Superstar Page 8

  Unexpectedly, Camryn laughed along with him. “Maybe next time.”

  “A bouquet of the pink roses.” Maximo handed up a few bank notes to the driver. “Thanks.”

  The driver took the money and disembarked the car. Max observed the purchase from a roadside vendor with growing impatience. When they’d departed his hotel a short time before, Max hadn’t planned to stop for flowers. He hadn’t planned to rush over to Camryn’s hotel either, in hopes of catching her before she left Italy. But here he was, impulsively buying roses, with no idea what in the world he planned to do once he saw her.

  After accepting the bouquet when the driver returned, Max laid the flowers across his lap and willed the driver to step on it. He knew Camryn left for the States today, but didn’t know the time of her flight. With any luck, she would still be at her hotel.

  What should he say once he got there? All sorts of one-liners ran through his mind.

  Some minutes later, the driver slowed and cruised toward the Roma Palace Hotel. Maximo peered ahead, dismayed to see a throng of people hovering around the doors. Paparazzi, lying in wait.

  “Lots of people, sir,” the driver said in warning.

  Maximo cursed under his breath. “Turn around, please.”

  The driver pulled into a parking spot, turned around, and headed back the other way.

  Max fished his phone from the pocket of his dark slacks and dialed Cam’s hotel. The receptionist answered on the first ring.

  “Room two thirty-four,” Max said.

  “I’m sorry, sir. That guest has already checked out.”

  “Thank you.” Max ended the call and tossed the flowers aside. Camryn was gone. He raked a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath.

  Perhaps it was for the best. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling him there was no future for him with a journalist.

  “What would you like to do, sir?” the driver asked. “Head to the airport?”

  “No,” Max said. “Just take me back to my hotel.”

  As the sedan cruised past the ruins of the Colosseum, a plan began to take shape in his mind. A crazy, surreal idea that went against everything he usually stood for. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.

  Prepared to take an unconventional step that would shock those who knew him best, he placed another call.

  “You want to what?”

  “You heard me right. We need to start making the plans now. I’ll e-mail you the specifics so that you can pass them on to Camryn,” Max said. He rather enjoyed Lenni’s shock. His request was so out of the ordinary that the publicist seemed briefly lost for words. The line went silent for exactly five seconds.

  “Have you been replaced by a pod person?” Lenni asked suspiciously.

  Maximo laughed and let himself into his suite. “No. You’ll have to contact the director and a few other staff members on set to make it happen. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, not at all. Martin is a fabulously kind director, usually willing to bend over backward for his stars. Especially you. I’ll see what I can do and get the ball rolling,” Lenni said.

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Max ended the call and closed the door to his suite. He crossed the room and slid the phone onto a glass table offset with a stunning display of flowers. The suite was expansive, with three separate bedrooms, a full kitchen, and a broad balcony overlooking the Colosseum. The gilt trimmings and expensive fabrics added an elegant flair to an already elegant space.

  As he’d expected, Raquel waited on the sofa, one leg dangling delicately over the armrest.

  Leaning his shoulder against a pillar, he slid his hands into his pockets and eyed her. She flipped two more pages in her magazine before eyeballing him right back.

  “Don’t even bring it up,” Raquel said, as if anticipating what he might say.

  “We need to talk,” Max said, stubbornly ignoring her request.

  Raquel put up a hand to stop him. “I’m not ready. No. I really don’t care what other people say.”

  Maximo examined Raquel’s fine features. She was as pretty as a porcelain doll, with flawless olive skin and wide hazel eyes. Dark auburn hair, which she colored to make it more distinctive in Hollywood, had been piled into a high bun. The style accentuated her sharp jawline and slender neck.

  “I know you don’t. But this isn’t about that. I’m cutting my vacation short,” Max said.

  The magazine smacked down onto Raquel’s thighs. Her jaw went slack with surprise. “You’re going back to Hollywood? Already?”

  “No, actually. I’m not.” Maximo pushed off the pillar and strode to a chair. Sprawling into the confines, getting comfortable for the long conversation ahead, he began to lay out his plans.

  Thirteen

  Camryn never knew jet-setting around the world could be so exhausting. It was all she could do not to fall asleep at the wheel as she made the final turn into her apartment complex. The sun hung low in the sky over Hollywood, casting a dusky glow across the landscape and buildings alike.

  No paparazzi waited near her parking space, and for that she was grateful.

  She’d had enough of cameras in her face at the airport after she’d landed. If she heard one more question about her and Maximo, or Maximo and Raquel, she might lose her mind.

  Leaving the Fiat behind, she dragged her suitcase through the walkways, past the security gate, and finally to the door of her apartment. It was strange to be back among palm trees and uninspiring, 1970s architecture. She missed the ruins and the unique structures of Rome. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her home. She did. But she hadn’t spent nearly enough time exploring the intriguing streets of Italy and already wanted to return.

  Well, after she had about a hundred hours of sleep.

  Before she could get the key in the lock, Lark swung the door open.

  “So guess what? I scored you an interview with that hunky Prescott Becker. I know he’s like a D-lister, so far, but you can never tell about those kind. He’s got the looks to become a big name if he plays his cards right. And he only had an opening tomorrow at noon, so I hope you slept on the plane,” Lark said.

  Camryn had known Lark long enough to be able to tell when something was wrong. Like now, when Lark’s eyes were a bit too wide and the stricken look didn’t go away while discussing business.

  “What happened? Can I at least get in the door?” Cam pushed past her roommate. Happy to see no sign of Denny or José, she left her suitcase against the living room wall and walked straight to her bedroom. She dropped her purse on her dresser then flopped backward onto her bed.

  Home at last.

  Now for the bad news. Instinct told Cam it was coming.

  Lark paused in the doorway. “Denny went rogue on us.”

  Cam blinked at the ceiling then frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

  Levering up on her elbows, Cam stared across the room at Lark.

  “Seriously, I had no idea Denny would sink that low,” Lark said.

  “How low? What did he do?”

  “He freaking stole pictures off my computer.” Lark’s eyes widened a little more.

  Camryn didn’t need it spelled out for her from there. Denny had hijacked those pictures. The ones she’d uploaded to the cloud in Rome. The ones of her and Maximo, and probably the ones of Max and Raquel in the dining room.

  “He posted them online, didn’t he? For Rocket?” Cam could feel the horror of it all start to creep through her veins. Max would think she’d sold him out to another publication. Never mind that many of those photos were personal, not meant to be shared on an open forum. Certainly not meant to become tabloid fodder.

  “Yeah. They ran a huge article. The photos are all over the place. Social media is having a field day with it,” Lark said.

  “Oh, I just bet they are.” Camryn flopped backward and stared at the ceiling again. “No wonder the paparazzi descended on me like a horde of flies when I landed at LAX.”

  “Do you wan
t to know what they’re saying about you?”

  “Let me guess. Some torrid threesome between Max, Raquel, and me. Or someone’s cheating on someone else, blah, blah.”

  “Roughly,” Lark said.

  Camryn rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. “How did Denny even know the pictures were on your computer?”

  Silence.

  “Lark!” Cam sat up. “You showed them to him, didn’t you? Especially the one of Max and Raquel, because that’s the photo everyone’s been after.”

  “I didn’t think he’d steal it!” Lark said.

  “But still! Now Max will think I sold it to the highest bidder.” Camryn groaned. She hadn’t taken her phone out of airplane mode yet and could just imagine the scathing messages waiting for her from Lenni. Max would never do another interview with her again.

  “Well, there is a bright side. Integrity’s hits have gone off the charts. We’ve had more visitors to the site in the last two days than we’ve had since we launched the thing. Ad revenue is pouring in and we’ve got tons and tons of new subscribers.”

  “Because scandal sells,” Cam said, using Lark’s turn of phrase. “I think we should run a piece about this. Since Denny decided to throw us under the bus, we should return the favor and throw him off a cliff.”

  Lark perked and looked intrigued. “What do you mean?”

  Camryn got to her feet. “I’m going to write an article about the underhanded thievery, that’s what. I’m going to call Denny out. If they want scandal, I’ll give it to them. But I’ll do it my way.”

  Lark’s expression shifted into something wickedly gleeful. “Cam, you may be onto something here.”

  “Did you happen to take any pictures of Denny while he was here?” Camryn asked. Warming to the idea, she kicked off her tennis shoes and crossed the short hall into Lark’s bedroom. Or the dungeon, as Camryn called it. Lava lamps threw glowing red blobs of light at black painted walls, which were covered in heavy metal band posters. Along one wall sat two tables which held three computers, a printer, and various other office paraphernalia. Lark had the bigger bedroom, thus it was where all the equipment had to go. Cam navigated dirty laundry, random pairs of spiked boots, and other bits of leather that Camryn refused to acknowledge.

  “I didn’t. I mean, that would have been awkward,” Lark said, kicking a boot aside.

  Camryn sank into a chair in front of a twenty-seven-inch screen and ran her fingers over the keyboard. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got pictures of him somewhere from our time at Rocket. We’ll use one of those.”

  Lark turned a chair backward and straddled it, arms folded across the top. “What exactly are you going to write?”

  “That the stinking thief stole from his comrades, that’s what. Not only will it shift the blame from us, it’ll make Denny’s life miserable. No one in the industry will trust him after this.” And Cam didn’t care. Denny had stepped over the line, way over, and she meant to take action.

  It would help if she wasn’t so jet-lagged.

  “Need coffee?” Lark asked, as if she could read Cam’s mind.

  “About three pots of it.”

  “I’m on it.” Lark pushed away from the chair and tromped toward the kitchen.

  Camryn opened up a new file and began to craft a wordy article sure to contain plenty of venom and sarcasm.

  No one threw Camryn Castillo under the bus without retribution.

  “Seriously, Camryn. You are the queen of snark. If they had Snark Awards you’d win hands down,” Lark said. She read the article again, whistling quietly.

  Camryn could barely sit upright in the chair. She felt like she needed toothpicks to hold her eyelids open. “Good. Anyway, I have to go to bed. I’m not going to make it to the interview tomorrow if I don’t.”

  “I’ll get this posted. Go to sleep.” Lark scooted closer to the desk and the computer.

  Camryn didn’t argue. She lurched up out of the chair and staggered to her bedroom. It was sometime past midnight, much later than she’d planned to be awake, and all she cared about at the moment was sleep. She didn’t change out of her clothes, didn’t brush her hair or her teeth. Falling into a heap atop the covers, she snuggled into her favorite pillow and lost herself to dreams.

  “Cam! I overslept my alarm! Wake up!” Lark shouted.

  Camryn jerked to attention. She clumsily got to her feet, blindly feeling for her nightstand, or the lamp, or Lark, who must have been standing near the bed. “Alarm? What time is it?”

  “It’s five after eleven! You only have fifty-five minutes to shower, change, and get to the park where you’re interviewing Prescott. Hurry, go, go!”

  And so Camryn went. She showered in record time, fixed her hair into a messy bun, and donned a navy blue business skirt suit. There wasn’t a second to waste. After grabbing her purse, recorder, notepad, and camera, she darted out the door still trying to wiggle her foot into a stiletto.

  She hadn’t even had time to shave her legs.

  Whatever.

  No one would be looking at her legs anyway.

  A cloud of people hovered at the security gate, swirling and circling.

  Holy mother of chaos! She’d forgotten about the paparazzi.

  Camryn fought her way through the masses until finally reaching her car. Questions flew at her like daggers. “No comment. No comment.”

  Somehow, she managed to get inside and lock the doors. Photographers snapped pictures of her from every angle. She started the car, carefully reversed out of the parking spot, and sped away.

  Luckily, she didn’t run anyone over.

  Immediately, her phone rang.

  Camryn took the call over the Bluetooth. “What is it, Lark?”

  “There is a very unflattering picture of your nostril circulating on the Net. That is all.” Lark hung up.

  “Oh, that’s just awesome,” Camryn said, talking to herself. She scowled at the dashboard while waiting for traffic to clear on the street.

  Then she was off, speeding through the streets of Hollywood toward her destination. Camryn engaged in a little Bond action to try and lose any paparazzi tails. She took extra turns and shortcuts until she was relatively sure she wasn’t being followed.

  The interview with Prescott happened without interruption, despite the open setting of the park. Camryn asked all her questions and even answered a few of his. He was a cutie, to be sure, with golden skin, tawny hair, and a well-placed mole to the side of his mouth. Camryn knew that if Prescott got the right roles, he would one day become as famous as any other A-lister out there.

  Perhaps not of Maximo’s caliber, but still a big star.

  For the moment, Prescott was a nobody in a town full of hopefuls. His interview wouldn’t have nearly the draw of Maximo’s, but Camryn had to continuously turn over new material to keep the site relevant.

  After a few candid snapshots, Camryn thanked Prescott and headed back to her car. She fell into the seat, closed the door, and blasted the air-conditioning.

  Just then, her phone rang. Lark had serious timing.

  “Yeah?” Camryn sat there, absorbing the cool air.

  “Are you ready for this?” Lark asked.

  “Probably not, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “This whole thing has gone ultra-viral. Denny’s photos of you and Max, Max and Rachel, and the one of him dumped over in the chair. Your response has lit the tabloid world on fire. You might need to park three blocks from the apartment building and wear a disguise just to get home,” Lark said.

  “That’s just what I wanted to hear. No really.” Camryn couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She didn’t want to be the scandal. “Any news from Denny?”

  “Oh yeah. He’s livid.”

  “And he sees the irony of being livid since he stole the pictures in the first place, right?” Camryn was not intimidated. Denny deserved what he got. She hoped his coworkers were stalking him for quips and photos.

  “I don’t
know. But that’s not all,” Lark said.

  “You know, it’s almost like I can hear you licking your chops,” Camryn replied. Whatever it was, Lark was all but salivating to tell the tale.

  “A few people saw you and Max while you were out. You know, exploring Rome and Pompeii.”

  Cam groaned. “There are pictures, aren’t there?”

  “Yes. About five of them. In one, you’re holding hands with Max.” There was a silent question in Lark’s voice.

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then what was it like?”

  “It was . . . we were . . .”

  Lark remained silent.

  “It wasn’t that kind of hand-holding.”

  “I wasn’t aware there were different kinds,” Lark said.

  “He was helping me.”

  “To walk in a straight line? Is there some injury I don’t know about?”

  “Guiding me, I guess you could say.”

  “It sure looks like regular old hand-holding to me,” Lark pointed out. “And it does to the rest of the world, too. All sorts of rumors are starting to fly that Max is a playboy.”

  Was he? Camryn couldn’t exactly deny the accusation. She’d seen him firsthand dining with Raquel, and them leaving his room together. And then he’d kissed her. Maybe Max was a playboy after all.

  “I don’t know. Anyway, I’ll be home in a little bit.” Cam ended the call and pulled out of the parking lot. This particular park overlooked a good portion of Hollywood, which the sun currently bathed in afternoon light. The city looked tired to Cam’s eyes and in need of a facelift. New paint and a hard scrubbing would do wonders.

  Fifteen minutes later, she turned down Wilcox toward her apartment complex. A glut of cars parked on either side of the street near the parking lot entrance told Cam all she needed to know: the paparazzi presence wasn’t only still there, but had grown in her absence. Lark had been right all along.

  She pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and sped away as fast as she dared. There was no way she would don a silly disguise just to get past the photographers, who had a real knack for spotting disguises anyway. Celebrities tried that tactic often, she knew, and usually ended up looking ridiculous when they got caught.