see them. Parker added a hot quotient to any crowd, with his ghost-of-James-Dean chiseled good looks. He was currently shooting a Showtime original movie called
Boot
, about a group of young men brought together for Marine basic training at Camp Pendleton who kill the smallest guy in a prank gone wrong.
“Aren't you just the ‘It’ girl of the moment,” Parker teased, kissing Cammie's tan cheek.
“Hey, I'm the girl of the millennium,” Cammie corrected. Parker laughed and hugged her, and she realized all over again just how incredibly hot he was; he had been the only guy at Beverly Hills High who was, objectively speaking, probably better looking than Ben. Tonight he wore a distressed black T-shirt with angel wings on it, and even more distressed jeans—already rocking the uniform of the movie star he hoped to become. She extended a hand to Citron. “Hey, I'm Cammie. I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you more last night. Let me buy you a drink later.”
“That'd be grand,” Citron replied, with a charming Southern accent. “I don't know too many people out here yet. Parker's been introducing me to some of his friends.” She looked around, shaking her head. “This is out of control, huh?”
Cammie checked the girl out more closely. There were flecks of gold in her amber eyes. She wore a white Nina Ricci pencil skirt and layered white and cream tank tops that perfectly complimented her skin tone—hip, but not trying too hard. “So, what brought you to L.A.?” Cammie asked.
“She's a singer. Jazz. She's fantastic,” Parker answered eagerly before Citron could get a word out. He smiled at her proudly.
“Jazz? That's unusual,” Cammie commented. She stepped closer to the front door, motioning for Citron and Parker to follow. There were only ten minutes until the club opened up. The security and door people in their official Bye, Bye Love jackets would be taking up their positions any moment. “This town is all about rock and roll.”
“My brother and I—we grew up on jazz,” Citron explained. “I came out because he's here. He plays piano. I'm living with him in a guesthouse in Beverly Hills.”
“Who's your brother?” Cammie asked idly, as the chief of club security—a beefy Latino guy with the nickname Chief—opened the door and came outside. There was a roar from the crowd that Chief acknowledged with a quick wave, and then groans as he closed the main door behind him again. Cammie, Parker, and Citron moved so he could pass. He gave Cammie a little thumbs-up, which Cammie acknowledged with a chuck of her chin. She was, after all, still working.
“Django Simms. He works for a guy named Jonathan Percy?”
Cammie's mind raced. “Anna Percy's father?” she asked, surprised.
“Bingo,” Parker put in. “Small world and all that.”
“I met Anna,” Citron went on. “She's so nice! Did you know she was on that plane—?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Cammie nodded coolly. Anna, Anna, Anna. Why did everything in Cammie's life seem to lead back to that freaking girl? She was glad she had survived and all, but take last night for example. Just when she was
finally
kissing Ben—which had taken weeks of work and some serious maneuvering on Cammie's part—in walked Anna to witness it. Actually, Cammie had enjoyed that part, but it had turned out to be the beginning of the end of a plan involving her and Ben very naked under high-thread-count imported sheets. Anna had probably engineered the LAX crash landing a few hours later just so she could foil the evening and be the center of attention again.
Okay. That was mean. She'd nearly died. But still.
Last night—actually, earlier today—she and Adam had stayed at the bar inside and watched the plane make its successful return to LAX. She'd found herself actually concerned that Anna would make it out okay, which was annoying. Then she couldn't help but be happy when everyone walked away from the stricken jet. That was even more annoying.
She and
Boot
, about a group of young men brought together for Marine basic training at Camp Pendleton who kill the smallest guy in a prank gone wrong.
“Aren't you just the ‘It’ girl of the moment,” Parker teased, kissing Cammie's tan cheek.
“Hey, I'm the girl of the millennium,” Cammie corrected. Parker laughed and hugged her, and she realized all over again just how incredibly hot he was; he had been the only guy at Beverly Hills High who was, objectively speaking, probably better looking than Ben. Tonight he wore a distressed black T-shirt with angel wings on it, and even more distressed jeans—already rocking the uniform of the movie star he hoped to become. She extended a hand to Citron. “Hey, I'm Cammie. I'm sorry I didn't get to talk to you more last night. Let me buy you a drink later.”
“That'd be grand,” Citron replied, with a charming Southern accent. “I don't know too many people out here yet. Parker's been introducing me to some of his friends.” She looked around, shaking her head. “This is out of control, huh?”
Cammie checked the girl out more closely. There were flecks of gold in her amber eyes. She wore a white Nina Ricci pencil skirt and layered white and cream tank tops that perfectly complimented her skin tone—hip, but not trying too hard. “So, what brought you to L.A.?” Cammie asked.
“She's a singer. Jazz. She's fantastic,” Parker answered eagerly before Citron could get a word out. He smiled at her proudly.
“Jazz? That's unusual,” Cammie commented. She stepped closer to the front door, motioning for Citron and Parker to follow. There were only ten minutes until the club opened up. The security and door people in their official Bye, Bye Love jackets would be taking up their positions any moment. “This town is all about rock and roll.”
“My brother and I—we grew up on jazz,” Citron explained. “I came out because he's here. He plays piano. I'm living with him in a guesthouse in Beverly Hills.”
“Who's your brother?” Cammie asked idly, as the chief of club security—a beefy Latino guy with the nickname Chief—opened the door and came outside. There was a roar from the crowd that Chief acknowledged with a quick wave, and then groans as he closed the main door behind him again. Cammie, Parker, and Citron moved so he could pass. He gave Cammie a little thumbs-up, which Cammie acknowledged with a chuck of her chin. She was, after all, still working.
“Django Simms. He works for a guy named Jonathan Percy?”
Cammie's mind raced. “Anna Percy's father?” she asked, surprised.
“Bingo,” Parker put in. “Small world and all that.”
“I met Anna,” Citron went on. “She's so nice! Did you know she was on that plane—?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Cammie nodded coolly. Anna, Anna, Anna. Why did everything in Cammie's life seem to lead back to that freaking girl? She was glad she had survived and all, but take last night for example. Just when she was
finally
kissing Ben—which had taken weeks of work and some serious maneuvering on Cammie's part—in walked Anna to witness it. Actually, Cammie had enjoyed that part, but it had turned out to be the beginning of the end of a plan involving her and Ben very naked under high-thread-count imported sheets. Anna had probably engineered the LAX crash landing a few hours later just so she could foil the evening and be the center of attention again.
Okay. That was mean. She'd nearly died. But still.
Last night—actually, earlier today—she and Adam had stayed at the bar inside and watched the plane make its successful return to LAX. She'd found herself actually concerned that Anna would make it out okay, which was annoying. Then she couldn't help but be happy when everyone walked away from the stricken jet. That was even more annoying.
She and
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