Free Hollywood Hot Mess by Evie Claire Page B

direction when he nudges my shoulder to wake me. He cowers, defensively raising a hand between us. His sideways gaze turns from ice blue to navy. “We’re here.” He rights himself, offering me a hand and an intrusively suspicious stare. I freeze, fearing I’ve said something in my sleep. Something that would make him suspect. Confusion tightens his face, but he says nothing. I wave his hand away and crawl to my own two feet by myself. A cashmere blanket I don’t remember having falls to the floor. I pull in a shaky breath to calm my nerves.
    Warm tropical breezes laced with morning fog send my hair flying when I take my first step down the extended airstairs. It’s still dark and the mist envelops our arrival in a shroud of secrecy, which is exactly what a mega star like Devon wants. It’s actually kind of exciting to travel under the cover of darkness. For a moment, I soften my scowl into a wistful longing, like Ingrid Bergman standing on the airplane steps in Casablanca, knowing she’s about to leave her only love forever because it’s the right thing to do. Until I remember I’m neither beautiful nor lovable like Ilsa, only a skinny little kid trying to fool the world into thinking I’m tougher than I really am. Life seems simpler in black-and-white.
    It’s warm outside, but I shrug into my jacket when a hulking man in a tight black T-shirt named Tiny opens the door to a waiting car. Leather seats. Just what I need. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, pushing the old memories back to their hiding place.
    We drive through deserted streets. Devon’s head stays buried in a bound script, legs spread wide, taking up more than his half of the backseat.
    “How many of those do you have?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the script.
    “Too many.” He leans down to open the flap of his briefcase, revealing ten bound spines.
    “Why does everyone want you?” The question is out of my mouth in a desperate whine before I can stop it. It’s stupid. I know why everyone wants him. What I can’t figure out is why no one wants me . He looks up from the script, eyebrows wrinkled behind his glasses, obviously picking up on the desperation I hoped he was too preoccupied to notice. He removes his glasses, rubbing at his eyes, and then turns to me.
    “It’s simple. I play by the rules. You’ve played this game long enough to know that.”
    “Pfft!” I roll my eyes. “There aren’t any rules.”
    “Yes, there are. And when you bothered to play by the rules, the fans wanted you just as much as they want me.”
    “No. They loved the idealized little girl they saw on TV. If they knew the truth...” I shake my head and stare out the window, unable to finish.
    Against the tinted window, his ghostly reflection is illuminated in the reading light. I can see him plain as day without having to look at him, which I like. He moves against the seat, his jeans rustling over the leather as he turns toward me.
    “You know, Carly...” he starts, but then stops, brushing fingers over his lips as he studies the back of my head. “If you’d get that chip off your shoulder, you’d be pretty easy to love again.”
    Wait...what? Did he really just refer to all the wrongs in my past as a measly fucking chip? Hey, asshole—I’m not chipped. I’m broken.

Chapter Six
    I’m silently fuming, strapped into a fishing chair on Devon’s flawless yacht. Ernest and the bodyguard stayed on the mainland, sending me out to sea with Devon all by myself. Supposedly they’re waiting on the rest of the crew to arrive tomorrow. Infuriating me even further is Devon’s unsettlingly good humor, piloting his boat like a rum-soaked Jack Sparrow, laughing and smiling to the point I’m about to vomit all over the pristinely polished white deck.
    The boat ride is dark and cold, and it isn’t until the land disappears entirely that I remember no one in the world knows where I am, which spooks me. After a short ride, Devon slides the boat into a