June 2005, California, USA

  "Olive," Greg Kinnear said. "Yrandpa would've been really proud of you." He loaded a few bags into the boot space of the minibus—the same boot space where Grandpa's corpse had been stuffed not long ago.

  "Yeah, you were great," Toni Collette added, bending down to kiss Abigail's temple.

  "Beyond great," I said, pg a hand on her head. "You were incredible."

  She looked up at me with a shy smile. "Thank you!"

  Greg shut the boot. "Let's get out of here."

  Normally, that would mean piling into the vehicle, but this minibus ecial—it needed a bit of encement first. Together, the entire family started pushing the vehicle as the camera moved alongside us, capturing every step.

  Greg climbed in first, taking the wheel, followed by Abigail Breslin, then Toni Collette, and Steve Carell. I was the st oill pushing. If I wanted, I could have jumped in earlier, but I had my dires—it had to happen just before the parking lot's toll booth barrier. Timing was everything.

  As we he barrier, I picked up speed, running alongside the vehicle. At the precise moment, just as the barrier loomed ahead, I jumped ieve shut the door behind me, and Greg hohe horn as we smashed through the sixth barrier of the day. We all ughed in-character, enjoying the absurdity of it, while the beauty pageant anizer was ioll row adjat to ours, mouth agape.

  "Cut!" Jonathan and Valerie shouted in unison, their voices bring over the car's speaker. "We did it, guys! That's a for [Little Miss Sunshine]!"

  Greg reversed the minibus bato the parking lot, where the entire crew greeted us with loud appuse. Among the crowd, one face stood out—a face I was more than a little happy to see. Without wasting any time, I speed-walked toward her. She had arrived te, just in time to see the final shot. It was only possible because we'd been shooting the climax in a parking lot in Los Angeles, where Rihanna happeo be renting a pce.

  "Hey," I greeted her with a smile.

  "Hey yourself," Rihanna replied, stepping into my personal spad kissing me on the lips, in full view of the cast and crew. Her boldness caught me off guard, but at that moment, I didn't care if the whole world found out about us. Naturally, I kissed her back.

  My arms ed around her slender waist, pulling her closer, while her hands gently caressed the nape of my neck.

  "Ahem!" Someone cleared their throat loudly nearby.

  Suddenly aware of my surroundings, I pulled back, turning to see Toni Collette watg us unfortably. "Troy, have you fotten that we have a child o?"

  "Sorry," I said sheepishly. "We haven't seen each other in months."

  She shook her head, then turo Rihanna. "I've known him since he was a little kid. This feels s on so many levels I 't even…" Shaking her head again, she offered her hand. "Hi, I'm Toni."

  "Rihanna," she said, shaking Toni's hand casually.

  Toni turned bae and lowered her voice. "You do realize a set isn't a safe space. sider this"—she gestured between Rihanna and me—"as good as publiowledge."

  I shrugged. "We don't care. I hid my st retionship, and we were both miserable because of all the secreot anymore."

  "If you're sure about it."

  "I am," I replied firmly, then turo Rihanna. "Did you know Toni taught me how to dance? If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have gotten [Billy Elliot]."

  "Really?" Rihanna asked with monoce. "What wouldn't I give to go ba time to see i little Troy?"

  "You just had to say that," I muttered under my breath.

  Before our versation could tinue, Jonathan Dayton, the director, picked up a mid addressed everyone loudly. "Thank you, everyone, for making this film possible. Your joint efforts have made [Little Miss Sunshine] a reality."

  The crew erupted in appuse. I joined in wholeheartedly, having genuinely enjoyed my time making the film.

  "I'd also like to thank our producers, all of whom will be at tonight's arty. But before we go our separate ways, there's one producer you should all know about—someone who's stayed anonymous until now."

  I closed my eyes briefly. Why couldn't Jonathan have waited until tonight? Or better yet, not made this annou at all?

  "Troy Armitage," he said, turning toward me with a huge grin. "This film was almost shelved a couple of months ago until Troy stepped in and saved it. He asked us to keep his identity hidden so everyone here would treat him normally. But now that the film is fihank you, Troy, fiving us your sweet-sweet money and making it possible."

  I chuckled at his words before stepping forward. "No, thank you, Jonathan and Valerie, for creating this incredible film. I have a lot of people to thank, but that wait for tonight. So everyone, don't miss the event. We'll have a bst tonight!"

  Beside me, Rihanna slipped her hand into mine as the crew began ing up the set.

  I turo her with a grin. "You're a really good actress."

  "Am I?" she teased, stepping closer.

  I nodded. "Even I wouldn't believe that this isn't real."

  "Who said this isn't real?" she asked ily. Her index firailed along the edge of my loose T-shirt, stopping over my chest. Her nail pressed lightly against the fabric, just enough to make me wince. She had deliberately chosen my nipple area to rest her finger.

  I grabbed her haly and moved it away, frowning. "What are you doing?" It wasn't like her to be this bold. Sure, we didn't know each other that well yet, but this was new.

  "Making the whole situation more believable," she said, her eyes flig pointedly behind me. I didn't o turn around to know someone was watg us.

  "Don't," I said firmly. "We just o attend the LA premiere of [Brick], and then everyone will know."

  Rihanna pouted pyfully for a moment before her eyes lit up. "So, you're free right nht?"

  I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "For three or four hours before the party. Why? What are you pnning?"

  She shrugged casually. "I need a little help in my room. Could you, um, ge my lightbulb?"

  I barely held back a ugh at her not-so-subtle euphemism. "Is that your code name for me now? Lightbulb?"

  "It could be," she teased before taking my hand and pulling me along. "e on. We don't have much time. Let's see how many bulbs we ge in three hours."

  "I 't wait to impress you with my… bulb-ging prowess."

  We both ughed as the absurdity of our versation before heading toward the parking lot.

  "This is me," she said, pointing to an old, beat-up Chevy. "You e with me in this, or follow in your car."

  I goward my own car—a stark trast to her modest Chevy—a brand-new green Lambhini Galrdo. I couldn't help but smile bitterly at the juxtaposition. In the UK, I wouldn't be allowed to drive until I turned 17, but in the US, I had retly passed my drivi. The day my dual-citizenship passport arrived, the first thing I did ly for a driver's lise. Dad, being Dad, decided to make my first car special—a tradition, he cimed. And so, here I was, with a Lambhini, even though I'd only be in the US for two months.

  Sometimes, in my life of privilege, I fet how extravagant it all look from the outside.

  "No," I said firmly to Rihanna. "You're ing with me."

  She squi me skeptically. "What about my car?"

  "Don't worry," I replied, motioning for my security team to step forward. They were alresent but stayed in the background unless needed.

  "Paolo," I said to my head of security. " you get one of the guys to drive Rihanna's car to her pce?"

  Paolo nodded. "Just he address."

  Rihanna quickly gave him the details, and moments ter, one of his team members was driving her Chevy away.

  I turned back to Paolo. "Rihanna and I are going for a drive."

  "In the Lambo?" Paolo asked, hesitating. "I'm not sure it's safe, Troy."

  "We're in LA," I pointed out. "Not a warzone. If it makes you feel better, you follow us."

  He would follow even if I told him not to. He's a paranoid man like that. I could tell he waue, but I didn't give him the ce. Taking Rihanna's hand again, I led her toward my gleaming car.

  "Wow," she murmured in awe as she slid into the passenger seat while I started the engine.

  "You like it?" I asked rhetorically, revving the engine food measure.

  "Hell yeah! Who wouldn't?" she replied, grinning as I pulled out of the lot.

  Drivi as natural as walking to me. From the moment I first sat behind the wheel, I had driven as naturally as someoh years of experience does. Another perk of my strange reality, I guess.

  "Where are we going?" Rihanna asked after a moment. "My pce is in the opposite dire."

  "Just taking this beauty for a spin," I said, patting the steering wheel affeately. "After that, we'll head to my pstead, no offense. Sometimes it's a hassle dealing with fans when all I want is a quiet evening."

  I knew for sure that Rihanna won't be living in some top level pce with good security/ privacy, so it's better if we avoided it altogether.

  She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "You're right. Makes sense."

  I maneuvered smoothly through the heavy traffic, weaviween cars whenever a gap opened up. I kept the speedometer just within the legal limit, but I was sav every sed behind the wheel. In the rearview mirror, I spotted the security team tailing us, and an idea sparked.

  "Wanna try something fun?" I asked, gng at Rihanna.

  "What kind of fun?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "How about we try to lose the security team?"

  She straightened in her seat, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Let's make it iing. If you lose them, I'll make it worth your while and break every publidecy w known to man." Her hand slid under my shirt, feeling my abs before stopping just shy of my waistband. "If you don't…" She withdrew her hand and crossed her arms across her chest with a teasing smile.

  "Damn," I muttered under my breath. "If that's what's at stake, they're as good as lost."

  I smmed the accelerator, pushing the car past the speed limit. The engine roared as I darted between vehicles, each sharp turn making Rihanna gasp in exhiration. If I got caught, it'd be my first offense—and what a story it would be: speeding and publidecy all in one night.

  (Break)

  As soon as I stepped onto the red carpet with Rihanna on my arm, the world seemed to explode. Photographers shouted our names from every aheir cameras fshing like lightning. It was chaos, but I couldn't bme them.

  Rihanna looked breathtaking in a bck, floor-length gown with a daring slit up the side, leaving her left leg bare for the world to admire. Her brown hair was styled in soft curls, adding a touch to her already stunning appearance.

  As for me, I kept it simple yet striking, wearing a sea-green suit paired with a crisp white shirt, colr open, with a few top buttons uo dispy my upper chest. The LA heat was unbearable, so I ditched the tie entirely and instead went for this look. My ensemble was plemented by a pair of leather shoes in a matg shade—courtesy of Crocs.

  I still remember the first time I had to attend a bck-tie event and the CEO threw a tantrum.

  (Fshback)

  Gee Boedecker, the CEO of Crocs, was clearly displeased. His expression darkened as he gestured emphatically.

  "Why 't you see how good this would be for the brand?" he argued passionately. "People o know you wear Croywhere—even at a movie premiere!"

  "No," I said firmly. "When I agreed to this partnership, you promised to make shoes for occasions like this. What happeo that promise?"

  Gee sighed, looking weary. "We're just trying to maximize exposure. You knoant to go publi a few years, right? That's only possible if revenue skyrockets. Every time you wear a new design, it sells out within days."

  Gee and the other founders were desperate to fast-track Crocs' IPO, but I had my own timeline. I had already made it clear: no going publitil after 2008.

  I rubbed my thoughtfully as an idea formed. "Okay, here's the solution. Create a luxury sub-brand—call it Troy. I have the chted my name, so that shouldn't be an issue. Make them premium-priced and in limited quantity. If they sell out, great for everyone. If not…" I shrugged with a grin. "More shoes for me."

  Gee's expression shifted, the wheels in his mind visibly turning. "A sub-brand… That could work. Let me run this by the team."

  "Good," I said, leaning back with satisfa. "Now, about the premiere's shoes..."

  (Fshbad)

  I had already tested the waters with the Troy line during the premiere of [Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire]. The response had been overwhelmingly positive. Buyers loved the shoes for their y number one priority when designing them—and their polished, stylish look. Avaible in a range of colors, they were the most fortable dress shoes I had ever worn.

  Seeing their success, Gee was eager to expand Crocs' premium s. While the brand was best known for its id-back clogs, he now envisioned formal footwear as a lucrative sedary reveream. Ideally, he would've waited a few years to roll out the line, but the results spoke for themselves.

  Crocs had already surpassed 400 million in revenue in the first half of 2005. My 20% stake was shaping up to be a windfall, but it was in everyone's best io keep pushing the numbers higher. More revenue meant higher profit shares for everyone involved.

  "What're you thinking?" Rihanna asked nervously, breaking my train of thought.

  I looked at her, notig the slight tension in her posture. It robably her first time attending such a high-profile event. Though she had released her debut album, those events were retively tame in parison.

  "Nothing much," I said, brushing off her . I gestured toward the entrance. "Let's head in."

  "Troy!" someone shouted from the sea of photographers. "Since when have you been dating Rihanna?"

  I turoward the source of the voice, chuckled lightly, and shook my head before pulling Rihanna along inside.

  "Shouldn't you have answered that question?" she asked once we were out of earshot.

  "No," I said firmly. "Never address personal retionships directly. If you o share something, let your publicist ha. Have them leak it through 'anonymous sources.' If you don't have a publicist, borrow mihe moment you say anything yourself, people will assume you're trying to hype the retionship for attention."

  Rihanna houghtfully, taking my advice to heart as we made our way into the venue. Inside, my family was already waiting.

  "I didn't expect this from you, Troy," Dad said by way of greeting. Despite his words, his expression was more amused than anything. "Paolo filled me in on how he had to bribe a cop to get you out of trouble."

  "Yes, Troy," Rihanna chimed in mischievously, her voice dripping with mock as she pinched my bum, away from anyone else's sight. "Why were you driving so fast? I could barely sit straight at the speed you were going."

  Of course, she hadn't been sitting straight for reasons Dad didn't o know. It was only my luck that the cop was a little slow and didn't see exactly what was going on. My car's tinted windows helped.

  I shrugged nontly and turo Rihanna with a smirk. "Worth it."

  "Wait," Evan interrupted. "What happened with the cop?"

  "It's a long story."

  _____________________________________________

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