All The Pretty Lights (The "A" List #1) Read Free Page B

That was called work.” I lower my chin to her ear. I can see the tiny wisps of loose hair around her ear flutter as my breathy words pass.
    Daphne shoots me a nasty scowled look over her shoulder. “ Work? ”
    Thud!
    She causes a pile-up as person after person in line behind us crashes forward, nearly toppling us over.
    “Sorry! So, so, sorry!” She apologizes frantically to the man she’s just barraged into. He holds his hands up to protect himself and ward her away when she moves to help pick up the spilled bag from his hands.
    The man looks terrified as if she’s about to plow into him again.
    “Excuse her,” I mediate their exchange. “She’s in a rush today. Crashing into everything.”
    The mustached man smiles awkwardly at me before shifting his eyes back to Daphne, cautiously stepping aside. I laugh to myself, but she hears me, throwing her eyes over her shoulder to silently chastise me.
    “ What ?” I ask defensively. “It’s true.”
    Her head shakes, with her flirty little ponytail waving at me like a pointing finger back and forth. “We’re over here.”
    My hand grips her shoulder and helps to guide her to the two very narrow seats to our left.
    “Excuse me, Colt, would you sign my ticket? For my daughter?”
    “Colt, I’m your biggest fan. I’ve seen every movie.”
    “Are you still dating Audrey, Colt? Did she really cheat on you?”
    I haven’t fully taken my seat yet before the first of a long line of fans shoves their tickets to me. I smile politely, just like Andrea, my personal public relations liaison has instructed me to do countless times before. It doesn’t matter that these people are invading my personal space. It doesn’t matter that they’re asking incredibly inappropriate personal questions that are none of their business.
    All that matters is that they get their picture, get their autograph, get their smile and their story to go home and tell all of their friends. I pat my pockets looking for a pen, because true to form, these people want autographs but offer no pens of their own.
    Click.
    A shiny, silver pen appears before me, held in fragile little fingers with dark painted nails. Daphne doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge the crazy scene that’s unfolding, she merely holds out her pen and clears her throat to bring more attention to it as if she’s tired of holding it.
    I take it just as it threatens to drop from her fingertips and quickly scribble my large initials on each and every ticket shoved before me. Just as one disappears, another one arrives, with an apparently endless demand.
    “Colt, can I take a picture?”
    “Colt, is this your new girlfriend?”
    I sign what appears to be the last ticket. “No pictures, please. Daphne’s not used to all the fuss.”
    I can see from my periphery as Daphne angles her chin like she’s heard me, even though she’s pretending not to. It doesn’t matter how I’ve answered, there’s a bright sparkle of a flash right in front of us.
    I grumble lowly, pissed that my wishes are blatantly ignored so brazenly. It’s not like this is an average fan who sneaks a picture and then runs. No, this person is actually going to be sitting near me for the next five hours, not caring that they’ve disregarded my wishes so openly.
    “Please take your seat,” a slightly disheveled, tired-looking flight attendant with glaring eyes holds out her arm to block the women in the aisle from leaning into my space. I’m used to having my wishes ignored, but clearly, this flight attendant isn’t. “I said! Please take your seat otherwise we will not be able to take off!”
    Having a celebrity on your plane is exciting, sure, but these people decide it’s not worth having the flight delayed even longer as they disperse to take the empty seats nearby.
    “Thank you, ma’am,” I make sure to make eye contact with the flight attendant and show my appreciation.
    She nods and continues along, closing the overhead bins as she makes