He’d argue that some celebrities who shied away from the limelight were, but his mobile phone chimed. His heart rate revved up like the sports car he’d driven in his last film, as it had done every time the phone rang since the day he’d sent his screenplay to Kevin Lipinski a week ago. Kevin was one of the most sought-after and successful producers out there. Every film he touched turned to box-office gold, and if he liked Irvin’s screenplay and agreed to produce the film, he might be Irvin’s ticket out of the camera’s glare and right behind it. Irvin wanted to direct.
The mobile’s chime indicated a new email, which sent anticipation and dread flowing through his bloodstream. There were only two answers he could get. Kevin would either love it or hate it. Both answers scared him.
He pressed the email icon on the phone and held his breath. Then released it in a sigh of disappointment. The new message was a party invitation. He unsuccessfully tried to tamp down his frustration. How long did it take to look at a script?
Kitty rambled on in the background about plans for the premiere. A member of the entourage let out a loud laugh at whatever the person on the phone with him had said. And another flipped the channels on his sixty-inch television with the volume turned up to high. It was information and annoyance overload. Irvin was done.
“Now that you’ve informed the lucky winner, we can call it a day,” he said, cutting off Kitty’s speech. He held up the script he’d been trying to read ever since they got back. “I’ve got to get through this.” Another action movie. Not bad, really, but he knew the drill. The formula for his success didn’t change much: he’d save a beautiful young woman, run through traffic in a big city with no shirt and haul around a big gun.
“No, we can’t call it a day,” Kitty said in a rush. “We need to go over the itinerary. Every moment of the premiere weekend has to be planned perfectly.”
“Something that you can do without my direct input. Just tell me where to go and when to be there. The only thing I care about is when we present the check to the head of the foundation. Make sure there is plenty of time before and afterward for me to talk with him and the staff. I want to know if there is anything they need me to do to help the cause.”
Alcohol awareness wasn’t the sexiest issue for a celebrity to pick up. Kitty thought he should be kissing kids in third-world countries or building playgrounds for at-risk youth, where the photo ops were. He did contribute some to those causes, but preventing and stopping alcohol abuse were his passions. He’d witnessed the damages of alcohol abuse firsthand.
“Now I’d like my flat back,” he said, looking at the people buzzing around. He used his normal charming tone of voice, but there was no mistaking the underlying steel beneath.
Kitty huffed but didn’t argue. She was good at reading when he was tired of the show.
“Fine, but at least go over the itinerary before the end of the week.” She grabbed her bag and pulled out a thick folder, which she handed over to him. “It took a while, but I managed to dig up a picture of the winner.”
He flipped open the folder to find the photo. A woman with thick, dark hair and clear reddish-brown skin, wearing a conservative navy suit, stared back. Her lips were curved in a cool smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Kitty should have known better than to expect this woman to scream. She didn’t look the type. He frowned and studied her professional demeanor; he wouldn’t have expected her even to enter the contest.
“Where did you get this picture?”
“She used to be the chief nursing officer at East Houston Regional Medical Center. It was her employee ID photo.”
“She’s no longer there?”
“No, left two years ago. Something about an illness in the family. I couldn’t dig up a more current picture. Can you believe she doesn’t have a profile anywhere?” Kitty said it as if the idea of going without an online presence was akin to going without electricity.
“Some people prefer their privacy.” He looked away from the picture to eye Kitty. “If she’s not online, how did you dig this up?”
“I can’t have you going out with a person with a rap sheet, Irvin, really. Before we called and confirmed her as the winner, I did some digging.”
He glanced at the pinned-together woman in the picture. He doubted she would appreciate the probe into her life before being confirmed as the winner. He smirked. Well, she’d better get used to it. She’d be a pseudo celebrity while spending the weekend with him. Still, he felt a pang of regret for the digging, no matter how necessary it might have been.
“If you’ve got enough information to know she’s not a criminal, no more researching into her past.”
“For now,” she said. She turned to the group. “Okay, people, let’s get out of Irvin’s way.”
The lot of them packed up their phones, tablets and other gadgets. With waves, well wishes and another reminder from Kitty to review the itinerary, they were gone. He relished the silence for a few minutes. It seemed like a hundred years since he’d had an entire day of silence. He couldn’t imagine a day in the future when he would.
“Full mouths shouldn’t complain,” he could hear his mother saying. It had been her way of telling him to shut up whenever he tried to say something about the beating she would take for stealing money from his dad just to put food on the table.
He pushed the uncomfortable memories aside. His mouth was full. If the lack of quiet or personal time was a side effect, then he wouldn’t complain. His mother had endured far worse. She might not be around to enjoy the perks of his celebrity anymore, but childhood lessons died hard.
He flipped through the script and found the standard love scene. It had a full back shot. Kitty would love that. If she had her way, her number one client would go shirtless in every scene and have at least one back shot in every movie. It made her job of promoting him so much easier.
He tossed down the script in disgust. Full mouth. Full mouth. Don’t complain.
Still, he checked his phone and silently hoped for a call from Kevin about his script.
There was a knock on the door. If it was Kitty returning to tell him another thing for the premiere weekend, he would lose his mind.
He checked the peephole, relaxed and opened the door with a smile. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Dante Wilson, the R & B star with a fan base as big as Irvin’s, grinned from the other side. “I’ve got time before my concert tour and decided to come early for your promotional weekend.”
Irvin shook his head and stepped back so his friend could walk in. “Why do you need to be here for my weekend?”
“Kitty thought it would be good to show off your high-profile connections as you become the highlight of this woman’s life,” Dante said. “Her words, not mine. Jacobe is coming up from Florida.”
“Brilliant. I haven’t seen Jacobe in weeks,” Irvin said.
Jacobe Jenkins was the starting center for the Jacksonville Gators. The twenty-eight-year-old had been drafted at the end of his freshman year of college, let the easy money and women go to his head and started his professional basketball career as a wild party boy. Irvin and Dante had met him about a year ago at a party and become mentors for the young man. He still partied, but he wasn’t getting into any foolish trouble anymore.
“But you didn’t have to come early.”
“It wasn’t just for you. I met this model who’s doing a show here this week.”
That made more sense to Irvin. “Can I get you a drink?”
“You know you can.” Dante shut the door behind him. “You drinking?”
Irvin shook his head. “I’ve had my one for the day.”
“Kitty