me to cover Harley’s bachelor party for my magazine,” she answered, smiling primly. “I have a deadline to meet, and I needed a story. A good one.”
“So you’re crashing the bachelor party because of me?” Zander asked.
“I’m here because of Harley Tatum,” Faith explained. “When an up and coming country rocker’s first CD goes platinum the same week he completes his second stint in rehab, proposes to his baby’s mama and decides to get married, it makes the magazine. Personality! prefers to emphasize the positives in a celebrity’s life. Harley’s attempts to start over and build a decent life for himself will make a great feel-good cover story.”
Zander clenched his jaw, which only emphasized its squareness.
“Would you rather I write the story I had originally planned?”
The lift of her eyebrow took him straight back to a secluded lookout spot on Kayford Mountain, and it disarmed him. The more he studied her, the more familiar his feelings for her became, and the harder he found it to leave her side.
“Olivia traded my story for Harley’s,” Zander said knowingly.
Faith and Zander held back while the other men and Daiyu entered the elevator. “Don’t undersell yourself,” she whispered. “It’ll take more than Harley’s stag night to compensate me for holding off on the scoop of the year.”
“Just the year?” Zander asked, moving close enough to catch the scent of her hair. “Now who’s underselling me?”
“You’ve only got one box-office hit on your filmography,” Faith said, her heart thumping so hard she thought he might be able to see it bouncing against her low-cut blouse. “If your next two flicks do as well, then my scoop might warrant an upgrade. It’s directly proportional, Zander. The brighter your star shines, the bigger your secret becomes.” She sidestepped away from him and entered the elevator, where Harley’s eyes went straight to her bosom. “I hope you can bear the weight of it.”
* * *
“Holy crap.”
Daiyu said what Faith was thinking as they moved through the eighth-floor suite where their private butler was taking drink orders for Harley and his guests.
“This place is bigger than my parents’ house. Heaven probably doesn’t have a living room this big,” she sighed.
Faith brushed her fingers over the large, peculiar petals of a ginger flower protruding from an enormous floral display occupying the entire top of the telephone table nearest the door to the suite. The tropical arrangement complemented rather than overwhelmed the subdued beige and green décor.
The thick carpeting silencing the clomp of his boots, Harley exited the second of the two master bedrooms. “This ain’t no party until some honey shows up, and ain’t nobody here but us fellas.” He eyeballed Faith and Daiyu, who quickly ducked behind Faith. “Of course, one pretty filly is better than no pretty fillies.”
Harley made a beeline for Faith, but Zander intercepted him before he could get within arm’s reach. “Why don’t you grab a cranberry juice or something from the bar?” Zander suggested. “Brent said that he’d arranged for the entertainment. Let’s just wait for it to get here.”
Harley snatched off his straw cowboy hat and threw it to the floor. “Cranberry juice?” he exclaimed. “There ain’t no dang alcohol here? Aw, man!”
“Dude, you’ve been out of rehab for about ten minutes,” laughed one of Harley’s friends, who was dressed similarly in high-end designer cowboy apparel. “It’s the rest of us who ought to be complaining about a dry stag party.”
“Who’s that guy?” Daiyu asked, venturing out of Faith’s shadow.
“He’s a civilian,” Zander said. “Justin or Dustin, or something. He’s one of Harley’s friends from Tennessee. He’s not in the business.”
“He’s cute,” Daiyu remarked. She made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down her hair, but the heavily shellacked spikes popped right back up.
“So you’re crashing the bachelor party because of me?” Zander asked.
“I’m here because of Harley Tatum,” Faith explained. “When an up and coming country rocker’s first CD goes platinum the same week he completes his second stint in rehab, proposes to his baby’s mama and decides to get married, it makes the magazine. Personality! prefers to emphasize the positives in a celebrity’s life. Harley’s attempts to start over and build a decent life for himself will make a great feel-good cover story.”
Zander clenched his jaw, which only emphasized its squareness.
“Would you rather I write the story I had originally planned?”
The lift of her eyebrow took him straight back to a secluded lookout spot on Kayford Mountain, and it disarmed him. The more he studied her, the more familiar his feelings for her became, and the harder he found it to leave her side.
“Olivia traded my story for Harley’s,” Zander said knowingly.
Faith and Zander held back while the other men and Daiyu entered the elevator. “Don’t undersell yourself,” she whispered. “It’ll take more than Harley’s stag night to compensate me for holding off on the scoop of the year.”
“Just the year?” Zander asked, moving close enough to catch the scent of her hair. “Now who’s underselling me?”
“You’ve only got one box-office hit on your filmography,” Faith said, her heart thumping so hard she thought he might be able to see it bouncing against her low-cut blouse. “If your next two flicks do as well, then my scoop might warrant an upgrade. It’s directly proportional, Zander. The brighter your star shines, the bigger your secret becomes.” She sidestepped away from him and entered the elevator, where Harley’s eyes went straight to her bosom. “I hope you can bear the weight of it.”
* * *
“Holy crap.”
Daiyu said what Faith was thinking as they moved through the eighth-floor suite where their private butler was taking drink orders for Harley and his guests.
“This place is bigger than my parents’ house. Heaven probably doesn’t have a living room this big,” she sighed.
Faith brushed her fingers over the large, peculiar petals of a ginger flower protruding from an enormous floral display occupying the entire top of the telephone table nearest the door to the suite. The tropical arrangement complemented rather than overwhelmed the subdued beige and green décor.
The thick carpeting silencing the clomp of his boots, Harley exited the second of the two master bedrooms. “This ain’t no party until some honey shows up, and ain’t nobody here but us fellas.” He eyeballed Faith and Daiyu, who quickly ducked behind Faith. “Of course, one pretty filly is better than no pretty fillies.”
Harley made a beeline for Faith, but Zander intercepted him before he could get within arm’s reach. “Why don’t you grab a cranberry juice or something from the bar?” Zander suggested. “Brent said that he’d arranged for the entertainment. Let’s just wait for it to get here.”
Harley snatched off his straw cowboy hat and threw it to the floor. “Cranberry juice?” he exclaimed. “There ain’t no dang alcohol here? Aw, man!”
“Dude, you’ve been out of rehab for about ten minutes,” laughed one of Harley’s friends, who was dressed similarly in high-end designer cowboy apparel. “It’s the rest of us who ought to be complaining about a dry stag party.”
“Who’s that guy?” Daiyu asked, venturing out of Faith’s shadow.
“He’s a civilian,” Zander said. “Justin or Dustin, or something. He’s one of Harley’s friends from Tennessee. He’s not in the business.”
“He’s cute,” Daiyu remarked. She made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down her hair, but the heavily shellacked spikes popped right back up.
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