I shifted my dress so I could kneel at her level. “I will try.”
Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Really?” Her tone was high enough for a dog whistle.
“I can’t promise it,” I said, wanting to always be honest with her. “There will be so many people there, I may not get to him. But I will definitely try for you.”
“Omg so cool!” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “I can’t believe you could possibly see him. Talk to him! Gah!” she started speaking faster than I could understand, and Connor rolled his eyes. He could hardly believe Hannah had a celebrity crush at her age despite me explaining how early girl crushes started.
“Who else do you plan to talk to?” Connor asked as I stood back up.
“Anyone who can give me a story.” I sighed, and he tipped my chin up to meet his eyes.
“Shelby still riding you?”
I nodded. “One month left. None of my previous articles have been enough to earn me the permanent employee badge.”
“You’ll land it,” he said. “I have no doubt. You’re a brilliant reporter.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “We’ll see.” My shoulders dropped. “I don’t want to earn it by scooping a scandal, you know?”
He nodded, and Hannah bolted out of the room, noticing we were done talking about Tristan Barber and had moved on to boring adult things. “Wouldn’t it be easier?” He asked, and I widened my gaze at him. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I didn’t mean forever. I only meant one story. One to secure your position. Then you could choose your future stories without Shelby breathing down your neck.”
I shook my head. “She’ll still be my editor. And I want to prove to her that I can relay celebrity stories without having to conform to the masses. Cheating and lying and all the he said she said BS.” I shrugged. “Of course, if it gets down to it, I may have to. This job is all I’ve ever wanted.”
Connor cocked a brow at me.
Another flush dusted my skin. “Well,” I said, my hand on his strong, broad chest. “Until recently.”
“That so?” he smirked down at me, his hand sliding behind my back to grip my ass. “Mmm,” he moaned. “The things I could do to you in this dress.”
My legs weakened with his words, heat swarming between my thighs. Good God the man could make me limp from words alone.
“Come with me,” I whispered, and his eyes flew wide.
“Here?” He asked, a tease in his voice. “Right this second?”
I laughed, lightly smacking his chest. “I meant to the event,” I said. “Throw on a suit and come with me.”
He wetted his lips, the battle clear in his eyes before he shook his head. “As much as I’d love to trail that ass all night, I’ll have to let Zach be your date.” His eyes narrowed as he said my photographer’s name, and I knew that the night at Club Thirty-Five had put a rift between the two that would never heal. He took a step away from me like he needed the distance to solidify his decline to my invitation. “I promised Hannah a date. We’re going to do it up big with dinner and ice cream and then the bookstore.”
My heart expanded so much I couldn’t breathe.
This man.
“I’m properly jealous,” I said.
“You?” he shook his head. “I’m hoping that Jack Ryan guy doesn’t try and steal you away.”
I laughed. “He’s married,” I said.
“Like that matters in Hollywood.”
“To some people it does.”
“Not with the way you look in that dress.”
“Have to blend in to get the goods,” I said, crossing the distance he’d put between us. “And besides,” I continued. “A spy has nothing on a Shark.”
“Better remember that.”
“I can still smell you from this morning, Connor,” I teased. “How could I forget?”
A low growl rumbled from his chest. “When is the event over?”
“Past midnight. If I get an invite to the after party.”
He groaned. I had yet to stay the night while Hannah was here, and I wouldn’t until we’d discussed it properly. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?” I asked.
“Count on it.”
“Oh, I will,” I said, planting him with a kiss quick enough to leave us both wanting more. Then I clicked out of the room, hating how much I wanted to blow off the award event and stay with Connor all night.
Crazy.
He was making me absolutely crazy.
Three hours and one generous autograph from Tristan Barber later, I walked into the Plaza where the awards after-party was being held. The grand ballroom had been transformed into what could’ve been Seattle’s newest and hottest nightclub. Muted lights, red satiny tables, and impeccable beats created the perfect atmosphere for all the celebs who were still riding the adrenaline highs for the ceremony. Some danced, others drank the top shelf liquor offered on trays throughout the throngs of people, while others tucked into the cozy tables and swapped stories.
Luckily, I’d landed a few invites to the after-party, and Zach had been more than ready to follow me. He knew I hadn’t gotten anything juicy enough at the actual ceremony—Jessica Laughlin falling up the stairs was hardly a headline—and the rest of the celebs had been in interview mode. The long red carpet ushered them to wear their best outfits and faces and keep their answers accordingly. Not that I minded the general positive buzz that had surrounded them, but it wasn’t enough. And Shelby had told me as much before assigning me to this event.
“We don’t want the red carpet scene. We want the stuff between and after it. We want you to push boundaries.” Her voice echoed in my head, like a ticking clock that counted down the days until I’d lose my chance because I hadn’t been creative or edgy enough to get them what they needed.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I tucked my clutch under my arm as I weaved through the crowd. The music pulsed from a tricked out DJ booth toward the back of the room, the beats memorizing and sultry in an electric way. I suddenly wished Connor’s hands were on my hips, like when he’d controlled my body as we’d danced in Club Thirty-Five.
Focus.
Right.
I honed my senses, a hunter on the prowl for a good story. There had to be one here. Something headline worthy. Something to take the pressure off. Even if it had to be of the regular variety…I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad. Like Connor had said, it could just be one story to secure my position and then—
No. That would set the tone for every other piece, and I didn’t want to go down that road if I didn’t have to.
You may.
I hated that even my conscious was starting to give up hope that we could stay in this field and not get our hands dirty.
Maybe I should’ve gone for sports, then at least I could follow the Sharks around on the road and get stories hand fed to me.
Too easy.
And I’d always wanted to change the way celebrities were portrayed in the media, athletic and theatrical alike. They were people, too, and more often than not the public forgot that. Expected them to be perfect. Fantastical, almost.
There were a dozen or so people here who had already done something mere humans would do—like trip over their gowns, or have champagne fly from their nose because they laughed at the wrong moment.
Human.
Fallible, but real, and for the most part…good.
And I would show that, one story at a time.
Feeling confident from the mental pep-talk, I headed toward the bar and ordered a tonic and lime—staying sober on the job was the f
irst key to success. Now all I needed was—
“Can I have one of those,” a British accent asked the bartender, and I turned slightly to see a tall, lean, totally recognizable man pointing to my drink. He wore a crisp blue suit, his light brown hair slicked back, his chiseled cheekbones perfect and leading to a smile that was worth more than a million dollars.
“Hello,” he said, and I had to remind myself that my business was celebrities. That I couldn’t and wouldn’t let myself be swept away in shock.
“Hello,” I said, taking the hand he extended and giving it a good shake. I was a strong, confident reporter, not a fangirl. Not a fangirl. Not a—
“I’m—”
“I know who you are,” I practically giggled the words and resisted the urge to smack myself.
I took a steadying breath. There weren’t many actors I lost it over, but this man was one of them. Not only was he a brilliant performer, revolutionizing every role he got his hands on, he was an incredible human being. Donated to charities, flew to countries to help villages in need, and was a huge contributor to a dozen children’s hospitals across the country.
“I apologize,” he said, dropping my hand. “I can’t say the same thing. Would I have seen any of your films?”
I chuckled a little too loudly. “No,” I said. “I’m not talented.” I cringed. “I mean, I’m not an actress.” I straightened in my seat. “Ivy Harris,” I said, finally finding my footing. “Reporter for the Seattle Chronicle.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, wrapping his long fingers around the glass the bartender sat in front of him. “Thank you,” he said to her, flashing her a smile that I was shocked didn’t drop her to her knees. The woman seemed wholly unaffected by the A-lister’s charms as she nodded and headed to tend to some patrons at the other end of the bar. “Did you enjoy the event?” He asked, and I smiled.
“Very much,” I said. “Though, if I’m being honest,” I continued. “I’m not sure how you are all standing right now, let alone dancing.”
He chuckled. “It is quite exhausting,” he said, taking a sip from his drink. “Thrilling, too. Such an honor to be recognized, let alone among so many talented peers. I look forward to these,” he said. “Because I so rarely get to see so many of my friends gathered in one place.”