*I do not own the music in this chapter*

She wore a long, form-fitting purple dress under a fur trimmed coat paired with dark sunglasses.

My hand reached out for the drink that the bartender placed in front of me during the chaos, but I didn't take my eyes off of her. There was no doubt she was beautiful but also just as chaotic as the press made her out to be. Spencer had been trying to get me to write a story about Violetta for years, but the woman was so hard to track down it seemed more like a wild goose chance than anything.

The longer I took in her presence, the more I wondered just how much she was like what the stories said.

Maybe this was the chance to find out.

"Baxter. Bax!" Violetta yelled, now glaring in my direction.

I shifted my eyes down to my drink, letting the fruitiness coat my throat as I gulped down more of the alcohol.

Maybe sooner than I wanted.

The man in the suit came to her side, an exhausted look across his features. "Yes?"

"Tell these gawkers"—she looked straight at me—"that violations of my privacy will not be tolerated." Violetta turned up her nose as she stepped closer.

Maybe she was just as stuck-up as the press described. I held back a snort.

"Was that funny to you?" She snatched her sunglasses off of her face, her eyes fierce.

Apparently I wasn't doing a very good job at hiding my reaction. "You talk about privacy," I said, "and yet you invade my personal space."

Violetta rolled her eyes. "You don't get to talk to me about personal space. This is my vacation time and I will not have it ruined by some...civilian. And in yellow, no less." She said the last word as if she were talking about a dirty tissue when she took in my appearance.

I glanced down at my top and frowned. It wasn't that bad was it? And what did she have against yellow?

"Well, at least I know how to dress myself without the help of an entire team," I threw back at her. It was mean, yes, but she could've just let this all go.

The woman growled deep in her throat. "You do not get to talk to me like that. And if you ever cross me again—"

"Miss Dawson!" the concierge called out, desperately waving his arms. "While we always appreciate the business you bring to us here at The Omni Grove Park Inn, I respectfully ask that you not, erm, harass the other vacationers."

"Very well." With a flip of her auburn hair and one final sharp glare across her delicate features, Violetta stomped off with Baxter following behind.

With the scene over and done with, the crowd which had gathered while Violetta yapped away started to disperse. Nothing was interesting unless it was a celebrity making waves.

I returned to my dinner, chomping quietly on my chicken tenders as a television played in the corner. "Some vacation this is turning out to be," I muttered to myself.

The bartender chuckled as he wiped a glass clean. "Violetta is surely one of our more complicated guests. But I feel for the poor girl. Twenty-seven years old and scandals out the wazoo."

My ears perked up at the sound of that but then I immediately kicked myself. No, I would not dig for a story right now. Violetta may've been a bitch, but that didn't mean she deserved for her life to be put on the front pages more than it already was.

"Anyway," the bartender continued, "don't let her diva attitude deter you from enjoying the sights of Asheville."

I smiled as I dipped my last tender into the honey mustard sauce. "Thank you. I plan to make this weekend as relaxing as possible." The last thing I wanted was for Violetta to ruin the first vacation I'd gifted myself in years.

After I finished eating, I returned to my room to unpack. Although my work tablet was stored safely in my desk at the Tribune, I still had my personal device that I liked to use on the weekends. The closest I got to a vacation these days was lounging in a bikini on the deck of my townhouse with a book and a mango daiquiri. When Mari and I were still together, we would do this every weekend in the spring and summer.

I sighed as I changed into a cropped band tee and flannel pants. I missed those days when I could just be with someone.

My fingers fluttered over the tablet screen, poised over a link to my work portal. Even when I didn't have access to work, I still had access to work.

At twenty-six, the longest relationship I'd ever had was with my job. That was always the argument, always what had me and Mari going to bed angry.

Until we were going to bed alone.

I flopped against the pillows on the hotel bed and opened up my Kindle app instead to pull up my latest mystery read on missing persons and a cabin in the woods. My eyes scanned over each page as the hours grew later. After getting through four chapters and still not feeling tired, I walked out to my balcony. Chilly winter air danced across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I breathed in the scent of pine.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and now the stars were out, dotting the sky with twinkly freckles.

I smiled. This was my paradise for the next three days.

Back inside the hotel room, I curled up under the blanket and turned on the television. I was halfway through a late episode of Full House when the unmistakable sound of very loud, very offkey singing assaulted my ears from the adjacent room.

"Ugh." I turned up the volume on the television, but the more I did the louder the singing became.

"We'll be running the street...Kiss my ass! Whatever, who cares, still living life like that!" the voice slurred, messing up the words to the classic Avril Lavigne song.

I put a pillow over my ears as the person took to the next verse of the song: "This is who we are, I don't think I'll eeeeeevvvvvveeeeeerrrrrrr change! They say JUST. GROW. UP!  But they don't knowwwwww us! We don't give a fu—eek!"

Clang! Crash!

"Oh my god!" I jumped up from the bed and banged my fist against the adjoining door, doubtful that it would do me much good. "Um, are you okay?"

No answer.

I looked up at the ceiling. Please let them not be hurt. My fingers turned the latch on the door—it opened, thankfully—and I ran into a scene of utter chaos.

Clothes were sprawled all across the room along with an empty bottle of tequila that lay on the floor next to a lingerie-clad woman.

The same woman, I realized as I stepped closer through the minefield of clothing that cost more than my monthly salary, who had argued with me downstairs at the bar only hours earlier.

"Um, Violetta?" I asked, leaning down. Her auburn hair fanned behind her. If she hadn't just fallen off of a bed, I would've said she looked absolutely stunning. But her beauty was the least of my concerns right now.

My fingers shook her shoulders because she had yet to answer me. "Violetta?"

Her eyes snapped open—brown with flecks of green surrounding the irises—and her mouth twitched into a frown. "You! What the hell are you doing in my room?" She sat up. "Bax—"

I clamped my hand over her mouth. "Don't!" I squeaked. "Do you really want him to come in and see you like this?" I winced at how bad that sounded.

But if I were her, I would've called out too. Where was her security detail? It seemed odd that no one had come to check on her.

Violetta groaned, pushing me away, as she wiped a hand down her face. "You're not the boss of me," she snapped. She clawed at the side of the bed—which was now lopsided with a severe dip in the middle—to pull herself to her feet and winced when she leaned on her left ankle. "Goddammit!"

"You really shouldn't put weight on it," I said, reaching out to steady her. My gaze kept ping-ponging to the door where I expected the cavalry to come in at any second and arrest me for breaking and entering.

Would "I was trying to ensure her safety" be admissible?

Violetta shrugged me off. "I don't need your help." She hobbled over to her mini fridge and stumbled around for some ice cubes, proceeding to drop them all over the ground. She bounced out of the way and let out a new string of colorful curses as her ankle turned again.

"Are you sure?" I asked. As much as I didn't want to help someone so conceited and plain-ass annoying, she was a person. And I was a bystander. She shouldn't be doing this alone. Especially while drunk.

Violetta glared at me again. I really should've turned this into a drinking game. Then again, I had no intention of staying in the actress' presence for longer than I had to.

"You know, they put the cups in a bag for a reason," I said. I walked over to the dresser and removed one of the glasses from its casing then used the bag to hold the ice, tying the top of it in a loose knot.

"Thanks," Violetta mumbled. She gratefully accepted the ice then waved in the general direction of the room. "Can you get my robe from the bathroom? I wasn't exactly expecting to have guests tonight."

Clearly. My gaze traveled from her face down to her purple lace underwear set.

"Yoohoo." Violetta snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Robe, please? You want me to ice this ankle, I can't do both."

You can, I thought to myself. You're just incapable of realizing that.

"Right." I walked through the minefield she called a hotel room to the bathroom where a pink, silk robe hung on the back of the bathroom door. It reminded me of one garment from the ads Hayden ran recently on sleepwear in the magazine.

This woman certainly had a taste for the expensive.

I returned to Violetta who swiftly wrapped the robe around her body, flipping her long hair over the top.

"Better. Now"—she turned to me—"who did you say you were again?"

"I-I didn't." I cleared my throat. "My name's Reagan Porter. I'm just in the next room if you need anything else." I started to walk away, but Violetta curled her fingers around my wrist.

"Violetta Dawson. But you already knew that I'm sure," she replied with a smirk. "Well, Reagan, I need to call my publicist so he can arrange a different room for me. Can you help me find my phone? I can't exactly balance properly right now." She stumbled again, swaying way off balance as she felt around the now-broken bed for her phone while keeping her grip firming on my wrist.

"Maybe it fell into one of these piles," I said, trying to be helpful.

She shot me a glare—we were up to four of those now I think—before teetering forward and dragging me with her.

I glanced around. There didn't seem to be a phone anywhere, but how she could find anything in this mess was beyond me.

"Baxter is going to kill me, I swore I'd stop doing this...there it is!" Violetta found her phone and began to type, her fingers moving swiftly across the large screen.

Part of me felt bad for Violetta. A woman in the spotlight for so long, I couldn't imagine how hard it was to catch a break.

"So this might be kind of a crazy idea," I found myself saying. Off to a great start, Reags. "Why don't you share with me tonight?"

Yeah, that's definitely a bad idea.

Violetta blinked at me, lowering her phone. "All due respect, I'm not rooming with a stranger."

"Valid, but why don't you at least rest for a bit? You probably shouldn't be on that ankle too much."

As if remembering her injury, Violetta scowled at her foot. "It does hurt like a bitch."

Takes one to know one.

She straightened her shoulders. "Fine. But I could just stay in here, you know."

I took a look around her room with raised eyebrows. "Where would you sit?" It really seemed like every inch of the place was covered in clothing.

Violetta rolled her eyes. "So, your room?"

"Yeah. I have a futon in mine, so there's plenty of space for both of us even if you just sit and rest for a few minutes."

It was awkward, the idea of bringing a movie star as famous as Violetta Dawson back to my hotel room. If Hayden knew what I was getting up to, he'd have a field day.

We slowly made our way into my room. My arm wrapped around Violetta's waist as she hobbled through the adjoining door with her own arm flung around my shoulders. This was a hard feat in and of itself because she was a few inches shorter than me. Her fingers gripped at my dark hair, but I didn't ask her to let go.

"Don't you dare drop me," she muttered.

"Wasn't planning on it," I grumbled back.

My room was about a bit smaller than Violetta's room since hers had an entire mini bar area. But mine had the couch which now I was extra grateful for.

Despite the similarities, Violetta wrinkled her nose at the sight. "Cozy."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah." I dropped her onto the bed, shoving my stuff out of the way. "Here, hold the ice on your foot."

Violetta gripped the bag of ice cubes that were rapidly melting against her foot, wincing at what was either cold or pain. She jutted out her lower lip in a pout. "Damn, that hurts."

I walked around her to take care of the rest of my things that were spread across the comforter. There was a whimper from behind me and I turned around to Violetta giving me a pleading look.

What the heck did she want me to do about it?

"Can you..." she whispered.

"Well, I ain't kissing it," I said.

"No! Ew, that's not"—she sighed—"can you just see if it's broken? Please." Violetta looked at me with those eyes again. No wonder she was so popular.

"Okay, okay, fine." I crouched on my knees in front of her and gently stroked a finger along the side of her foot.

And then she nearly took my eye out as her foot yoinked forward, catching me off guard.

"Gah! Watch it!" I waved my arms dramatically, shielding myself.

"It's involuntary!" she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just try to do your job and not tickle me, okay?"

You couldn't pay me enough for this to be my job, I thought to myself as I tried again. My fingers palpated around her ankle and the fleshy part of her foot; every now and again I'd look up expecting a wince. She stayed still.

"Does anything hurt?" I asked.

Violetta shook her head. "No."

"Then it's probably just bruised and not sprained or anything." I stood up. "Let's take the ice off and you should get some rest."

"Thank you," she said, still rubbing at her ankle. "God, I could really use some more tequila. Where's your mini bar?"

"Um." I glanced around at my room. "I don't have one? But are you sure more alcohol is a good idea right now? I mean, you're not injured exactly but alcohol does make coordination worse."

She scowled at me. "You sound like my publicist." Violetta pushed her hair away from her face. "Okay, you win, fangirl. I'm cutting myself off."

Feeling it was safe to leave Violetta alone, I walked to the bathroom to dump out the melted ice bag.

"How long do you think you're gonna stay?" I called out.

"Dunno."

"If it's gonna be long, you can take the"—I stopped as Violetta collapsed backwards onto the bed—"bed." I sighed. Futon it was for me, I guess.

I finished getting ready for sleep, turning out all the lights and grabbing the extra set of sheets from the closet for the couch.

Light snores emanated from the bed. I closed my eyes.

Here's to hoping the rest of my vacation is less-than-eventful. With that final wish out to the universe, I drifted off to sleep.