Page 12 of I'm Not His Style

“Oh, right now?”

Bridget looked at me expectantly, sighing. “Or I can call the agency—”

“No! Don’t do that.” I put my hands up as if it would stop her by sheer force of will. I registered Rhett’s shoulders shaking out of the corner of my eye and commanded myself not to blush.

He looked more amused than scared, which was good. I’d managed to prove I wasn’t a crazy fan, I guess. Well, more fool him.

“Can she finish my hair first?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m already done.” I took a cloth from my case to wipe my hands off.

Rhett looked in the mirror, turning his head sideways. “Great. Thanks, Beth.”

That was it. I was done for. My name on Rhett’s tongue completely melted me. My body was going to melt into a puddle on the floor, and they were going to have to mop me up later.

But...how did he know my name? I hadn’t told him. He must have read it on the takeout bag the same way I had learned that he was calling himself Axl Rose.Andhe remembered it. Hello, stomach butterflies.

There was a knock at the door. “You’re needed in the wings in ten.”

Bridget acknowledged the man, and he walked away, probably to knock on Sunny’s door.

“So, the problem?” Rhett asked.

Bridget looked at me, her thin eyebrows raised, and I pulled out my phone and dialed my friend Zoe’s number. She leaned forward and murmured quietly to Rhett, and he nodded, his face passive as he listened.

“I want to hear everything,” Zoe said in my ear, startling me.

I almost dropped my phone. I’d been staring so hard at the movie star that I forgot what I was doing. I shook myself and turned away from them. “Listen, I’m still here.”

“What? There? Like...ohhhh my gosh. Is Rhett near youright now?”

“Yeah, Zoe, listen—”

She shrieked in the phone so loud that I had to move it away from my ear.

“Why didn’t you at leastvideo chatme for this conversation?”

Good question. “Um, privacy?”

“Okay, whatever. What’s up? What is so urgent that you’d waste precious Rhett time calling me?”

“He’s asked—” I glanced over my shoulder, but they were still deep in conversation. “Well,his publicisthas asked if I would be willing to step in as a replacement stylist for a four-week tour.”

Silence met me.

“Zoe, you still there?”

“Yeah, no, I’m here, just forgot to breathe for a minute. What are you gonna do?”

“I want to take it, but my clients—”

“Don’t even stress. We’ll figure them out.”

One hurdle down. I drew in a hopeful breath. “And my brides?”

“Ohh. Yeah, I don’t know. Can you get a replacement for all of them? Four weeks’ worth of summer brides is kind of a lot.”

My face scrunched up, and I was certain she’d be able to hear my apologetic expression through my voice. “I was kind of hoping you might be willing—”

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