Next, I click on a timeline of his relationship with his costar. It says, despite rumors, they broke up years ago amid much drama and tears—hers, not his. He’s single.
I’m glad. At least he’s not a cheater who goes around kissing random girls.
I touch my lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss. With my other hand, I touch the screen, tracing his lips.
Slowly blowing out a breath, I continue clicking on images. Him arriving at an airport, surrounded by paparazzi, and at a hospital, visiting children. I smile at the hero worship in the eyes of the kids. He’s dressed in his The Wanderers outfit, an Indiana Jones look that works for him, big time.
I click again, and there’s a video of him walking down a New York street. My eyes get big as I take in the five bodyguards walking with him. Girls break away from the crowd, trying to grab any piece of him they can. He walks fast, eyes down. The bodyguards close in, forming a human shield, as the women follow. I click off, feeling guilty for even viewing the recording. I’m stalking him as well.
At the café, he approached me warily, as if he was uncertain of my reaction. He hesitated before letting his hood fall back and revealing his recognizable face.
The video leaves me disturbed; I have to wipe the icky feeling away. I manage that with a photo of Chase from a magazine shoot, looking far more comfortable in front of the camera, even shirtless. Damn, he has abs for days.
“Busy working?” A familiar voice breaks through my thoughts.
I jump, almost falling out of my chair. Daisy looks down at me with a grin. I’d been so focused on the screen—on Chase James’s abs—I hadn’t noticed Daisy walk up next to me.
“No! Yes! I mean, I didn’t see you come in. Are you on your lunch break? Audrey’s around somewhere.” I lean forward, subtly trying to block the screen.
Confession time: I’m a bad friend. I haven’t told Daisy about my close encounter of the celeb kind. I plan to tell her. It will be fun to talk with someone about it, especially Daisy, who gets so excited about everything. But I want to keep it to myself for just a little longer, like a delicious secret.
I take a deep breath and exhale. I almost got caught ogling Chase James on a computer screen.
How mortifying.
“Whoa, easy, girl.” Daisy laughs, leaning against the side of the desk. “You’re all pink and breathing hard.”
“I was…doing exercises in the back a few minutes ago.”
“Really?” Daisy looks skeptical.
I can’t blame her. I never work out, and I certainly wouldn’t start in the stockroom at work. I’m the worst liar ever.
“Yes. I need to get more fit,” I babble, doubling down. “I read an article about how you should break up exercises into short segments throughout the day. Improves your mood and circulation.”
“You know what’s great exercise? Dancing.” Daisy swivels her hips in a slinky move. “I’m going to the Red Room tonight, and you’re coming with me!”
The Red Room is actually not red. And it’s not a room. It’s a nightclub. I usually resist when she tries to drag me out, choosing to stay in and text with Remington, watch old movies, read, write—anything that doesn’t involve getting dressed up and mingling with strangers, especially not in a crowded bar with too-loud music.
Though I did like mingling with Chase James, especially that part when our lips mingled.
My eyes glaze over as I remember The Kiss once again.
“Olivia!”
I startle. “Huh? Sorry. What did I miss?”
“Oh, nothing. You agreed to go out with me tonight.”
“I did not. Don’t you have a store to run?”
She shrugs. “There were no customers, so I got bored.”
“There will never be any customers if every time they try to call or stop by, you’re always closed in the middle of the day.”
“I’m just popping in for a few minutes. I deserve a break. Why are you trying to get rid of me?” She leans over the counter until she can see the computer screen and lets out a laugh.
I sigh. Caught. Damn.
“Chase James. Well, well, well. I didn’t know you had the hots for him.”
“I don’t!” I blush. “I mean, I’m just, um…” Yeah, I have nothing.
“Don’t worry. I won’t spill your secret.” Her eyes twinkle. “I’m just surprised. I’ve never heard you talk about him before. You only seem to like those old mysteries and film noirs.”