He’s Hollywood’s biggest star. She wouldn’t know him from the pizza delivery guy.
I’m a wildlife biologist in a tiny mountain town, not some kind of law-breaking celebrity stalker. At least not on purpose.
It was an accident when I wandered onto the property of one of Hollywood’s hottest movie stars. Five minutes ago, I’d never even heard of Flint Hawthorne. I definitely didn’t know he lives in Silver Creek.
When I’m detained for trespassing, the last thing I expect is to trade my handcuffs for a designer gown. All I wanted was permission to conduct my research on a remote corner of his estate.
Now I’m walking the red carpet of a Hollywood movie premiere as Flint’s (very fake) girlfriend.
At least, the relationship is supposed to be fake. But the way he slips his arm around me, his breath tickling my ear, the chemistry feels like something real.
The trouble is, I’m not really built to handle his fast-paced celebrity life. Most days, I prefer the company of squirrels to people. I should be glad we’re only pretending.
I’m just not sure my heart got the memo.
