All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) (2 page)

Spotting the first available seat, I take it nervously, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. I don’t know why I’m nervous, it’s not like I’ve never been around wealthy people before. Many of my clients are wealthy, and I’m certainly comfortable around them.
Why is this so different
?

Maybe it has something to do with the sideways stares I’m getting from the overly botoxed, fur-wearing woman across from me. Her eyes are shooting daggers, and her artificial lips are puckered tightly in a scowl.

“Can I get you something to drink, Miss?” The waiter I’d met a moment ago asks me.

My eyes light up and I blurt out, “Wine. Please. White.”

I need a little something to take the edge off. Just knowing that the wine is on its way seems to do the trick and I can feel my shoulders begin to relax.

“Hey there, Speedy Gonzales.”

I freeze. I close my eyes. I know that voice.

Crap!

Slowly, I turn my head, knowing in my gut who I’ll find. The chair nearest to my right is taken. I can see that much from my periphery. I take stock of him as I now turn to face him, scanning my eyes upward from the ground. The same expensive leather shoes that I had seen before when he helped me collect my sketches. Dark rinse jeans that fit perfectly, as if they were made for him. Trust me, I make clothes for people, I know.

A crisp, white, button-down shirt falls in a relaxed way around his hips, and at this exact moment I notice the gentle wafting of his cologne. I feel it swirling in my nostrils as I breathe it deep. I feel it hanging in my throat as I swallow. It’s heavy and light at the same time.

His tanned wrists peak out from the rolled cuffs of his sleeve, adorned by nothing other than a simple watch. The buttons down the center of his shirt are held in place tightly as the muscles underneath push against the fabric, stretching it. 

Broad shoulders, thick neck, chiseled jaw with a speckling of very short stubble. Chestnut colored hair just long enough to have a wave to it, mussed, as if he likes to run his fingers back through it.

Dark sunglasses rest on his perfectly proportioned nose. It’s passed midnight. Indoors. Why the
hell
does he have sunglasses on?

“Miss Baker?” My attention is stolen by the friendly woman from behind the counter outside the first class lounge by the gate, Kara.

I can feel the tall man’s eyes fixed on me from behind his ridiculous shades.

“Yes?” I ask her. “Can we switch?”

Kara leans down to answer. “I’m sorry. The gentleman’s not traveling alone and he is hesitant to be separated from his companion. They’re returning home from their honeymoon. I’m afraid it won’t work to switch your seat.”

I bite my lip. I tend to do that when I’m trying to think my way out of a tough situation. “Hmm. I didn’t realize they were flying together.” I remember the loving looks they shared and even through I don’t know them, I’m happy to hear they’re on their honeymoon. Just because
I
think marriage is an archaic institution bound to fail, it doesn’t mean everyone else does. It’s not that I don’t believe in love, I’ve just never experienced the kind of thing I saw between the newlyweds outside in the waiting area.

Kara begins to move, attempting to leave. “Wait. Could I give them my seat and then purchase another seat so they’ll be next to each other? Is there an empty seat in first class available?”

I mean, how much could a first class ticket cost, anyway?

Kara looks vaguely annoyed that I stopped her from leaving. “There’s one available first class ticket left.”

“Sold!” I reply a little too loudly for some of the other passengers nearby. I’m gifted one or two nasty scowls in return. Lowering my voice, I ask. “How much will it cost?”

Kara suddenly looks smug when answering. “Nineteen hundred dollars.”

I lose my breath. Nineteen. Hundred. Dollars. That’s one month’s rent for me, and equal to the balance of my checking account. The disappointment is tightly wound through my voice. “Oh…”

Sitting back in my chair I feel a wave of disappointment wash over me. Kara turns to leave for a second time.

“I’m sorry, is there something wrong with your ticket?” The handsomely dressed, sunglass-wearing man to my side asks, having witnessed the scene unfold.

Resting my head on my hand with my elbow propped up on the armrest that separates our seats, I shake my head. “No. I was trying to give my ticket to a soldier who’s waiting with coach, but he needs two tickets. I can’t afford the extra ticket, so it looks like I can’t make the switch.”

I can’t even manage to do
this
correctly.

Several small metal clicking sounds signal that he’s finally taking off those absurd sunglasses. I mean, who wears sunglasses like that, hmm? Who does he think he is? Brad Pitt?

“Why would you give a perfect stranger your ticket?” He’s curious. I can sense his body shifting to sit closer.

He’s nosy.

“Do I need a reason?
He
certainly didn’t, whoever he is, when he signed up to protect our country. The least I could do is let him have a comfortable seat to say thanks. It doesn’t matter now though. It’s not going to happen.” I rub my temple to relieve the stress.

“We’ll see about that.” The man stands and follows Kara out. 

What’s that supposed to mean? “
We’ll see about that
.” I watch his body as it walks away, his powerful gait marching further and further away until it disappears through the door.

Who
is
this guy, with his delicious cologne, his nosy questions, and his arrogance?

My recent behavior has earned me a fresh round of condescending eye rolls from Miss Plastic Surgery over there.

Within two minutes I see the brown leather shoes land directly in front of me as I hang my head in defeat.

“Let’s go, Speedy,” he holds his hand out to me.

I eye it, but don’t take it. My eyes snake up the sleeve, following the muscular arm to those rock solid shoulders before settling on his gorgeous face no longer hidden by those silly sunglasses.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I know who he is. Hell,
everyone
knows who he is.

Colton Webb.

Sparkle magazine’s sexiest man alive. Multi-millionaire blockbuster actor, and object of every warm-blooded woman’s fantasies.

“Ex—excuse me?”
I
just spoke with Colton Webb. Colton Webb is speaking to
me
. How is this happening?

“This lounge is for first class passengers only.” His phrase is vague. I look around as we’re now the center of attention.

“And? I still don’t understand.” I feel a dozen or so pairs of eyes boring into me. My neck begins to feel warm.

He gives up on me taking his hand, and instead, reaches down to take hold of my carry-on. “We’re now considered second class citizens, sweetheart. Time to go get in line with the hundred or so regular everyday Joes.”

I’m left behind as Mr. Hollywood takes himself, along with my bag, out of the first class lounge, leaving the door to begin its swing to close.

“Wait!” I chase after him. “My bag!”

Colton Webb just stole my bag. In what universe does this happen?

CHAPTER TWO

COLT

“Thank you so much, Mr. Webb. I—I can’t thank you enough,” The closely shaven military man in full uniform shakes my hand once again.

The flight attendant just recently made the announcement that it’s finally time to board, but the passengers are showing no signs of following her direction to line up, as they’re all gathered around the main attraction.

Bright lights begin to flash from camera phones. I smile and slip my sunglasses back over my eyes. This is nothing I’m not used to. Bright, flashing, blinding lights that create a haze- unable to see the actual people on the other side of the lenses. I know the drill by now, just smile and nod. Give them what they want. Give them a money shot.

I’m sure these pictures will pop up on at least ten different gossip blogs by the time I land in New York.

“It’s my pleasure, soldier. Anything for a man in uniform, willing to risk his life protecting the rest of us.” I angle my head to the crowd. “I may play a hero on the big screen, but men like this one,
they’re
the real heroes.”

Andrea, my PR specialist, is going to eat this shit up. She couldn’t have planned this better if she were here herself.

A light round of applause breaks out.

“But I’m not the only one to thank.” I reach blindly through the wall of flashing lights to take her hand and bring her into the spotlight.

“What’s your name, Speedy?” I whisper into her ear, careful not to turn too sharply. I’ve had enough experience with paparazzi getting pictures of my right side to know just how far to turn my head before my chin looks weird.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Her large blue eyes are shocked, alert, darting around at all the flashes, not knowing where it’s safe to set her gaze. I remember that feeling- the helplessness, feeling like you’re in a cage.

“Uh—uh, Daphne. My—my name’s Daphne.” She stammers.

Daphne.

I’ve wondered what her name was ever since I crashed into her,
correction
, ever since
she
crashed into
me,
earlier tonight. I never thought I’d see her again, never thought I’d know her name.

Wrapping my arm around her stiff shoulders, I pull her into frame for the next round of pictures. “Just smile, Speedy.”

“Daphne here also gave up her ticket in first class to these newlyweds so that they can extend their honeymoon a few more hours.” I inform the crowd, sharing the credit with this girl for what essentially was her idea.

Snap, snap, snap. Picture after picture is taken.

After we’ve held up the boarding process long enough, once more the flight attendant makes her intercom request for the passengers to please board the already delayed plane.

I take Daphne’s bag and lead her towards the ramp as she’s still suffering from the shock of the bright lights that continue to bursting around us. The flight attendant scowls at us when we pass by, but I smooth the situation over by offering her the crooked smile the cameras love so much.

Her cheeks blush. Her eyelashes flutter.

Works. Every. Time.

“What
was
that?” Daphne asks in an awkward hushed whisper so that our new fans don’t hear. She roughly takes her overnight bag from my hands and hugs it close as we shift sideways to fit down the narrow aisle of the jet.

I’m tall enough to see over her high ponytail as it bounces with each of her steps. She’s busy concentrating on the path, careful not to crash into knees, elbows, and shoulders as we pass person after person lining the aisle seats.

“
That
was called work.” I lower my chin to her ear. I can see the tiny wisps of loose hair around her ear flutter as my breathy words pass.

Daphne shoots me a nasty scowled look over her shoulder. “
Work?
”

Thud!

She causes a pile-up as person after person in line behind us crashes forward, nearly toppling us over.

“Sorry! So, so, sorry!” She apologizes frantically to the man she’s just barraged into. He holds his hands up to protect himself and ward her away when she moves to help pick up the spilled bag from his hands.

The man looks terrified as if she’s about to plow into him again.

“Excuse her,” I mediate their exchange. “She’s in a rush today. Crashing into everything.”

The mustached man smiles awkwardly at me before shifting his eyes back to Daphne, cautiously stepping aside. I laugh to myself, but she hears me, throwing her eyes over her shoulder to silently chastise me.

“
What
?” I ask defensively. “It’s true.”

Her head shakes, with her flirty little ponytail waving at me like a pointing finger back and forth. “We’re over here.”

My hand grips her shoulder and helps to guide her to the two very narrow seats to our left.

“Excuse me, Colt, would you sign my ticket? For my daughter?”

“Colt, I’m your biggest fan. I’ve seen every movie.”

“Are you still dating Audrey, Colt? Did she really cheat on you?”

I haven’t fully taken my seat yet before the first of a long line of fans shoves their tickets to me. I smile politely, just like Andrea, my personal public relations liaison has instructed me to do countless times before. It doesn’t matter that these people are invading my personal space. It doesn’t matter that they’re asking incredibly inappropriate personal questions that are none of their business.

All that matters is that they get their picture, get their autograph, get their smile and their story to go home and tell all of their friends. I pat my pockets looking for a pen, because true to form, these people want autographs but offer no pens of their own.

Click.

A shiny, silver pen appears before me, held in fragile little fingers with dark painted nails. Daphne doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge the crazy scene that’s unfolding, she merely holds out her pen and clears her throat to bring more attention to it as if she’s tired of holding it.

I take it just as it threatens to drop from her fingertips and quickly scribble my large initials on each and every ticket shoved before me. Just as one disappears, another one arrives, with an apparently endless demand.

“Colt, can I take a picture?”

“Colt, is this your new girlfriend?”

I sign what appears to be the last ticket. “No pictures, please. Daphne’s not used to all the fuss.”

I can see from my periphery as Daphne angles her chin like she’s heard me, even though she’s pretending not to. It doesn’t matter how I’ve answered, there’s a bright sparkle of a flash right in front of us.

I grumble lowly, pissed that my wishes are blatantly ignored so brazenly. It’s not like this is an average fan who sneaks a picture and then runs. No, this person is actually going to be sitting near me for the next five hours, not caring that they’ve disregarded my wishes so openly.

“Please take your seat,” a slightly disheveled, tired-looking flight attendant with glaring eyes holds out her arm to block the women in the aisle from leaning into my space. I’m used to having my wishes ignored, but clearly, this flight attendant isn’t. “I said! Please take your seat otherwise we will not be able to take off!”

Having a celebrity on your plane is exciting, sure, but these people decide it’s not worth having the flight delayed even longer as they disperse to take the empty seats nearby.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I make sure to make eye contact with the flight attendant and show my appreciation.

She nods and continues along, closing the overhead bins as she makes the rounds to prepare the plane for lift-off. The fans may have taken their seats, but they continue to glance over to me and whisper to each other. I turn from them, angling my body to face away from the spectators.

“Thanks for the pen,” I offer my companion the sleek writing utensil back.

She waves her hand, “Keep it. You’ll probably need it again.”

I laugh to myself. She has no idea. Once it hits the news that I’m flying to New York, there’ll be a crowd waiting when I land. Doesn’t matter the time of day, or night. They’ll be there. They always are.

Daphne absentmindedly reaches for the magazine folded in her bag and flips through a handful of the pages before all motion suddenly stops. I can hear her inhale sharply and then quickly crumple the glossy magazine back into the depths of her bag.

She doesn’t push it in far enough and the cover is just visible, peaking out.

I can’t help but laugh as I nonchalantly read the title. Sparkle magazine. It’s the sexiest man of the year issue. Nearly choking, I ask her. “What’s wrong? Didn’t like the pictures?”

I have a six page spread, mostly shirtless, smack in the middle of the monthly magazine to celebrate the title they’d given me.

She moves to answer, parting her lips to speak, but is interrupted by the gentle chiming of high notes through the built-in speakers above alerting us that we’re about to head down the runway. Whatever blushing my pictorial caused her is now gone, replaced with white blanching.

“Shh!” She hisses. “Don’t talk.”

I narrow my eyes and watch as she squeezes her eyes tightly, perfectly timed with the plane picking up speed. Her chest begins moving quickly and I can’t help but stare at her neckline, at the delicate skin grazing the edge of her top with every brisk breath that she takes.

I swallow fast and hard as I straighten my shoulders, leaning back an inch or so to see down the shadowed ravine in between her breasts. My lips feel like they’ll crack and I can’t fight the urge to lick them. My lips, not her tits. Although… I want to lick them, too.

“You okay?” I notice the pained expression on her face as tiny wrinkles appear where there were none before.

The force from our intense speed pushes us back and pins us to our seats while the engine’s high-pitched whirling grows louder. Daphne, the little speed demon reaches and grabs hold of my hand as if it’s the only thing keeping her from falling off a cliff. She holds tightly, really tightly, and I can feel the little curves of her fingernails digging into my flesh.

That split second when you feel the wheels leaving the ground is an odd one for most people. Most people who aren’t
already
panicking. For those that are, it’s gotta be one helluva sensation. Judging by the look of Daphne, it’s not one I want to experience.

I spend more time on planes than anyone else I know, whether it’s jetting off to a film set, premieres like tonight, or for press. It’s never bothered me, not in the slightest. One look at the gorgeous girl with her eyes clenched shut, her hand gripping mine in a deadly grasp and her body still as stone and it’s no secret she’s scared shitless right now.

Her lips catch my attention and I stare at them, reading their silent mumbles. It doesn’t take me long before I figure out that she’s quietly reciting a Hail Mary. All my years spent in Catholic school when I was a kid are good for something right now. A thought rips through my head like a lightning bolt on a dark night.

I wonder if she, if Daphne, was a little Catholic school girl, with her short little dark plaid skirt showing off hints of her forbidden thighs, a tight white shirt stretching to—

Crap! That hurts!

Daphne’s nails are nearly drawing blood. Can she read my thoughts, does she somehow know how I’m thinking of her in nothing more than scraps of fabric the likes of which every hot blooded male has fantasies of?

The plane tilts further to our left as we change course and her grip reacts with it. She’s just freaking out some more. At least my thoughts are safe.

My stomach drops the smallest bit as the large plane settles, reaching cruising altitude and leveling off. Her grip relaxes, but doesn’t release me. I don’t know why, but I find myself wishing that she wouldn’t.

I see a bright flash from the edge of the seat across the aisle and whip my head around in just enough time to see the person tuck their phone back into their pocket, ignoring me even though I’ve practically caught them stealing a picture. Daphne hasn’t noticed, is probably too concentrated on the deep breathing she’s doing. My eyes dart down to the interlaced fingers between us and I start to picture the headlines.

COLT AND HIS NEW SECRET GIRLFRIEND CATCH THE RED EYE TO SNEAK OFF TOGETHER.

DOES COLT HAVE A NEW LEADING LADY IN HIS LIFE?

COLT AND NEW GIRLFRIEND DO GOOD DEED TO ARMY VET WHILE JETTING OFF TOGETHER.

Shit.

That’s not exactly the kind of publicity I’m looking for.

I test what’s left of her grip by twitching my hand. Still strong. There’s no way I’ll be able to pull back without blatantly whipping my hand back from hers.

“Um, we’re good. High in the sky. Perfectly safe…” I speak low.

Daphne’s eyes open wide. “Hmm?”

Her color begins to return. Her deep blue eyes find mine and we hold the stare for a moment.  I watch as her eyes change, morphing while going through a multitude of emotions. Fear, obviously of flying, relief that we’re now cruising uneventfully through the midnight sky, and finally embarrassment when she realizes that she’s still holding onto me.