All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) by Tara Oakes Read Free Book Online

kind of snowballed and it’s all because of me.” I apologize to her and I really am sincere. It’s not just a line, although it’s a pretty good one. “They get a picture and they run with it, becoming the story of the day. Luck just had it that they got more than one picture that could sell some headlines. It’ll die down in a couple of days, I promise. As soon as the next big star fucks up by cheating with the nanny, or some drunken reality trollop flashes her crotch, they’ll forget all about you and this’ll be nothing but a distant memory. I’ll be nothing but a memory.”
    I’m not reading a script, I haven’t memorized lines. I’m simply speaking, and frankly I have no idea what I’m saying until the words come out. They shock her just as much as they shock me.
    What the fuck am I saying? Do I want to be nothing more than just a memory to her? The last nine hours have been… I don’t know… easy . Talking to her, being with her, it’s just simple, and easy, and unlike the mundane, exhausting time I spend with everyone else I come into contact with on a daily basis.
    Do I really want that to end?
    Marcus pulls the car to the curb as we slow down in front of a tall brick building in lower SoHo. I look around, and other than a middle-aged woman walking her dog and several people passing by on their way to work, the streets are clean. For now at least.
    We’ve got to move.
    The car’s windows are heavily tinted, so none of the passers-by have an idea who’s inside the parked car. The second we step outside, that changes. All it takes is one of those people to make a call or send a text to tip off the press.
    Marcus leaves the engine running in case we need to make a quick getaway. Hopefully that won’t happen, but it usually does. He opens Daphne’s door for her, and she’s fully stepped out by the time I reach her on the sidewalk from around the car.
    “Have a wonderful day, ma’am,” Marcus tells Daphne as the door is closed behind her. He’s polite, nodding to her. That’s more than most people get. He’s ex special ops, lethal, intimidating.
    I’ve never seen the man smile. I think I heard him laugh once, although I can’t be sure.
    “So this is where you live?” I take stock of the surroundings. Seems relatively safe, clean. I follow Daphne up the old stone steps.
    She jingles a set of metal keys in her hand, searching to find just the right one. “This is it. Home.” She pauses, watching me. “You got a problem with that?”
    My eyes widen at her response. “Where were you born and raised?”
    I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of my question, of the sudden change in direction of the conversation.
    “Right here. New York. Why?” She’s hesitant.
    “That explains it.” I hold the front door open for her when she’s unlocked it.
    There’s defensiveness to her tone. “And what exactly does that explain?”
    “What doesn’t it explain! First off, it explains the rush you’re always in. Second, it explains your accent. Lastly, it explains that whole vibe you put off.”
    Her eyebrow arches. “Vibe?”
    I nod. “Yup. But, don’t get offended. That’s a good thing. I once had a coach to actually teach me how to give off that vibe for a movie. It’s not easy to pull off.”
    “Then I guess I’ll take it as kind of a compliment,” she turns in the doorway to face me as I stand on the top step. “Um—thanks for the ride, for getting me out of there. I’m probably gonna make a pot of coffee. Do you want a cup?”
    She has no idea how temping her offer is. She has no idea how much I want to follow her inside her place, to see how she lives, to see her in her own space, behind closed doors where no one will be able to spy on us or sell us out.
    But I can’t.
    I can’t do that to her.
    I know that the second I stepped of her building later, the media frenzy would only get worse. It would only stoke the flames, and the rumors would only get worse. I saw how she