stares ever since we got in the limo and it had only got worse since we arrived at the club.
‘So, Joe,’ I started with my quickly formulated plan of distraction. ‘Do you come here a lot?’
‘Mmmm,’ Joe nodded, swirling the beer he had insisted on buying himself at the bar, ‘with some of the guys from the hotel. And you know, sometimes I model a little. I actually did a job at the Tropicana a couple of weeks ago, the roof bar here.’ He sat down in between me and Jenny, sliding an arm around each of us. It might have looked casual, but the firm grip on my shoulder said it was anything but.
Jenny idly caught his fingers and entwined them with her own, even though her eyes were firmly locked on James. I was working extra hard at not making eye contact with anyone other than myself in the mirror behind the bar. And someone that looked just Kristen Stewart. Oh. And Kristen Stewart.
‘Have you ever thought about acting?’ James asked, pouring everyone a generous measure of vodka from the bottle that had just been brought to our table.
‘Whatever,’ Joe replied, looking away. ‘Modelling is one thing but dancing around in tights for a living? I don’t think so.’
‘Hey,’ Blake turned sharply.
James laughed, seemingly oblivious to Joe’s enormous attitude problem. ‘It’s just one of the perils of superhero movies. But you know what, tights are surprisingly comfortable. You do get used to them.’
‘Tights, really?’ Jenny mooned, dropping Joe’s hand and giving James’s knee a quick squeeze. ‘Are you wearing them now?’
‘Seriously?’ Joe narrowed his eyes at Jenny as she let out her most impressive flirty laugh. ‘Everyone knows actors are just delusional egotists. They all end up in rehab sooner or later.’
‘Are you taking Jenny on for title of the next Oprah or what?’ I forced out a laugh but this was all getting a little bit too tense and I really wasn’t one for confrontation.
‘I’m gonna take a walk.’ Joe measured his breathing and draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. ‘You coming, English?’
James looked over at me but I really wasn’t sure what his dark blue eyes were trying to say. I opened my mouth to stall but Blake beat me to it.
‘Maybe that’s not a bad idea,’ he challenged Joe, taking a swig straight out of the vodka bottle. ‘Maybe you should both just go.’
‘Me?’ I asked, snapping to surprise. ‘What did I do?’
‘You brought this asshole,’ Blake replied. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the interview is over. In fact, James, we’re leaving.’
‘Great, why don’t you just move on, fag?’ Joe said into his beer bottle.
‘What did you just call me?’ Blake stood up suddenly, followed in a heartbeat by Joe and then James.
‘Hey, guys, come on.’ James pushed himself in between the two as they squared up. ‘This isn’t happening.’
‘No, this is bullshit.’ Joe pushed his way past the two of them, knocking Jenny off the edge of her seat and into me as he left. The weight of the Lopez wasn’t ever going to cause me trouble but the vodka soda she spilled all down my dress wasn’t exactly ideal.
‘Oh, shit,’ I said, leaping up, right into James’s waiting arms.
‘We have to get out of here,’ Blake said, pulling at James’s shoulder. I froze for a second, pressed against James’s chest, my wet dress soaking through against his shirt, until it was warmed by the heat of his skin. It wasn’t until he’d scooped me up, as if I weighed nothing, as if I was half an Olsen, let alone three strapped together, that I realized we were moving out of the club.
‘Angie?’ Jenny yelled over the music, still on the floor beside the wreckage of our table. ‘Wait!’
‘Jenny,’ I protested, preferring the view of James’s dark brown curls to the stares and whispers all around us. And, oh dear God, the camera flashes.
‘Blake, go back for her,’ James commanded, striding into the lift, leaving an incensed Blake standing stock-still. ‘Now I remember why I stopped going out.’
I didn’t know what to say. On one hand I felt awful about leaving Jenny – sick, actually –?but on the other, I knew that the second James put me down, the interview, my job, possibly my visa and then more or less my entire life was over. I had to try and get this back on track somehow, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have a roommate to be mad at.
‘James, I am so incredibly sorry,’ I said as we scrambled into the limo and tore off up Hollywood Boulevard. ‘I–I should just go back to my hotel and—’
‘That’s not a good idea,’ James said quietly. ‘Have a look out of the back window.’
Twisting against my seatbelt, I turned to look back, trying not to get dizzy at the speeds we were travelling. I don’t know what I was expecting to see but, whatever it was, the sea of bright lights and industrial-strength flashes was not it. True, I still had an issue with what side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, but these cars were literally all over the road. The honking, the screeching, even the screaming was so loud, so intense. It made a wander down our block in New York sound like an episode of Songs of Praise.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, slightly dazed and very nauseous.
‘Paparazzi,’ James sighed. ‘My good friends, the paparazzi.’
‘How did they know where you were?’
‘Who knows? Maybe someone overheard us this afternoon and tipped them off. Maybe they were already outside Teddy’s on the off-chance someone would show up. Maybe someone called them when we arrived.’
‘But we were only there for half an hour?’ I couldn’t believe it, no matter how fast we went, they came at us faster until they were swarming all around the car.
‘Get away from the window.’ James pulled me into the centre of the limo, on the floor between the seats. ‘Some of the flashes are bright enough to see you through the tinted glass.’
‘Wow, this is glamorous,’ I said, trying to shuffle my dress around my thighs to avoid any further pant revelation.
‘Yes, the rock-and-roll life of a movie star.’ He held out an arm to steady me as we skidded around a tight corner. ‘But you’re all-over rock and roll, surely?’
‘Me?’ I squirmed across the floor of the car, trying not to nestle against his broad, warm and still slightly damp chest.
‘Your boyfriend, the rock star? Alan?’
Oh. ‘Alex. His name is Alex. He’s so not a rock star. There’s a pretty big difference between him and Bono.’ I fumbled around on the floor of the car looking for my bag. ‘What time is it?’
‘Not even twelve, what’s up?’
‘Just wondered.’ I pulled out my phone. Twelve here, three in New York. And a missed call from Alex. Just one. Twenty minutes earlier and no
