Dirty Letters(49)
“I’m in Vancouver tomorrow for the music festival. But I can do whatever you need the day after that. Can we do your PR stuff in one day?”
She frowned. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”
I smiled from ear to ear, knowing that was her way of saying yes. “You’re the best, Renee.”
She wagged a finger at me. “You’re giving me a full day. I want one or two good-doer deeds that I can leak to the paps, and then you’re going to have lunch someplace outdoors and sign stuff for fans. Kiss some babies and let the teenagers take selfies with you and follow you into a few stores.”
“I can do that.”
“You’re going to have double the work when you get back. You can’t complain about it, either.”
“Yes, ma’am. No complaining. I got it.” A thought popped into my head. I scratched at the stubble on my chin. “Can I pick the good deeds and where I go shopping?”
“What do you have in mind?”
I grinned. “Something to make Luca enjoy the tabloids a little more next time.”
“You could’ve picked a place that smelled better.” Renee held her nose while she sidestepped to avoid a giant pile of shit.
“I told you it was a farm. What the heck did you wear those heels for?”
“You said it was a sanctuary. I figured you’d be doing a photo op with some cute little animals roaming rolling green hills, not doing hard labor and shoveling crap on a dilapidated pig farm.”
I’d driven past Charlotte & Wilbur’s Farm once and remembered the sign outside asking for volunteers. When I’d called and explained who I was and that I’d like to donate some time, bring a few photogs to help raise awareness of the cause, and make a sizable donation, the owners were thrilled. Working at a pig sanctuary wasn’t exactly a fashionable celebrity cause. I wiped my brow and looked around. This place was really run-down. The rickety old fence that lined the property needed replacing, and the barn looked like a good gust of wind could lift the caving roof right off. But the struggling farm housed eighty rescued miniature and potbellied pigs. The little porkers were pretty damn cute—and smart, too. Charlotte, the older woman who ran the place, said that in the late eighties, pigs had become popular pets, and at one time they had over two hundred abandoned animals. Apparently people brought them home not realizing how big and messy the pigs could get, and there was nowhere safe for people to bring them. This farm was the only no-kill shelter in the area.
I’d gotten here bright and early this morning and helped out the entire day before the paparazzi showed up. Then I posed for a boatload of pictures with various pigs. Wearing a red bandanna and some dirty, torn jeans, I looked more like one of the farmhands than a guest donor. But Renee had made me hold one of the little miniature pigs in one arm and use the other to lift my shirt and wipe sweat off my forehead, which of course exposed my abs. The paparazzi ate that shit up.
“You ready to go?” Renee said. “I hope you’re planning on showering before your little shopping excursion.”
I opened my arms wide and grinned, walking toward her. “Have I thanked you for rearranging my schedule for me? Come here, give me a big hug.”
She held her hand out. “Touch me smelling like that, and you’ll be booked on two dozen teenybopper shows by sundown. You won’t have time to see your little girlfriend for months.”
I laughed. “Thanks again, Renee. You can leak to the paparazzi that I’ll be at my next stop by seven, and I’ll stick around to sign autographs for at least an hour because you’re the best.”
She shook her head. “You won’t be saying that when you get back and you’re double-booked for everything. But you and your girlfriend have fun off the grid.”
“We will. Thanks.”
I plan to have a damn good time—and so will Luca, as soon as she opens the door and finds out I’m coming earlier than she’s expecting.
CHAPTER 21
LUCA
“Oh my God!” I shrieked and covered my mouth. “He’s so out of his mind.”
For the second day in a row, I received a delivery of three dozen multicolored roses and a box of supermarket tabloids wrapped with a big red bow. Yesterday’s magazines had been filled with pictures of Griffin working at a pig sanctuary. I melted at the sight of the mega rock star all dirty and bonding with pigs. It was the most bizarre yet sweetest thing he could have done after I’d freaked out seeing my own photo in the papers last week. But today’s papers nearly made my eyes bulge from my head—photo after photo of Griffin in a bookstore. In some he was signing autographs, some he was perusing the shelves, but in every single photo, he had a copy of my hardcover book in his hand!
I couldn’t believe what he’d done. If I’d had any doubt that he was out in LA with all the beautiful, flashy women and already forgetting me, he certainly knew how to put those thoughts to rest. I tried to call him, but his phone went right to voice mail. He’d said he would be traveling to some important meeting this afternoon and would call me after, but I couldn’t wait.
Lately we’d been video chatting every evening, so I thought it might be fun to repay the thoughtfulness he’d shown me by getting myself all done up and wearing something sexy for our call later. I ransacked my underwear drawer to find just the right thing and then started to fill the tub for a bath. My skin had been really dry the last few days, so I pinned my messy hair on top of my head and painted on a moisture-intense mud mask to wear while I soaked. Just as I was about to step into the tub, my cell rang. Griff’s name flashed on the screen. I laughed to myself, glad that he’d called and not FaceTimed, because there was no way in hell I’d want him to see the mess I looked like at the moment. I answered on speakerphone from the bathroom.