Out of the Woods | ✓

10 | baby, you'll be famous

In Jensen's world of being almost well known—meaning occasionally she was recognized and she would take cute pictures for five minutes and go back to being a no one—a situation being "dealt with" meant that the situation in question would no longer be a problem. Or of importance. Or ever really brought up again.

            But Hollywood loved to dramatize endings, didn't it?

            Because when Jensen walked out of the hotel to head to her screen test the next morning, cameras flashed at all angles. Shouts were heard as hoards of reporters tried to push past each other to get closer to Jensen.

            Jensen looked around and to see which direction she was supposed to be heading. She was hoping to hail a cab on Sunset Boulevard to grab breakfast and go to the studio, but getting through reporters was going to make it a lot more difficult.

            "Are you dating Miles Fox?"

            "Did Miles Fox get you an audition for Sparks Fly?"

            "Is there anything you can tell us about this Keira Lim project?"

            "How long have you known Miles Fox?"

            "Can you tell us anything about Dayna Adams or Hugh Gardner?"

            Jensen really should have taken her Lexapro before she left. But, having not had breakfast, Jensen had been planning on taking her medication after. That worked out well.

            Jensen could feel warmth in her chest, her heart beating faster than it was supposed to. Blood pumped in her ears but not loud enough to drown out the reporters' questions. Which way was Sunset Boulevard? Would they follow her if she kept walking? What if—

            A honk came from across the street that pulled Jensen out of her overthinking.

            Inside a black car was a sunglass-wearing, baseball hat-clad Miles Fox, who had done everything to draw attention to himself minus yelling hey, I'm Miles Fox! to get the paparazzi's attention. But he was waving at her in manner that practically screamed get in.

            Jensen wasn't going to argue with that.

She began to push her way through the crowd and make her way to the car. More flashes came as Jensen looked both ways before running across the street. Pulling open the passenger door and sliding into the seat, Jensen had barely closed the door—let alone put on her seatbelt—before Miles started driving.

            "Morning," Miles said, shoving a takeout bag at Jensen without taking his eyes off the road. Pointing downwards to the cupholders between them, Miles tapped the top of a large coffee to-go cup. "Mine." He pointed to a second cup, equally as large. "Yours."  Miles put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Eat. Drink. Be merry. If you can. This morning is fucking shit, so you can ignore that last part if you want."

            "I—" Jensen looked in the bag, seeing a wrapped breakfast sandwich and a hash brown patty. There were small creamers and packets of sugar tossed on top, like they'd been added later. "Hi. Um, thank you?" She hadn't meant for it to come out as a question. Her breathing was still too quick.

            "So, funny story," Miles said, digging through a takeout bag on his lap without looking at it and managing to pull out two hash brown patties. Biting into both hash browns, he pushed the bite to the side. "I fired my publicist today. Bet you can't guess why."

            Jensen dug into the small bag she'd slung over her shoulder—it was just big enough to hold her phone, a credit card, and her Lexapro. Pulling out the prescription bottle, Jensen quickly opened it and shook two pills into her palm. Dropping them into her mouth, she took a sip of the hot coffee to wash them down.