When An Accident Prone No One Marries A Celebrity There Will Be Chaos...

Chapter 23

“I’ve done this a thousand times,” I insist once again as Emmie unsurely asks me whether or not I am certain we can get into this club. Well, maybe not a thousand times. A couple of times at least. Make that twice. I’ve meant to make more use of this elevated celebrity status thing I just hadn’t got round to it yet because I’ve been too busy to go swanning off to swanky clubs every night of the week. But when Emmie questions me on my club visiting frequency I lie and insist I do this all the time. I certainly don’t tell her I have never done this without Ollie which may have something to do with why the bouncers are always so willing to let us in. But being the fiancée of Ollie Daniels must count for something. And it’s not like I use the connection to get what I want all the time. In fact I never use my connection with Ollie to get anything ever, so just this once it seems only fair that I can get into a posh club without queuing unquestioned. Right? Well, I think so anyway. “Just play it cool and we should be fine,” Kate instructs.

Why does no one trust me to get into this place? I am going to prove them all wrong. I bet this bouncer won’t even stop me. He’ll just let me walk straight in because he’ll clearly recognise me straight away. I’m not nervous at all. There’s no need to speed up. He’s not going to stop me. I am a well respected journalist. Shit, why is he looking at me so suspiciously? “Stop,” the cruellest looking bouncer demands while holding out an arm. “Oh, no you don’t understand. I’m Isabelle Emerson,” I explain hopefully. I try to casually keep walking passed but the bouncer isn’t having any of it. He places a hand on my shoulder and actually pushes me back. Are they allowed to do that? Just use physical violence on innocent members of the public? Surely not. But seeing as I want to be allowed into this club I decide not to provoke him any further by posing the question. “Who?” he questions, scrunching up his big, ugly face in confusion.

I am not going to lie, his bewilderment has brought me down to earth with a bump. So apparently I am not well known in my own right. I see a bit of worry on Georgie’s face but I am not going to panic just yet. I’ll just have to use the Ollie connection. I may sound a bit pretentious right now but it’s better than standing on a street corner all night attempting to reason with these brain dead morons. “I’m a journalist and I am engaged to Ollie Daniels,” I elaborate with confidence. I raise my eyebrows in defiance. I bet he feels so silly now he knows who I am. “Yeah, great. I’m an astronaut and I am going to marry Scarlett Johansson,” scoffs the bouncer while pushing me aside.

“What?... No I really am a journalist and Ollie is my fiancée. I’m on my hen night,” I insist whilst gesturing to my sash which clearly reads ‘bride to be.’ I can feel myself getting flustered because my face is doing that thing when it starts to burn and then turns a vibrant, attractive, shade of crimson. He scrunches up his nose doubtfully as he looks me up and down. Why does this always happen to me? I suddenly recall the time in Los Angeles when the hotel receptionist attempted to have me thrown out the hotel because she wouldn’t believe I dated Ollie. I know I don’t look like the typical choice for the girlfriend of a film star but is it really so hard to believe? It wasn’t meant to go like this, we were meant to casually walk in as VIPs. What happened to that plan? The bouncer then turns to the man next to him. “Oi, Lou?”

“What?” the other bouncer answers gruffly. 

“Who is that Ollie Daniels bloke dating?” he asks.

“That really fit actress,” the other bouncer replies.

“Melody Bloom?” he questions.

“NO!” I quickly interject in annoyance, my face now flushing in anger.