Dreaming of Her Movie Star: A Southern Kind of Love, #3

By Palmer Jones

I had one chance to interview the hottest movie star on the planet…and I almost blew it.

By any serious journalists' standards, I did. I showed up late (not my fault), my skirt covered in pink icing (again, not my fault), with the tags from my new shirt still hanging out the back (okay, that one was my fault).

I was plenty memorable but not for the right reasons.

Which makes me wonder why Grayson Moore just walked through the door of my small-town coffee shop, looking sexy as sin and searching for…me?

I'm flattered, really, but having him in town, riding behind him on his motorcycle, breaking down and accepting one date, will mess up all my plans. Motorcycle-riding movie stars are not on the approved list of men for me to date, and I need my father in a good mood when I finally bring my estranged sister back home for Christmas.

*formerly titled Please, Stay

Dreaming of Her Movie Star is Book Three in the Southern Kind of Love series by Georgia native, Palmer Jones.

A Southern Kind of Love Series:

1. Hiding from the Sheriff

2. Falling for Her Client

3. Dreaming of Her Movie Star

4. Engaging with Her Enemy

5. Kissing Her Rescuer

6. Finding Her Leading Man

O'Keeley's Irish Pub Series:

1. Her Irish Boss

2. Her Irish Chef

3. Her Irish Flirt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweet Blooms Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393288121

Palmer Jones

Palmer Jones writes fun and flirty, romantic fiction. Born and raised in the South, she loves to travel but will always call Georgia her home. With a degree in accounting, she spends part of her day immersed in numbers. The rest of the time is spent with her friends, family, and hiding away in the worlds she creates through her stories.

Book preview

1

Of course, today of all days, she’d screw-up. Juliana Campbell closed the last button of her crisp white shirt as she tore through the fancy hotel lobby in Atlanta, GA. Late. Five minutes late shouldn’t matter under normal circumstances.

Today it did.

Her private interview with Grayson Moore to discuss his latest film was officially over in ten minutes. She’d secured the final spot on the schedule last month and prepped every day since then.

She pressed the elevator button over and over with one hand while she tried to tuck the new shirt into her black pencil skirt with the other. Too bad her beautiful, silk blouse she’d planned to wear was crumpled in the floorboard of her car, ruined from clumps of pink icing still clinging to the fabric. The front seat also included a nice, long smear of the same bright, pink icing. Her darling niece’s goodbye hug had left more behind than just love.

She’d hustled two blocks to a department store, spent an unbudgeted fifty-two dollars on a new shirt, and gained a nice layer of sweat in the process.

Stupid December heatwave. Atlanta was supposed to be colder than her small town, but the heat must have followed her.

Christmas was a month away. Witnessing a white Christmas was a long shot, but maybe Mother Nature could toss them a cold front or something and give her a chance to wear a scarf and a pair of boots once this winter.

The door to the elevator finally closed, and she waved her hands at her face for some type of air. The mirrored walls confirmed her suspicion that she looked a crazy mess. Her long, maple colored hair hung in a limp heap down her back, and she’d not reapplied lipstick since leaving the house this morning.

Some journalist, she was.

She bolted from the elevator as the doors opened, tossing her hair up and into a neat ponytail to give some type of professional appearance. Clearing her throat, she took a deep, steadying breath and knocked on the penthouse suite.

A woman in her late fifties opened the door. Her gray hair was swept up into an elegant twist and matched her neatly pressed gray suit. Her yellow, cat-like eyes glided down Juliana in judgmental appraisal before she arched an eyebrow to an impressive height. Yes?

Hi, I’m Juliana Campbell—

You’re late, she said with a soft, English accent. She didn’t shift from the door. Mr. Moore has already left.

Shit.

Left? Juliana checked her watch, panic starting to build in her chest. But I have seven more minutes left for my interview. I really couldn’t help being late. See, my niece spilled icing on my shirt—

Charming story, but as I said, you missed your appointment.

Juliana ground her teeth together. This was a chance of a lifetime, and she’d blown it. Her father would kill her. Especially if he found out she’d been late because of visiting her sister, Eliza.

Down the hall, a door creaked opened, and a man stepped into the hallway.

Those broad shoulders only belonged to one person. Grayson Moore. He slung a messenger bag across his light blue T-shirt and slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses.

The immaculately dressed English guard dog tapped the toe of her Jimmy Choo high heels, oblivious to his presence. Is there anything else?

Please give him my apologies, Juliana said and stepped back as the door clicked closed in her face.

Without giving Grayson another look, she managed to walk with some grace to the elevator at the end of the hall and pressed the down button. This was her second chance. She didn’t need more than a few minutes alone with him on the elevator.

He paused a respectful distance behind her. If she could get him to answer a couple questions, a review of his movie would take up the rest of her article in the Statem Dispatch. If she were lucky, her dad would remain oblivious. Nothing like his only journalist for the local paper, and its future owner, blundering it completely. She’d been on his good side for a few months now, trying to soften him up. He had to forgive Eliza at some point and finally meet his grandchild. Welcoming her sister home for Christmas in a month wasn’t totally impossible.

The ding of the elevator signaled the start of the race for an interview for the next fifty floors as they both stepped into the small space.

Grayson shifted to the far corner and kept his head down over his cell phone.

Hi, Juliana said.

No response.

She pressed the Ground floor button and faced him. Speaking a little louder, she said, Mr. Moore?

He made a little sound of acknowledgment but stared at his phone.

I’m Juliana Campbell. We were supposed to meet at five for the interview. I had a little mishap and just got here. He looked up. His eyes were still hidden behind expensive sunglasses.

I explained to the lady that answered the door that I understand I don’t get the full fifteen minutes, but if I could at least finish out my time slot.

He pulled the glasses off. His eyes, the color of the Mediterranean, met her own. He took a slow glance at his watch. You have four minutes.

Great—

As long as I get to ask you a few questions as well.

Her stomach knotted. What could an A-list actor possibly want to know about her?

I’ll start. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, confirming her best friend Becky’s question about Hollywood’s tendency to airbrush. Nope. No airbrushing necessary. His simple shirt defined every muscle. Why do you have pink icing on your… He trailed off as his lips spread in a slow smile. Skirt?

Her mouth dropped open as heat crawled up Juliana’s neck. She twisted around and checked the back of her skirt in the mirrored elevator wall. Sure enough, a six-year-old’s handprint in bright pink icing looked like she’d gotten a good-game butt slap from the Easter bunny. That really screamed professional.

She shook her head. The floors were flying by, and her time was almost up. She’d deal with her skirt and embarrassment later. She needed to ask at least one question. What made you choose the role in your latest movie?

He pointed at her skirt. You have to answer my questions if you want me to answer yours.

Fine. She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up. I baked cupcakes with my niece this morning, and she managed to smear icing all over me when I wasn’t looking. She held up her notepad and pen. Why did you choose this part?

He met her level look with a serious one of his own, slightly mocking. Because Thomas Fitzgerald has as many bad qualities as good, but he’s portrayed as a hero. It always fascinates me when people cheer for someone so flawed.

Juliana opened her mouth for a follow-up question, but he held up his hand. Nope, my turn. Is the icing incident why you’re wearing a new shirt?

How did you know? She ran a hand down the front of her shirt. She’d taken that sticker off the front.

Grayson pushed away from the wall. His slight smile made him look like he knew a big secret she didn’t, but she damn sure wished she did. He took a step toward her. An unfamiliar heat crept over her skin. With his next step, his body towered over her own, blocking out the dim glow from the recessed lights in the ceiling. Suddenly, reality didn’t exist in their small corner of the elevator.

His hand reached behind her shoulder, his fingertips brushing across her neck.

She licked her parched lips. How was this happening? For a moment, the amusement in his eyes vanished.

Juliana took a breath. He smelled like the beach. Warm and sunny. It matched his dark, Spanish complexion like he’d spent his life lounging along the beaches in Ibiza. She focused on a small white scar along his eyebrow. How did he get that?

His fingers caressed her neck again in a featherlight touch. Her knees weakened. She reached out, thinking to brace herself on the wall but instead resting her hand on his hip. Life moved in slow motion as the elevator descended.

He tugged on something.

And that destroyed the dream.

She closed her eyes. Damn it. It’s the tag, isn’t it?

Unconstrained laughter laced his voice as his minty breath fanned over her face. Do you want it on there?

Nope. Talk about a perfect moment ruined.

The tag snapped off with a twist of his hand. The heat from his body faded.

Juliana opened her eyes like her dream had never existed. Hot movie stars weren’t interested in small-town girls like her anyway. She’d seen some of the women he’d dated in the past. She’d only fit into that lifestyle as the wallflower little sister with dollar store shoes.

The door to the elevator opened. Time’s up. She flipped her pad close and shoved it in her purse. Thanks for giving me a little bit of your time. Her embarrassment was a minor blip on her radar compared to the wrath of her dad for failing to get the story. The doctor had just increased her dad’s medicine, too. Doubtful that even prescription drugs could keep his blood pressure from skyrocketing when she told him her interview blunder.

Was that the only question you had?

She paused and looked over her shoulder when he didn’t move to get out of the elevator. No.

Grayson tilted his head to the side. What did he find so amusing? A late, messy journalist? Crap. He was looking at the icing on her skirt. She shifted to hide it.

We can ride up and then down again. I do have somewhere to go, but I’d hate for you to have gone through so much trouble. He motioned to her shirt. For me.

Even if it were out of sympathy, she’d take it. Juliana stumbled back inside, scrambling for her pad and pen. She swallowed before she drooled on her pad. At some point, she’d remember that a real journalist would own a tape recorder. Did you see any of yourself in this character?

He resumed his casual stance against the wall, but he watched her a little differently now. Her heart thumped in her ears. She scribbled down his answer, barely understanding what she wrote. Another thing she’d have to tell Becky. He didn’t reserve those sultry looks for Hollywood. He could switch them on without any effort since he currently shot a sexy look her way. She’d almost believe that he was attracted to her. Not in this lifetime.

My turn. You have a cute accent. Where are you from?

Statem. She waved her hand in the general direction of south. A small town way south of here, close to Florida. But, I’m ‘fraid you’re mistaken. I don’t have an accent. You do.

I have an accent? He laughed. The sound turned her insides into complete jelly. I feel like I’ve heard of Statem, Georgia.

Not possible.

Is it quiet there?

Beyond quiet. It’s like Mayberry meets Smallville with half the population.

Is the town big into celebrating Christmas?

The Griswolds could take lessons with the number of lights used on our town’s Christmas Tree. And, Ms. Latham at the Crossroads Coffee Shop, thinks it’s her mission in life to use every single decoration she’s accumulated since the 70s all in one small space. Juliana could go on about Statem all day, but she held up her pad and wagged her pen in his direction. My turn.

As the elevator passed the thirtieth floor, she focused on her interview and fired off three more questions before they reached the Penthouse floor again. This time, when the doors opened, the English guard dog waited.

Juliana winced when the woman arched that eyebrow. This wasn’t good.

Is she harassing you, Mr. Moore? I specifically told her she missed her opportunity. If you give in to one member of the press, they’ll all be hounding you. I’ll call security. She pulled out her cell phone.

Juliana’s mouth dropped open, hanging there, catching flies, but she couldn’t close it. The woman’s meanness overwhelmed her. Grayson’s relaxed smile faded.

There’s no reason for that. I was asking her about cupcakes and her hometown.

The guard dog tipped her nose in the air. Cupcakes? You know perfectly well that you’re in training for your next film. Cupcakes are out of the question. I’m not sure why you even ate that sandwich today. Carbs are out of the question as well.

Cynthia, Grayson said with an edge of anger that made Juliana step backward until her hip bumped the wall. Are you my manager?

Cynthia smiled, a little forced. What an odd question. I have been for the past two years.

Not anymore.

Juliana blinked a few times before realizing that Cynthia stared right at her. What did she say? Sorry, but you walked right into that one?

The elevator doors closed, and when it arrived at Ground level, the three of them still stood in complete silence. Cynthia stormed out ahead of them and out the lobby door.

As if nothing happened, Grayson slipped on his sunglasses and tapped on his phone as he strolled toward the exit.

Should she leave? Juliana stayed a little behind him. He slowed down until she couldn’t help but catch up to him. Like he wanted her to walk beside him.

Play it cool.

Juliana, you just got Cynthia fired.

Her mouth fell open even further than before if that was possible. What? No, I didn’t mean—

Grayson chuckled, setting a warm hand on her shoulder. It doesn’t matter. Really. Trevor never liked her, either.

Who is Trevor?

My agent and best friend. I should have taken his advice back when I hired Cynthia, but the studio thought I needed someone to keep tabs on me.

Oh. Her face warmed the longer he held onto her shoulder.

Don’t print that.

She tilted her head slightly, her ponytail wobbling and reminding her how bad she probably looked. Of course not.

Grayson rubbed his thumb back and forth on her shoulder. His eyebrows drew down into a frown, and she wished she could see his eyes behind the glasses. You’re different, Juliana.

Whispers of Grayson’s name caught their attention at the same time. A group of teenage girls began to cluster together in the corner, pointing at Grayson and huddling close together like they were plotting their next move on a football field. One girl held up her cell phone.

He sighed. Time for me to go. He looked back down at Juliana, his lips twisting to the side. "It was very nice to meet you."

You, too. Thank you for the elevator interview.

He squeezed her shoulder before dropping his hand and backing up with a smile that caused a slow warmth to spread through her limbs. Thanks for showing me a very nice way to use pink icing. Then he left.

Juliana blinked at the spot he stood a second earlier. Had he complimented her butt? She straightened her shoulders. This ended up being quite an exciting day. Even with the pink icing incident.

Too bad the next time she saw Grayson would be in his latest movie. She’d be an idiot to think he had any type of connection with her. He was an actor after all. Better just to chalk up the extra time with him to one of those journalistic perks.

Back to Statem and back to her own reality. Her mind still hadn’t settled after announcing that she’d take over the Statem Dispatch as the owner next year when her dad retired because of his health.

She caught her reflection, smiling. Grayson thought he’d heard of her little town. Not a chance in the world. No worldwide traveling for her like Grayson Moore.

Her future included a sweltering Southern Christmas with her father, who always seemed to be in a crabby mood. It could be the perfect Christmas if she could manage to have her entire family there, including her sister, Eliza

Juliana walked out of the lobby and to her car to drive the three hours back home. Her father and sister hadn’t spoken since she skipped their mom’s funeral to elope with a drifter that she’d met a few weeks before. Getting her dad and Eliza back together might take one of those As Seen on TV, elusive Christmas miracle. If only she could order one of those off Amazon.

Grayson bench pressed another rep while his agent and now manager, Trevor, flipped through a magazine. It’d been a week since Grayson had returned to California after his cross-country media tour for his last movie. But not to his own home. He didn’t own a home or rent an apartment. Nothing permanent. That’d suited him for the past decade, and he had no plans on changing.

You know, I’d spot you if you’d like to take a turn lifting. Grayson set the bar on the rack and sat up, reaching for his sweat towel. The studio wanted him a specific size for his next film. At this point, he only had to maintain. A lot easier than the nine months he’d already suffered through on grilled chicken, no bread, and working out three hours a day. Not that he’d complain. He practically fell into acting, and if someone wanted to pay him to work out, then he’d do it.

Trevor glanced at him from over his magazine. Naw. I’m good.

Do you do anything for exercise? You used to be an elite football player. He grabbed a water bottle and walked to stand in front of Trevor. I mean, your baby sister can run circles around you.

Addie was a track star and can probably run circles around you, so don’t compare me to her. Even at my height of football stardom, she could outrun me. And I do run. I went for eight miles yesterday. He turned a page in his magazine. Just because I don’t feel the need to get all big and buff doesn’t mean I’m not in shape.

Lifting could never make a scrawny ass like you big.

Trevor tossed the magazine down and started taking a couple plates off the bar. I’ll do a few sets to get you off my back.

You can’t be my agent if you get soft and overweight. It’ll look bad. Grayson laughed when Trevor threw up his middle finger. Fine. You keep getting me good deals, I’ll keep you on even if you can’t fit through the door.

Trevor grunted as he pushed out twelve reps before it clanged on the rack. I forgot to tell you they won’t start filming your next movie until January.

I thought it was in a couple weeks. He would’ve worked right through Christmas. And New Year’s. Didn’t bother him. He hardly celebrated Christmas growing up, and the tradition continued. Hard to find a reason to care without any family.

It was supposed to. Trevor laid back down under the rack. I renegotiated the contract to give you a break. You need a break. He started a second set.

Grayson held a hand under the bar, pretending to spot. Trevor was strong, no matter how much Grayson harassed him.

A break.

A break might be nice. His television series set in England started filming in March. The movie in January was in Australia. No, he didn’t think he’d have another break until next summer.

Where do you think you’ll go for Christmas this year? Bora Bora? Tahiti? Trevor grunted out his last rep and sat up.

Grayson took another sip of water, thinking about his limited friends and where they lived. Where are you headed?

It’s our year to travel and meet my parents. They’re going to be in Key West. Want to come? I’m landing in Atlanta, picking up Addie, then flying down. He punched Grayson in the arm. The more, the merrier. Save me from my dad, asking me when I’m going to get a real job and put my law degree to actual use.

Wait. Why is Addie in Atlanta? I thought she was here in L.A. Although, now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen her around. In a while. She’d had her trouble in Georgia, but that was months ago.

He returned to his chair, picking up his magazine. "You don’t listen. She’s living in Georgia with Cameron, my friend from football camp that summer. She’s been there for most