesn’t matter,” I announce.  “His fans are loyal.  They won’t care.”

“Don’t be so naïve, Andi.”  Jessica divides her attention between me and her phone.  “I’m not saying it will ruin his career—he
is
too talented to be completely derailed by a dirty little secret.  But make no mistake; he will be negatively impacted by it.”

I absorb her words in silence, ultimately deciding that she probably knows what she’s talking about.  “Okay,” I say finally.  “But why would his mom talk to me?  I’ve never even met her.  I doubt she knows I exist.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.  He told her all about you.”

I frown in surprise.  He did?

Jessica sighs impatiently.  “Look, just go see her, alright?  She knows how important you are to Lucas so she just might listen.  Persuade her that it’s in her best interest to stay off the media’s radar.”

I honestly cannot believe this is my life right now.  “Luke doesn’t know about your little deal with his mom, does he?” I say suspiciously.

She’s busy doing something on her phone, so she answers me in a distracted tone.  “Actors are fragile creatures, Andi.  That’s why people like me get paid so much to shield them from the harsh truth.”

“You’re his publicist, not his keeper,” I mutter.

“Most days, I’m both.  Are you going to talk to her, or not?”

I take my time considering the situation.  If the media found out about Luke’s parents, the press would have a field day at his expense.  Not to mention what he would do when he found out his mother could be so easily bought.  It would hurt him.  I mull over our convo earlier today.  Deep down, Luke is still that vulnerable little boy waiting for his mother to come home.

“I’ll think about it,” I say out loud. 

Jessica looks up from her phone to show me her sour expression.  “She’s staying at the Addison, penthouse suite.  But you already knew that.  Just remember what’s at stake here.  If the shit hit’s the fan, we’ll all be covered in it.  Including you, dear.”

“Thanks, Jessica,” I say, my voice heavy with sarcasm.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nods curtly, starting for the door.  But before she goes out, she stops to give me an appraising look.  “You’re a beautiful girl, Andi.  But you don’t belong with someone like a Lucas Greyson,” she says in the condescending way of the snot-nosed.  “He’s a bright shining star.  And you…you’re a black hole.”

“Racist!” I shout, putting up my dukes.  “And inaccurate.”

She glares at me.  “
Hole
.  A black hole.  Like, in space.”

Oh, well.  That’s even worse.  “Your vagina is a black hole,” I say childishly.

She shakes her head in disgust at me.  “What the hell does he see in you?”  I hear her mutter as she leaves.

Why do people keep saying that?

Chapter 32

I strip off my Spiderman costume, and put on a pair of khaki shorts and a tent-like blouse.  It’s easy as pie to slip past the camera guys camped outside with the group of Asian tourists I’m walking with.  I just know I would make a great spy.

The Addison is a small yet posh hotel just a few blocks away from ours.  It chills me to realize just how close we are geographically to Luke’s mother without even realizing it.  Contrary to what Jessica believes, I did not know where she was staying.  I don’t read the reports from the agency that I hired through Ivan.  Those are for just in case.

I slink into the elegant lobby, and give the guy behind the reception desk my name and who I’m here to see.  I wait while he rings her room, wondering if she even knows my name.  After a short murmured conversation on the phone, the guy hangs up and informs me that Ms. Carver will see me in her suite.  He then escorts me to a special elevator that needs a key to activate.  I really want to roll my eyes at the extravagance.  Who does Luke’s mom think she is?

I’m standing in front of her suite when I finally realize that I haven’t thought this through.  What the hell am I going to say to this woman?  I can’t just go in there and threaten her…can I?

The door opens in the middle of my internal debate, revealing a tall lanky woman with cornsilk blonde hair and vulnerable Bambi eyes staring at me.  She’s wearing white pants and a loose peach blouse—not the halter top and booty shorts that I sort of assumed she’d be dressed in.  She’s not even wearing the trashy red cowboy boots.  Her long narrow feet are bare, and I don't know why I find that sort of charming.  Maybe it's the ice pink nail polish.

We appraise each other for a few awkward seconds.  The resemblance to Luke is there if you look close enough.  Something around the eyes and mouth…though her eyes are an arresting whiskey color.  She’s pretty, and looks relatively young despite her years of drug use.  I wonder why she changed her name; she definitely looks more like an Amber than a Lynn.

“You must be Andi.”  She breaks the silence with her nervous husky voice.  “Come on in.”

I’m rattled because I had this ugly trashy picture of her in my head; I wasn’t expecting this coltish-looking Bambi-eyed woman.  I feel like she’d break down and cry if I yelled at her.  And I got my yelling pants on, and everything.

I follow her into the suite, walking slow so I can take my surroundings in.  It’s a fancy room, with marble columns, gilded molding, and elaborate chandeliers.  The furniture is a bold black and white striped pattern, and works with the décor.  Nice.  I spot a couple of picture frames displayed on the mantle, but I can’t see what’s in them from where I’m standing.  For all I know, the pictures came with the frames.

Curiosity gets the better of me.  I walk past Luke’s mother without a word and head for the mantle.  The pictures are old and slightly faded, but appear to be in good condition.  The first one is of a gawky teenaged Amber Lynn holding a sunny-haired baby Luke.  They’re both grinning widely into the camera, and I’m startled to see how similar their smiles are.  He was a funny-looking baby, with features that were too big and striking for his face.  My heart melts just a little at his sweet chubby baby-ness.

The second picture is of an older Luke—maybe around Talon’s age.  He was sooo cute, with those sparkling gold-green eyes and mischievous smile.  His wavy fair hair looked like it had been whacked at with hedge clippers—but the gold dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose…aww, so freaking adorable!  My little girl self would have been all over that.

There’s a funny mushy feeling in my chest.  I want those pictures so I can moon over them for hours—but how do I steal them without Luke’s mother noticing?  I wish she would go to the bathroom.

Feeling sentimental, I turn back to Amber Lynn, my posture slightly less aggressive than when I first came in.  She, however, looks to be on full alert.  Her eyes dart around the room nervously, coming back to me every few seconds as she fidgets in place.  Twitchy little thing.

“So, you’re Luke’s girlfriend,” she says finally, jerking a nod in my direction.  “I’ve, uh, seen pictures of you—in some magazines and stuff.  You’re prettier in person.”

I hold in my scowl.  The paparazzi hate me.  Apparently there are now a lot of pics out there of me with my mouth hanging open, or my head tilted at a weird angle.  I know because for some reason, Ellen gets a kick out of texting them to me whenever she comes across one online.

I clear my throat and force a smile to my face.  “Yeah, well…it’s good to finally meet you…Ms. Carver.”

She clears her throat as well.  “Call me Amber,” she replies, sounding uncertain enough that it almost sounds like a question.  She gestures spastically at the furniture.  “Please, sit.”

My feet hurt, so I take her offer and sit on the couch while she perches on an armchair across from me.  Tension hangs heavy in the air.  I wish she’d been the loud-mouthed twangy trailer park queen I imagined in my head.  I have no idea what to do with this husky-voiced woodland creature.  How did this woman think she could handle the media?  She would faint in the spotlight.

I watch her knee bounce up and down as she jiggles it.  She clears her throat again, and I automatically clear mine.  If only we could converse this way. 

“I know she sent you here,” Amber Lynn blurts out.  “Jessica?”

I shrug.  “I’m here for Luke,” I say.

She stares down at the sapphire ring that she’s twisting on her right ring finger.  “She’s the reason why he won’t come see me.  Or even acknowledge me in public.”

Her tone is plaintive, like I should feel sorry for her.  Yeah, like it has nothing to do with her being a shitty parent.