How to Sleep with a Movie Star by Kristin Harmel Read Free Book Online

things.
    “Now remember,” Wendy said with a mischievous grin, turning off her computer and slipping into her jacket. “According to
Mod
magazine, which of course should be your first stop for
all
questions of advice, it’s great for your self-esteem to have a one-night stand. I think you should try that theory out on Cole Brannon.” She was already down the hall by the time I’d balled up a piece of scrap paper to throw at her. “Have fun!” Her voice wafted down the hallway as she disappeared around the corner.
    I laughed for a moment, then turned back to my computer screen, sighing. I hit Print and heard the printer down the hall whir to life as it started spitting out the 326 articles I had found about Cole Brannon. It was clear I’d be here for a while.
    I sighed again, picking up the phone to call Tom.
    “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be a bit later than usual tonight,” I said after he answered on the third ring.
    “Oh?” he said, sounding disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was going to take you to dinner tonight.”
    I felt my heart leap in my chest. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had suggested going out to dinner with me.
    “I’m really sorry,” I sighed. “I have to do an interview tomorrow morning, so I’m going to be stuck here for a few more hours doing research.”
    “That’s too bad,” Tom said.
    “Yeah.” I groaned. “It’s Friday! I just want to come home!”
    “Don’t worry,” said Tom, sounding more cheerful than I’d heard him sound in weeks. “You’ll be home soon enough.”
    “I guess,” I said reluctantly, not feeling much better. Then I thought, maybe his sudden cheerfulness was due to the fact that he had found an engagement ring and knew when he was going to propose. A sudden warmth flooded through me, and I grinned.
    “If you won’t be home in time to go out, would you mind picking up some Chinese?” Tom asked.
    “Sure,” I said. My head was suddenly filled with images of Tom seductively feeding me lo mein noodles from perfectly poised chopsticks.
    “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you when you get home. Give me a call before you leave the office, okay, sweetie?”
    “Okay,” I agreed. “See you in a few hours. I love you.”
    “See you then,” he said. Then the line went dead.
    “Yeah, I love you too, Claire,” I said to myself, placing the receiver in its cradle.

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    I ’m sure you think I’m crazy. Half the women in America would probably kill for a chance to sit down with Cole Brannon.
    Well, a few years ago I would have been excited. But that was before I started having to do celebrity interviews every month for
Mod.
They’re not as exciting as they sound. It’s usually just me sitting across the table from an actor, an actress, or a rock star while they indulge themselves in an empty-headed monologue embodying everything that’s wrong with America. I mean, why should I care what Liv Tyler thinks about politics, or how Kylie Dane still struggles with insecurities, or how Winona Ryder really didn’t mean it when she slipped some merchandise into her handbag?
    The interviews aren’t always bad. And the Livs, Kylies, and Winonas of the world all actually seem to be pretty nice people. It’s just that after I’ve gone through a month of back-and-forth tug-of-war with a publicist, rescheduled our interview seven times, listened to briefings about what I can and can’t bring up, and finally make it to an interview that has been mysteriously downgraded at the last minute from a two-hour luncheon to a forty-five-minute coffee break, I’m usually on my last nerve. But I paste the smile on anyhow, ask very
Mod
questions, and give our readers a profile of their favorite star.
    Then it’s back to reality. Sure, we can share a cup of coffee at a hip, overpriced café, laugh together over raspberry sorbet, commiserate over cappuccino, but then I return to my world, and they return to