This was in large part because he was ridiculously, almost . . . animalistically attractive. He wasn’t conventionally handsome; his nose was a little too big, his lips a tad too full. It shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason on him his features came together in a way that made it hard to look away. He had dark-brown hair like mine, nearly black, and these intense, hooded light-brown eyes that made my stomach flip over and over.
What was I supposed to say to the man who had played Felix? And Malec? And that other guy whose name I still couldn’t remember?
“Whatever you do,” he said, his deep voice now so recognizable that I felt stupid for not having realized that it was him sooner, “do not call me Felix. Or Malec Shadowfire.”
OMG, Noah Douglas was a freaking mind reader, too. This was bad. Very bad. I tried to banish every impure thought I was currently having about him.
Then, that flare of annoyance was back. Just because I was female and of a certain age, did that automatically mean I should recognize him? That I totally did was beside the point. He shouldn’t have been egotistical enough to assume it. For all he knew, I could have been like . . . my mom. Who loved the theater and didn’t watch television or movies because they were “less than.” She wouldn’t have known who Noah Douglas was.
So why was he so certain that I did?
“Why do you think I’d call you by those names?” I asked.
He gave me a look of weariness bordering on contempt. “Because that’s what people always call me. But I do have an actual name. Use that.”
That devilish little imp inside me—the one who was still mad at Harmony for stressing Shelby out and at that woman who’d tried to stop me from eating and then stared at my scars—broke free, triggered into a frenzy by Noah’s very large ego.
And I told the biggest lie I’d ever told in my entire life.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, because I don’t even know who you are.”
CHAPTER TWO
“What?” he asked, and again, he was totally entitled to the disbelief in his voice. He waited a beat before saying with a scowl, “In that case, I’m Noah Douglas. An actor who is nominated for one of these awards, which is why I’m here. How about you?”
I looked around for the cameras. The host had come back out, and they had segued into giving Ralph Ramsey a lifetime achievement award. His daughter—and Noah’s recent costar—Lily Ramsey, was introducing her father. Both of those speeches were going to take a long time. I sighed. I was hoping that this segment would end quickly and I could make an exit and not have to sit here and keep lying to Noah Douglas.
“I’m a seat filler.” I decided that was all the explanation he was entitled to.
“A seat filler? What kind of job pays you to fill seats?”
“I don’t know, probably the same kind of job that pays you to pretend to be someone you’re not.” Like being an actor was so much better than being a seat filler. Pretentious, much? “Besides, it’s not my job. I’m helping out my best friend’s fiancé’s mother. I’m volunteering. You should know what that is. Don’t you celebrities love to volunteer? Because you sure do get a lot of pictures taken while you do it.” Not him, though. If he had a pet cause, I’d never heard of it.
I faced front again. My luck was only going to last for so long, and if I kept fighting with Noah freaking Douglas I was going to get kicked out and ruin Shelby’s game plan to win over her future mother-in-law.
Drawing in a deep breath, I tried to calm my shaky nerves. They were alive, lit up with excitement from being this close to him. He was so . . . disconcerting. I wished, not for the first time, that my plan to steer clear of all men meant that I wouldn’t feel any attraction to them. Especially not the kind I was feeling right now for this arrogant movie star sitting next to me. That would have been super helpful.
“What is your job, then?”
It took me a second to process this. Had he really just asked me what my job was? Why did he care? “A groomer.”
“Of people?”
“What?” I asked, turning back toward him. What the actual— “No. Dogs. I’m a dog groomer. I have my own business. And what kind of weird world do you live in that you think I meant a people groomer?”
“I have a groomer. Annie. It’s how this happens.” He gestured to his face and hair. His dreamy hair that was in short, tousled waves pushed back from his face—it reminded me a little of a lion’s mane. I had to curl my fingers inward to keep them from reaching out to touch it.
“That and good genes,” I responded, shaking my head, trying not to get sucked in by his sexiness.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Up to you. I wouldn’t.”
A satisfied smirk settled on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I? You essentially just said that I’m hot.”
He so, so, so was. Blood rushed to my face, making my skin feel heated. “No. I said your genes were good. I could have been referencing your ability to fight off infection or your chances of not getting dementia when you’re old. Anything past that is just your ego and you jumping to conclusions.”
Noah still wore his smirk and he was just . . . staring at me. Like he was trying to memorize my facial features for the police report he probably planned on filing. I saw when his gaze slid down to the right side of my neck, and I swore to all that was holy if he asked me how I got my scars, no matter how much I loved Shelby, I was going to throat punch my favorite actor on live television.
But to his credit, he didn’t say anything about it. The smirk turned into an actual smile, and it did funny things to the backs of my knees. I was glad I was already sitting down. He so rarely smiled at these kinds of events or on red carpets that it felt like I’d just been given the rarest of gifts. It lit up his whole face. And he had a completely adorable dimple in his right cheek.
Swoon.
“Are you negging me?” he asked, sounding almost delighted.
“What does that mean?”
“Some guys will make negative comments in an attempt to try and manipulate a woman in hopes she’ll pay attention to them. It’s called negging.”
“Is that how you get women?” I asked.
“What? No!” His smile faded and he looked really insulted. Had that somehow been intentional on my part? Maybe I was subconsciously negging him and hadn’t even realized it.
“Then how do you know about it?”
“I got this script where . . . never mind.” He folded his arms across his very broad and appealing chest, and I forced myself to look away. His tone was dismissive, and I took it to mean that our bizarre interaction had come to an end.
Which I should have felt relieved about, but instead I found myself saying, “I bet women just fall at your feet, right?”
“That’s usually how that happens, yes.” He sounded sarcastic and I couldn’t figure out his meaning. Was he just acknowledging the reality of his love life? Or was he indicating that I had no idea what I was talking about?
I didn’t understand what he meant and it irritated me so much that I was back to being completely annoyed. Which made me remember how hungry I was. I couldn’t recall any rules about not eating. Although maybe that fell into the don’t-do-anything-embarrassing-on-camera category? Regardless, I was going to have some chocolate and calm myself down.