Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(50)

Amanda approached the hostess station. “Can we be seated in Donavan’s section?”

The girl nodded. “He’s the only one waiting right now.”

“Great.”

He was here. We were here. This was happening.

“Follow me, please.” She led us to a corner booth in the back of the restaurant. The lighting was dim, and a candle sat on the middle of the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked.

“Diet whatever,” Amanda said.

“Just water for me,” I said.

“Do you have carne asada fries here?” Grant asked.

“First of all,” Amanda said, “she’s getting our drinks. Second of all, pretty sure this is an Italian restaurant.”

“It is,” the girl said.

Grant still hadn’t taken off the sunglasses or hoodie. “I’ll take water, too.”

She left, and Grant said, “I thought you said we’d know the waiter.”

Before I could answer, Donavan walked up with a small pad of paper and a pencil. Amanda hummed a happy hum next to me. It was the first time I’d seen Donavan since admitting to myself that I liked him, and my heart tried to escape my chest. He looked so proper in his tightly buttoned shirt and black pants, and he was so cute. When he saw me, his eyes went wide. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“You should never tell a girl where you work,” I said, offering him my best smile.

He returned it, which made my heart beat even faster, and then he seemed to notice Grant and Amanda. “Hi. Um . . . welcome. Did Ash already take your drink orders?”

“She did.”

“Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

“No, we’ll need some time,” Grant said, taking off his sunglasses. Apparently he recognized Donavan or realized we were basically the only people in the restaurant. We’d passed one other couple, but they were across the room. “What’s good here?”

Donavan opened the menu in front of me and pointed to a few dishes. “These are the most popular.”

Ash returned with the drinks, and Donavan helped her pass them out.

“I’ll give you a couple of minutes,” he said, then left.

My phone buzzed again, reminding me that something was happening online. I brought my phone back out and clicked on one of the links. It directed me to a big entertainment site. Dread took over my chest. The title of the article read: “Zombies Are Chewing Up Grant James’s Career.” My eyes skimmed past the title to the words written beneath. Reports out of filming for Grant James’s latest movie say that it is off to a rocky start. While most leading ladies would risk being infected by zombies to have a chance to act opposite Hollywood’s hottest hunter, Lacey Barnes, a no-name actress, has reportedly said she is having trouble connecting to Grant. That might not be Grant’s fault though. An undisclosed source says she’s a mess on set: misplacing items, knocking over set pieces, and showing up late. Perhaps she’s too green to star alongside a well-seasoned actor like Grant James. Time will tell.

Amanda was saying something beside me, and I looked over, my eyes stinging.

She took my phone from me and read through the article. “What the . . . ?”

“What’s going on?” Grant asked.

Amanda passed the phone to him and turned to me. “It’s just talk,” she said, but I could tell that this time even she didn’t believe that.

I shook my head. “Someone called and reported that. Someone who’s obviously been on set and knows what’s been going on. Who would do that?”

“You think someone is purposely messing with you?” Amanda asked.

Grant handed me back my phone. “It would be a pretty poor attempt.”

“You think?” I asked.

“It’s just a stupid article,” he said.

“But it’s not just an article, is it?” I said, realization coming to me. “Someone has been trying to sabotage me on set too. Knocking over lights, ripping my wardrobe, stealing things.” I paused. “Someone was on my phone too. I think they changed my alarm that day I was late.”

“Who would do that?” Amanda asked.

“I have no idea.”

Grant didn’t seem to think this was a big deal. “Even if any of that was purposeful, what would be the point? You’re overthinking this.”

It was hard not to worry about it. Just because I finally realized what was going on didn’t mean that the sabotage—if that’s what it was—would stop. I held up my phone. “Will you call them for me, Grant? Tell them we have all sorts of chemistry? Maybe they’ll write another article about it.”

“I think we should just let it die. If I call, it will just draw attention to it.”

“Grant,” Amanda said.

“It’s true,” he said defensively.

Donavan came back to the table, a notepad in hand. “You ready to order?”

“Yes,” Grant said, like nothing at all had just happened.

He put in his order, followed by Amanda. I managed to swallow down my feelings over the article and point.

“You want the sampler?” Donavan asked. “It’s three different entrees. It’s pretty big.”