During a lull in the conversation he looked over, his eyes openly appraising, and said, "I can’t get over how nice you are. Tell me again why you turned down the fund-raiser for the hospital?"
I was glad Kari had told me the answer to this question. "Well, you know I'm short on money right now. I couldn’t afford the new outfit, the choreographer, the backup dancers—my glam squad is expensive."
"You could have showed up in jeans and a T-shirt and no one would have cared.” He held a hand out as though offering the proof. "You didn’t pay a makeup artist and a hairstylist to fix you up this morning, did you? You're beautiful the way you are."
I would have answered him, and I’m sure I would have said something really coherent too, except that I was too busy blushing and grinning like an idiot.
And then the waiter came to refill our water glasses and ask us if everything was okay.
Oh, yes. Things were so much better than okay. The coolest guy in existence had just said I was beautiful.
Lunch went by too fast and then Grant paid the bill and asked where I wanted him to drop me off. I told him I needed to go to my assistant's house. As we walked through the restaurant, every person we passed stopped and stared at us. For a few moments, I felt like I really was a celebrity walking beside Grant Delray. And I wasn’t just walking, I was gliding. The walk was all about attitude, I realized; you couldn't help but glide when you felt this way.
As soon as we stepped out of the restaurant, I saw the paparazzi. Two men with huge cameras stood outside the door, along with a dozen people who were loitering around. How had they found us?
Stupid question. So many people had seen us walk in together. Any of them could have called someone. Why hadn't I considered this before I agreed to go to lunch?
Kari had given me strict instructions to either smile at or ignore anyone with a camera. "Don't scowl,” Kari said. “Magazines love to use scowling pictures when they run horrible headlines about you."
So I smiled and told myself I was not allowed to rip the cameras out of their hands and clang them together like cymbals. While the shutters went off, one man asked, "Are the two of you dating?"
Yes, well, that would make an interesting story, wouldn't it? Maren was going to kill me. Kari was going to kill me even worse.
Grant shook his head like it was a foolish question. "Nope. We’re just talking about doing a duet and donating the proceeds to Sun Ridge Children’s Hospital. That's spelled: S-U-N R-I-D-G-E. It's going to be great, and we really appreciate your support in getting the word out to our fans.”
Grant took hold of my arm then, probably because I stood frozen to the spot, hands gripped at my side. He towed me the rest of the way across the parking lot to his Jaguar.
Once we were both sitting inside and I’d stopped hyperventilating enough to speak, I said, "We’re doing a duet? Where did that come from?”
He turned on the ignition and pulled out of the parking space. "You obviously still have a lot to learn about the paparazzi. The best chance you have of getting reporters not to use your story is if you tell them you want them to run it. They don’t care about helping you advertise your latest cause. Everybody has one of those. They want something scandalous.” He looked back over his shoulder to where the photographers were climbing in their cars. "My manager let all the news outlets know about the Sun Ridge fundraiser, and a total of one newspaper put a three-inch picture and write-up in the entertainment section. That was it.”
"Oh,” I said, and felt a little more relieved. Maybe those pictures wouldn’t show up anywhere.
Grant eased the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. "Of course that doesn’t mean we shouldn't do a duet. Actually, that's a brilliant idea.” He took his eyes off the road to look at me. "You want to help those kids, and this time it wouldn’t cost you anything but a little time. We could use my band. What do you think?”
I thought I had made a really big tactical mistake. I couldn't sing a duet with him. My singing voice sounded nothing like Kari’s. She could hit notes I couldn’t even swat at. "I’m already behind schedule on my next album,” I said.
He turned his attention back to the road. "It doesn't have to be soon, just sometime. Think about it. Keep your eyes open for songs that would work, and I’ll do the same, okay?"
What could I say to that? I couldn't think of a way to turn him down without sounding like I was hiding something.
"I’ll talk to my manager about it,” I said.
He said other things on the way to Maren's, but I hardly heard them. My mind was still stuck on the whole duet business. How in the world was I going to mention all of that plus the paparazzi pictures to Maren and Kari? Would they fire me right off? That's what Kari had done when Lorna had put her in an awkward situation. Was there any way I could keep it from them until May 13, when I met my father? It was still almost a month and a half away.
When we pulled up to Maren’s town house, I was still running these sorts of mental calculations. Grant put the car in park but didn’t turn it off. "Can I ask you a question?”
I grasped the door handle. "Sure."
"Are you still an item with Michael Jung?”
"No," I said, then I realized what he was really asking—he was about to ask me out, and I couldn’t say yes, even though I would have loved to see him again. It was too dangerous. "I mean, we’re taking a break, but we're still together.”
"You're taking a break?" he asked.
"Yes."
"So are you allowed to see other people during your break?”
"Um, no.” As soon as I said this I remembered Grant had seen me last night with Stefano. "Except professionally, like last night.”
He nodded. "Can I have your phone number, then? Just for professional use. I'll need to contact you when I find more out about Lorna’s book.”
He smiled at me, and despite the fact that I couldn’t encourage him, chills ran up my spine. Grant Delray wanted my phone number. I gave him my cell number, stepped out of his car, and then did a Kari Kingsley glide up the stairs to Maren’s house.
I opened the door and found Maren in the living room waiting for me. Her arms were crossed, and her nostrils flared like a wild bull.
She stepped toward me, pinching her lips together. "The director of the Sun Ridge Children's Hospital just called to pass along their thanks. The patients were thrilled by your visit.”
"They're sick little kids—” I started, but she didn't let me finish.
“It was a stupid thing to do!” she yelled, leaning until she was about six inches away from my face. Then she let out a stream of swearwords that would have put boys hanging out in a locker room to shame.
"You don’t go out in public, and you don't pretend to be Kari unless I okay it. You can't use her identity every time you think it would be fun to play celebrity. One mistake and you'll blow everything we’ve worked for. Do you understand? Do you?"
I nodded.
She took a step back, suddenly calm again. "If you play this right, you'll go home with a nice chunk of money. If you mess up, I'll deny I've ever seen you and you'll be hitch hiking to West Virginia. Do you understand?"