Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)(55)

“Do you know what this is? We found the note sticking out of your mailbox.”

I bite my lip, more than just the smoke inhalation making me feel queasy.

“I-I’ve never seen it before, but my picture was just published in the tabloids with a celebrity. Chase James,” I admit.

One of the firefighters looks at me in surprise and maybe a little envy.

“Chase should know about this,” Daisy says. “Most of his fans are great, but there are a few who are obsessed to the point of stalking and worse. A few have done some scary things. We need to take this seriously, Olivia.”

The police officer frowns. “This note changes things. We could be looking at arson.”

“But the fire started upstairs, didn’t it? How could they have gotten in without your alarm going off? Didn’t Chase just install one?” Daisy asks.

“The security system is really complicated, and I couldn’t remember the code,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t think I even needed security, so I never activated it.”

Anxiety, thick and heavy as molasses, spreads through me. The house I love and my formerly peaceful life have just been torched. My brain can’t process anything more, like the idea someone might be trying to kill me.

When the firefighters and police officers leave, Daisy leads me to her apartment, and I drag myself up her narrow stairs and go straight to her shower to scrub the soot and smoke from my body. Standing under the powerful jets—seriously, how does she have such a fabulous shower with these vintage pipes?—I let the water rain down on my exhausted body. I shampoo, condition, and scrub until the smoke smell has lessened and the panic of waking to a fire-filled house recedes a little. It’s surreal, as if it happened in another world, to another me.

I’m not allowed back into my home. They said the structure has to be deemed safe first. I fear the worst. What had I lost in my bedroom? Nanna’s photos? Remington’s letters that were kept in a box under my bed? My birth certificate and important documents? All my clothes? Hell, I don’t even have a toothbrush with me.

It’s true that the fire was somewhat confined, but the firefighters warned me about the destructive potential of the smoke and water damage.

The only things I have on me are my purse and my laptop. Both were on the table by the door, which a kind firefighter had brought to me once the fire was extinguished. My wallet and new phone were thankfully still in my purse from earlier. I have the most important necessities. I’ll figure the rest out.

Being run over by a bike messenger was nothing compared to this. They say bad things happen in threes. Hopefully, this is the third thing, as I can’t even imagine what fate has in store for me next.

I wrap a towel around me and realize I have nothing to change into since all my clothes are at my house, possibly ruined. I’ll need to borrow something from Daisy. That might be tough since I’m several sizes larger than waif. But it’s either that or wander around the mall naked while browsing for new clothes.

I look in the mirror. Audrey told me recently that repeating positive affirmations can help in all sorts of situations. Sometimes she’s a little overfond of the personal development section of the bookstore. I decide it can’t hurt to try it. “This will all be okay,” I say out loud, into the mirror. “I’m okay.” I feel silly but repeat it until I almost sort of kind of believe it. Huh. Lying to yourself does work.

Feeling slightly better now, I walk out of the bathroom in my towel with a frown on my face but determination in my steps. That determination falters when I pass the living room to see Daisy sitting on one couch.

And Ryder Black sitting next to her.

Rock star Ryder. The musical genius who transitioned from boy-band heartthrob to full-fledged rock god years ago. A singing, guitar-strumming, piano-pounding god. Sitting in Daisy’s living room.

My towel slips, but I catch it before I flash a second celebrity this month.

This time, though, I’m not mortified. Maybe it’s that I’m getting used to being semi-naked around famous people. Or it might be the exhaustion, the fire, and the relief I’m not dead.

Basically, I’m out of fucks to give.

So, I stand there, looking from Ryder to Daisy. Each gives me a casual smile as if there isn’t anything odd about this scenario. Ryder sips from a glass of what looks like water but could be vodka, knowing Ryder’s reputation.

“Daisy?”

“Yes, Olivia?” she asks, head cocked.

“Why is Ryder Black sitting in your living room?”

“Really, Olivia, that’s a rude question with him right here. I mean, he can hear you. Why shouldn’t he be sitting here?”

“Is he also your long-lost foster brother?” I’m just teasing her since I know about her crush.

She snorts. “God no.”

I turn to Ryder, who has one eyebrow arched. He and Chase do that amused eyebrow arch so well.

“Ryder, why are you sitting in Daisy’s living room? Not that I have an objection to it. But just…why?”

Daisy’s mild expression breaks, and she cracks up laughing. “Oh, Olivia, you should see your face. I thought you’d drop your towel again.”

“When was the last time she dropped her towel?” Ryder asks, leaning forward with interest.

“She told me she dropped it in front of Chase. I think he liked what he saw, judging from the pictures of them making out,” Daisy says.