Part 11 (2/2)

Based on that circ.u.mstance, our future together did not look promising.

”'Morning.”

I rolled over at his greeting and saw him grinning ear to ear, holding a mug of coffee and wearing nothing but a pair of cotton PJ bottoms. Yum.

I supposed I could overlook the morning person problem.

”Mmm. Good morning,” I answered back, fluffing the pillows and sitting up in his bed.

He put the coffee on the nightstand. ”I guessed cream and sugar. 'Suppose I should find stuff like this out.”

I was touched by his thoughtfulness. ”Cream and sugar is perfect. So are you.”

He gave a shy smile and then pulled something out from behind his back. ”Hey. Check this out. I'm going full-on John Lennon with the peace crusade, baby. I just had this made.” He snapped a T-s.h.i.+rt out toward me and I saw the motto for his Earthling Rights Foundation across the front: LOVE.

W I L L W I N It was a song from the band Slanker Knox, and Trip had adopted it as the theme for his charity. What started out as a crusade for human rights had soon evolved into an all-encompa.s.sing organization, benefitting not just people in need, but animals, communities, and the environment as well. ERF helped military families, a.s.sisted children's groups, and aided in disaster recovery. It gave tons of money to the ASPCA and funded various movements directed toward improving education and medical research.

It was really pretty amazing.

He flipped the s.h.i.+rt around to the side, and I saw the extra hit he'd had customized on the sleeve: earthlingrights.org It looked really good. So did he. ”Nice.”

”You'd better get up. CNN will be here in about an hour.”

There was a camera crew on its way over to set up for a taped interview. Trip was excited to have a chance to plug his philanthropic venture to such a large audience. He'd founded the organization soon after he'd gotten out of rehab, but it took a couple years before it grew legs.

After reports came back about our under-protected soldiers in Iraq, ERF sent over a s.h.i.+pment of bullet-proof vests. After that tsunami ravaged the Asian coast, Trip's people hand-delivered a s.h.i.+pment of goods and helped to care for the displaced citizens of Indonesia.

His charity was basically a group of real-life superheroes, coming to the rescue of any fellow humans that were in need. I was really proud of him for the time and money he devoted to it.

I stopped daydreaming and hauled myself out of bed, slammed down the coffee, and got my b.u.t.t in the shower. By the time I made my way into the den, Trip was pacing the room. I watched as he futzed with the pillows on the couch, changed the angle of the side chair, and picked a non-existent piece of debris off the floor. I swear, he was being even more OCD than me.

”Trip! Stop. The place looks perfect.” And it did. I'd seen with my own eyes the considerable amount of time Mrs. Elena had spent in that very room, readying it for the day's filming.

He stopped his pacing to look at me and say, ”I don't know. You think we should do this outside instead? This room is too... serious.”

I'd already taken note of the framed artwork Trip had chosen for his walls. Most were enlarged photographs or prints of various landscapes. But upon closer inspection, I realized they were tagged with the names of some of the places he'd visited over his lifetime: Lagos, Nigeria. Cairo, Egypt. Antananarivo, Madagascar. It was as though he were trying to constantly remind himself of all the people who didn't live in such grandeur.

”Your charity is serious. Stop second-guessing yourself. Once your face shows up onscreen, no one will be looking at the room, anyhow, studm.u.f.fin.”

He gave me a durr-hurr face and threw one of the couch pillows at me.

I laughed and put it back on the sofa.

And then Trip rearranged it.

The film crew finally showed up then, taking over the house. Sandy was there, greeting everyone and directing the setup. I was panicked at the thought that the beautiful tile floors would be scratched by the wobbly wheels of the equipment dollies. I was too preoccupied with that spectacle to be nervous for Trip, who spent his time vacillating between gracious host and nervous wreck. This was, by far, not the first interview he'd ever conducted, but I guessed he was a little freaked out because it was the most important. Of course his charity was reported on and he was normally asked a few questions about it on talk shows, but this was the first time ERF was going to be the main focus of a full-length interview on a major news network.

After everyone had bagels (I will refrain from tearing California bagels a new a.s.shole here) and coffee, it was time to film the interview. Perry Kingston settled himself in the chair, while Trip took a seat on the couch. A tech got them mic'd up as Sandy went over the line of questions, schmoozing just a bit with Perry. The man was a known egomaniac, and Sandy made sure to give him the proper attention to which he felt he was due.

Another tech checked the lighting with some hand-held electronic gizmo, readjusted the umbrella things, and checked the lighting again. It was pretty interesting, watching the behind-the-scenes production of a TV show.

Sandy finally made her way over by me, and the two of us claimed our spot out of the way, but with a good line-of-sight to Trip. He looked adorable with his hair all combed and lying flatter against his head than usual. I guessed he was going for a more respectable look. He'd even paired his rockin' tee with a black sportcoat, the lapels of which he was picking invisible lint from.

The crew did a few test takes before they were ready for the real interview, and soon enough, it was underway.

Perry debriefed the audience, starting out by asking Trip about his latest film projects. After a few minutes of friendly chitchat, he directed the conversation toward Trip's foundation.

”So, Trip, Earthling Rights Foundation has recently been recognized by Charity-Navigator-dot-org as a four-star organization, and it ranks in the top ten on their 'Celebrity Related Charities' list. Have the accolades brought any new attention to ERF?”

Trip had turned into him, but managed to answer with genuine humility. ”It certainly has, Perry. The success of an organization like ours depends on making the public aware that we even exist. Catching the eye of the preeminent not-for-profit a.n.a.lysts over at Charity Navigator has been a huge boost for our exposure.”

”I suppose having the name of an Oscar-winning celebrity at the helm didn't hurt matters, either.”

d.a.m.n. Perry was good. Watching him smooth his way from one question to the next was pretty impressive. I had a brief pang of longing, thinking about my abandoned journalism career.

Trip gave a chuckle. ”I like to think so, yes. Only because I have a built-in audience to speak to. But it's not about celebrity. It's not about me. It's about a group of individuals helping as many people as we can. We have hundreds of in-house volunteers; kind, generous people who just want to spread a little love where they can. They make ERF happen.” He turned his eyes toward the camera and added, ”You do.”

Perry took note of Trip's tee, acknowledging it with a nod of his head. ”You mentioned that ERF is all about 'spreading the love,' and I'm guessing that's where your T-s.h.i.+rt comes in.”

”Yes, Perry. Slanker Knox kindly let me steal their song t.i.tle for ERF. They've generously agreed to donate a portion of the profits from sales of their alb.u.m Patched Soul, so make sure you buy it, kids.” At that last part, he smiled that spellbinding grin directly into the cameras which, I was sure, would have everyone running for the nearest music store.

All hail the hypnotoad.

Perry chuckled jovially at Trip's blatant plug, asking casually, ”And do you believe that? That 'a little love' can make a difference?”

Trip's mouth quirked into a tiny, calculated grin. He tipped his head slightly, checking himself out in one of the monitors, as he deliberately adjusted his blazer over his T-s.h.i.+rt.

It took me about a split second to realize what he'd just done.

His alteration blocked out some of the lettering, leaving only: LOVE.

L W.

visible between his lapels. He must have seen my shocked face, because he raised his lip into a half-smile before answering Perry's question. ”Yes, Perry. I do believe love can make a difference. It can change the world, even. Heck, it worked for me.” Then his small smile turned into a huge grin as he looked past the cameras and right at me.

I almost died. There was Trip, announcing that he loved me to the freaking world.

Well, to the room, anyway. It's not as though a respectable news station like CNN would bother reporting on the person behind the initials branded across his chest.

A few eyes swung in my direction, and I hoped my face hadn't turned bright red. Perry had actually twisted in his chair at that, trying to get a better look at the woman who had stolen the infamous Trip Wiley's heart.

Then again, I couldn't very well steal what was rightfully mine.

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