Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action #5) - Elise Faber Page 0,30

bad for a bit, and it’ll roll over.”

Silence then, “Where’s your phone?”

“Why?” I asked, flipping the bacon.

“Phone, Tal.”

I pointed to the counter on the opposite side of the room, where I’d plugged it in the night before.

She moved to it, muttering, “That’s why you didn’t pick up when I called.”

To which I replied, “In fairness to me, I did try to reach you last night.”

To which she replied, “In text message, which I didn’t get until this freaking morning.

To which I replied, “I didn’t want to ruin your party.”

Which made her sigh and cross to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and hugging me tight. “You stubborn, wonderful man. I really do love you.” A sigh. “You’re in the absolute shit,” she said. “But I really, truly do love you.” Then she swiped her finger across the screen—because obviously, she knew my passcode after all these years—and began tapping away. After a moment, she held it up so I could see the screen.

She’d pulled up the security cameras for the front of my house, and the view made me wince. “Aw, fuck. The neighbors are going to hate me.”

A nod. “They’re all the way down to Murrieta. Most have their cars positioned on the side of the road, leaving the street mostly clear as they clustered by your front gate, but some are double-parked. I had to curse, meander, and snail’s pace my way up here.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

“The police have already arrived to clear out the double-parkers,” she said. “I called them right when I saw the tangle, and they’ll act quickly considering it’s blocking emergency access. But the group out front of the gate isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

That was to be expected.

“Also, I called the security company. They’ve staffed extra bodies instead of the usual pair of patrols. Already, they’ve had to remove three men with long range cameras from around the property, including one in the back yard.”

My breath caught.

I’d left the blinds open. My bedroom looked out into the back yard.

Fuck, had they—

Her hand covered mine. “This was earlier this morning, much earlier when I couldn’t reach you, so I called them. They reported you were sleeping when they caught the men and that they’d already cleared them out from near the pool area. They also erected a backdrop just beyond all the privacy foliage on the back of the house, just as another layer against prying eyes.” She handed me my phone. “The report is in your email.”

I released the breath I hadn’t even known I’d been holding. “Shit, Mags,” I whispered, finally starting to grasp that this was bigger.

“It’ll be okay.”

“You have to say that,” I muttered, pulling the bacon off, and needing to keep my hands busy, I began chopping ingredients while I gave the bacon time to drain. “It’s your job.”

“That’s true.”

I snorted.

She placed her hand on my back. “She’s fine. You’re fine. We’ll sort this out.”

Not feeling much better, I nodded. It would always feel like this—like the end of the world, like it was the worst thing to happen, like a huge tsunami was cresting my direction and it would swallow me under.

“Fucking paparazzi,” I muttered.

“They are a little annoying when they’re parked outside your front gate.”

I muttered and cursed some more.

A nudge on my back. “Good thing you’re moving.”

I snorted again, but this time it was paired with a chuckle, with an absurd sense of humor. Nothing about this was funny, and yet, what else could I do but find that note of comedy in it? “Property values have to go up. A major event happened out front.”

Mags’ lips twitched. “If only your real estate agent had my PR skills.”

“If only,” I said, grating some cheese. “If she did, I’d probably get double over asking.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” She made a grab for the block of cheese. “Go back to cracking eggs. I think we’re going to need all our strength to come up with a plan to handle this.”

I relinquished the block and grater, took up the eggs again, whisking them until they were fluffy—also chef school for a movie role had seriously helped me in this department. “Don’t you already have a plan?” I asked, ladling some of the prepared eggs into the pan.

An edgy silence.

“What?”

“Sometimes I don’t have it all figured out.”

My stomach sank, and I turned to face her. “Wh—” I cut the question off. “Oh, man, you’re evil.”

She patted my arm, topped the eggs in the pan with some cheese, prompting me to