Quinton sways closer, a beer in one hand, the other outstretched. “You can’t give out now. It’s early!”
“It’s 1 a.m.!” I laugh. “That’s early?”
“We’re just getting started!” Meredith says.
“I have to get up tomorrow morning and run.”
They both look horrified. “What, before shooting?”
I wave to Jenna, who’s dancing nearby, but I don’t look for Reid. “Yeah, it’s a million degrees by noon. See you guys tomorrow!”
The valet calls a taxi while I wait in the shadow of the building, watching the mixture of young professionals and college students pass. I’ve never told anyone except Emily, but I know I owe my acting ability to compulsive people-watching. I could never express the emotions of so many various people, some of whom I can’t stand even if they are fictional, if I didn’t constantly watch people interact.
“They’ll have a taxi over in a couple minutes,” the valet tells me with a slight drawl.
“Thanks,” I answer, handing him a tip.
“No problem.” He smiles back and stuffs the bill in the front pocket of his vest.
As I peel a breath mint from its wrapper, Graham Douglas exits the club alone and moves to the opposite side of the entrance, lighting a cigarette. Something about a well-dressed guy lighting up is curiously attractive. This allure can probably be traced to the old black and white movies Mom and I used to watch, where everyone smoked: Cary Grant and Clark Gable and Bette Davis, men in tuxedos, women in glittering gowns, cigarettes loosely held like insidious little props.
Lighter back in his pocket, Graham takes a deep draw, exhaling as though every muscle in his body is releasing the stress of the day with the hazy stream. Passing girls glance at him with sidelong gazes, checking to see if he’s noticed them while he leans against the brick wall, running a hand through his dark hair and tapping on his cell. He seems oblivious until with no warning he lifts his gaze and I’m caught staring at him for the second time tonight. Smiling and pushing away from the wall, he crosses to me.
“Hey, you caught me,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
“Taking a break from the club scene, or are you just that addicted?” I ask, teasing.
He glances at the cigarette in his hand like he has no idea how it got there. “Er… both?”
“Ma’am, your taxi’s here,” the valet interrupts.
“Going back to the hotel?” he asks, and I nod. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Sure, no problem,” I say. He crams the cigarette into an ashtray atop a trash can and follows me into the cab as I give the name of the hotel to the driver.
“I’m Graham, by the way.” He holds his hand out and I take it. His grip is firm but not crushing.
“Emma.” The cab driver makes a humph sound and I realize that we’ve just gotten into a cab bound for a hotel, and we’re exchanging names. My face flames in the darkness.
Graham’s eyes narrow, flashing momentarily to the cabbie. He clears his throat. “So how did filming go today? I meant to go along to observe, but decided I could use a day to go over the script and, you know, oversleep.”
“It went really well. Some interesting off-camera action, too—Reid had a devoted crowd of groupies just off set.”
He shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, if fans discover his location, he’s mobbed wherever he goes.”
“Huh,” I say.
His phone buzzes and he checks the screen, types a reply and returns it to his pocket. When we arrive at the hotel, he brushes off my effort to pay half. We’re both silent as we walk to the elevator. I think about him leaving his room in his pajamas to play sleepover with someone, probably Brooke, from their postures in the club… But he left the club, and Brooke, and came back to the hotel with me. Maybe it was her he was just texting.
The elevator’s low-key ding announces the fourth floor, and I nearly stop breathing as I realize what he might expect—having come back to the hotel with me. What if he thinks I want to play sleepover? Heart pounding as we walk down the carpeted hallway, I hear nothing beyond the swish, swish, swish of the blood racing through my ears. I recall Emily’s tales of Hollywood hedonism. Shit. I didn’t plan to stand out as the cast prude quite so soon, but there’s no way I’m sleeping with some guy I just met, I don’t care how hot he is.
As we approach his door, he pulls out his wallet, retrieves his key card and turns to me as he sticks it into the lock. “Thanks for sharing your cab.”
“No problem.” Swish, swish, swish.
The lock on his door blinks green and he opens the door. “Well, goodnight,” he says, while I stand there like a moron.
“Goodnight.” I turn quickly, rummaging in my bag for my key card as I walk away. Unlocking my door, I glance back, and I’m alone in the hallway, muttering, “Idiot,” to myself.
Chapter 10
REID
A quarter after one, and I haven’t seen Emma in a few minutes. I’ve been keeping track of where she is all night, covertly. The one time we made eye contact, she was dancing with Quinton. They moved perfectly together, and she looked so hot I almost ditched the mindless pack of girls clustered around and asked her to dance right then. I opted to wait a little longer. Now I’m rethinking that dimwitted decision, because she’s nowhere.
Did she leave with some guy? Disappointing, but not impossible. She may be better at this game than I’ve given her credit for. Time for inventory. Quinton’s here, dancing with Jenna. Tadd’s chatting with Brooke—which gives me a moment’s pause, but he’s too loyal to tell her anything I’ve said. He also won’t tell me anything she says, but I really don’t give enough of a shit to want to know anyway.