grins. “Come on! I was going for twentieth century Shakespeare. Lead singer. Rock star. Poet? Don’t you get it?”
“One,” Chaser says, “It’s a movie premiere, not Halloween. Two—”
“Fuck off.” Jacob thrusts his hand in Chaser’s face and Chaser slaps it away.
Jacob tugs on the lapels of his jacket. “The designer said this was one of a kind.”
“Individually, they’re all interesting pieces,” I concede, taking in the whole outfit again. “Together, it’s a bit much.”
“Just like me.” Jacob grins.
“A-fucking-men to that,” Chaser agrees. “Can we continue this episode of wardrobe tips for the insane later, please?”
“Sorry,” I mouth.
Chaser shrugs.
Jacob seems to be over it and our teasing hasn’t dimmed his enthusiasm for the night. Without a concern for his fancy leather pants, he crawls over the limo’s red carpet to the bar, pops open a bottle of champagne, and passes over-flowing plastic cups full of bubbly to each of us. “May this be the first of many soundtracks!”
We all raise our glasses and cheer.
Crowds of photographers line the sidewalk as we pull up to the theater. I run my hands down the sides of my dress, smoothing out a few wrinkles.
“Stop fussing.” Chaser captures my hand. “You look beautiful.”
“Everyone’ll be photographing Sandra Felton,” Jacob says. “No one’s gonna notice you, Mallory.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. He has a point. The photographers should be more interested in one of the stars of the film more than me, but still. At least I don’t feel bad for making fun of his outfit anymore.
“Go.” Chaser shoos the guys out of the limo when our door finally opens. “You okay?” he asks once we’re alone.
My heart squeezes. This is his night and once again, he’s stopping to check in with me. “I’m great.” I rub my palm against his cheek. “Are you?”
“It’s not that big a deal. But what if people hate the song or say it ruins the film or something?”
I flick my gaze out the window, staring at one of the tall movie posters featuring a half-robot man, with a scantily clad woman draped over his shoulder and a futuristic gun in his hand. “Or, what if people say the movie ruins your song?”
His tense expression melts and he swoops in to kiss me. “I love you.”
While the guys didn’t have any trouble moving up the red carpet, reporters, and photographers swarm around us when we step out of the limo.
“Mallory! Why aren’t you in the film?”
“Chaser, did you write this song with Andrew Lane?”
“Mallory, were you written off of Shallow End because of your affair with Andrew Lane?”
I scowl at that question. For some reason, I expected a higher caliber of reporter at a film premiere.
As we move closer to the entrance, the questions even out to more normal ones focused on music, entertainment, and our engagement. We stop to answer a few of those.
“Have you set a date for your wedding yet?”
“As soon as our schedules line up and are families are able to attend,” Chaser answers.
“Will you be writing a song for the next Bixby Arrowood film?”
“We’d love to,” Chaser answers. “Anytime.”
We meet up with the guys at a small area set up for photos and interviews. I step inside the theater and off to the side to get out of the sun while the guys pose together for a band picture and answer more questions.
“I misjudged you,” a deep voice says behind me.
Startled, I turn, searching for the source.
Davey Revolver.
I should’ve known I’d run into this jackass again eventually.
“Hiding behind the potted plants is awfully creepy. Even for you,” I say, turning away to peer through the doors so I can catch a glimpse of Chaser.
“Didn’t realize you were into gutter trash like Andrew Lane.”
I guess he can’t take a hint. Turning to face him, I glare up. “Don’t worry, Davey. You’re still the sleaziest man I’ve had the bad luck to encounter.”
Yup, when I consider the long, long list of creeps—Andrew included—Davey still sits near the top.
This business is exhausting.
“Besides,” I add, “You should know better than anyone how easy it is to plant fake stories in the tabloids.”
He sneers. “Enjoy it now. You won’t last here long.”
I rub my left hand over my chin, showing off my engagement ring, not that he cares. “Gee, I’m pretty sure it’s more than six months later, and I still don’t regret turning down your charming offer.” I flick my wrist at him like he’s a fly I’m trying to shoo out a window. “Now, run along before my fiancé kicks your ass