Finding Chris Evans: The Hollywood Edition Read Online Free Page B

sex appeal than his skills with a hammer.
    His image could have a huge impact on his career and if that meant he had to be visibly available but practically chaste until the new contracts were signed, then he could keep it in his pants. It wasn’t like there was anyone he was interested in anyway. Not since Trina.
    It was probably for the best that she’d blown him off when he’d suggested a repeat of their one night in Chicago. They were both too busy for a long-distance relationship anyway. And he was too close to getting the Dream Gig to screw it up now.
    He loved his career. He wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize it—but there were times when it was draining. And isolating. He worked with dozens of people every day, but they all depended on his success for their livelihood and that changed the dynamics. He was the talent. The product they were all selling.
    When he’d hit it big, he’d suddenly understood why so many successful home improvement shows were hosted by families—cousins, brothers, husbands and wives. You needed that connection to keep you grounded—and to keep the fame from swallowing you whole.
    But Chris didn’t have a family. That had been part of what had gotten him the sympathy vote when he’d been on Romancing Miss Right —and part of what had made him feel so instantly linked to Trina—the story of the car accident that had taken his parents away from him when he was nineteen.
    He missed that connection.
    He wanted to have what his parents had with each other—but it could wait. Marty knew his shit. If he said image was everything right now, then image was everything.
    The network was thinking of him for a primetime slot. That was huge. Life-changing huge.
    “The turnout today was incredible,” Marty went on, tapping at something on his phone. “Your platform is really taking off. When I show the network your public appearance stats in conjunction with these latest ratings, there’s no way they won’t give you the primetime slot.” He looked up then, beaming like a proud parent. “We’ve worked for years to get here, buddy. Just a few more weeks. Don’t screw it up.”
    Chris grabbed a water bottle out of the cooler and drained it, unperturbed by Marty’s habitual micromanaging. “I’m not going to screw it up.”
    A sudden screech of feedback from the sound system on the stage made them both duck and cringe. Another burst of feedback sounded like, “Chris!”
    “What the hell?” Chris moved to the edge of the tent, squinting out into the bright sun to try to see what was going on out there.
    He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he was unprepared for the sight of the attractive blonde leading the security on a merry chase as she vaulted over chairs and scrambled around pylons with a microphone clutched in one hand.
    Then she spotted him and her face lit as she lifted the microphone to her lips. “Chris! This one’s for you!” she shouted into the mic, loud enough to make everyone in the vicinity wince, before she began belting a distinctly off-key and decidedly cringe-worthy rendition of Papa Don’t Preach —though it took him several lines to identify the song thanks to her tone-deaf vocal stylings and the fact that every other phrase was broken off breathlessly as she evaded another security guard.
    He had to give her credit, she might not be able to sing to save her life, but the girl could move. The US Olympic hurdles team needed to recruit her.
    A dozen members of the crowd that lingered in the courtyard lifted their cell phones to capture the moment. His security was freaking out, but Chris began to laugh. She was obviously harmless, if a little off her rocker, and he had to give her credit for being ballsy as hell.
    He didn’t recognize her from the Meet & Greet, but he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t already smiled for a picture with her—there had been several hundred smiling faces whipping past him this afternoon.
    He grinned and waved at his ambush