Chasing the Dream: Dream Series, Book 3 by Isabelle Peterson Page A

went in search of the kitchen, replaying the voice in the room. I was certain it was the same Chase Smythe. But how stupid of me. How many Chase Smythe actors could there be? And his name was on the door. Finding the kitchen, I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and then tried to control my breathing as I returned to Chase Smythe’s dressing room.
    I thought about all of his characters. ‘James Blond’ from the Nickelodeon show of the same name, back in the late nineties when he first came onto the acting scene in a big way. He was fourteen and I was nine. He was my first crush. A little early to start crushing on boys, but he was too cute and there was scads of attention thrown his way. ‘Patrick Martin,’ the Australian, eighteen year old ‘mate’ working in his uncle’s bar in the show T’morrah is Another Day. And, his latest series that had just been cancelled earlier this year, ‘Zane Chatham’ on the show Shore Socialites. It was a show to parody ‘reality’ shows and he was ‘the Brit.’ ‘Zane’s’ accent made me weak in the knees. One of Chase’s best skills as an actor was his ability to employ accents. He was a master at them. I was just not very good at identifying them.
    The week of July Fourth, his latest movie, Book Ends , was releasing. I had been dying for this film to come out. I’d read the steamy, naughty book and heard that the producers were trying to be as true to the book as possible, which meant many hot sex scenes. Included with the hype for the movie were dozens of pictures of Chases’ ass on Internet gossip sites and I was looking forward to seeing his ass on the big screen. But now I was about to see the actor in the flesh.
    I knocked on the door quietly before stepping in and peeking around the door’s edge. There he sat. His perfectly mussed, dirty blonde hair. Not too short, not too long. His smooth, golden, sun-kissed skin, with a short scruffy one-day growth accentuating his chiseled jaw. His eyes were closed, but I was sure if he opened them, those violet-blues would be looking back at me. I let my eyes trail down his body, slouched on the sofa. A tight, plain, long-sleeved black t-shirt, pushed up to the elbows, a ratty pair of faded jeans encased his legs, and a pair of black Doc Martins on his feet. He looked delicious. Was the floor shaking? Was there an earthquake going on? Because I definitely felt the floor move.
    “I have the water,” I croaked. Sure enough, his signature blues opened and rested on me. ME! Phoebe Fairchild. He was looking at me. I gave a quick smile, but tried to rein it in, not wanting to seem like a goofy-fan, and calmly handed him the cold bottle.
    “Hey now,” he said, sitting up. I watched his body move as he pushed up those sleeves a bit more, his biceps and chest muscles flexing under the material as he did so. He looked tall even sitting there. I knew from reading his bio in magazines that he was only five-foot-eleven. Not tall like Dickwad, who was six-foot-four, but I was five-foot-seven. I remembered thinking, when I was seventeen, that Chase and I would be a good height match. I wished I were as tall as my mother who was five-foot-eleven, except where Chase was concerned. If I were as tall as my mom was, Chase and I would be eye-to-eye and I wouldn’t be able to wear heels. “Where did Dana go?” Chase’s rich voice rang through the space, snapping me out of my head. “Is this her replacement? Because, I approve!”
    I looked around. Surely he wasn’t talking about me. Valerie? He would be happy with her for a personal assistant? Surely that’s what he meant. She was powerful. She was chic. She was worldly. Me? I was Northern California and Ohio. Definitely not chic , I thought bringing my hand up to my casual ponytail.
    “Chase. Are you ready for the shoot today? You need to be on set in half an hour. Then tonight you have,” Valerie quipped, pulling back the top paper on the clipboard, “ Late Night with