Page 134 of The Golden Scoop

I wait outside the lobby and keep watch, bringing my phone up to my ear to pretend I’m mid-conversation. At least if Emma comes down, I’ll be able to spot her.

Come on, I think. Someone in this building must need a sad little desk salad.

Four women cross the road. I keep my head down while they walk by. At this point I’m praying for some luck, but it seems to have run out because they all continue into the next building.

The plan needs to change.

If I can’t make it upstairs undetected, then God help me, because I’m going to have to weaponize being famous.

I take off the cap, tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans, and let the sunglasses hang from my T-shirt. I’m two steps into the building when the receptionist spots me. Her eyes grow wide. I flash her my signature smile, throw in a wink to seal the deal.

“Oh m-my God! You’re Matt Hunt,” she stammers, tripping over her words. “Am I dreaming? Pinch me.”

She stretches her arm out, and despite everything, my smile turns a bit genuine.

I take hold of her hand.

“You’re not dreaming, Ms.—”

“Prescott. Delilah Prescott,” she offers nervously. “Your movies are awesome. I literally read an article about you no more than ten minutes ago. Isn’t that crazy? Do you actually do all your own stunts? What about the⁠—”

“That’s actually why I’m here, Delilah,” I interrupt her rambling. “I need to see the journalist who wrote it, Emma Miller. She works for Golden.”

Delilah turns toward the elevators, where the security guard who was previously by the entrance now stands, watching us. His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t look amused that I’m here.

If I had to guess, this guy irons his socks and practices his scowl in the mirror for thirty minutes each morning.

“I would love to let you go up there, Mr. Hunt,” she says, fidgeting with the lanyard around her neck, “but I’m afraid I’m not authorized to give you a visitors pass unless you have an appointment.”

My head’s bouncing back between her and the John Wick wannabe.

“I completely understand. But you do realize I could get a pass with a few calls, right? Do you really want to put me through all that trouble?”

Her face falls. She chews on her bottom lip, full of worry.

My stomach churns. I can count on one hand the times I’ve said something like that in the decade I’ve lived here. The words are just as bitter as they were the first time.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I really am,” Delilah says. “I can request a⁠—”

The elevator dings.

A couple of seconds later, the metal plates slide open and a woman walks out.

“Hold the door,” I call, already on the move, with Delilah trailing close behind.

“What the hell?” the woman says.

The security guard intercepts me, but thankfully she blocks the elevator before it closes.

“Sir, you can’t⁠—”

“This is an urgent matter,” I say. The suited man is a couple of inches shorter than me, but he’s still doing his best to stop me. “Five minutes. I need to find Emma Miller⁠—”

“Emma’s not here,” says the woman.

I stop dead in my tracks. “You work with Emma?”

She nods, hurries over, and grabs my arm steering me to the side, away from security and Delilah.