everything you read in the gossip rags, Miss Celia.â
âSo . . . none of that stuff is true? You donât welcome a new director to a set by dumping a box full of water balloons on him? You donât insist on having one hundred strawberry Pop-Tarts, with sprinkles, but with the sprinkles brushed off, in your dressing room at all times? You donât rewrite half your dialogue in every script? You donât seduce all your leading ladies?â
âNone of it. Well, waitâI like that last one. Letâs say that oneâs true.â
As if to provide proof, suddenly a tiny blonde in a clingy white minidress appeared out of nowhere and affixed herself to Niallâs side. Celia stifled a gasp at this second celebrity-sighting of the day: Niallâs costar from his last comedy, Party Clown.
Dropping an arm over her shoulders just like heâd done to Celia only moments before, Niall said, âCelia, this is Tiffââ
âT-Tiffany Sola. I know,â she stammered. âWow.â
âHey,â the blonde said, languidly tipping her head sideways as if it was too heavy and she needed to rest it on her shoulder for a few minutes. Then she looked up at Niall and said, âReady?â
âYup.â He let Tiffany tug him toward the door but hung back a moment to say, âMiss Celia, it was fun.â That familiar devilish grin spread across his face again. âYouâre all right.â
âThanks.â It came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and said, stronger, âSo are you.â
Celia couldnât quite identify what she was feeling at the moment. Or maybe she didnât want to. Because if she took the time to examine it, she just might find it was a huge, irrational lump of disappointment. Which was stupid. What was she, a starstruck teenager? What had she expected? That heâd invite her out after the shoot for a drink? This was Niall Crenshaw, after all.
âI guess what they say is true,â a voice murmured in her ear. Danny rested his chin on her shoulder as he also watched the two stars walk away. âHe really does charm womenâs pants off. Worked for you.â
Celia felt her cheeks flush. âWhat are you talking about? Iâm completely unaffected,â she lied. âI mean, sure, heâs nice and funny and everything, but itâs not like I have a crushââ She realized she was babbling . . . and protesting too much. She stopped just as Danny started laughing.
âI meant literally,â he said.
âOh crap. His boxers.â
âSell âem on eBay. Or, you knowââhe grinnedââsleep with them under your pillow.â
She growled at him and walked away to change.
âWell, if you donât want them, the spot under my pillow has a vacancy !â he shouted after her.
Chapter 3
âO kay. This is what weâre faced with tourniquet rhapsody moray eel . . .â
Niall was pretty sure thatâs what Trent, his assistant, was saying, anyway. He wasnât positiveânor did he really careâbecause his attention was on the series of photo proofs he was flipping through on his tablet. Sometimes it was fantastic to be a celebrity, like when he could use his star status to call up a photographer and request every single photo from a shoot, and someone would e-mail him the entire file without even batting an eyelash.
He leaned back farther in his desk chair as he scanned the photos, bypassing the official shots, not caring which oneâout of hundreds of nearly identical photosâwas going to be used for the McManus print and billboard ads, because those were only of him, the bottle of scotch, and Celiaâs leg. Not that there was anything wrong with Celiaâs legâquite the opposite, in fact. He distinctly recalled how smooth it had felt under his hands. Very, very nice.
His favorites were the unofficial shots, the ones Vic had taken when