Roman's wicked promise turns my knees to jelly.I hear myself beg, "Not here. Please."He doesn't wait another moment. He releases his grip on my waist, then grabs my hand and pulls me through the sea of reporters. We're moving against the crowd, but that doesn't stop Roman. He forces his way through, dragging me behind him. I nearly stumble in my heels, but he doesn't let me fall. He leads me away from the carpet.As we go, I hear a new round of shouts go up behind us."Raphael!""Just one picture!""Raphael! A question!"Roman's hand tightens on mine, and his steps quicken. I'm more than happy to leave as fast as possible. I'm not particularly interested in facing Raphael right now. The video of the two of us hasn't gone viral yet - to my knowledge, at least - and I pray it gets buried by juicier celebrity news before more than a handful of people see it. And if it does start spreading... well, I'll deal with that when and if I have to. If the dating history of the Fontaine bo
My stomach grumbles at me. I glance down at my watch, and I almost don't believe the time - I should have left work over an hour ago. But I've been so absorbed in polishing my latest piece that I completely lost track of how late it was. My interview with Dante Fontaine is tomorrow, and I've blocked off the whole morning so I can make sure I'm prepared. This is my chance to forge a major connection, to make sure Celebrity Spark is the publication Dante contacts whenever he needs to promote a project or wishes to arrange a "scandal" in the name of a little extra publicity. If I play this right and earn Dante's trust, I might be able to turn that into a working relationship with some of the other Fontaines as well. Tomorrow's interview could make my entire career.A shadow looms over my desk, and I jump - and then look up into the eyes of Roman. My chest flutters. We've only been officially dating for a couple of weeks, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this lightheaded, giggly feeli
"Scotch and soda, please."The deep voice catches my attention immediately. I look up from my gin and tonic and sneak a peek at the man who just sat down beside me at the bar. He's a little older than me - maybe early thirties - and he has dark blond hair and a sexy spread of stubble across his jaw. As my eyes travel lower, I notice a little bit of a gut beneath his button-down shirt, but I tell myself that his broad shoulders balance out his shape quite nicely.In any case, he's worth a shot.I take a big gulp of my drink and turn toward him before I can chicken out."Scotch and soda," I say. "Good choice."He looks over at me in surprise, as if he hadn't even noticed me sitting here. His eyes flick down to my drink - which is clearly not a scotch and soda - then to my body. I can't tell what he thinks. I'm definitely not a supermodel or anything, but I'm not completely atrocious, either. When I bought this top, my friend Amy assured me that I looked hot. But I'm not used to bein
I'm not normally a spaz, I promise. And I'm not normally the sort of girl who makes a fool out of herself trying to pick up guys at the local bar. Usually, I'm just Felicia Liddle, an all-around normal sort of person.Except that I write for Celebrity Spark, one of the country's premier celebrity news publications. Working there has been my goal from the moment I graduated from college - where I doubled up in Journalism and Psychology - and my dream ever since I was old enough to read the tabloid covers at the supermarket.Yeah, I'm that girl you've seen buying an armload of celeb magazines and frozen dinners at the checkout counter. And no, I'm not ashamed of it. I make no secret of the fact that I'm fascinated by celebrity culture (and fascinated by our culture's fascination with celebrity culture) even if it's not exactly something most people go around bragging about. But I worked my ass off to land this job. It took me five years of busting my butt at internship after internship
My new boss stared at me with an intensity that made my insides go all twisty. I couldn't tell whether the way he slightly narrowed his eyes meant he was intrigued or merely shocked that I, a lowly staff writer, dared to address him that way. Mr. Sexy Mogul was probably used to people like me groveling at his feet. I held my breath, expecting him to throw me out without another word.When he finally spoke, though, his voice was as calm as it had been a moment before. And there was a spark of something in his eyes that looked almost like humor."Emilia Torres might be a popular actress," he said, "but frankly, this magazine can do better."I'm pretty sure I gaped at him. "Better?" I couldn't believe it. Emilia Torres is all anyone is talking about now. Her latest film, Cataclysm: Earth, has a larger budget than any movie in Hollywood's history - and costars Luca Fontaine, her former/ongoing/future flame and the highest-paid action star in the biz. The two have been fixtures in the ta
Why did I have the feeling that my new boss had just played me?"Snagging an interview with Luca Fontaine would be a feat, considering his general attitude toward interviews," he said, walking over to the table and leaning against the chair next to mine. "How exactly do you plan to do it? I'm assuming he hasn't already consented?"God, I hadn't realized how tall he was until he was towering over me. Between that and those eyes, my voice wanted to die in my throat. Besides - this was where my plan got sticky. But Roman Everet was asking me questions, which meant he was at least entertaining the idea of letting me try. I just needed to give him a reasonable answer and then I could work on the real plan later.Unfortunately, no answer - reasonable or otherwise - was popping into my brain. It was hard enough to get Emilia to agree to an interview with me, as unimportant as I am, and as Mr. Everet so kindly pointed out, she was usually eager to talk to the press. But as the silence stret
Okay, so that brings us back to me dry-heaving in the bathroom of a dumpy bar.In the two days since my meeting with Mr. Everet, I've racked my brain for ideas of how I'm going to pull this off. And honestly? Against all odds, I've come to the conclusion that my best chance of getting an interview with Luca or any of the Fontaines will be to go with my original spur-of-the-moment (incredibly insane) plan to somehow charm my way in. I have nothing else to offer them - nothing they need, anyway. When you're Hollywood royalty, you're pretty much set in terms of money, fame, and connections. And the Fontaines are more than just royalty - they're a multi-generational dynasty. If you can name a position in the film industry, a Fontaine has been there. And won all the awards. And probably caused a lot of trouble - and broken a few hearts - along the way.In other words, they are the wet dream of every celebrity news outlet in existence. Except you don't become as big as the Fontaines withou
My new boss stares at me, eyebrow raised in a question."I mean it," I repeat. "Tell me what I'm doing wrong, Mr. Everet.""Roman.""What?""Call me Roman."Using his first name makes this worse. It makes it... intimate. At least when he was "Mr. Everet" I could sort of pretend he wasn't a real person. The formality made it safer. Easier. But that's not exactly something I can explain to the man in front of me."Okay," I say. "Roman. I'd like to hear what you think I'm doing wrong."He doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he takes a long, slow drink, and I can't decide if he's giving me one last chance to walk away or if he just likes to watch me squirm. Finally, he puts his glass down."It's too much," he repeats."What is?""Everything. The way you're dressed. The way you try to get the attention of these men. It's coming off as desperate.""Desperate?" Oh, God. I mean, I know I feel desperate, but I didn't realize everyone else could see it.But Roman isn't finished."