Page 92 of Love on the Byline

“Not too much? Or too little?” She grinned at his wide eyesas he took her in, preening under his hungry perusal of her outfit.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. I mean no! I mean…fuck.”

“You, sir, are excellent for my ego.”

He chuckled. “Glad I can be of service. Youlook…incredible.”

“Thank you.” She ignored the warmth his words ignited in herbelly. He led her to a table near the stage but against a wall. The sightlinesweren’t ideal. Ollie pulled out a chair for her and they sat down. There werefour other people at the table already. The six of them exchanged pleasantries.

“I’m surprised Bran isn’t sitting at one of the centertables.”

Ollie turned to her. “Oh, he is. For now, anyway.” He pointedto a full table at the center of the room.

She recognized a few of the people seated there, though shewas terrible at connecting actors’ faces to their names. God, she really was inthe wrong town. It only took a moment for her to spot Bran, deep inconversation.

“Who is he talking to?”

Ollie gave her an odd look. “That’s ValerieSaunders-Newman.”

“Oh!” That would explain why so many people were staring atthem and why so many photographers had huddled nearby. She didn’t recognize anyof the cameramen and wondered if the Gazette had anyone there. Besides her.

“Is it a good idea for them to be around each other inpublic right now?”

“It was your idea,” Ollie said.

“Mine?”

“You told Bran if he didn’t have anything to hide then heshouldn’t hide.” He looked back at Bran and Val. “They’re friends and they’veknown one another forever. It would only look suspicious if they avoided eachother at an event as big as this one. And Bran thought, if he was gonna play itthat way, he may as well go all in.”

“Some people will see this as proof.”

He nodded and accepted a couple of flutes of champagne froma passing tray, handing one to her, which she set down next to her half-emptyglass.

“Some will, but you can’t control everything. Anyway, enoughabout Bran. I never asked. How do you like L.A.? To be honest, I never picturedyou out here.”

“Where did you picture me?”

She loved the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and the way colorspilled into his face and up his throat. “I, uh… I assumed you were a fourseasons girl. Isn’t autumn your jam?”

“Yeah. How…?”

“Oh, well, you mentioned it once back at U of P.” Hescratched his temple and turned away, as if she’d caught him out.

“You remember that, too? I barely remember anything aboutcollege,” she said, omitting the except you that sat on her tongue.“It’s a blur of books and assignments and working two part-time jobs so I couldafford the good packages of ramen.”

“The spicy ones.” He looked back at her, one side of hismouth curving up, and tapped his temple.

She laughed, utterly delighted. “The only way to go if youcan’t get hand-drawn.”

She smiled at him and was rewarded with another deep flushof his skin. Blake took the opportunity to admire Ollie in his tux. “You cleanup well.”

“Why, thank you.” He lifted his glass. “If I didn’t say itbefore, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I am, too.” She touched her glass to his and realized shemeant it. She was glad she’d come. It was a rare glimpse into a world that,while it didn’t mean much to her, was still fascinating to observe, if not alittle disturbing.

Blake had never been self-conscious about her curves untilshe’d moved to Hollywood. Everywhere she looked people were toned and sculptedin search of an almost frightening perfection. It was as if the town had beenpopulated with genetically engineered, hand-crafted people of extraordinary,horrific beauty. Even the receptionist at the Gazette was tall and thin, withplatinum blond hair that hung down to her waist and a wardrobe that wouldn’tlook out of place on a runway.

Blake shook her head. That wasn’t a world she wanted to livein. She turned her attention back to Ollie, who was watching the band on stage.He seemed, if not exactly comfortable, accustomed to the lights and theglamour.

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