Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Read online

  That prompted me to ask, “So, I noticed you don’t have a driver?”

  He scoffed. “Uh, no. I’m not a special snowflake like Micah.” His goofy smile flat-lined. “You’re okay with an Uber, right?”

  I hadn’t meant to imply I’d come to expect a higher standard of living. It was an innocent question. “Of course. This is way better than the subway.”

  We descended back out into the real world to find a Toyota Corolla awaiting us. Shane slid in beside me, wasting no time to wrap an arm around me. The constant intimacy might start to chafe, but for the moment, the security it gave me outweighed any future discomfort. Shane didn’t play games, and so I didn’t have to either. I laid my head on his shoulder and said, “You’re just about the nicest guy I’ve ever known.”

  “Nice?” He cleared his throat. “That isn’t your way of telling me I’m homely.”

  I lifted my head and shot him a serious side eye. “Are you fishing?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Looks aren’t everything, Shane.”

  He clutched his heart. “Shots fired!”

  “You really think I don’t find you attractive?”

  “Do you?”

  As we crossed over into Manhattan, I swiveled toward him and said, “Shall I count the ways?”

  His eyes lit up. “Please.”

  I ran my fingers through his hair. “You have the perfect coloring.”

  “Narcissist,” he laughed. “You have to like my coloring.”

  “I don’t have to, but I do.”

  “Continue.”

  I touched his nose. “Your nose gives your whole face character.”

  “Character. Oh, God, not that.”

  “It’s good.”

  “Character and nice are two words that people use as euphemisms.”

  “Whatever.” Tracing his bottom lip, I said, “Your lips are sinfully sexy.”

  He kissed my thumb. “That’s more like it. Go on.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “Now that’s not even a euphemism. Foul.”

  “Shall I continue to praise your beauty, or shall I move on to your drool-worthy body?”

  “Drool-worthy? Really?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. Has nobody ever lusted for you?”

  He moved closer, with a mischievous grin. “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Our lips connected, and we didn’t speak for several blocks. There was no satisfying us though, and I could tell he was as frustrated as I was by our situation. Kissing him was pure heaven, but heaven couldn’t exist without hell, and hell was made of hot, burning fire. And the flames licked my sinful desire.

  He drew back, dragging his teeth across my lip with a deep sigh. “Do you really have to go to work? I could spring for a hotel. We could be there in minutes.”

  “We could do that.” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “After I go to work.”

  He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  The cab finally arrived close enough to Times Square, and we got out. Shane followed me into the lobby.

  “Well? This is it.” I gestured toward the bank of security turnstiles, indicating the end of the road for Shane.

  “I want to see where you work.” He walked over to a desk and secured himself a guest pass.

  I was about to drag a bona fide rock musician up to a rock music magazine. Maybe nobody would recognize him.

  We slipped into the office mostly unnoticed. I pointed out the cube where I worked and shrugged. “It’s an office. There are meeting rooms over there and a kitchen if you want something approximately like coffee. Oh—” I spun around “—and that’s Lars Cambridge’s office, but I’ve never—”

  Shane’s head shot that way. “One sec.”

  He walked straight back to Lars’ office and tapped on the door frame. I heard a voice say, “Shane!” and then the door clicked closed.

  Right then, the air pressure seemed to change in my cube, and I turned around as Gabe said, “So, you brought us a second-rate drummer, I see.”

  “What can I help you with, Gabe?” I had a brief panic that he’d somehow figured out I’d been the one to send a hoard of pitchfork-wielding commenters to his review. But that wasn’t possible.

  He craned to get a better view into Lars’ office, where Shane stood behind the glass pane, hands flying the way they did when he got animated. I took a second to admire his under-appreciated ass. Honestly, I couldn’t understand why all the girls in the office weren’t popping up like meerkats to get an eyeful.

  Gabe draped one arm over my cube. “You didn’t strike me as a fan of their music.”

  I waited for him to tell me why my taste in music was pedestrian, but he surprised me with a curve ball. “So, listen. I’ve got a pair of tickets to Kinky Boots and wondered if you’d like to join me.”

  “Tonight?”

  “If you’re free. It’s a good show.”

  “So I hear.”

  I’d never been to a Broadway musical, and it sounded like fun, but the audacity of the short notice made me balk. Not to mention, I was somehow involved with someone else. But how were Shane and I involved? Occasionally, in the past, I’d assumed things were exclusive just because I’d shared a bed with a guy only to never hear from him again. I couldn’t read Shane’s mind, but I thought we had the start of something.

  If I’d never met Shane, would I have said yes? Gabe was pretty, and his dark eyes might have caught my attention, but I distrusted him somehow.

  “So, you’ll come with?” His whole body relaxed.

  I clenched my fists to turn him down, knowing it might push me into that bitch territory. I winced. “Sorry. I’ve got other plans.”

  He nodded and inched closer. “I realize I sprung it on you at the last minute. Surely you’ll be free later this week?”

  How did people navigate social obstacles like this? “I don’t—”

  Gabe’s eyebrow dipped. “I’ll let you get back to work.” With a small bend at the waist, like he was literally bowing out, he backed out of my cube, slowly, as if he expected me to stop him and tell him I’d changed my mind.

  When he turned to go, I stood there glowering after him.

  “What was that about?” Shane leaned against the cube wall, almost the same way as Gabe, except instead of adorning it like a gentleman, he made the wall look like a prop in a fake office. His bicep dwarfed the narrow width of the bar running along the top. I hoped he wouldn’t bring the whole thing down.

  “Nothing. He writes some of the reviews for the magazine.”

  Shane’s head shot up, and he scanned the office. “That guy writes reviews? Shit. I should have introduced myself.”

  “Oh, he knows who you are.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “Cool.” With a smug nod, he modestly added, “That’s to be expected at a magazine that focuses extensively on rock music, I guess.”

  I didn’t let him know that Gabriel had referred to him as “a second-rate drummer.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ajit slip into the meeting room. With a sigh, I said, “I need to get to work.” I bit my lip unsure whether Shane intended to pull up a chair and hang out with me all day.

  “Oh, right. I guess it would be unprofessional to kiss you here?” He snagged a pen off my desk and tore a corner of paper from my notepad. Leaning forward, he drew a picture of what appeared to be a pair of lips. “Just pretend that’s me kissing you goodbye. I’ll see you later, right?”

  “Yes.” Definitely. I was into seeing him later. I was relieved he still wanted to see me. “Later.”

  As soon as he’d left the office floor, the charge went out of the room, like when the power shuts off all of a sudden and sounds you hadn’t noticed before become noticeably ab
sent. The absence of Shane was palpable.

  I followed the developers into the meeting room, ready to answer any questions they might have about the changes I’d proposed, only then remembering I’d left my laptop at Jo’s.

  Crap.

  I could get through this meeting, but after that?

  Byron broke in before we’d even started. “Layla, do you have Chatter turned on?”

  The office used an internal chat program that I had, in fact, not opened up yet, seeing as how I was computerless. “No, sorry.”

  “Lars is looking for you. Can you go see what he wants?”

  My stomach flipped.

  Lars Cambridge was summoning me?

  I swallowed down the immediate panic that he’d figured out I was just masquerading as a competent addition to his magazine and had decided to let me go.

  Maybe Shane had mentioned me to him. I gathered my things and left them at my desk before smoothing out my clothes and heading in to see the head honcho.

  I’d seen pictures of Lars, but they must have been out of date. The man seated at his desk was weathered like the distressed shiplap I saw in hipster bars. As I entered his office, he gave off the impression he was watching me over a pair of aviator sunglasses, though he wore none. He waited, like he was curious to see what I might do, while I decided between standing or sitting. At last, I took a chair across from him, and he said in a gravelly voice, “Hey there.”

  “Hi. I’m Layla Beckett. Byron said you sent for me? I’m the new social media admin.”

  “Social media,” he said, though it hung in the air like a question, like he didn’t understand the term, or maybe like he could see straight through me to the social anxiety that made my role ironic.

  “And web content?” I wasn’t sure why I answered him with another question. His narrow eye slits unnerved me. “I’ll be helping to configure the software to take advantage of auto tweeting and shares to Facebook, among other things.”

  His sharp intake of breath seemed an acknowledgment of his sudden comprehension. “Right. Good. It’s incredible how much the world is changing.”

  Lars could best be described as “one cool cat,” but he didn’t seem to want to chat about the philosophy of his magazine or impart any on-the-job wisdom to me. In fact, he seemed like he’d just smoked a giant bowl and wanted nothing more than to mellow out.

  What I did learn from him was that there was no way I would ever be the most underdressed person at the office. If someone had told me he’d been transported directly from the late seventies, I would only wonder why his clothes appeared to have experienced every minute of the ensuing decades. Lars was worn in. I was beginning to think nobody was at all who I thought they would be. Crazy

  He continued to watch me through his stoner lids, and it was like we were playing a game of chicken. Finally, I blinked. “Did you need something?”

  “Got an interesting visit today.” He tore a rectangular piece of paper from a small pad and tapped it on the desk. “You know Shane Morgan, I think?”

  “Indeed, I do.” So, Shane had gotten me noticed. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “He tells me you’re a big fan of the band. Said you’d probably get a kick out of hanging at rehearsal with them.”

  I coughed. “Well, yes. Who wouldn’t?”

  “You’d be surprised.” He glanced at the paper, one eye narrowed further if possible, as if making a decision. Then he turned those slits on me. “Can you write?”

  “Write what?”

  He leaned back, lifting the mysterious paper off the desk, where it hung between his thumb and forefinger midair. “Articles, blogs, that kind of thing.”

  “I—” I took a deep breath “—actually yes. I’ve written my share of blog articles.”

  His tongue darted out and took a slow tour of his upper lip before he sat back up. “Where exactly?”

  “Fan sites?” I offered this information as if I expected it to be met with derision.

  “Fan sites.” He sat there for a moment, considering. “Can you be more specific?”

  And there it was. I knew I’d eventually have to come clean about my moonlighting, but I hadn’t expected it to go this way. “Lars, if I were to tell you I ran a fan site for a band, would that be a problem?”

  He laughed, though it sounded more like a rock tumbler. “If that were a problem, I’d have fired half the staff years ago. Why? Do you?”

  “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

  “For Theater of the Absurd, right?”

  “Actually, no.” The paper he held descended. “Though I am a fan of their music.”

  His head bobbed an affirmative. “Curious. Who is it, then?”

  Could I tell him? “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “The Backstreet Boys?”

  I burst out laughing at the dated reference. “Why would you think that?”

  One shoulder rose in the world’s least committed shrug. “You said it’s embarrassing.”

  I wondered if he’d ever heard of any recent pop bands. He obviously kept up with rock music. But I’d been raised by parents who wanted me to appreciate the full spectrum of music, from classic rock to the cheesiest of boy bands. Appreciate. Not necessarily love.

  “I actually do like them, full confession. Just not enough to devote time talking about them online.”

  “So, who then?” The paper fell to the desk as he leaned forward on his elbows, fingers steepled. “I can keep a secret. Come on. Now, I’m dying to know.”

  For the first time I saw the whites of his eyes, and I froze.

  Could I trust him? Was it a secret I’d be able to keep forever? Ash wouldn’t stay mum about my dual life indefinitely. And once the forum knew, how long before the connection trickled back upstream? Even Jaclyn had nearly identified me from the little bit I’d shared with her. I bit my lip, nervous now. Was I actually about to confess my alternate identity?

  Yes. Why not?

  Straightening my spine, I exuded the confidence I didn’t feel and then exploded my protective barrier. “It’s actually Walking Disaster. The site’s called Talking Disaster.”

  His eyes widened to nearly normal. “That’s you?”

  My surprise matched his. “You know it?”

  “Well, yeah. We get trackbacks from your site, and I’ve clicked around. Lots of energy there.” His weathered face cracked out a whole smile. “This is a fortuitous turn of events. You have exactly the youthful vibe I’m hoping to tap into.”

  At the words “youthful vibe,” I nearly chortled, but I wanted to be absolutely clear on one point. “So, there’s no conflict of interest or anything, right?”

  “Conflict? More like a confluence of interest. Just think about the traffic we could get from the pool of subscribers you’ve collected.”

  “They’ll definitely click over if I drop a link to interesting content.”

  “They trust you.” His eyes drifted back to the forgotten paper lying on his desk, and he slid it over. “This is the address where Shane said he’d be rehearsing all morning.”

  I picked it up. Something had been scrawled in black ink. I could sort of make out the numbers, though if it were a Captcha code, I wouldn’t feel one-hundred percent confident I’d be getting it right. But I had Shane’s phone number, so I politely took the paper, folded it over and tucked it between my thighs.

  “Thank you. Can you tell me what exactly you’re hoping for?”

  “One of their new songs. Shane promised he’d let you record something they’re working on.”

  “Wow.” Shane hadn’t played with an empty hand. My first reaction was stunned delight. Spending my day immersed in rock band pheromones was the closest thing to heaven next to Shane’s bed. A small red flag of warning stirred, but I pushed it down.

  “It’s free publicity for t
hem. And I’d like to see what you can do with it.”

  As badly as I’d wanted to meet Lars, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be out of his office and on my way.

  “Go talk to Kate about video equipment.”

  With that invitation to leave, I bolted. Uneasiness pricked at the back of my head, but this opportunity excited me. As I walked down to see Kate, I took out my phone and texted Shane for clearer directions.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shane’s text directed me to an area in Brooklyn I’d never been, but not too far from where he lived. When I emerged from the station, he waited at the exit, scrolling through his phone messages.

  I tapped his forearm, and he blinked against the sunlight, a smile breaking out to compete with the brilliance of the afternoon. His freckles splayed out like a galaxy across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The glare forced his eyes to narrow so that his beautiful eyes were imprisoned by those long cinnamon lashes.

  Neither of us moved or spoke for a full minute. Just as I’d been inventorying him, he’d been studying me in the new light of day. I gave him a wry grin and sighed happily. “Should we go?”

  “It’s not too far. Let’s walk.” He crooked his elbow out, and I snaked my hand through.

  For the third time in as many days, we strolled together on a Brooklyn sidewalk, and once again, he reeled me closer to him and wrapped an arm around me, high-school boyfriend style.

  “I missed you this morning, Star Shine.”

  The admission hit me with a mix of conflicting emotions. Just like Jaclyn had said, he was a big, dopey puppy—adorable, but overwhelming. If he’d been any other guy, his intense attention so early on probably would have freaked me out.

  But Shane wasn’t any other guy. Time and time again, he revealed himself to be different than I expected.

  I nudged him and teased him with my own choice of nickname. “Missed you, too, Cuddle Rock.”