The Love Script, page 6
“I have. Do you still want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” Because if he didn’t, my decision could remain a secret.
He blew out a breath, rubbing a hand over his head. “I’ve been giving that a lot of thought.”
“And?” I bit down on my lip. Did that mean he wasn’t for it?
“I don’t want to lie. I’d like to do as little of that as possible.”
“Agreed.” Suddenly my shapewear didn’t feel so constrictive.
He gazed straight into my eyes, his dark eyes twin pools of uncertainty. “I would like to take you out on a date. And another one and another one, until all of this dies down, and we amicably part ways.”
Wow. Though I had come here to commit to the role of fake girlfriend, there was something earthshaking about hearing him say he wanted to date me.
“Well, isn’t that what pretending is all about?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m saying, if at all possible, I don’t want to pretend. I genuinely want to get to know you. When people ask me questions, I want to be able to truthfully say we’re dating. We’re taking things slowly. We’ll see what happens.” His knee started bouncing. “The parting ways amicably is if we feel there’s nothing there.”
My stomach tensed. Wait. What? My mouth dropped open as I struggled for a response. “So . . . you want to date for real, so we won’t be lying?”
“Yes. Are you comfortable with that?”
Was he serious? Did he think I was going to turn down Mr. Hollywood asking me—Nevaeh Richards, regular ol’ hair stylist—to be his actual girlfriend? I was not that saved.
“I’m good with that.” Two mental claps on the back for sounding calm and collected because my inner self was squealing like a ’90s preteen at a Backstreet Boys concert or a Gen Xer at a New Kids on the Block Mixtape Tour show.
Relief coursed over Lamont’s face. “Great. I’m still willing to help you. I can ensure you get a key hair stylist position on a movie set, or if you need some money . . .” His voice trailed.
If he did that, wouldn’t that taint our agreement to date for real?
But don’t you want to be key hair stylist?
Don’t sell yourself and lose your soul, Nevaeh.
Darn my two selves. But the better half of me was right. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“Are you sure?” His brows rose.
“Yes. Let’s just . . . get to know each other better.” My pulse beat an erratic rhythm in my neck.
A half smile tilted his lips, and I remembered how he’d earned his spot on the cover of People magazine.
“Great. You free right now? Want to go out to brunch?”
“Yes. That works.” I’d skipped breakfast knowing I would see him. Who could eat when your stomach tossed more than Willow Smith whipping her hair back and forth?
“Perfect. I’ll just call Bryan real quick and let him know what’s going on, and we can make sure we agree with his statement.”
I nodded, too stunned by the turn of events. I was about to go out with Lamont Booker. Legitimately date one of the most famous men in Hollywood. How was this my life? How was I going to tell my parents? Nora? And what did Ms. Rosie think of the whole situation? We didn’t have an appointment for a few more days, and I’d been avoiding her presence. I didn’t want her ashamed to know me.
“Yeah, we’ve agreed to start a relationship. . . . No, for real. . . . Mm-hmm.”
I listened as Lamont Booker—no, Lamont—made noises here and there. Finally, he turned and motioned me closer.
He hit a button on his phone, then placed it on the coffee table. “Hey, Bry, you’re on speaker.”
“Hey, Nevaeh.”
“Hi.”
“Lamont wants me to read the statement I’ve put together to make sure you’re good with it.”
“Bring it on.” Time to see if Mr. Agent Man was worth his money.
He chuckled. “I’ll have a heading on here that it’s a statement approved by you two, put out by me.”
“Got it.”
“All right. Here goes.” He cleared his throat. “Since Lamont Booker rededicated his life to Christ, he has lived his life upholding the values that glorify God. A certain picture was recently sold to the press, and questions around it have circulated. Some people have speculated Lamont is no longer adhering to his belief of saving sexual intimacy until marriage.”
Lamont grimaced but continued to listen while I had to make sure not to lose my composure at the deeply personal nature of the statement. Was this what I was signing up for? Relinquishing my privacy?
Oh, Lord, what have I done?
“He would like people to know that the woman in the photo is his girlfriend, also a Christian, and the photo in question was illegally gained. It in no way declares a step away from his beliefs. The couple has mutually put boundaries in place to ensure they do not cross any lines regarding intimacy. A more in-depth interview will be coming in the near future.” Bryan paused. “Sound good?”
“You didn’t mention my name,” I said.
“The moment you two sit down with our interviewer of choice, your anonymity will vanish. Lamont thought it best to give you time to adjust.”
Thank you, I mouthed.
Lamont nodded.
“I appreciate that, Bryan,” I said.
“Great. I’ll get it posted to your socials, Lamont. I’ll also send the statement to a couple of entertainment news stations.”
“Thanks, Bry.”
“Nevaeh, I’ll also send you a nondisclosure agreement to sign. We don’t want this ever getting out.”
I reared back. They didn’t trust me?
“Bry, is that necessary?” Lamont asked. He furrowed his brow, a look of discomfort crossing his face. Goodness. His brooding look was too fine for words.
“It’s just to protect you, that’s all.”
“Fine.”
“Great. I’ll fax it over.” Bryan paused. “So where’s the happy couple going out to eat?” His voice held a full-on smirk, even if I couldn’t see him to verify what my ears heard.
“Le Feu.”
I stifled a gasp. Did Lamont have a reservation already, or was he so famous he could just walk in any time he felt like it? Le Feu had to be the trendiest spot for brunch in LA. A quick glance at my outfit reassured me I wouldn’t be considered an outsider—at least, not because of what I wore. However, people would know I wasn’t someone famous the moment I walked in there.
My palms dampened. What if I couldn’t do this? Yes, Lamont said I didn’t have to play a part, but could I be his real girlfriend? The world would expect some glamorous woman to be on the arm of an A-lister. All I could be was Nevaeh Richards from Inglewood.
I shook out my arms as Lamont ended the call and slid his cell into his slacks pocket. The room fell silent for a couple of beats. I inhaled, drawing in a shaky breath. “Shall we do this?”
His jet-black eyes met mine. “Let’s.” He held out a hand, and I placed mine into his.
Tingles erupted as if my hand had been sleeping up until this moment. “Do we hold hands on the first date?” I asked, trying to cover my nerves as we headed toward the garage.
“For this one, yes. Even though Le Feu is paparazzi-free, you never know who’ll be watching the place.”
True. My head bobbed up and down as I thought through his statement. “What if I’m opposed to hand-holding?”
He dropped my hand faster than a running back fumbling the ball. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”
I laughed and took his hand in mine once more. “It was a question. We didn’t really talk about boundaries, though Bryan’s statement says we have.”
“Oh.” His grip relaxed. “I won’t go past any line you draw. I’ll ask permission for everything.” He raised our hands. “Sorry for that misstep.”
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have put my hand in yours if I’d truly been uncomfortable.” Plus, I had wanted to know what it would feel like.
Lamont opened the car door, and I slipped into the passenger seat. I ran my hands along the leather interior. Everything gleamed and shined as if the vehicle were fresh off the lot. As we drove, the silence began to prick at me.
“Should we be talking? Getting to know each other?” I asked, studying his profile.
He glanced at me. “Sorry. I’m a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve dated.”
“How long’s a while?” I knew he got saved about five years ago. That was the last time his name had been linked with a woman and the term serious relationship.
“Since Diva.”
I still couldn’t believe someone chose that as their celebrity name. She was born with a stereotypical name—Jane? Sarah? I couldn’t remember—but chose to go by Diva Jones.
“Have you seen her since?” Did he have any hidden skeletons regarding his ex?
“You can’t help it in this corner of the world. I do make it a point to avoid her when possible. Nothing about her is good.” He winced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Well, since we’re dating, I think telling your current girlfriend”—I shivered—“about your old one makes sense.”
“Right.” He rubbed his chin. “How about you? When’s the last time you were in a relationship?”
My cheeks heated. “Um, two years ago.”
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”
I did. Only hadn’t I just told him honesty was warranted? But he was a celebrity, and I was not. My story sounded infinitely more pathetic. “Uh, well, it’s a common tale. We dated for a year, he found someone better, and I decided to take a break from dating.”
Lamont grinned and winked at me. “Now you’ve upgraded.”
I laughed. “Oh my word, are you vain? Is that something new I’m going to learn about you?”
He barked out a laugh. “Actually, my friends tease me about it, but I never thought of myself like that.”
“How can you not, Mr. SMA? I’m not sure I wouldn’t be strutting around town if I’d been marked with a female equivalent of the title.”
Wait, was there an equivalent? Maybe America’s Sweetheart was as close as celebrity women got with the title. Or Diva, though now Ms. Jones had ruined that connotation for the rest of us.
Lamont laughed again. “So you’re funny? Is that the new thing I’m learning?”
“I’m not. I promise.” I shrug. “It’s a defense mechanism. My nerves spike and jokes spill out of my mouth as if I have no filter.” Like talking too much. I really wanted to know what age filters kicked in at. Though I did know plenty of older women who walked around without them. Maybe it wasn’t an age thing but personality?
“Better than being scripted. I have to have a writer feed me jokes before I can get a genuine laugh.”
I stared at him. “You don’t joke at all?”
“It’s not that I don’t, it’s that they’re terrible. Worse than dad jokes.”
“So like bad puns?” I asked, trying to come to grips with Lamont Booker being bad at something.
“Sure, we’ll leave it at that.”
“This should be interesting to see.” I rubbed my hands.
He groaned. “Trust me, it’s not.” He slowed down, then stopped at the light.
I looked around and noticed we were near the restaurant. The anxiety that had died down in shared laughter came roaring back. “We’re almost there,” I whispered.
Lamont reached out his hand and laced his fingers between mine. “We’ve got this.”
“You’re an actor. You have experience playing a part. I’m the novice here.”
Lamont squeezed my hand. “Just be yourself, and I won’t let you fall.”
I stared into his dark eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
● ● ●
Tuck
What happened with Nevaeh?
Chris
I’ve been wondering the same thing. Been praying for you, man.
Tuck
Likewise
5 min later
Tuck
Lamont, you there?
Chris
Should he be on set right now?
Tuck
Maybe he’s avoiding us because he thinks we won’t like his answer.
Chris
I already said I’d support him regardless, didn’t I? 🤔
Tuck
Maybe they went on a date, and he wants to tell us about it later.
Chris
I’ll do an internet search.
2 min later
Chris
They’ve been spotted eating at Le Feu. Social media is going crazy. Some of these comments are downright hostile. 😡
Tuck
Guess we need to ramp up our prayers. That poor girl is being thrown to the wolves.
Chris
We’re praying for both of you, Lamont.
Tuck
Amen and amen. I’ll even ask my folks and Piper to pray.
Chris
Show-off. You know I don’t have an army of folks to pray.
Tuck
That’s okay. Your prayers will be added to ours, and it’ll be a spiritual army of prayer. Hey, gotta run. Talk later.
Chris
Same. And Lamont, we want a text or FaceTime to know everything is okay when you get a chance.
Eight
Everyone’s staring.
You’d think he’d be used to the spotlight, but knowing it was because of Nevaeh made the attention different. Lamont couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked into Le Feu with a woman on his arm, which might have contributed to some of the rubbernecking. Fortunately, the place had a reputation for being a spot celebrities could relax and enjoy their meal sans paparazzi.
Now here he was with Nevaeh Richards, his mother’s personal hair stylist.
He winced inwardly. Lamont had always thought he’d remained humble in the face of the overwhelming opulence of Hollywood. Only now that this whole ordeal had blown up in his face, he was beginning to think snobbery and an elitist attitude had snuck in after all. I’m sorry, Lord. I’m trying to keep my eyes on You.
The maître d’ stopped at a round table for two and pulled a chair out for Lamont’s new girlfriend. She smiled, thanking him. Lamont scanned the room as he sat down. There were some faces he recognized and ones he should probably say hello to once he and Nevaeh finished their meal.
“I’ve never been here before,” she murmured, picking up her menu.
“You’ll love it. The chef is top-notch.”
“He should be with these prices,” she groused.
Lamont held back a chuckle. “Well, it is a two-star Michelin restaurant.”
She stared at him. “And that means?”
“Uh”—his face heated—“it means it’s a very prestigious restaurant. Three stars is the best, but that’s rare. They don’t hand those out like boxes of candy.”
“If you know of a place handing out free candy, by all means share.” She placed the menu down. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to order. Why does everything have separate prices?”
Her words were snarky, but Lamont could detect the underlying fear and nerves. He reached a hand across the table, covering hers with his palm. “Breathe,” he spoke quietly. “I’m paying, and I assure you, I can afford the prices.”
Her dark brown eyes studied him.
“I promise.” He didn’t know why he felt the need to reiterate, but he did. “I’ll pay for everything. You’ll never have to worry about that.”
“I’m not a gold digger,” she stated. She slid her hand from underneath his. “I’d never want you to think that.”
“I know that.” He’d known her over a year, and she’d never raised her rates for his mother nor asked him for money to fund a start-up or whatever else people asked rich people for. He’d had plenty of those conversations with relatives crawling out of the woodwork. “Believe me. Those types are easy to spot in this town, and I know you don’t fall in that category.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Lamont picked up his menu, staring unseeingly at the words. “Was that our first fight?”
Nevaeh laughed. “No. But that was definitely something.” She placed her chin in her hand. “What should I order? Or should I be old-fashioned and let you order for me?”
He grinned at her. “Are you feeling daring?”
“I am now.” She winked. “Bring it on, Mr. SMA.”
He laughed outright. “Are you going to call me that the whole time we’re together?”
“I think I should.” Something flitted through her eyes. “We’ll consider it a pet name.”
“Does that mean I should have a term of endearment for you?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Do you like pet names?”
“Sometimes they’re weird. Like honey—honey’s a real thing. Why would I call you something I drizzle on my post-workout snack?”
Nevaeh leaned forward. “What kind of healthy snack uses honey?”
“One that involves bananas, nut butter, and a rice cake.”
She faked a shudder. “Does that mean you don’t enjoy Ben & Jerry’s or Häagen-Dazs?”
“Not when I’m filming. When I’m not, I usually get a Coolhaus ice cream sandwich.”
“Yum.” Nevaeh sat back in her seat as the server came to take their order. She gave Lamont a nod, so he ordered two avocado toasts to start, a shrimp appetizer, and the Le Feu brunch waffles, which came with an amazing side of berries with maple-flavored cream.
When the server walked away, Nevaeh spoke. “Should we order a meat dish too?”
Lamont rested his steepled hands on the table. “We can wait and see how full you are. Sometimes their portions are a bit much.”
She snorted. “At a fancy restaurant? I can’t see myself getting full.” She froze, eyes widening a fraction. “Not that I necessarily eat a lot. I have curves because I have curves.”
He held up his hands. “No judgment.”
“But you’ll get some. I’ve seen the comments on social media already.”
His jaw tightened. He had a bad feeling they’d only ramp up. “You know the media is toxic, right? Don’t read the comments. They’re never helpful.” There were far more trolls spewing hate than there were encouragers spreading cheer.
