Free Picture This by Jayne Denker Page B

chance, okay? I’ll even . . .” He paused, dug around in his pocket, and came up with a couple of uninflated balloons. He pulled one out of the tangle, blew it up, manipulated it into some shape he didn’t even try to identify, and plonked it between the two seats. “There. Consider that a barrier. I won’t cross it. Okay?”
    Her mouth quirked.
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes.”
    He flashed a quick, grim smile at her and carefully pulled back into traffic.

Chapter 7
    E ntering hour three of the drive to Marsden, Celia tried to stretch her legs and wake up her rather numb butt cheeks. Niall had said he wanted to talk, and there had been plenty of that. Trouble was, it wasn’t with her. He’d been on the phone nonstop since they’d hit the road in earnest, first with someone she assumed was his agent, then with someone named Trent, whom she deduced was some sort of assistant, then with his agent again. And then Trent again after that.
    Celia tried not to eavesdrop, but she was curious about his current crises—proving the lie about his being able to relegate his celebrity to a box that he could seal up at will. She hadn’t believed him when he’d said it, and a good thing too. From what she could discern, he was rescheduling meetings for his next film, emphasizing that he still wanted to be an integral part of the planning process because his last few movies had been more out of his control than he wished. She admired his conviction to get a tighter grip on his career.
    Then there was some talk about trying to get Naomi some help, which was also admirable. She’d been paying way too much attention to Niall recently, including texting him repeatedly in the middle of the night (though not with any incriminating photos, thank goodness). It seemed the girl didn’t have much support from her family, so Niall asked his agent to have her managers talk some sense into her. If, Niall complained, her parents had behaved like grownups, starting when Naomi was a little kid doing cereal commercials, instead of just spending the money she earned, she wouldn’t have been so desperate for attention. And she wouldn’t have misinterpreted his big brotherly intentions as something more.
    Once that round of conversations was over with and Niall seemed satisfied with the results, he immediately called Trent again , to remind him he needed to have certain e-mails forwarded to him ASAP.
    Honestly, she didn’t know what to make of him. Here he was, driving for hours to deliver her to her hometown, conducting his business on the way. All on his own, no bodyguard, no PR flack, no agent. What kind of celebrity did that? This kind, apparently. She remembered how vehemently he denied having a posse, how negative he was about his own raucous party. His behavior certainly was . . . unusual. Not what she was expecting. Still, she didn’t know much about him yet; she’d have to wait for him to reveal his true colors, whatever they were. Probably lots of blinding red and outrageously rich purple. Mixed.
    Celia tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She was so tired; concern for her grandmother had robbed her of a decent night’s sleep. Celia wondered just how bad Gran was—whether her dad was exaggerating the problem and just wanted her there for moral support. Or so he and her mother could chuck it all at Celia and not have to deal with it, which was more their speed. All she could do was get back to Marsden as quickly as possible and assess the situation for herself. And hope she still had a life to get back to in New York once everything was settled at home.
    They’d driven out of the cloud cover, and sun was streaming into the passenger’s side window. She turned her face to it, a sunbeam hot on her eyelids, and drifted off a little . . .
    â€œTell me about your grandmother.”
    Celia blinked and looked over at Niall. He pulled out his wireless