Free All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) by Tara Oakes Page A

emotional, and crazier. It was like a pack of wolves just itching to get their claws in me for a photo with them, an autograph, or a shredded piece of my clothing, even though I’m a nobody.
    The elevator chimes, indicating I’ve reached the top floor. Marcus steps aside once he’s checked to make sure the hallway is empty. There are only two doors on this floor. One to my right, one to my left.
    The door to my left has a dark suited man standing to the side. I’m guessing that’s Colt’s room. My assumption is confirmed when the guard nods at Marcus as we make our approach.
    I have no doubt who’s in charge though. Marcus has an air about him, a demeanor. He’s a leader.
    “You’re expected, Miss Baker.” Marcus turns the handles to the double doors and pushes.
    Immediately sounds, voices pour out from within. Chaos. Utter and complete chaos and I’m tempted to turn and run. None of the dozen or so people inside seem to notice that I’m here, too busy buzzing around like little worker bees.
    The vision before me is nothing like I’d expected. Sure, I pictured a few people to help get Colt ready, seeing as tonight is a huge night for his movie. A hairdresser, his publicist, his manager. But, that’s very different from the spectacle I’m watching now.
    It’s like I’m on the set of one of his movies.
    There are large, very expensive looking photography flood lights perched atop tripods with those funny looking white umbrellas to direct the light flow. Then, there are actual photographers snapping pictures of Colt in front of a black screen. After every shot, a crowd of people gather in front of a monitor to decide whether or not his hair looks right. If not, a hairdresser armed with a utility belt of products swoops in to fix it, and they try again with another photo.
    There’s even a woman with short dark brown hair and very stylish glasses sitting cross-legged in a director’s chair. A director’s chair!
    Make no mistake, he may be going to the world premiere of his latest blockbuster in a few hours, but the production is already in full swing right here in his hotel room.
    Well, room , is kind of an understatement.
    My apartment could fit inside this suite, five, maybe six times! It’s really just immense . I know people live like this, but seeing the extravagance first hand is hard to digest.
    “Daphne!” Colt somehow spots me, hidden, behind the wall of people before him. “You made it!”
    Of course I did. How could I not? Colt saw to it that any possible distraction was taken care of. He’d even sent his personal bodyguard and driver to come fetch and deliver me.
    Every person ceases their activity and watches closely as Colt steps out from his makeshift photo shoot and walks through the debris towards me.
    Surprisingly, he kisses me on the cheek, dangerously close to the corner of my mouth. His aim must suck.
    “I was worried you’d change your mind,” he speaks very softly so that our audience doesn’t overhear even though they’re trying to.
    He’s standing right on top of me, close enough for me to smell the deep cologne he seems to always wear. His scent seems familiar now, as I’ve become so used to it, like it’s a part of him.
    His deep caramel-colored eyes search my own for any trace that I’m here to back out in person.
    “I gave you my word. That means something.” I reassure him.
    The tight smile that spreads over his lips is playful. “I’m sure it does. Come, meet everyone. This is Andrea McNair. She’s my publicist, another New Yorker like yourself. She knows her shit and is a bona fide miracle worker.”
    The woman that I’d spied earlier, sitting in the director’s seat like some type of overlord, steps forth with her hand extended.
    “Daphne! It’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard so much already, and Colt really seems to think you are just divine.”
    I return her smile, even though I’m suddenly feeling the same type of jitters that I’d felt when