Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3 (9 page)

I
couldn’t believe my eyes when we stopped in front of Ed Scott’s Steakhouse. My mother worked here when she was in New York for her odd, month long stay back in April.

“I know onion rings, and this place has the
best
…stacked on juicy filet mignon,” he said, licking his lips, his gorgeous full lips. I suddenly wasn’t thinking about my mom anymore. The sight of his tongue and those lips…My stomach was doing that flippy thing again.

Chase opened the door and stepped back, sweeping his arm across his magnificent chest. “After you m’lady,” Chase said in his British accent. I shuddered with excitement. Why did accents do goofy things to girls?

“Thank you, Mr. Smythe,” I said, raising a brow at him, and walked into the restaurant.

I had fond memories of the place when I was here five weeks ago. The staff had been really nice to me, and the food
was
great. My mom looked like she really liked working here, too. It was weird watching her work. She had never worked outside the home while I was growing up. I looked behind the bar and saw a gal I remembered, but couldn’t remember her name. Cheyanne? Charlotte?

The hostess at the front stand spoke. “Table for two?” she asked.
Table for two,
I repeated to myself. A table for two—me and Chase Freakin’ Smythe! How impossibly romantic!
Stop it! You are his personal assistant. This isn’t a date or anything,
I chided myself.

“Yeah,” Chase answered, pulling the cap off of his had and re-arranging his mop, flashing the hostess with his camera-worthy smile.

The hostess gasped and blushed. “You’re….”

“I am,” Chase answered with a wink. And before the hostess could find the rest of her sentence, he put his finger up to his lips, and ‘shushed’ her, letting her know that our being here was a secret.

She started to pant a bit, and wildly searched the main restaurant area and the seating chart on her stand. “Um, it’ll be about ten or fifteen minutes for a table to open up,” she said hopefully.

Chase glanced at the bar. “We don’t really have that kind of time. I have to be back on set in an hour, and my girl is starving,” he said, draping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his muscular form, practically electrocuting the whole side of my body.
We fit perfectly,
I mused. “Mind if we sit in the bar?” Chase asked pointing at a high top over in the bar section.

“Oh, um, sure, but—” she stammered, glancing at me, with a touch of… jealousy?

“Great, thanks,” and Chase pulled me off to the bar before the hostess could object.

As we approached the open table, Chase dropped his arm from my shoulder and jumped ahead of me, pulling a chair for me to climb into. “Fifi,” he said. I grimaced at the nickname, but hopped up into the chair regardless.

“What? You don’t like the nickname?” he asked, sliding into the chair opposite mine.

I shook my head. “No, not really. My brothers used to call me that when they were teasing me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” he said. “It’s just cute, like you. But I suppose Phoebe is more beautiful, also like you.”

The bartender lady, whose name I couldn’t remember, came up to us setting a pair of beverage napkins and menus on the table. “Phoebe, so good to see you! Your mother told me to keep an eye out for you. I’m glad you stopped by. She’s not here right now, though.” She quickly looked guilty like she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to say.”

“Oh, I know. She’s back in California. I talked to her yesterday,” I smiled. The look that flashed on her face was an uncomfortable one, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

“Hi, kinda short on time,” Chase spoke up, stepping into our little reunion, pulling the menus up from the table and handing them back to the waitress. “We’ll both take a Goose Island, in the bottle—cap on, filet mignon, medium, those amazing onion rings, and a side of veg.” Then without any further ado, he started tapping something into his cellphone.

“Um,” I was stunned. He was ordering for me? And I knew that the waitress knew I wasn’t old enough for beer. “I’d prefer Diet Coke, and I’ll take my steak medium-rare, please. I’ll pass on the rings. Can I have a baked potato instead? The vegetables are fine.”

“Great,” the bartender said. “I’ll get that going right away.” She turned to Chase, but without fan recognition, she just thought he was a regular guy. “My name is Shelby if you need anything,” and she was off.
Ah! Shelby. That was her name!

“Medium-rare, huh,” Chase asked.

“I like my steaks juicy,” I said.

“Juicy. Good to know,” he said, smirking. Suddenly I blushed realizing that he interpreted that as sounding dirty. “So, how does Shelby know your mom?” he asked, saving me from my embarrassing slip of the tongue.

“Oh. Well, my mom was in New York for a while last month, taking a break from life, I guess, and she worked here. I’m living in the apartment she was living in. It’s just a few blocks up.”

“Small world.”

“Very,” I agreed.

I couldn’t believe I was sitting at a table and chatting with Chase Smythe. Chatting like we were old friends. Unreal. When our drinks were delivered a moment later, Chase pulled out a keyring and pulled the cap off of his bottle.

Chase noticed my questioning expression with his using his own bottle opener on the beer. “There’s just somethin’ about poppin’ the top off your own beer,” he shrugged, and took a long drink. Again, watching his lips on the bottle, and his jaw and throat work was a thing of beauty.

As we waited for our meals, Chase practically grilled me about my upbringing, my family and my brothers, my school… my
boyfriends
. I admitted that I was currently single, and staying single for this summer, which seemed to interest him greatly. I didn’t go into details about Dickwad.

Once our delicious steaks arrived I was grateful that my appetite was back. I tried asking Chase similar questions about his family, school, and girlfriends, but he gave his canned, sometimes humorous TV interview answers. About his family:
“For all the time that has mattered, it’s been just me and the best mom in the world.”
About school:
“Still deciding on
what to study, looking for a school that I’d like to go to, and one that would accept my application.”
But when he got to the girlfriend answer, his interview reply has always been:
“Ah, the girls. I love ’em all.”
His reply to
me
was: “I don’t know right now.”

Just then, the table was rushed by four girls about my age who recognized Chase and were begging for his autograph. The first girl had Chase sign her phone case, the second girl had a magazine in her purse with an article about Chase that was published just this month. The third girl got very brazen and tugged down the front of her shirt to the top of her black-lace, demi-cup bra and had him sign her chest. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Chase ate it up.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked her with a wink, making her squeal.

“Candy,” she giggled.

“Ooo. I bet you’re sweet like candy, too.”

“I am,” she said as she bit on her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. She grabbed a bar napkin and scribbled something on it when Chase handed the Sharpie marker back to her. “Call me and find out. I’m single, too,” Chase took the napkin, stared her in the eye, and tucked it into his pants pocket with his trademark smirk.

Yeah, our past half-hour conversation was fake. He loves all the girls.

Chase looked at his watch.
He wears a watch,
I noted. How had I missed that? I don’t know why it struck me as a novelty, but most of my friends, myself included, used their cell phones as their watch. “Sorry girls, but Phoebe, what time do we have to be where?”

I pulled the clipboard that I had tucked under my leg and checked the schedule again. “Six-thirty. Rockefeller Plaza,” I confirmed.

“Oh! We should get going,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and tapping away. “Watch me tonight on
The Late Show with Jimmy Fallon
, okay? I’ll have a message just for you,” he said, winking at the boob-autograph girl, then picked up his beer, drank a long sip, then handed it to the girl who had the magazine to be signed.

He stood and walked over to Shelby, handed her two fifties and said, “I hope this covers it. We gotta dash.” Chase pushed our way through the girls, and we walked out the doors to an assault of paparazzi. Flashbulbs and shouts everywhere.

“Chase!”

“Chase! Look this way!”

“Who’s the girl? Is it serious?”

Chase posed us this way and that. I used the clipboard that I’d been clutching all afternoon to shield my face from the blinding flashes.
Holy shit, this sucks!
I glanced sideways at him and watched him eat it up. He loved this. How? He even planted a kiss to the side of my head for one of the photogs.
What????

The Town Car pulled up and Chase gave a wave to the ‘animals’ and their cameras then, helped me into the back of the car.

“Wasn’t that fun?!” he asked, laughing and grinning.

“Not exactly my choice of fun. How do you stand it?”

“Hey, if they stop being interested in my every move, it means my career is on a downward spiral,” he said, sitting back.

We started on our way to Rockefeller Plaza, and in the tight confines of the limo backseat, I couldn’t help but notice that the air was charged again with that EMP. He sat sideways in his seat just looking at me.

“What?” I asked, brushing the sides of my mouth. “Do I have food on my face?”

“Nope. You’re as put together as you have been all day. That was a really nice dinner. Thank you,” he said simply.

“Oh yeah. That was somethin’. Gotta love the fans. Fans and paparazzi. Good times,” I said, trying to be casual about the groupies.

“Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I’m happy that I have fans. It’s what keeps me working, but it’s actually nice to get some peace and quiet, you know? It gets old. I was talking about the dinner,
before
the bimbos. Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” I muttered, thoroughly embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say. It was weird that he was thanking me for dining with him. Yes, it was surreal eating with a mega-star, but he seemed so ordinary for that short period of time. Not arrogant like the papers stated. He didn’t even finish his beer, so the accusations of him being a raging alcoholic were out of line. Come to think of it, when I first met him shortly after Dana had quit, he didn’t seem drunk at all. She said he was passed out drunk, but he seemed as sober as the day is long.

He laughed his hearty laugh. “God, you’re adorable! You’re single? Really?”

“And staying single,” I reminded him of our dinner chat. “And you. You don’t know if you have a girlfriend or not. So we’re both off the market, it seems.”

He didn’t reply. He only stared at me, chewing on the inside of his lower lip. What I wouldn’t give to know what was going on behind those violet-blues.

S
ingle.

Most girls said to me that they were single and that was an open door. That was the invitation for me to rip off a pair of barely-there skivvies and give it to her good. The proof was in my pocket with the phone number.

But Fifi, er, Phoebe… It was natural to ponder,
What would she be like?
When it came to Phoebe, that question was heavy. For so long, I have been surrounded by fake, and easy, and superficial. Phoebe was real. She was tangible. She was honest and reachable. My cock twitched at the thought of her under me. Shamelessly? No. I was a guy. That’s what happened to all of us red-blooded American men. Thoughts of a beautiful, mysterious, and sexy woman made our dicks ache. It was normal.

Single. She made it sound like such a challenge.

Was she one of those relationship girls? Is that what it would take? I had never wanted to be in a relationship. I’d sworn them off. I enjoyed my free wheeling ways. And besides, I had a reputation.i I was Chase Smythe.

Single. Ha!
Challenge accepted.

O
nce we got to Rockefeller Plaza, we were hit with another group of photographers. Safely inside, we checked in with the producers of the
Late Show with Jimmy Fallon,
and were whisked away into the studios. As Chase’s “personal assistant,” the thought of which still made me giggle, I was given the opportunity to sit in the Green Room with the other stars on the show that night, or sit in the audience. Last week I remember watching the promos for this week’s shows. Jimmy was calling the whole week “Summer 2013 MoviePalooza,” the other stars on that night were Jennifer Lawrence from
Catching Fire
(and
Hunger Games
), which was coming out soon and I couldn’t wait, and musical guest Ed Sheeran. No brainer. Green Room all the way for me.