Of course, I don’t share with Mike the hankering need I feel to see Evie: to cradle her against my chest. Seeing her the other night—making love to her, sleeping beside her—made me feel like I have too many emotions trapped inside my body, choking me from the inside out.
I’m worried that I’m falling in love with her, and that I won’t know how to handle it and do right by her. I mean—look at what I’ve just done, practically deciding to apply for this Melbourne position without even considering what it would mean for us. The last thing I would want is for her to think I’m pushing her aside without a second thought, after everything she’s been through with her father. When I remember what she told me about him not contacting her since their lunch, and the disappointment in her face when she said it, a feeling of pressure suffocates my skull.
There’s something I’ve been wanting to do since then, and after this morning, I think I’m pissed off enough to do it.
My lips press tightly together as I snatch up my phone and tap through my contacts until I find Jenna from the PR agency. She answers on the first ring.
‘Calling on a Saturday; you must be asking me out,’ she says, her tone carrying a glint of hope. Jenna and I had a fling once, but I’ve never wanted to pick things back up.
‘Trust me, I’m not good boyfriend material,’ I deflect. ‘But I do need a favour. And I am sorry to ring you on the weekend.’ I know she won’t give a shit, though; PR people are used to getting calls at all hours.
‘I’m waiting,’ Jenna says.
‘I’d like the address for wherever Gabriel Dean is filming next week. As well as the date and time.’ I could ask one of my contacts at Village Pictures, but I don’t trust any of them not to tip off Gabriel that some guy who has a bone to pick is looking for him.
‘Oh, jeez. That could take a bit of doing,’ she replies.
‘It’s for a movie he’s helping to bankroll; he’s recording a cameo in it. So what do you think? Can you find out the details and let me know whether it’ll be at the studio lot, or else get me an address?’
‘Funnily enough, my bestie just started working at Village recently. She’s got zero scruples, so don’t worry, ha. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll call you back.’
‘Thanks.’
We’re two minutes from home when Jenna rings me. I feel my eyes widening as she fills me in on what I need to know—and how close I am to being out of time.
I cup my palm over the speaker. ‘Change of plan,’ I tell Mike. ‘Sorry; do you think you could drop me off over at the Village Pictures studio lot instead? That’ll be on your way home, right?’
‘Yeah, no probs.’ His gaze skips to mine. ‘What’s going on? Should I be worried?’
‘Nope.’
But Gabriel Dean should be.
I dig out the crew pass I got forMovingfrom my wallet and flash it at the Village Pictures studios security booth, where a half-asleep officer waves me through. I’m owed some luck after this morning, and I finally get it when I discover that the soundstage I’m looking for is only a short walk away.
I step inside the dark entryway and check the sign taped to the black-painted wall, making sure I’m in the right place for the big-budget epic that Gabriel Dean is recording his small part in—a US army general, apparently—today. I guess Buzz isn’t the only director who makes their crew work on a Saturday.
I wander deeper into the studio, heading towards the hum of voices and activity on the film set. The noisy chatter makes it clear that the crew is between shots—likely on their lunch break, judging by the time.
I probably wouldn’t even need to know what Gabriel looks like to figure out that the man hovering beside the catering truck in a GI uniform is one of the world’s most famous film stars. He has a pretty intense magnetism about him; I’ll give him that. Even the crew members thrusting mugs beneath the coffee urn, who presumablywork with celebrities all the time, keep stealing slightly awed glances at him.
Hanging back in the shadows, I wait for an opening. I want to approach Gabriel when he’s alone.
I take one step forward—but nope, some asshole with a horseshoe ring through his nose cuts in front of me and hands the star a barista-style coffee. I guess Gabriel considers himself too good for the urn-issued stuff.
Gabriel says something gruff to the minion and then turns away to, presumably, drink his coffee in peace. He takes a sip, grimaces, then sticks a pinkie finger into his mouth like he’s about to pick something out of his teeth. I decide to seize the day.
‘Mr Dean,’ I say, walking right up to him.
He slips his finger out of his mouth and frowns, giving me a once-over.
‘I’m not with the film crew,’ I begin.
He must be constantly hounded by the press because he says, ‘I’m not interested in an interview.’
‘Neither am I. I’m a friend of Evie’s.’
Gabriel freezes; he doesn’t even blink. ‘I’m sorry?’
