The Love Script, page 12
Lamont squeezed her hand again.
Meredith opened up her portfolio that legit held a legal pad inside. “If it’s okay with you two, I’ll record the interview.” She held up a device, looking at them expectantly.
“Of course,” he said.
“Sure,” Nevaeh echoed.
“Great.” She set the device on the coffee table, then flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s get started. This is Meredith Walsh for Luminary recording the interview with Lamont Booker and Nevaeh Richards.”
She perused her notes, then looked up. “I think what everyone in America wants to know is how on earth did you two meet?”
Nevaeh straightened, gripping his arm. “I would love to answer that.”
“Please do.”
“A year ago—”
“January twelfth to be exact,” Lamont interjected. He wasn’t sure why that date was imprinted on his mind, it just was.
Nevaeh bumped his shoulder. “Hush, I’m telling the story.”
“Fine, I’ll be quiet.” He made a motion of zipping his lips, grateful that their interviewer was eating up their antics.
“Anyway, I met Lamont on the set of the Netflix series The Brave. Lamont here was eavesdropping on my conversation—”
“What? It wasn’t a private conversation.”
Nevaeh arched her brow, staring him down.
He heaved a sigh. “Tell the story.”
“Good.” She smiled and turned back to Meredith, who leaned forward. “He overheard me talking about the importance of hair care no matter what you are going through. He approached me and asked if I could help his mom, who was in the midst of chemo treatments.”
Meredith placed a hand to her heart, gaze darting to Lamont’s face. “I’m so sorry. That must have been a difficult time for you.”
He nodded, hating how his face heated from her sympathy. “She’s in remission and doing much better now.”
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Her gaze shifted. “So you ended up becoming his mom’s hair stylist?”
“Yes, I come once a week. In fact, I’ll be back tomorrow for our standard appointment.” Nevaeh paused for a moment. “In the beginning, I’d often give her a scalp massage, but eventually, her hair grew back in, and my styling efforts lengthened.”
“So you two just hit it off?” Meredith pointed between Lamont and Nevaeh.
“Nevaeh is very easy to be around.” Lamont picked up the story. “Her personality was so engaging, I found myself relaxing and wanting to know more.” Which was true. Only God and Nevaeh knew it took Lamont more than a year to figure that out.
Meredith wrote in her legal pad, then looked up. “I think another question the public has is where you two stand on intimacy in an unmarried relationship. Lamont, you’ve previously claimed to be living a celibate lifestyle. And that picture . . .” Her voice trailed.
Nevaeh shifted beside him, but this time there was no sign she wanted to answer. Guess that meant he had to speak up first this time.
“I’m happy to talk about that. I’ve never been quiet about my faith once I became saved. I’ve also never shied away from sharing the value of celibacy. Some people seem to believe you can’t wait for physical intimacy until marriage in this day and age, but Nevaeh and I have no intention of crossing that line unless we’re married. After our dates, we always go to our separate homes.”
“But doesn’t kissing one another make you want to cross the line?”
“Of course. I have a pulse, right?” Now his mind wondered what it would be like to kiss Nevaeh. He pushed the thought aside.
Meredith laughed, but Nevaeh was strangely quiet.
“What would you add, Nevaeh? Do you hold Lamont’s same faith? Do you agree with his beliefs on saving intimacy until after the I dos?”
Nevaeh shifted. “I am a Christian and was raised by two parents who took me to church every Sunday. So, yes, we share the same faith, and I agree with his stance on intimacy. Considering that I would never want to do anything to hurt his new way of life or disappoint God or myself, maintaining boundaries is a blessing and not a hindrance.”
“Again, I have to ask the same thing I asked Lamont. Don’t you ever get carried away?” Meredith sat forward, a look of disbelief on her face.
“I haven’t yet.”
Lamont stiffened. Was Nevaeh saying she was still a virgin? He wanted to stare into her eyes and ask all sorts of questions, but he couldn’t. Because as her boyfriend, he should already know that answer. He thought about all he’d shared with her and the public display of his relationship with Diva. What must she think of him?
People make mistakes. You made mistakes. Just because Nevaeh didn’t in this area doesn’t mean you aren’t both sinners saved by grace.
He blew out a breath.
“I’m sorry.” Meredith’s voice interrupted the silence. “Are you saying you’re a virgin?” Incredulity had the question ending in a high octave.
“Excuse me, is that important to the interview?” Lamont didn’t like the idea of the world finding out something so personal. Nevaeh didn’t sign up for that level of invasion of privacy.
She rubbed his arm as if to say I’m okay. “I am.” Nevaeh’s dimples became more pronounced as she dipped her head.
“How old are you?”
“Again, does that matter?” Lamont asked. He didn’t need Ms. Walsh making Nevaeh feel bad about her choice.
“Of course it does. People will be shocked that she’s a virgin at . . . ?”
“Twenty-eight,” Nevaeh supplied.
Meredith’s jaw dropped. “How? How is that even possible?”
“When you have convictions and believe in a Source greater than yourself, you make every effort to uphold them.”
Lamont couldn’t have said it any better.
Fifteen
I did it. I survived my first major interview with Meredith Walsh of Luminary magazine. Nausea had been my companion the entire time. I was still kicking myself for admitting my virgin status. Did the world really need to know that? That info should have stayed between me and my boyfriend. He’d even interjected, but acting like it didn’t affect me had seemed the smarter tactic at the time.
But knowing Lamont knew upped the nausea seas of discomfort and had me wishing I’d taken a motion sickness pill. Telling journalists the personal details of your life was a ride I needed to hop off stat. But once Meredith had finished the interrogation—I mean interview—her photographer had taken so many pictures of us that I was seeing more lights when I blinked than those that shone in the LA skyline at night.
All I wanted to do was go home, get rid of the new body shaper I’d bought specifically for this interview, and eat a pint of Halo Top ice cream. The lower calorie count would take the judgment off when I finished the pint before whatever streaming show I binged came to an end.
Lamont closed the door behind Luminary’s representatives, leaned against it, then a small smile appeared on his full lips. My mouth dried as I took in the perfect picture he made. It really was a shame that he was so fine. How could I be myself in our relationship when I had to constantly worry about how I looked compared to him?
My thoughts turned toward social media. I had closed my YouTube account this morning thanks to the haters spamming my videos with dislikes and vile comments. I had almost closed my Twitter account, but then my alarm went off, reminding me it was time to get ready for the interview.
“Want to hang out?” Lamont asked.
And let more people gawk? No, thanks. “I have something to do.” Get rid of these clothes! Cinderella would gladly be taking off all this finery and trading in the teardrop earrings and wrap dress for a nightshirt. It was never too early to wear pj’s.
Lamont poked his bottom lip out. “Come on. How about dinner?”
“Don’t you have another engagement? A night scene to film?” Didn’t he have yesterday off too?
“There was an issue with the set this morning, but I got a text an hour ago that we’re good for tomorrow.”
“So when will I see you again?” Not that I’d go through withdrawals or anything. Our relationship wouldn’t actually last.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
It was actually easy to convince myself when we hadn’t kissed or anything. Surely I could keep my emotions intact when my lips weren’t involved in an intimate connection. God willing, the Luminary interview would take the heat off us, and we could slowly part with a friendship intact and the world none the wiser.
“Well, I did just propose dinner.” He straightened from the doorway and sauntered over to me, stopping a breath apart. “We could do something casual, or should we do something fancy since we’re all dressed up?”
Why did he have to use that low voice that made him famous? My skin couldn’t handle that amount of goosebumps.
I gulped. “How ’bout casual? I’ve had enough of glitz and glam.” I gestured to my outfit. Plus, I needed to draw a complete breath as soon as possible. Maybe I should take off the shapewear before driving home.
“Casual is good. Should I grab takeout and come by your place?”
All the blood drained from my face and headed toward my toes. “Um, I don’t know if my roommate will be home this evening.” We didn’t exactly keep each other abreast of our individual schedules. I also couldn’t forget Nora’s request to go to the charity event.
“Is it a problem if she is? Will she want to hang out or something?”
Or something. Who knew what Nora was up to? “She’s trying to be an actress. I’m not sure if her home training will kick in enough for her to exhibit some manners instead of trying to strengthen her degree of separation to you.”
Lamont laughed. “So she doesn’t know—”
I shook my head. “I signed an NDA, remember?” Still couldn’t believe Bryan had that at the ready, but whatever.
“Right.” He paused. “All right. I’ll go incognito and pick you up. We’ll hit a food truck.”
“Really?” I allowed myself to relax. “I can’t wait to see your concealed look.”
“It’s great.”
“See you later?” I asked, turning toward the garage.
Lamont reached for my arm, heat burning my skin on contact. “Why are you in a rush? Is it this personal thing you’ve got?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Lamont Booker, your girlfriend can’t breathe because I squished my love handles into an hourglass shape and my diaphragm objects. So unless you want me to pass out, let me go home and be free.”
He stepped back, hands in the air and mouth twitching uncontrollably.
“If you start laughing”—I pointed a finger in his face—“the Holy Spirit better intervene.”
“I was going to offer one of the many bathrooms here to rid yourself of your constraints. You can even borrow some scissors if it’s going to be a major issue.” His eyes twinkled.
I would’ve breathed out a sigh of relief, but this shapewear wouldn’t even allow that much. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Mm-hmm. There’s a half bath behind the kitchen.”
“I might need more room than that. Taking off shapewear is worse than removing a sports bra after an hour of doing Zumba.”
“You can dance?” he asked.
I snapped my fingers. “You’re getting off topic.”
“You’re getting a little hangry, too, huh? Should I make you a snack before you go, or should I change, too, so we can head straight to the food trucks?”
I huffed and walked past him. “I’ll use the bathroom near Ms. Rosie’s room. It’s the one I usually use. And you, you can do whatever.”
Lamont chuckled. “Now I understand why that bathroom always smells like you.”
I whirled around, and his hands flew up once more.
“Not in a bad way. You smell like sunshine.”
My mouth dropped, and I tried to think of something to say, but my brain had been wiped clean. Knowing the award-winning actor thought I smelled like sunshine had me floating into the bathroom, or that could have been the shapewear turning me into a helium balloon. I hung my dress on the hook on the back of the door, then examined the monstrosity around my waist stopping under my chest.
“The things we do for beauty,” I muttered.
I began unhooking the triple hooks that were worse than the ones found on triple-lettered bras. With each pop of a hook, oxygen inflated my lungs and the light-headedness that had hung around all afternoon started to vanish. Soon my diaphragm inflated properly, and gravity righted my curves to their usual location. I slipped the dress back on, ignoring the outline that hinted at my stomach size. There were no cameras so no need to feel self-conscious.
Yet all the comments I’d seen online, not to mention the commentary that attached to the newly released photos of my shopping adventure, had begun chipping at my self-esteem. I was an overweight hair stylist in a league of beauty pageant–worthy celebrities. I’d even been accused of dimming Lamont’s light with my mediocre features. Would the Luminary article help or only put the nail in the coffin of what everyone was thinking: How did a woman who looked like me land a man who looked like Mr. SMA?
Logically, I knew I wasn’t ugly. Hello, I had dimples. But not having the “right” body shape in this part of the world put a target on my back, or at least made me ignorable. Working behind the scenes had been my coping mechanism. Clients didn’t care what size I was as long as I made them look good. Seeing the joy that bloomed on their faces cemented that I was doing the right thing. Stepping into the spotlight to help Lamont almost made me feel like a troll myself, inspecting my reflection more than usual to assess my worth.
I turned my back on the high-priced mirror hanging in the bathroom and made my way back downstairs.
Remember, be yourself. Lamont said you didn’t need makeup or shapewear. Just because you’re attracted and want him to be as well doesn’t mean you change yourself. Besides, the attraction was probably one-sided.
As long as I could remember that, I should be fine.
The sight in the kitchen froze my feet. Lamont had ditched his jacket, vest, and tie. His green shirt had been rolled to his elbows and his top button undone. He looked completely at ease in the kitchen as he placed mashed avocados on slices of bread. Then he took some smoked salmon and placed it artfully on top, sprinkling it with cracked pepper and sesame seeds.
Seeing a man make avocado toast shouldn’t be so attractive. Even though it was a simple recipe, knowing he’d made the small meal for me changed my outlook on the snack. This small act was no longer about fuel for my body but fuel for my soul.
A lump formed in my throat as Lamont slid the two plates across the island in front of the stools tucked underneath the counter.
“Hey, you’re done.” He ducked, grabbing a grocery bag from the bottom cabinet. “In case you’re modest and want to hide the boa constrictor.”
A chuckle left my lips before I could check myself. I took the reusable bag and discreetly dropped the offensive shapewear inside. “Thanks, Lamont.”
“No Mr. SMA?”
“Somehow I don’t think he cooks.”
“But Lamont does?” He arched a brow.
I nodded, then took a bite, barely holding back a moan. Why was smoked salmon so good?
“What time do you want to meet up for dinner?”
“Give me three hours.” I needed to decompress. I stood, placing my plate in the sink. “Thanks for the snack and the use of your bathroom.”
“Anytime, girlfriend.”
My body flushed. I wished he wouldn’t use that term so loosely. My mind and heart were going to get used to it and expect other things that went along with that title. Instead, I just smiled. “See you later.”
“See you in three hours.” He dabbed at his mouth. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Don’t pick me up in the Mercedes. That won’t help any with the disguise.”
He smirked. “Don’t worry about me, girlfriend.”
As if. This man could handle his own. As obvious as his use of that antiquated word. He was trying to get under my skin. I just didn’t know why. Or maybe he was still in interview mode. That has to be it.
I waved a hand in the air and walked toward the garage, where I’d parked. Time to surround myself with the creature comforts of my old MINI Cooper. The leather seats that had started to crack, and the cloth ceiling that sagged in the middle.
This Beverly Hills life was not my life. This temporary rubbing elbows with my celebrity boyfriend would end soon, and Studio City would be my permanent residence. Hustling for another set stylist position was my end goal, not whatever fairy tale Lamont and I had manufactured.
Sixteen
Raise your arms,” Zane said.
Lamont did as instructed and tried to ignore the set costumer so he could run lines in his head for today’s scene while Zane ensured Lamont looked his best.
“All right, Booker, you’re all set.” Zane stepped back, a scrutinizing expression on his normally stoic face.
“Thanks.”
Lamont pushed the trailer door open and stepped outside. The lot had been transformed into a countryside with a round pen, where Dalton’s ladylove would meet him. Lamont shook his arms, getting into character.
“Lamont!”
He groaned, turning around. The director’s assistant pushed his black square frames back against his nose. “Brad wants to speak to you.”
“Okay. Where is he?” Lamont tried not to let dread pull his stomach, but knowing the Luminary article had probably hit the newsstand made him tense.
Bryan had warned Lamont that the article would be published as soon as possible. Considering it had only been a few days, he couldn’t imagine it had already been printed. Surely his agent would have warned him if it released.
“Brad’s in his trailer.”
Lamont nodded and headed for the director’s trailer. He went up the cinder block steps and knocked.
“Yeah, come in.”
He ducked, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Your assistant said you wanted to see me.”
