Page 46 of The Golden Scoop

After ten minutes of listening to Kate ramble about the latest article Martha’s making her write, I tell her about everything happening with Matt. I give her all the reasons, now crystal clear, for why it’s a bad idea. The first one being I’m not sure we’d be able to stop at just one kiss. She then proceeds to argue for another ten minutes on why hate sex is the best kind of sex.

When I join Matt on the front deck, he’s spread out sandwiches, fruit, and a couple of sodas. They look homemade.

“You made these?”

He nods.

It’s at this moment I realize that if this is indeed the real Matt, he’s more than the most eligible bachelor in L.A.

M. Hunt Feature Notes:

The edges soften away from the cameras and the rowdiness of Hollywood. The mask starts to fade into the background. The grin is still there, but it’s not shaped from anyone’s benefit.

He seems more comfortable this way. When he can go unnoticed. He doesn’t like to be admired, at least not the man behind the mask.

There’s a difference between being watched through the lens of a camera and being seen. The first brings appraisal and awe. The second brings uncensored pureness.

ELEVEN

Emma

Set feels different today. It’s the same trailers, same cables taped to the ground, same PAs running around like headless chickens.

But Matt’s different. I can already tell by the way he’s fidgeting while I drive in to the parking lot. My suspicious instincts kick in, but they’re not in full swing anymore.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says when I get out, handing me what I assume is another perfect coffee. “You look beautiful today.”

I blink. This is new. And I don’t hate it.

“Are you sure it wasn’t you who got hurt jumping off the boat yesterday? Maybe you’ve got a concussion,” I joke.

“No, I’m serious.”

I scoff and take out my notebook as if the threat of writing stuff down is enough to make him back down and drop the flirty act.

“Seriously concussed,” I argue.

My outfit is nothing special. Navy pants and a light blue shirt tucked in. Very professional. Now I need to behave like it as well.

He rolls his eyes at my inability to accept the compliment, but he doesn’t push.

Matt guides us to the hair and makeup trailer and I take advantage of the fact that he’s going to be glued to the chair for at least thirty minutes to leave him there, sneak away, and put some much-needed distance between us.

It feels necessary. Manageable.

Most of the interviews have been conducted, and I’m certain no one is going to give me any insight I don’t already have. All I have left to do is observe. Subtle behavior cues can make or break a story.

I find a foldable chair tucked into the back of the set where they’re filming today and pull out my laptop.

Writing while in the field is not something I’ve done before. I’m old school, I like taking notes by hand. It gives things authenticity. But thanks to the amount of activities Matt’s taken me on, I’ve been getting home mentally exhausted, and with my feelings jumbled up.

So, hiding in the shadows doesn’t seem like the worst idea.

Except it takes him just a few seconds to find me when the director calls for a small break.

“You’re avoiding me.”

I don’t look up. Those baby blue eyes have been winning me over and I desperately need to restore the status quo. Enemies. Not lovers.