Page 65 of Overexposed

“Well, well, look at the pretty little slut!” The voice was all Dillon and full of taunts. As much as I gave a little jerk when I heard it, I didn’t turn toward it.

Seven drew me closer when he paused to answer questions. It wasn’t until he squeezed my hip that I jerked my attention back to the reporter who looked at me expectantly.

“It’s a lot,” I admitted aloud. Her smile and nod said that it satisfied whatever question she’d asked. Then we were on to the next and the next. It had only been thirty minutes by the time we stepped into the lobby of the hotel.

“You all right?” he asked in a rough note with a frown, but Seven’s manager or agent—whatever—Jerry hurried over to intercept us.

“Stella. Give us a moment,” Jerry said to me as he drew Seven away. I hoped I managed to keep a neutral expression in place as people passed. I recognized more than a few of the actors who were here. Before I could get a good look, Seven was back and then we were heading into the theater.

There were little bags on each seat. Swag for those coming to the big premiere. We were seated in the middle with the director on the other side of Seven, along with more actors,family, significant others, and fans. Thankfully, someone bought us drinks and popcorn.

Mine was a sparkling water that Seven opened before he handed it to me. I’d never been so damn grateful to sip the cool, bubbly refreshment. Not that Seven gave me much of a chance to thank him. Then the movie was on and I spent the next two hours and ten minutes being utterly enthralled.

I’d never been a fan of testosterone-overdosed movies with stunts so outlandish it looked like they belonged more solidly in a cartoon than reality. On paper, that’s allSpeed Warshad looked like, but the film was actually…

Not bad.

Humor peppered the script with sharp and witty dialogue. Seven played everything utterly deadpan, not even an ounce of a smile, but it gave him this growly gravitas that was compelling. More than once during the actual high-speed chases and car races, I was holding my breath.

In those scenes, it wasn’t Seven behind the wheel—it was Gem. The words from the other night tickled the back of my mind. He’d had to go and crash stuff on set. When there was a particularly brutal accident, I clasped Seven’s arm tightly. At some point, he covered my hand with his and then he was holding my hand.

I didn’t let up until Seven managed to climb out of the wreckage. Seven and Gem were both fine. When the movie ended with cheers, laughter, and applause, I was pretty blown away.

Then the lights came up, and there were people offering their congratulations. It took a while to weed through all of them, then we were back to the car.

“What did you think?” Seven asked as he loosened his tie. After, he pulled out more water from the cold storage in the back.

“Not really the train wreck I expected,” I admitted before taking a long drink of water.

He snorted. “You really don’t like my movies, do you, Stray?”

“I—”

His phone rang before I could finish the answer. He held up a hand to me before he answered, then spoke to whomever was on the phone for the rest of the drive. Or it was probably better described as him listening to whomever was on the phone while only giving one- or two-word responses.

Thirty minutes after leaving the theater, we pulled up to a ritzier location in the hills. Security at the gate kept most of the press and fans back. There were a select few photographers getting pictures of arrivals, but it was one or two and then people went right in.

Seven posed with me, one arm around me and a smile on his face. Hopefully my own grin held up and I didn’t look like I was being murdered. Then we were at the main doors and inside.

With a glance at his watch, Seven looked at me. “We’re leaving at ten fifteen. That’s in a little under two hours. Meet me right here.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?” He was just going to dump me here while he did…what?

“Yes. What are you going to do?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

“This is the job, Stray. Don’t get confused. We’re not on a real date.” Then he was striding off to follow the sound of other partygoers.

The last thing I wanted to do was go in there and mingle. The front doors were opening again, and I couldn’t really just sit here in the foyer without looking even more suspicious.

A party was in full swing in the huge ballroom, which was visible through the double doors under the main arch made by a pair of dual staircases that circled upward.

Music played. Glasses clinked. There were people dancing. More were laughing. Still more were slipping off to the sides for chats.

Once in the main ballroom, I acquired a glass of wine and downed it like it was a shot. Then I set the empty on another waiter’s tray while I stole another. I wound my way slowly through the room. There were canapés and little treats along with the free alcohol.

Seven’s costar in the film, Robert Duncan, greeted me easily and motioned me to join him as he took a quick photo with me. Thankfully, someone else wanted to talk to him, so I slipped away without saying a word.

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