Hollywood Secrets (33 page)

She took a step toward me.

I took a step back, feeling the heels of my feet come up against the side of the pool. Talk about cornered.

She narrowed her eyes. She clenched her jaw. Gone was America’s Sweetheart, and in her place was a glimpse of the tough New York mafia-connected girl she’d grown up. Personally, at the moment I much preferred the former.

“
Say good-bye, Shannon.”

“
Cameron,” I automatically corrected her.

“
Shut up!” she screamed, punctuating the sentiment by pointing the gun straight at my face.

I bit my lip, feeling my insides go numb. The sun beat down on me, but my skin was suddenly ice cold, my mind frozen, my eyes seeing only the barrel of the gun. Time seemed to stand still as images flashed in my mind – the paper, Tina, Felix, Ben Carlyle’s Clark Gable face hiding a shriveled old murderer, and Jamie Lee’s perky socialite persona hiding a criminal secret of her own.

I closed my eyes, chicken that I was. If my brains were about to be splattered all over Jamie Lee’s perfect swimming pool, I didn’t want to see it.

I felt Jamie Lee take a step forward, and felt myself cringing involuntarily in anticipation of what was next.

And then I heard it.

A loud crack shouting through the air, echoing off the hills.

I waited for the pain to follow. Oddly enough, it didn’t.

I slowly pried one eye open, searching my person for bullet holes.

What I found instead was Jamie Lee laying on the ground, clutching her left thigh as bright red blood seeped onto her designer jeans.

“
Ohmigod, ohmigod! You shot me, you bitch!”

I looked down at my hands, confused. “I don’t even have a gun.”

“
Not you, you twit! Her!” Jaime Lee pointed behind me.

I whipped my head around…

…
to find Tina, standing with her boots planted shoulder width apart, her pigtails flying in the breeze, arms straight out in front of her holding a tiny pink gun with little yellow flames along the side. The barrel still smoking.

I sagged to the ground in relief. “My hero,” I breathed.

She grinned. “Don’t mess with the paparazzi.”

* * *

Two hours later the police were swarming the place. Jamie Lee was taken into custody, the shot in her leg deemed a flesh wound. The movers were happy to take the rest of the day off, having already been paid a hefty deposit by Jamie Lee. Tina started typing up her exclusive story on her Palm even before the police arrived, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of finally scooping Allie. And I told my story to a uniformed cop, a plainclothes policeman, a special crimes unit detective, and an assistant DA so many times that I almost had it memorized by the time they finally told me I could go home. I was just trudging back to my Jeep, watching the last rays of daylight disappear over the hills when I saw a familiar face through the growing number of newshounds crowding the drive.

Trace.

I bit my lip, watching as he spoke to an officer who let him through the yellow crime scene barricade.

He made quick strides toward me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He glanced down at my arm. “Nice sling.”

Thanks. I nodded to his bandage. “We match.”

He grinned. Then fell silent.

I shuffled my feet nervously, not sure what to say next.

“
I take it you heard about Jamie Lee?” I finally settled on.

He nodded. “I did.”

“
I’m sorry.”

“
Thanks.” Trace shoved his hands in his pockets. “But…”

“
But?” I asked. Maybe a little too expectantly. I mean, what was I expecting? He was Trace Brody. I was Tabloid Girl. The divide there was so large the Grand Canyon didn’t hold a candle to it. We lived in two completely different worlds, the only overlap between the two coming in the form of a telephoto lens.

I staunchly reminded myself of this fact as I waited for Trace to finish.

“
Well…” He looked down at the ground. “You should know something. I mean, when you print it I want to make sure you get the story straight.”

“
Oh.” Right. It was about the story. Duh. What did you expect, Tabloid Girl? This was not
You’ve Got Email
, or
Die Tough
, or even
Held for Ransom
. Happy endings did not happen like that in real life.

And not to members of the paparazzi.

“
So what should I know?” I asked. Not that it mattered. Not that I cared. Not that I was just trying to stall and prolong the short time we might have together before we went back to being reporter and subject.

“
I decided to cancel the wedding.”

I froze.

“
Cancel?”

He nodded. “Yeah. This morning. I was actually on my way over here to break things off with her when I heard about the shooting on the radio.”

Oh, reeeeeeeally. Now this was getting interesting.

An interesting
story
I reminded myself. Just a story.

“
That’s… well, I guess that’s good. I mean, if you were breaking it off anyway, I guess it was less of a blow to find out who Jamie Lee really was, right?” I reasoned.

He nodded. “I guess so. Yeah.”

He paused. Took step closer to me. “Do you want to know why I was breaking it off with her?”

I swallowed hard.

A story. It’s just about the story.

“
Sure,” I said.

“
I was breaking things off with Jamie Lee because I realized I didn’t love her.”

“
Oh?” Why my voice cracked on that word, I had no idea. I cleared my throat loudly.

He nodded. “In fact…” He took another step. Closer. So close he could almost reach out and touch me. “I realized I’m in love with someone else.”

“
Oh?” I squeaked out again. The throat clearing hadn’t helped at all. My voice was total Minnie Mouse.

Again he nodded. Slowly. Not taking his eyes off my face.

I bit my lip. Swallowed hard. “With anyone I know?” I asked.

I held my breath, waiting an excruciating two seconds before he nodded again.

“
Yeah.”

“
Who?” I heard myself asking. Though I was amazed I could speak at all, my body feeling totally paralyzed by his eyes.

He took another step toward me, standing so close now that I could feel the heat from his body warming me in places I couldn’t speak of in polite company.

My entire body waited as he slowly answered on a whisper…

“
You.”

I felt myself exhale, my head floating above me, my entire being unsure if he’d really said the word or if I’d wanted him to so badly I was hallucinating.

“
Me?” Minnie Mouse squeaked out again.

He smiled, his eyes assessing me.

It wasn’t his romantic comedy face, or his hot action hero face, or his tortured hero redeemed by just the right woman face. It was just his. Trace’s. The guy behind the actor. The real man. Staring down at me, his eyes sincere, his lips close to mine. So close I could taste the peppermint gum on his breath. So close, all it would take was the merest of movements before our lips were touching. All he’d have to do was lean down the slightest bit more and he’d be kissing me.

And that’s what he did.

I sighed, my whole body going slack as his warm lips fell on mine.

At the end of
You’ve Got Email
, the romantic lead, Trace, and the cute, plucky, we’re-all-rooting-for-you lead actress finally, after weeks of near misses, kiss. When I saw it in the theater, the entire audience did a simultaneous “Awwwwwww” and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

This was better. By a mile.

It was soft, sweet, warm and demanding all at the same time. I totally melted, my knees buckling so that his arms sliding around my middle was the only thing holding me up.

I have no idea how long we stood like that, but his lips were red and raw when we both finally came up for air, panting, eyes glazed over, lust an almost tangible thing hanging in the air between us.

“
Wow,” I whispered.

“
Ditto,” he said.

“
You do know this is totally ending up on the pages of the
Informer
right?” I teased.

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. Why do you think I’m into you? It’s purely for the publicity.” He gave me a wink.

I punched him in the arm

“
Ouch,” he said, rubbing his bandaged bicep. Then he gave me that lopsided grin that melted hearts daily on the big screen. “So, what’s your big headline to go with this story?”

“’
Big shot movie star sleeps with member of the paparazzi?’”

He raised one eyebrow. “Oh does he?”

I nodded. Slowly. Unable to help the grin from spreading across my face. “Oh, yeah, he does.” And I kissed him again.

* * *

“
What the hell is this?”

Felix came bellowing toward me, waving a copy of
ED
in his hand as he approached.

“
Um. What’s what?” I asked.

“
This.” He shoved the paper on my desk, pointing to a picture on the third page. Trace Brody and his new girlfriend caught kissing on the patio of Nico’s yesterday at lunch.

I bit my lip.

“
Ummm…”

“
Is this the late lunch you took yesterday?”

I nodded.

“
The one you told me was a working lunch?”

More nodding.

“
That was charged to my expense account?”

“
Well, I can’t expect Trace to pay every time.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Fine. But just explain to me why I have to see photos of
my
staff showing up in someone else’s paper?”

I shrugged. “Hey, it’s hard to outrun the paparazzi.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end, looking even more slept in than usual.

“
When did I lose control so badly?” he muttered.

“
Sorry, boss. I’ll try harder to ditch Mike and Eddie next time.”

“
Great. Fine. Dandy,” he said, spinning on heel. “And next time you’ll let Trace pay!”

I grinned. Then saluted him. “Aye, aye, chief.”

He grumbled to himself as he stalked off to his office, depositing the
ED
’s paper firmly in the trash bin on his way.

“
Ouch. Boss isn’t in a good mood today, huh?” Tina appeared at my cubicle, her hair streaked a bright violet today.

I shrugged. I had a feeling after the photos I turned in tonight, he’d forgive me.

“
So, up for Chinese tonight?” Tina asked. “I’m solo for dinner.”

I raised an eyebrow. “No Cal?”

“
He’s working. Body guarding some visiting dignitary. I’m all yours for egg rolls.”

I shook my head. “You know I’d love to but I can’t. I already have plans.”

She leaned her chin into her elbow on the top of my cube wall. “Do tell. These plans involve any celebrities I might know?”

I grinned. “A barbeque at Trace’s. With J Lo and Marc Anthony.”

I could see Tina mentally drooling. “Seriously? Jesus, you’re going all movie star on me, Cam.”

“
You’re just jealous.”

“
Dammed straight I am! Just promise me one thing?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“
When you invite me to the wedding, be sure to seat me next to Paris Hilton, okay? I’ve been dying to get the goods on her for years.”

I grinned. “You got it, girl.”

She straightened up and dusted lint off her checkered mini-skirt. “All right. Well, as much as I’d love to sit around and hear every little detail of Trace’s new love life…” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow my way.

I shook my head. “My lips are sealed. What happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom.”

Tina stuck her tongue out at me. “Figures. Well, I’ve gotta go. Allie’s trying to scoop me again with this Barker story.”

“
Chester Barker?”

Chester Barker was a producer who was famous for his train-wreck reality shows. If there was any way to exploit the human condition, Chester had found it, done it, and televised it. So, it hadn’t come as a total surprise when he’d been found dead in his multi-million dollar mansion just a week after wrapping his latest assault on the American people –
Stayin’ Alive,
a survival show where sixteen strangers are dropped off in the middle of nowhere and have to outsmart, out strategize, and outlast the rest, not only surviving the elements, but also a dance off for a panel of celebrity judges each week at the jungle tribunal. It was trash TV at its worst. And the ratings had been through the roof.