At the shout, Matthew turned. The set's doctor was sprinting over with a medical kit; filming on the pier had stopped. Britney Spears sat on the planks clutching one ankle, face twisted in pain.
Britney seemed to be hurt?
Matthew hurried over. As he drew closer he could see tears of pain welling in her eyes.
"Hospital!" the doctor barked after a quick check. "Get her to hospital—now!"
Britney's Agent panicked, waving at two male dancers. "Quick! Take Bu Bu to hospital!"
The dancers moved to lift her, but with a twisted ankle and high heels she couldn't stand.
"Don't touch me!" Britney sobbed. "It hurts—kills me!"
"Idiots!" the Agent snapped. "Useless!"
Without a word Matthew pushed through, knelt in front of her. "I'll carry you."
Britney looked up, recognized him, and—too sore to speak—just bit her lip and nodded.
Matthew slid an arm under her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and lifted her gently.
The Agent cleared the way. "Out of the path! Make room for Bu Bu—move!"
The crowd parted. Matthew strode along the long pier toward the restaurant. Wearing only slippers for the scene, he kicked them off and continued barefoot.
"Get some guys up top—block those reporters!" the Agent yelled.
Reporters had gathered on the cliff all morning; now their numbers swelled.
Each jolt sent fresh pain through Britney's ankle; tears pooled again.
Inside the restaurant Matthew murmured, "Stay strong, Bu Bu."
Britney clung to him, tears threatening to spill.
"Want the press to shoot you crying?"
She weighed maybe a hundred pounds; carrying her wasn't hard. "Want Christina Aguilera laughing at you?"
Britney shook her head fiercely. "No—never!"
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Matthew smiled down. "Good girl—tough girl."
He carried her through the restaurant corridor toward the exit.
Outside, the driver had pulled a Nanny Van to the door; reporters—sensing drama—swarmed the entrance.
Elena Boyar, tall and pushy, muscled to the front, camera ready. Held back a meter by security, she still had a perfect line to the door and the van.
After Matthew Horner's tip, she'd dug deep and run a string of scoops in American News Report, turning the simmering feud between Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera into nationwide gossip.
Lately Elena shadowed Britney exclusively.
A man burst out; Elena snapped instinctively—just an unfamiliar Agent.
"Open the door—get Bu Bu in—now!" he shouted.
So Britney really was hurt?
Elena's lens stayed fixed on the doorway.
A tall man in a white tee strode out carrying the pop princess. Shutters clicked all around.
"Him?" Elena blinked, firing frame after frame. "Why is he the one carrying her?"
She'd interviewed Matthew days ago—no mistaking that face.
She watched him slide into the van, door closing, vehicle pulling away—with him still inside.
"Get the car—who is that guy?" reporters yelled.
Phones came out: "Sending pics—find out who's holding Britney!"
With Britney gone, the set lost value; Elena jumped into her own car and joined the chase.
She kept the yellow Chevy at a distance behind the Nanny Van, her mind racing. From what she'd just heard, no reporter knew who Matthew Horner was—she had the scoop all to herself.
But Matthew Horner was the male lead in Britney's new MV; seeing the injured heroine into a car had zero shock value and wouldn't make headlines.
So from the moment she spotted Matthew, Elena Boyar had no intention of writing it that way.
She already had the germ of an idea—she could use this chance to create an eye-popping story: Britney's in love!
She even had a rough headline in mind.
"Britney Falls for MV Co-Star: Actress Injured, Actor's Tender Rescue…"
Add a few intimate shots of Matthew Horner carrying Britney into the car and the impact would be huge.
With that, Elena Boyar stopped tailing the Nanny Van, turned onto another road, and sped straight to the paper. There was still time to post it first on the American News Report website and run it in print tomorrow.
Back at the Paradise Cove restaurant, Helen Herman came to Matthew's private dressing room, collected his clothes and shoes from the make-up artist, stuffed them into a large bag, and walked out. She drove after the Nanny Van to the hospital.
She'd seen everything that happened earlier.
Her feelings about Matthew Horner were mixed. The Texan wasn't especially clever or meticulous—his plan to land the lead role had more holes than Swiss cheese. Without sheer luck… Still, one thing impressed her: he was good at spotting opportunities and grabbing them.
"He even managed to use Britney's injury." Helen Herman pictured a possibility. "is he going to do what I said? If so, I'd better get ready myself."
The Nanny Van stopped at the hospital entrance. Matthew scooped Britney up, jumped out barefoot, and sprinted toward the Outpatient Building, soothing her the whole way. "It's okay, Bu Bu, you'll be fine in a minute."
Britney simply nodded, seeming to trust every word.
An orderly pushed a gurney over; Matthew laid her on it and walked beside it into the building.
As if he were her Agent.
A few steps behind, Britney's Agent glanced from the star on the gurney to Matthew at her side, his brows knitting tighter.
He knew Britney well: the down-to-earth façade hid a mind as simple as any child star's—arrogant, convinced the planet spun for her alone. How could someone like that be so cozy with a bit-part actor?
He hadn't said a word the whole ride, but he'd watched the two of them interact—clearly old friends, their relationship anything but ordinary.
Suddenly a troubling possibility struck him.
His eyes fixed on Matthew's straight back; he decided he'd better learn more about this MV leading man.
At the ER doors the gurney was about to stop when Britney looked over. Matthew gave her a reassuring nod. "It's all right, Bu Bu, stay strong."
Britney bit her lower lip slightly and nodded back.
The gurney rolled inside; Matthew sat on the corridor bench while Britney's Agent stood off to one side making calls, presumably to medical specialists.
Then Britney's assistant and label people arrived.
Matthew figured he'd done all he could. He stayed silent on the bench, glanced down at his costume, and found it awkward.
He flung his arm to shake off the numbness, then rubbed his face with his rough, big hand.
A bag suddenly appeared in front of him. Matthew looked up—Helen Herman stood opposite.
"Your clothes and shoes," she said.
Matthew took the bag and checked inside. "Thanks. I'll go change."
Helen waved him off. Matthew found the men's room, washed off his base make-up, changed back into his own clothes, and returned to the ER doors just as Britney's father hurried in.
Helen Herman sat alone on a bench, clearly keeping her distance from Britney's entourage. Matthew walked over and sat beside her; she tilted her eyes toward a blond, middle-aged man.
She lowered her voice. "That's Britney's father, Jamie Spears. From what I hear he treats her like a cash machine and keeps her on a tight leash."
Matthew shrugged. "What's that got to do with me?"
Soon the results were in: Britney had twisted her ankle; filming on the MV would have to pause for now.