later tonight.” He didn’t like disappointing her, but he had to take care of business if he wanted a future with her. It was time to call Bart, his agent. Bart Grandy was the most sought agent in Los Angeles. Only the elite were his clients, and Sam was at the top. When he turned on his phone, his Blackberry registered twenty messages. Sam was getting good at ignoring the blinking light. “Bart.” Sam spoke calmly. “Where are you?” Bart frantically asked. “Don’t worry about a thing. I will take care of everything. Just let me know where you are and we will get you home—quietly.” “I’m not coming back. At least for a while.” Sam didn’t make a quiver. It was time to stand his ground. “Oh no you won’t. You have obligations. Your new movie starts shooting in three weeks.” Bart ranted on. “Sam, remember the hoops I had to jump through so they would cast you over George Pitt?” He pleaded for Sam to listen to reason. “Pitt can have it.” Sam was tired of the rat race. He was tired of kissing butt to get a role. “Where are you Sam?” Bart demanded to know. “I’m not telling you.” Sam didn’t like to be strong armed. Especially since he had a taste of freedom over the past few weeks. “Are you on drugs?” “No. You know I don’t touch that junk.” Sam had always taken pride in the fact he never went down that Los Angeles route. He stayed clear of drugs and the actors that did them. “I think you’re crazy.” Bart crossed the line. “Okay, sorry for that, but you really need help. And I can’t help you if I don’t know where you are.” “I don’t need your help.” Sam was about to let him in on a secret. “I have someone helping me.” “It’s a girl?” Bart asked. Celia popped into his mind. He longed for her touch. He wanted to kiss her and get close enough to smell her sweet scent. “It’s none of your business.” “It is my business. You hired me to make it my business.” Bart reminded Sam. Sam did hire him years ago to take care of his affairs. “Is she preventing you from your life? From your responsibilities?” Bart struck a nerve. “She doesn’t even know who I am.” “Right.” Bart wasn’t buying it. “She’s waiting for her million dollar check to come in from the tabloids.” Sam resented Bart’s comment. His voice was sharp. “She’s not like that. I’ll keep in touch.” Sam had enough. He hung up on Bart and turned it off. She didn’t know him, he was sure of it. Celia would never turn him into the tabloids. She would confront him first, just like she did with the smiley face mug arrangement. He was mad that Bart made him even think Celia would do such a thing. He refused to let Bart belittle what he was feeling for her. If she did know who he was, she wouldn’t care. She was getting to know the real him, not the actor. Hell, he was getting to know the real him. * By the time he got back to the florist, it was ten o’clock and pitch black outside. He saw a light coming out of the room where Celia creates her arrangements. She wouldn’t be able to see his lights from there. He enjoyed watching her and he could sneak around the back and do so before she knew he was there. He watched her take the flowers out of the freezer, cut and arrange. He noticed every time she opened the freezer, she would stand with her eyes closed. He watched her chest go up as she inhaled when the door opened and relax. He liked watching her drink in their scent. He heard the door shut through the open window. The click of the scissors and the sound of trickling water were making her heart sing, and it showed on her face. He hoped some of her glow had to do with him being in her life. “Hello?” Celia answered the phone. Sam got a little closer. He wanted to know who was calling her so late at night. “Yes, I am going to make a payment. Please don’t start foreclosure proceedings. I will figure something out.” Sam’s body slid