The Accidental TV Star (11 page)

“I consulted HR about that too. Were I to tote and carry, my grace and strength would shame the other workers. Once shame touched them, they’d begin to cower in the corners, unable to do their work. Nothing would get done. With progress halted, the world would go into a depression, the likes of which—”

I touched the edge of the script to cut off the excuse. “What’s that?”

Garrett flushed and moved the script out of reach. “Max’s anime project.”

“Is there a part for you?”

“Can’t you hear my brothers if I were to star in a cartoon?” Garrett folded the script in half and dropped his hand over the top. “A cartoon warrior.”

“Do I see a future action figure with your face on it?”

Garrett flushed deeper and shook his head.

“Too bad. Sounds cool.”

Garrett shoved it in his back pocket. “We should talk about tomorrow’s dinner.”

Chapter Five

Friday morning, the doorbell rang and I signed for a package. The envelope contained a passport with my information and a picture of me two pages in, the same image as my studio ID. I stared at the dark navy book and possibilities ran through my mind: Ashley’s dad had arranged for me to visit her in London.
Scoop Out
had arranged the passport because the next episode would be shot in a Tuscan village. I couldn’t even envision a third reason for me to have a passport. I pulled the barstool to the counter and examined each page of the booklet with patriotic fervor while eating a bowl of pears with cottage cheese.

Garrett came down as I finished. I got up and made him a quick breakfast sandwich with a side of granola and vanilla yogurt. So far, this gig was cake compared to the Fry Hut and cooking for my family. I slid the easy meal over the counter and pointed to my passport. “Check it. The studio got me a passport.”

Garrett nodded. “We’re going to Edinburgh today.” He pronounced the city name like Ed-in-burrow, and then ate a couple of bites while I stared at him. “Overnight, so you’ll need to pack a bag.”

My mouth dropped open. “Edinburgh. As in Scotland?”

He nodded. “Family’s pestering me to come home for the weekend. Cousin’s wedding and the like tomorrow. I’ll need my own cook.”

“You need your own cook for the weekend so you’re flying me to Edinburgh?”

“Aye.”

“I have an episode to tape on Monday.”

“We’ll be back Sunday night.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

He looked at the clock. “We don’t have to leave until one.”

I screeched and ran to my room to pack. Packing to come here had taken hours. I popped back out and saw him eating the crackers with some from fruit from the blue bowl. The red bowl with the sugar cookies remained full. “What will I need to bring?”

He looked bewildered.

“Clothes, Garrett. What does a personal chef wear? Jeans? Shorts? Sundresses? Is it cold?”

“That’s fine,” he said, gesturing to the jeans and T-shirt I wore now.

I threw everything I could fit in my bag and drug it out by noon while Garrett sat in front of the TV. I said, “Do you want lunch or shall we eat at the airport?”

Garrett sighed and shoved off the couch. “We can eat on the plane.” He eyed my bag and took it from me. “Come on then.”

“Where’s your bag?”

He waved off the question. “I’m going home. I have everything I need there.” He wore jeans and a green T-shirt so I hoped he was right.

I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d let me drive. I knew how to drive on the right side of the road. “Want me to drive?”

“No.”

I shot out a text to Ashley as we left. I tolerated Garrett’s driving better if I wasn’t watching him swerve and speed. Enough of the other drivers dodged us, so we made it to the private airfield. We parked and walked across the tarmac to a sleek white jet.

A crewmember pushed a set of stairs up to the plane and returned to take my bag from Garrett. “Good to see you, Mr. Campbell.”

“Thanks, Rodney. This is Marissa.”

“Afternoon, Miss.”

“Hi.”

We climbed the steps into the plane. The whole experience was the opposite of the rushed, crowded boarding at Intercontinental airport. The interior differed too. Inside, the plane had cream leather seats, plush carpet, and entertainment gadgets. “The studio sent this?”

“My family wanted to make sure I’d come home for Cousin Deirdre’s wedding. They don’t want me to miss out on seeing her take the plunge into eternal devotion and legal bliss.”

Family jet. Well, that was one way to get a guy to come home. I tried to wrap my head around that much money and couldn’t. “Ah.” Going away for one night was crazy, but it was his dollar and this way I wouldn’t miss an episode so it was okay with me.

We belted in and began the twelve-hour flight to Edinburgh. We read, watched several movies, and talked. I had tried to assist the flight attendant with the meal, but Garrett held me back. “That galley’s no good. Leave it to the attendant. You’ll have a full kitchen at Mum’s.”

“Okay.” The flight attendant’s laminated badge had reminded me of something I’d been meaning to ask him. “Tell me about the laminated card in the fish tank.” I pulled my blanket closer to ward off the chill cabin air.

Garrett shifted in his chair. “It’s a reminder.”

“That you live in a fishbowl?” I looked out the tall oval window as I asked, at the white fluffy clouds below us.

“Something like that. And that some women can’t be trusted.” His face stilled. “Present company excluded of course. I had some problems with American kelpies messing with my head.”

Karla Quintos. Ashley had told me how Karla had set Garrett up to reveal some personal information about his friend Caz. Then Karla had aired it, making Garrett look as if he’d revealed Caz’s private life on purpose. Sucked for them, but in a way it had gotten me this job since Garrett gave it to me as a favor for Ashley.

A phone rang and Garrett lifted a concealed receiver from the armrest. He shook his head. “I have to be back on set Monday.” He covered the mouthpiece. “You have to be on set Monday too, definitely?”

I nodded. “Yeah, we do one to two rehearsals per week and the show takes one day to tape.”

Garrett removed his hand from the mouthpiece and spoke into the phone. “We can’t. I’m not sending her down to London. She’s my chef.”

London. I sat up. “What’s going on?”

Garrett shook his head. “I’ll put you on speaker.”

Caz’s rich British voice joined us in the cabin. “She’s your chef. It’s your right to feel possessive about her time, but I told Ash you were coming to the UK and she wants to see her.”

“I don’t feel possessive. But, now that you point it out, that makes a lot of sense. Sax ate one of her dishes and wanted to make her an offer to work for him. It pissed me off.”

I raised my eyebrows. That was news to me. What kind of offer?

“Don’t let that violin player steal your chef,” Caz said.

“I’m right here, guys.”

“Hi, Marissa.”

“Hi, Caz.”

“I thought I’d surprise Ashley with you.”

“I’m not a puppy.”

“I know,” Caz said. “You’re a fellow Texan who maybe can appreciate her unjust comments on fine British cuisine.”

I laughed. “I’d love to see Ashley. But it’ll have to be in August. Like Garrett said, we’re only here for the weekend.” I raised my eyebrows at Garrett. “I don’t even know what my days off are.”

“No days off,” Garrett said.

Caz interrupted what would have been a snippy response from me. “How would your Mum feel about two more guests for the wedding?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said, happiness in my voice at the thought of seeing my best friend.

“Bring your kilt,” Garrett said.

***

A silver limo picked us up at the airfield, and I was too jetlagged to get worked up over the fact that I’d landed in a foreign country. I stayed in my semi-asleep state until the car rolled through double gates and took a long drive past lush green fields up to a grey stone mansion. I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe it. It wasn’t a castle. Chateau maybe? I snapped a photo with my phone as the car pulled to a stop and we got out.

The morning washed over me, cooler and more humid than LA. Garrett paused in the driveway, staring up at the house, his shoulders tense; then he started up the path. Before we got to the door, it opened and a middle-aged couple, along with four guys roughly aged fifteen to twenty-five came out—his parents and his brothers, I assumed. They all spoke at once, and it was like the first day in a foreign language class or a radio tuned to static. I couldn’t understand a word.

His mom stepped forward. Polished in a pink dress and pearls, she had Garrett’s hair color and pale eyes. She hugged Garrett first. “Welcome home.”

His dad, darker-haired and as big as Garrett, hugged him next. His brothers took turns clapping him on the shoulder. “Ooh hoo, big Hollywood in the house,” the youngest one said. His mockery sounded funny in the accent. “Cousin Deirdre’s wedding lured you home from the big time.”

The next one stared at me with grey, assessing eyes. “Gare, who’s this?”

The young one asked, “One person? We thought you’d bring an entourage.”

“Or personal staff,” the third snickered. “Someone to wipe your boots and hold your spoon.”

“Your brother wouldn’t do that,” his dad said and chucked the third boy on the shoulder.

Garrett flushed, but said nothing.

“Never knew you could get a proper date,” the fourth and oldest said.

“Mind your manners, let your brother in the house.” His mother tucked her hair behind her ears and turned to me. “You must think we’re quite uncivilized.” She held out a hand. “Cara Campbell.”

I shook her hand. “Marissa Steele.” I nodded as she introduced the men in what appeared to be age order. “This is Garrett’s father, Colin Campbell, and the boys are Colin, Neil, Archie, and Duncan.”

After hellos and handshakes, an awkward pause fell over us, and despite his mom’s request, no one made a move to go inside out of the crisp morning. Instead, six pairs of Campbell eyebrows, ranging from fair to dark, rose as they waited for us to explain our relationship.

I glanced at Garrett who wore a stony expression, tight lips, and a flushed face. If I said I was the cook, they’d be embarrassed by the welcome and doubtless the teasing would increase. If I said anything else, it would be a lie. I licked my lips and stepped closer to Garrett, taking his hand. “I’m Garrett’s girlfriend from Texas.”

***

With that, we were ushered into the house and upstairs. His mom shooed Garrett down the hall and opened the door to a guest room. “You’ll want a lie down, before the ceremony. It’ll be a long night.”

“Thanks.” My footsteps drug on the hardwood floors in my tiredness and I made myself straighten. The room looked like something out of a British period film: heavy antiques, dark green window treatments, a picture of purple-dotted hills set in a gilt frame.

“Garrett phoned that Caspian and his girlfriend are coming to the wedding. They’ll be here this afternoon. She’s an American. Do you know her?”

“We’re friends. Ashley and I graduated together.” I hoped Garrett thought to text Caz and Ashley our fake relationship cover, because my phone wouldn’t work over here.

“Deirdre and the bridal party have filled the guesthouse. Would it be all right then if Ashley shares this guest room with you?”

I leaned against the dark wood of the four-poster bed. Heavy green tapestries cushioned my back. “Absolutely. I haven’t seen her since graduation and I’ve missed her.”

“Aye, I’m sure Garrett misses his friends when he’s in LA.” She got a worried expression on her face. “We don’t visit like we should.”

“Are you coming for his movie premiere next month?”

“Time Kick?”

“No, that’s the one he’s filming now. The movie premiering is
Haven Hill
. Garrett hasn’t admitted it, but I can tell he’s really proud.”

His mom shook her head, “Oh, no. We don’t want to interfere with all that business.” Her nose wrinkled, showing me her stance on his Hollywood career. “I’ll send one of the maids up in a second. She can take your measurements and sort out something for the wedding. We have a traditional dress here for our side unless Garrett already arranged Campbell colors for you?”

“No, but I don’t want to be a bother.”

She brushed my comment off. “If you can give her approximates for Ashley, we’ll get her sorted too.”

“She’s a little shorter and little thinner than me, but we can usually wear some of the same stuff.”

“Good. Good. Have a lovely rest, then,” she said, and shut the door behind her.

I didn’t know what she had in mind for me to wear to the wedding, but I guessed it involved draping a piece of plaid over one of my sundresses. Before I even turned away, a tap sounded on the door. A petite, brunette lady came in holding a measuring tape. “Hi. Here to take your measurements. This will just take a minute, Miss.”

“Hi.” I held out my arm. She measured me and jotted down the results. I covered my yawn and blinked. The wave of tiredness kept me in a bubble, indifferent to the oddity of being measured. After she left, I went into the bathroom. My toiletry bag sat on the counter. I went back to the bedroom and checked the heavy, carved wooden wardrobe. My things hung inside. While we’d stood on the front porch, someone had brought my bag up and unpacked. I wondered if that should feel intrusive, but was too tired to know. I grabbed my pajamas, took a shower, and crawled under the royal blue satin covers to crash. Garrett had his chance to correct my lie. If he wanted me down in the kitchen, he’d have to drag me from the duvet.

I slept hard and dreamlessly until the maid returned to get me up for the bridal party lunch. Wearing my sundress with my hair clipped back, I followed her down a marble staircase to an enormous dining room. The table had been set to hold at least fifty guests. I couldn’t imagine the prep-work behind such a feast. I took a seat by Garrett and prayed they’d have caffeine. He appeared more alert than me so I leaned in and whispered, “Caffeine?”