Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(28)

“Can you help me find my clothes? Please?” I beg the cops and point to the fountain.

Good cop and bad cop seem resigned to their fate as they flash their lights into the fountain. I turn to see Daisy dive into the shadows of the trees while texting madly on her phone.

We find the dress floating on the other side of the fountain, and by the time the cops turn back to Daisy, her phone is stashed away once again. She’s looking calm for someone about to get arrested. Glad that makes one of us, I think as I hastily throw on the formerly beautiful dress, which has now shrunk to Barbie size.

Please, Daisy, I pray. Use some of your magic to get us out of this spot.





Hours later, I’m grumpy, exhausted, still wearing my doll-sized dress, and dead sober with the beginning of a pounding headache.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Daisy asks me.

“Sorry, I don’t consider spending the night in a police station and almost getting arrested to be an adventure,” I shoot back.

But when I turn to Daisy, my annoyance fizzles just a bit. Despite her bravado, she’s a flower wilting fast. Her small frame sags. Her normally sparkling eyes are dull, and even her curls droop under the harsh glare of the police station’s ugly fluorescent lights. I give her a hug, and she hugs me back.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, sounding contrite.

It’s my turn to feel guilty. It isn’t fair to blame her. There was no gun to my head when I took off my dress and jumped into the fountain. There was a lot of alcohol and the need to prove that I could take risks, but no gun. Damn tequila. It’s even worse than champagne.

“It’s not your fault. I went along with it willingly. And, until the police showed up, I had a great time. Plus, hanging out at the police station is good research for writing mysteries.”

“Really?” she asks, a small glimmer in her eyes returning.

“Really,” I say. “And you’re right. We got off lightly with just a warning. I don’t understand how.”

“I can’t imagine,” Daisy says, her eyes innocent.

“Why weren’t you more worried?”

She shrugs. “I made a call.”

“To whom? Don’t tell me one of your admirers is the chief of police?” Though it wouldn’t surprise me. Not much about Daisy surprises me anymore.

I push open the station doors and breathe the fresh air. We step out into the early morning light. The sun is just rising, casting its soft glow over the street. Looking into the reflection of the large window fronting the police station, I’m glad it’s so early and only a few people are in the streets to see me in my shrunken dress. My black hair hangs lankly against my skull. The bags under my eyes are as dark as Daisy’s, and the makeup she put on me earlier is smudged beyond repair. All I want is a long, hot shower and bed.

I’m about to ask Daisy to call for a car because my phone died hours ago, when a long black sedan pulls up beside us.

I step aside, so I don’t block the path of whoever is in the car, when the front window rolls down slowly.

Daisy leans into the open window. “Hey,” she says to someone. “Are you the driver now?”

“Good morning, Miss Daisy. It’s been a long time.”

“So, is the big guy in the back?” She turns to look at me and winks while I gape.

The sternly handsome, dark-haired man in the driver’s seat smiles fondly at her. “See for yourself. I heard you needed a ride.”

“You just want to say you’re driving Miss Daisy,” she teases with a laugh. “Get it? It never gets old!” Daisy turns. “Ready to go?” She says it casually, as if getting picked up by a man in a strange car after spending the night at the police station is an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is for her. But me? Not so much.

“Erm, Daisy? What’s going on? Are we getting abducted by the mafia as payback for them springing us from jail? ’Cause I have to call Audrey and tell her I can’t come to work this week if that’s the case.” I know I sound cranky, but I’m tired and out of patience.

She flashes me a saucy look. “Are you ready for another adventure, Olivia?”

“No,” I say with certainty. “Abso-freaking-lutely not.”

“Too bad,” Daisy retorts as the back door swings open, and she steps into the darkened interior.

“Wait! Daisy!” I hiss, trying to stop her. This is the thing about being a writer. My imagination presents me with all sorts of scenarios—being abducted and sold as a sex slave is currently topping the list. She ignores me, so I have no choice but to crawl in after her. It’s the girl code.

Once in the car, I enter an alternate universe, one that’s dark, cool, and luxurious. There’s a bar in the corner with cut-glass decanters, and the scent of new leather and sandalwood engulfs my senses.

As my eyes adjust, I realize a man is sitting in the corner. My gaze shifts from large sneakers, up to long, strong legs encased in well-worn denim, and then to a wide, muscular chest emphasized by a dark gray T-shirt. I take in a strong jaw with a bristling of a five o’clock shadow, sensual lips, a straight, aquiline nose, and intense green eyes that burn over every part of my body.

Familiar eyes. Eyes I’ve been dreaming of this whole week.

“Wha-what are you doing here?”