“Whore,” he spits out before turning on his heel and stalking away.
“Very original,” I mutter.
“What did he say to you?” Chaser growls behind me.
I whirl around. The guys are still over by the interview station. Chaser must have ditched them when he saw Davey. He’s snorting like a bull about to charge. “Nothing,” I assure him in a low voice since people are starting to take notice. “Calm down. I don’t want the headlines tomorrow to be about that jackass.”
His shoulders relax and he drops his gaze to me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Got some things off my chest. It felt good.”
He curls his arm around my waist and guides me back outside. “I got worried when I lost sight of you, then I saw him talking to you and almost lost my shit.”
“I’m fine.”
Someone more famous must pull up to the curb next because the throng of reporters rushes away, forgetting all about us.
“That was fun.” Jacob adjusts the ruffled, frilly collar of his shirt and ends up tangling his fingers in the ties.
“Come here,” I motion him closer.
He flicks his fingers against the lace jabot. “It’s detachable.”
“Do you want to take it off?”
He glances down and grins. “Nah, it looks too cool.”
“It really doesn’t,” Garrett says.
I untangle the strings that theoretically tie the collar together. “Why don’t we leave this open, so it looks a little more rock star and a little less Mr. Darcy.”
“Thank you, Mallory.” He flashes a goofy-kid grin at me.
“All right. Enough of that.” Chaser takes my hand and whispers in my ear. “You know he’s more Wickham than Darcy, right?”
“Chaser Adams, you surprise me every day.”
We’re ushered into the theater and directed to a cluster of seats in the middle. It’s an engrossing film. Lots of action and explosions. I recognize Kickstart’s song immediately in the opening scene and reach over to squeeze his hand. During Sandra Felton’s topless scenes, I pick up nervous giggles from the back of the theater.
After the screening, everyone circulates through the lobby, shaking hands, sipping drinks, talking about the film.
“Mallory, thank you for coming.” A man who looks vaguely familiar holds out his hand. “Rex Hewson.”
“Oh! Yes, Mr. Hewson.” The director was definitely on my list of people Marilyn wanted me to talk to tonight.
Chaser steps to the side but keeps his arm around my waist and a hand on my hip.
“You read for Sandra’s part, right?” he asks. “It was a close call if I remember.”
“I’m flattered to hear that. Sandra was terrific, though. You made the right choice.”
He inclines his head, studying me until I’m ready to fidget. “What are you working on right now?”
“Um, a new show Scout Southgate’s putting together. We start shooting in January.”
“But you’re still interested in film?”
“Absolutely.”
“Great.” He nods to Chaser. “Perfect song. Thanks for coming tonight.”
After he wanders away, Chaser gives me a wide-eyed look. “See, you made an impression.”
Inside, I’m bursting but try to remain calm on the outside. “I know!” I whisper.
As things wind down, people start leaving for exclusive after parties.
“Atlas Gates invited us to Creeping Vine for a private after-party,” Garrett says. “We have to go.”
“Cool,” Chaser says, but by his tone, he’s not as enthusiastic about hanging out with the star of the film. “You want to go?” he asks me.
I wait until the others are ahead of us. “Will you be disappointed in me if I say no?”
“Fuck no.” He breathes a sigh of relief.
Jacob’s wild-eyed and twitchy when we catch up to the guys outside. Obviously, he’s had more than alcohol tonight.
“Come on, let’s go!” he shouts.
“Will you watch out for him?” Chaser asks Alvin.
“You’re not coming?”
“Nah, we’re beat.”
Alvin glances over his shoulder. “Sandra Felton gave me her number. I’m gonna try to meet up with her at Creeping Vine.” Like two teenagers, they high-five each other.
I pat Alvin’s arm and wish him luck.
Alvin, Garrett, and Jacob end up taking a limo with a group of other people.
“Seems we have our limo to ourselves,” Chaser says as it pulls up to the curb.
My lips twitch. “Whatever shall we do with it?”
Once we’re safely tucked inside the car, Chaser tugs at the zipper of my dress. “First, I want you out of this,” he murmurs. “Hold your hair up.”
Laughing, I lift my heavy pile of long spiral curls. “What are you doing?”
I peer out the window. The limo hasn’t started moving yet. We’re inches way from dozens of people still lingering from the premiere. “No one can see us, right?”