actor. Lara Whitfield obviously needed a life. It was one thing to crush on a delivery guy; it was another thing altogether to crush on a Hollywood celebrity.
One thing was certain, however; Lara Whitfield wouldn’t get so much as a second glance from any guy if she was disguised as the Galaxy’s End shaman. That particular costume was more concealing than a burka. Besides which, they were running low on stock, having just gotten through the Halloween rush. Josie was pretty sure they were sold out of Galaxy’s End costumes.
A quick electronic query of the shop’s inventory confirmed her suspicions. Worse, when she performed a query for alternative costumes, the computer returned a picture of the very same Star Wars slave-girl outfit that Josie wore right now.
Across the shop, Tom finished his conversation and turned back to Josie. She gave him a polite smile, refusing to be misled by the appreciation in his eyes. “Thanks, Tom,” she said airily, and turned back to the computer, pretending to be absorbed in the online order. “I’ll see you next time.”
She sensed his confusion, but didn’t look at him again. When the door closed behind him, her shoulders slumped. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she concentrated on the order. Too bad the customer had asked for something that concealed rather than revealed; Josie was certain the slave-girl getup would garner more attention than the woman had ever had in her life and she wanted nothing more than to get rid of the exotic costume. Having it in the shop was a humiliating reminder of her failure with Tom. She was in the middle of responding that they had no costumes available, when her fingers paused over the keyboard.
Why couldn’t she send Lara Whitfield the slave-girl costume? Sure, it was revealing, but the size was right. She’d even throw in a gorgeous, wrought-gold mask that would match the metal bikini and completely disguise her face, for free. What did it matter that it was a Star Wars costume and not a Galaxy’s End costume? They were both sci-fi space flicks, right? Besides, she’d be doing the poor woman a favor. Nobody would even notice her in the shaman’s voluminous robes, but the slave-girl getup was guaranteed to turn heads. And just to make sure the customer didn’t complain too much, she’d give it to her at a twenty-five percent discount. Combined with the free mask, it was more than a bargain; it was a steal.
With a grim smile, Josie typed in the stock number for the slave-girl costume and completed the order. Pushing back from the counter, she made her way to the stockroom to remove and package the costume. She refused to think about how the customer would react when she opened the parcel and realized she’d received the wrong item. Josie had screwed up orders before, but never deliberately. She told herself she had the customer’s best interests in mind. She just hoped the costume would bring Lara Whitfield better luck than it had brought her.
1
Lara Whitfield paced her hotel room, uncertain what to do now that she was actually here in Las Vegas, possibly in the very same hotel as him. She’d never attended a celebrity fan festival before, and wasn’t certain what to expect. Certainly not the throngs of women she’d encountered in the hotel lobby, who gushed and quivered with excitement over the fact that Graeme Hamilton would be here, in the flesh.
Even after following his meteoric career, Lara found herself stunned by the enormity of his appeal. For all intents and purposes, he hadn’t existed as a public figure until he was cast as the sexy bad-boy character, Kip Corrigan, in the hit television series Galaxy’s End. The pilot episode had aired two years earlier and, seemingly overnight, every woman in America wanted him. Based on the chaotic scene in the hotel lobby, Lara was convinced that every last one had traveled to the fan festival in the hopes of seeing him.
Her cell phone rang, startling her. Digging into her purse, she pulled it out and glanced at the display, smiling ruefully when she saw the number. She’d forgotten to call Val when she’d arrived at the hotel. Her college roommate and best friend, Valerie was worse than any mother. Now Lara flipped the phone open, knowing she was going to get an earful.
“Hi, Val,” she said, squinting. “I, um, made it here safely.”
“Uh-huh,” came the exasperated voice on the other end. “I’ve only been worried half out of my head, wondering if you were okay.”
Lara walked over to the window and pushed aside the curtain. Below her, the Las Vegas strip teemed with activity. “I’m fine. I don’t know why you worry about me so much.”
Val made a tsking sound. “Maybe because you have your head in the clouds most of the time. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if you’d gotten on the wrong flight and ended up in Europe somewhere.”
“No, I’m definitely here in Las Vegas.” Lara dropped the curtain. “I wish you had come with me. It feels …strange to be here by myself.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Val said sympathetically. “But I think you were right—this is something you need to do on your own. Besides, who would help Christopher run the theater program if we were both in Las Vegas?”
Lara pushed down the pang of guilt she felt at the mention of the program, reminding herself that she would be gone for less than a week, hardly enough time for the children to miss her.
Since she’d been a small child, Lara had wanted to be involved in the theater. Her parents had divorced when she was just four, and her father had moved to Washington, D.C., to pursue a political career. Lara had grown up on her mother’s estate on the outskirts of Chicago, while her mother had spent most of her time pursuing and capturing husbands number two, three and four.
Lara’s childhood visits with her father had been filled with parties and soirées where she’d either been stuck in a corner and forgotten, or left in his cavernous apartment with the housekeeper.
Alone and lonely, she had imagined herself as a princess locked away in a forbidden castle with only fairy creatures to keep her company. Surrounded by a host of imaginary friends, she probably had seemed an odd and pitiable child, but her make-believe world had been very real to her.
Eventually, she’d put her imagination to good use, obtaining a degree in theater arts and writing. While she resisted using her family’s influential connections, she hadn’t been above tapping into the substantial trust fund her father had set up for her to open a small drama school for underprivileged children on Chicago’s west side. If anyone needed to escape the harsh realities of life, even for a few hours each day, it was the children who attended the inner-city theater program.
The nonprofit program only operated in the afternoons and during weekends, so Lara also did some freelance writing for several different magazines. The money wasn’t great, but it paid her bills. The theater program, however, was where she invested most of her time and energy.
Christopher had been her screenwriting professor in college and when he’d heard about her venture, had expressed an interest in getting involved. They had worked together for more than six months before he’d finally asked her for a date, and even then Lara’s first reaction had been to refuse him. He’d persisted, however, and finally she had acknowledged that unless she made some drastic personal changes, she risked going through life alone, with only her imagination and her memories to keep her company. The fourth time that Christopher had asked her out, she’d accepted.
He was smart and sweet, and if he didn’t make her blood heat and her body throb with need, she was mature enough to realize that he was still a good catch.
A great catch.
Lara knew that at the slightest indication
