Page 75 of Taming Her Temptations

I arrive at massive white gates, so I check my phone yet again, trying to figure out my mistake. But sure enough, this is the address she gave me. I check the code she provided and look at the keypad. A green light blinks ready for me to press the code in.

It’s not too late to turn around. A little voice inside me is telling me that nothing good happens in a mansion. I can personally attest to that at this point.

But I am so incredibly tired. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. All of it. If you’re a catfish, InternetBestie88, then at least I hope you’ll feed me a nice meal before you lock me in your dungeon.

I roll my bag over to the keypad and press the code. Sure enough, the big white doors glide open in greeting.

I head through them and marvel at the lush gardens that greet me, leading up to a beautiful mid-century modern wooden home that sits on a slope overlooking L.A. It’s the kind of home that I picture when I see postcards of this city. It manages to be both classic and cool at the same time, which actually does sound a bit like YourInternetBestie88. It’s hard to imagine a serial killer living in this kind of house.

But I don’t put my guard down quite yet as I approach the front door. I take a deep breath before I ring the doorbell. Here goes nothing.

I press and a melodic chime sounds through the house, which feels like the first good omen I’ve had in a long time.

After a few seconds, the door opens up revealing a gorgeous woman with slick auburn hair and a smooth, perfect complexion.

“Oh!” I exclaim. Because I know this woman. Heck, everyone knows this woman.

“Tramp in Training?” She says my username with a huge smile.

“Wait, what?” I stutter. There is no way this is YourInternetBestie88. This is Blaire Evans, one of the most in-demand actresses in Hollywood. Do I have a celebrity magnet on me or something? Do famous people seek me out just to meddle in a commoner’s life?

“Your Internet Bestie eighty-eight?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.

“Guilty,” she flashes her huge white smile at me again. Then she pulls her feet back to make room for me in the doorway. “Come in, come in. You must be starving. And I have some explaining to do.”

I’m not too confused to stuff my face. Blaire set out a beautiful charcuterie spread and I’ve already tried everything once, and now working on seconds. A few staff members nervously linger around me. I’m guessing that for them, I’m the psychopath who wants to do the basement locking, and I totally understand their suspicious glances. It doesn’t help that I’m acting like I haven’t been fed in months by how quickly I’m getting this food down.

“You understand why I didn’t tell you, right?” Blaire asks as she pours us some wine.

I sit back, taking a breather from shoveling food to my face, and think about it. I guess I might have acted weird if I had known it was her. It did give us a good chance to get to know each other without all the preconceived notions I might have had.

I nod. “Yeah, I can get why you didn’t tell me. But what I don’t get is why you would even want to meet up with me?”

She pushes a full wine glass towards me and I take it.

“Well,” she finally says. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but I’ve pretty much been famous since I was about twelve years old.”

I nod. I do know that. I used to watch her as the star of her own show that aired on my favorite channel as a kid. We’re similar ages and I kind of felt like I grew up with her.

“Yeah, well that makes making friends really damn hard. So, thank god for the internet. I’ve made a lot of friends that way before they know who I am. Most I never meet in real life, but some like you, I say fuck it. You proved you have a good heart, so I wasn’t worried.”

I cock my head at her, confused about that last line. I proved I have a good heart? I observe her for a second and then it clicks into place.

“Oh. My. God.” I say. “That fundraiser you sent me recently for your friend’s surgery. Was that some kind of test?”

She squints, looking apologetic. “I don’t even know them. But I’m sure they were very grateful for your donation.”

A laugh breaks open in my chest and fills the kitchen. She joins in and we’re both laughing at the absurdity of this situation.

When it quiets down, I say. “Would you believe me if I told you this isn’t even the most bizarre celebrity encounter I’ve had in my life? You know my three,” I’m not sure what to call them, “guys?” I finish awkwardly.

“You mean the ones who broke your heart and sent you fleeing across the country?”

“Those are the ones. Well, they were the three band members of Midnight Sons.” I tell her because I feel like I can trust her. And honestly, she’s not the only one who has been in a pretty desperate shortage of friends. It feels good to talk about these things.

“Woah,” her face goes long in exaggerated appreciation. “Those guys are hot.”

“Ugh,” I sigh. “Unfortunately.”

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