Cause Célèbre: A Feel Good, Do Good Romance Read online

  Noah was having a good chuckle and simultaneously let out a small snort.

  “Did you just snortle?” Margot was caught so off guard, she dropped her hands from her face. One doesn’t expect a movie star to do that kind of thing.

  “Did I what?” he asked.

  “Snortle. You snorted while laughing. You totally snortled.”

  “Hey, you drooled on me,” Noah fired back, sounding mock defensive as he looked down at his damp shirt.

  “I’m so sorry.” She closed her eyes and shook her head with embarrassment. “I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned. I don’t have much cash on me, but I’ll stop by an ATM when we land, I swear.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “It’s just a little drool. My nephew does it to me all the time. He’s teething, of course, so he has an excuse, but…”

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.” Margot groaned, slapping a hand over her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” he told her, gently nudging her arm. “If it bothered me, I would have woken you up sooner.”

  “Come on,” she said, having a hard time meeting his eye. “It’s been awhile since I’ve showered. I must really stink.”

  “Not at all,” he told her. “I could tell you were tired, so I didn’t want to wake you. Besides, it was…” he hunted for the right words, “kind of nice.”

  Chapter 3

  It was weird standing next to Noah at the luggage carousel, waiting for their bags to be spit out. People kept coming up to him to ask for his autograph or were secretly taking photos of him with their cell phones. The movie star tried to roll with it, but it had been a very long flight. Margot could tell he was tired and really just wanted to be left alone.

  After she’d woken up, Noah had been so lovely for the rest of the trip, asking about her work and appearing genuinely concerned about the Nepalese girls, most of them just children, who were stolen away from their families, smuggled across the border to India, and sold to brothels. Margot became a bit choked up when she told him about how the pimps made sure the girls became addicts and locked them up completely naked to keep them from running away. If a girl did manage to escape, she was usually thrown in jail by the Indian police for being in the country illegally and, when released, sold back to another brothel by the police officers themselves. It was Margot’s job to try to educate the Nepalese families about the dangers their children faced and to council the girls and women who had been liberated from slavery or who had managed to escape.

  The effect on Noah of hearing the girls’ plight was remarkable. His face went a deep red as he gripped the arms of his seat with barely suppressed rage. “It sounds like we need to send SEAL Team Six in there to start busting some heads,” he finally said between very clenched teeth.

  Margot sighed. “I wish it was that easy.”

  “Why isn’t it?” he asked, his voice angry, but not at her.

  “Other governments don’t exactly take kindly to the U.S. sticking our nose in their business,” she explained. “We have to be very diplomatic how we handle things, or we’ll get completely shut out and won’t be able to help anyone.”

  Noah ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t governments want our help? They obviously know this is the sickest kind of slavery.”

  “A lot of time, it’s economics. Sex tourism is still tourism, and it brings in a lot of money. You’d be shocked if you knew how much of some countries’ economies are tangled up in this kind of stuff. A lot of governments just turn a blind eye.”

  After that, Noah changed the subject away from her work. Margot was both relieved and disappointed. She really needed a break from the heartache of trying to save so many girls from the nightmare of slavery, but she also hated when people dealt with the knowledge that slavery still existed by ignoring it.

  The movie star’s luggage was the first piece out of the shoot, naturally. He quickly yanked his bag off the carousel before the driver that had been waiting to pick him up could get to it. Then he stood there for an awkward moment, looking at his bag. “Can I drop you somewhere?” he finally asked. “It’s just me in the car, so there’s plenty of room.”

  Margot hesitated. Grabbing a cab would cost a fortune, and taking various buses all the way to her apartment would take close to two hours, and that’s if she was lucky.

  “Come on,” Noah said. “I insist.”

  “I don’t want to hold you up.” Margot shifted her gaze between the actor and the driver.

  “You’re not holding me up,” he assured her. “It’s not like I’m driving.” He turned to look at the chauffer. “You don’t mind, do you, Aaron?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” the driver said, showing no emotion about it either way.

  “Well…” Margot hesitated. It wasn’t her habit to accept rides from strangers, even ones she’d been talking to for the last seventeen hours. But it would have been an awfully long con job if he intended to rob her or kidnap her or worse.

  Noah must have understood the look on her face because he added, “Tell you what. You can take a photo of both of us with the license plate of the car,” he gestured toward himself and the driver, who was apparently called Aaron, “and text it to your mom or your roommate or someone so that they know exactly who is giving you the ride.”

  “Okay.” Margot smiled. “Thanks.” He must have been a movie star / psychic. “How’d you know what I was thinking?”

  “Yeah, I have sisters,” Noah told her. “I wouldn’t want them getting in a car with any old schmuck.”

  The Town Car was roomy with leather seats and a new-car smell. Margot gave the chauffer directions and made a mental note to slip him a twenty when they got there. It was his time, too, after all.

  “So I was thinking about your work,” Noah began as they rolled along the highway. “Do you have a business card or something?”

  “Sure.” Margot eagerly rummaged through her bag. Getting celebrity support would be an awesome way to draw attention to the girls’ plight.

  Noah looked the card over, front and back. “Is this your number?” he asked, taping at the print.

  “No.” She shook her head, not sure why he would think her private number would be on a nonprofit’s business card.

  “Well maybe you’d better write it down, too,” he said, handing the card back to her. “In case I need to call you or something.”

  “Um… sure…” Margot found a pen and added her digits to the back of the card. “But I’m sure if you called or wanted to contribute in any way, whoever answers the phone would be happy to help you with whatever you need,” she told him.

  “I’d rather speak to somebody I know,” was his reply.

  Margot felt her stomach flutter. And it wasn’t just the ordinary flutter of a guy asking for her number. A celebrity endorsement would be huge. But she didn’t want to push it. Noah had been nothing but nice to her since the wheels of the plane left the tarmac, and she didn’t want to be one of those people who pester a celebrity for favors.

  “It was really nice meeting you, Noah,” Margot told him, once the Town Car was in front of her apartment building. She had her luggage from the trunk, and Aaron was squared away. She stuck out her hand.

  Noah gave her a funny look before shaking it. “Same here,” he said. “You made the flight a lot more… interesting.”

  “Yeah, grubby, smelly passengers drooling on you always makes the time fly.” She rolled her eyes then giggled, still embarrassed.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” He looked down at his shirt. “Thanks for reminding me. I am so telling my agent that story. She’ll love it.”

  Margot mentally smacked herself on the forehead. Note to self, she thought. Do not remind hot, famous men about the stupid things you do.

  As she dragged her bag up the walk, she heard a glass door slide open, and someone hurried out onto a balcony. “Whose Town Car was that?” her roommate, Babs, called down. No Hello, no How was your flig
ht? Babs believed in cutting to the chase, and men who could afford to hire a Town Car from the airport were part of Babette’s chase.

  “Just some guy I was sitting next to on the plane,” Margot called back. “Buzz me up, I can’t find my keys.”

  Margot and Babette had been living together since they were assigned to share a dorm room in college. Where Margot was five foot eight and determined to make the world a better place, Babette was five foot two and determined to force her friend to realize life was to be celebrated, hopefully with champagne. They’d balanced each other out—Margot making sure Babs didn’t flunk out of school; Babs making sure Margot had a date once in a while and went to a few parties. If it hadn’t been for Margot, Babs would have had a deficit in her bank account, and if not for Babs, Margot would probably have worn shoes so practical that they would have been mistaken for serving some kind of corrective purpose.

  As Margot lugged her bag down the hall, Babs flung their apartment door open. “Wide awake or dead on your feet?” she called. With such a huge time difference between Southeast Asia and California, Margot frequently found when she returned home she could be ridiculously awake in the middle of the night or falling asleep in the frozen foods section of the grocery store in the middle of the afternoon. Babs always wanted to go out for drinks when her roommate was back but knew better than to try to steer Margot to a bar when she was in a sleep cycle.

  Margot considered the question. “Awake,” she concluded as Babs backed up so she could enter their apartment.

  “Great! Go delouse yourself, or whatever you do, and put on what I laid out for you on your bed.” Babs pried the duffle bag out of her hands. “There’s this cutest retro-tiki bar that opened up just a few blocks from here. It’s within staggering distance,” she said, as if that was a good thing.

  As Margot entered her bedroom, she had to laugh at her friend. She knew better than to argue with Babs about the delousing jab, the outfit, or the tiki bar. She’d committed to the evening when she’d said, “Awake.” On her bed was a sparkly spaghetti-strapped top and a skirt that was far more mini than she would have ever chosen on her own. The top was a creamy pink with shimmers of blue somehow woven into the fabric. Margot knew without even trying it on that it would flatter her lightly olive skin and set off her caramel-colored eyes. When it came to clothes, Babs knew her stuff.

  Babs was the buyer for a chic yet funky boutique in Venice Beach. She was smart enough not to try to stuff Margot into some of the more wild wares the store had to offer, but when there was something pretty that she knew would be flattering, she bought it with her employee discount and forced it on her roommate with the excuse that, “It was such a good deal, it would be like losing money not to buy it.”

  Their two-bedroom apartment was also in Venice. It had a kitchen/living room/dining room area, a single bathroom, and a large closet/storage area. Once Margot started going to Nepal with regularity, Babs began storing some of her immense wardrobe in the second bedroom, with more and more of Margot’s belongings ending up in the large closet. Then one trip, Margot came home to discover her old bedroom had been transformed into an immense closet, and the closet was set up as her bedroom. When she asked Babs about it, she was given a wide-eyed look, a shrug, and a, “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

  “Who’s Ronaldo Aldos?” Margot asked, once the two of them were perched on stools in the tiki bar and sipping drinks with names like Zombie-daiquiri.

  “Mmmm.” Babs sucked on her straw and then swallowed before answering. “He’s a director. Started with indie stuff but has been getting some big movies for the past couple of years.”

  “This may sound weird, but does he smell bad?”

  Babs nodded. “I guess he’s pretty eccentric and not that fond of showering. By American standards, that is. Why do you want to know?”

  “No reason.” Margot shrugged, giving extra attention than she normally would to the fruit impaled on a toothpick that decorated her drink.

  “Wait a minute.” Babs’s eyes grew wide. “Was that who gave you a ride home? Ronaldo Aldos?”

  “No.” Margot shook her head quickly. “Definitely not. Just some guy that’s worked with him. And he did imply he was kind of stinky,” she confided.

  “Who?” Babs demanded, her eyes so wide that white could be seen on all sides. “Who was it?”

  “No one, really.” Margot suddenly felt like she was betraying a confidence.

  “Tell me,” Babs insisted, clutching her friend’s arm. “I have to know.”

  With some trepidation, Margot finally said, “Noah Donavon.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Babs made the words three distinct sentences. “Was that who gave you the ride home? Noah Donavon? He’s so gorgeous! How did you end up talking to him? Did you win a contest or something?”

  Margot had to laugh. “No, I got bumped to first class, and we were sitting next to each other on the flight from Bangkok.”

  “You are so lucky!” Babs bounced up and down on her bar stool. “Why doesn’t anything like that ever happen to me?”

  “Probably because you never leave the city,” Margot said dryly.

  “Why should I? All the movie stars live here,” Babs fired back. “I mean, someone really famous could come into the boutique once in a while, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” Margot shrugged. “Why not?”

  “So, what happened?” Babs sipped at her tiki drink, poised and ready for gossip.

  “Nothing.” Margot could feel herself blush at the memory of using the movie star as her personal throw pillow. “We just talked a little bit. He was nice.”

  “He gave you a ride home,” Babs pointed out.

  “Yeah, and that was nice of him.”

  Babs narrowed her eyes. They’d been best friends for a long time, and she knew there was more to the story that Margot was obviously concealing. “Did he ask you out?”

  “No,” Margot said rather quickly and a bit too loud.

  “Did he ask for your number?”

  “Not really. He did ask for my card, in case he wanted to get involved with Nepal.

  “Do you think he’s going to ask you out?”

  “Of course not,” Margot said with a nervous giggle. “You saw how nasty I looked by the time I got home. Is that the kind of person you’d ask out if you were a movie star?”

  “I might,” Babs said giving her friend’s trim figure the once over. “If I swung that way. He’s single, you know.”

  Margot did her best to not sound too interested, but she couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know that?”

  “Everyone knows that. It was all over the gossip rags. He was dating Serena Billingsly for a couple of years. I mean, ever since they were both in that terrible movie about the werewolves.” Margot had no idea what her friend was talking about but nodded anyway to keep the story moving. “And then,” Babs continued, “about two months ago, Serena got caught red-handed making out with some big-wheel producer. The paparazzi got pictures and sold them for big bucks to a bunch of newspapers.”

  “That’s horrible,” Margot exclaimed.

  “I know. She was a real dumbass. Got dropped from a bunch of projects. It’s really messing with her career.”

  “Yeah, but think how awful it would be for him. You find out the person you love is cheating on you by seeing it plastered across some gossip magazine.” Margot felt her guts clench just thinking about it. She’d had two ex-boyfriends wind up being cheaters, the last one rather recently. It was weirdly humiliating. She couldn’t imagine having the whole damn country knowing about it. She’d want to hide in a cave.

  Babs signaled the bartender for another round. “But think about it. He’s single; you’re single… You could help mend his broken heart.”

  “Hey, I like fairytales, too,” Margot told her. “I’d like to be wooed by a modern-day prince charming and all that. But trust me; it’s never going to happen.”

  Due to extreme jetlag, Margot wasn’t able to
fall asleep until three in the morning. If she was being totally honest with herself, a couple of her dreams were invaded by a broad-shouldered, handsome man with curly brown hair and the perfect shade of blue eyes. She would have kept sleeping well into the afternoon if the ringing of her phone hadn’t woke her up. “Hello?” She coughed, stabbing at her cell phone, her throat dry from so much sleeping.

  “Margot Hernandez, please,” said an unfamiliar male voice.

  Pulling the phone away from her face, Margot glanced at the caller ID, something she had been too sleepy to do when it initially rang. It was a local number, but one she didn’t recognize. “She’s not here right now. Can I take a message?”

  “Margot, I recognize your voice. I know it’s you,” the male voice said.

  “Who’s this?” She felt both embarrassed and a bit annoyed at being caught in a white lie.

  “It’s Noah.”

  “Noah?” Margo wondered if she’d heard him correctly or if she was still dreaming.

  “Yeah, from the plane.” When she still didn’t say anything after a couple of seconds, he exclaimed, “Oh, come on. How many Noahs do you know?”

  “I’m sorry… no, it’s just… I just woke up,” she managed to blurt. “Uhm, yeah, it’s me. I’m just a little confused why you’re calling.”

  “Well, I know it’s kind of last minute for a Saturday night,” he began, “but there’s this after-party for this movie premiere tonight. I’m not in the movie or anything, so I’m not going to the actual premiere, but I was wondering if you’d like to join me for the party.” The movie star was speaking very quickly, and part of Margot’s brain wondered if he was nervous for some reason or just in a hurry. She was still puzzling it out when he added, “So, would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Like to go with me to the after-party?”

  “Um.” Margot felt her face flush. “Is it going to be very fancy?”

  “I’m sure most people will be in black tie. Is that a problem?”