Kelly rolled over in bed and picked up her cell phone.
Mark’s face smiled back at her as his Bon Jovi ringtone
blared. What could he possibly want at three in the morning?
Was he insane?

“You’d better be bleeding, jackass,” she mumbled.
His deep chuckle filled the silence of her studio.
“Damn, you’re grumpy in the morning.”

“It’s not morning yet. It’s that time of day even Jesus
hates. What do you want? Where are you?”

“I had to work the late shift, remember?”

Kelly vaguely recalled that the night guy at the airport
had quit and Mark had to fill in for him for a couple weeks.
“I’m really sorry for your luck. Again, what do you want?”

“I need a favor.”

Ah hell. The last time Mark needed a favor, Kelly ended
up watching three little girls—scratch that, three little
terrorists—all under the age of six so he could go bang
their mom. “If this involves you getting laid, I’m not
interested. Try that website for nanny services.”

“Don’t be bitter. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Point, Mark. Let’s get to the point.” She rubbed a hand
over her messy hair and down her face. People should not be
awake at three a.m., especially people like her.

“Remember that actor that had his plane serviced a
couple months ago?”

Kelly answered with a grunt. She had to admit, it was
pretty sweet that Mark had spent an entire afternoon
chauffeuring around a big time celebrity while his plane was
checked out. They went to lunch and spent the afternoon
driving around and chatting like old friends. That was just
Mark, though. He had the best luck of any person she’d ever met.

“We were having lunch and he starts telling me that he
likes to hide out, right. No cameras, no interviews, just
shootin’ the shit. We got along, so I offered for him to
stay around here when he needed to.”

Kelly cursed. She knew exactly what Mark had offered.
“What did you promise and how screwed am I?”

“Let me finish.” Mark sighed, his nerves clearly shot.
“So I might have led him to believe that I knew someone with
a private bed and breakfast type place that is way off in
the hills.”

“Damn it, Mark. You know Pops doesn’t like strangers.”

“Well, here’s the thing. He might have told his
girlfriend about this little hidey-hole.”

Kelly groaned. “Might have? God, you make me want to
hold your head under water until the bubbles quit.”

“Plane lands in an hour, private runway H.”

Kelly was already pulling on her jeans because this was
Mark. Even though Mark was a pain in the ass, he would give
his left nut for her. “Do you mean to tell me that now I
have to play hostess to some stuck up actress in hiding
because she’s in trouble and needs her publicist to smooth
things over?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Ha! This is why I don’t do the whole love thing. Men
are pigs.”

“All but me, babe. You’re a freaking angel. Private run—”

“Runway H, got it, got it. Bye.”

Kelly stood in the hangar at four in the morning. She was
freezing. The November winds cut through her hoodie down to
her bones. The private runways on this side of the small
airport were lifeless. If this was another one of Mark’s
jokes, she would hang him and beat him like a dirty rug.
Mark enjoyed playing jokes, particularly on her.

As unfair as it was, he had to be the luckiest guy on the
planet. God only knew how many pictures he had with famous
people who flew into the airport and happened to land in the
private hangar where he worked. The photos lined his wall.
Movie stars, rock stars, even a porn star. Kelly didn’t ask
how he knew who she was. Some things needed to remain a
mystery between friends.

The likelihood of this being real was high. As a small plane
came in for a landing, Kelly took out her phone to see
exactly who she was hosting.

“Mark?”

“That’s his plane.”

“His plane. It’s a guy? You said your friend told his
girlfriend.”

Mark chuckled mischievously. “And she turned around and told
her friend—an actor.”

“Why won’t you tell me who he is? Is this one of your
pranks?” Kelly looked around, expecting to find Mark
watching and laughing. “I will have your testicles.”

“No pranks. This is honest to God the luckiest day of your
life.”

“Come on, Mark. Seriously, will I even recognize this guy?
Have I seen any of his movies? What is he, extra number one
hundred and fifty—” She stopped mid-sentence when her eyes
locked on to the man stepping out of the private jet.

“Holy. Shit. Please tell me that is not…”

“Your very own guilty pleasure, Trevor Jacobs. Happy
Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy Birthday for the
next twenty years.”

“If you ever need a kidney, I’m your girl. Gotta go.” She
hung up to Mark laughing and saying, “You’re welcome.”