Set 5. Lights were on, cameras up, and bodies were gathering, every person within a hundred feet gathered around like it was free queso day. Nicole was screaming at Joey, her arms waving, fingers pointing, and he was laughing, a combination that lit her anger on fire. Hannah passed me a bottled water and giggled. “She flubbed a line,” she whispered. “Joey made fun of her. It didn’t go over well.” I took the water and realized the opportunity I was missing. Grabbing for my phone, I recorded the second half of the fight. Then Paulo waded in, avoiding the stabby motions Nicole was making with her finger, and stopped the drama. I ended the recording, and stuck my cell back in my pocket.

“Planning to sell that?” Hannah whispered in my ear, giving me a whiff of her granola breath.

“No!” I hissed.

“The gossip mags will pay bank for that shit.” She nodded toward my pocket. “Just don’t let anyone see you. You’ll be banned from set quicker than it takes Joey to jack off.”

I made a disgusted face and she laughed, pushing on my shoulder. “Lighten up. Come over to Makeup with me. I need to introduce you to the new girl there.”

I let her pull me through the set, sending a final glance back at Nicole, who was getting a shoulder massage from Paulo. The woman needed to be careful. I hadn’t heard any whispers yet of an affair, but someone would catch on. That was all she needed, for everyone to realize it wasn’t Nicole’s bank account that landed her this role but something else.

In my pocket, my phone burned hot against my butt. Hannah had a good point, one I hadn’t thought of. Once I used the video, I needed to delete it.

I texted the video to Clarke. It seemed like a good idea. The video protected Nicole while putting to rest any of Clarke’s concerns about an affair between her and Joey. A brilliant move on my part, if I could say so myself.

Clarke texted right back.

Thx. Sorry I was paranoid.

A harmless text, one he’d probably sent during a meeting, his attention half on the words as he nodded in response to something an associate said. I opened the text in a corner of Makeup, sitting Indian-style against a wall as I listened to Hannah barter Joey memorabilia for free makeup.

It’s okay. I understand. I typed the reply, then locked my phone and stuck it in my pocket. I understood, all right. More than he knew, not that he cared about my baggage. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Wondered how late today’s schedule would go. The prior night, we’d been on set until eleven, my feet physically aching by the time Dante dropped me off at home. And our mornings had been starting at 6 a.m. There weren’t enough lattes in the city to make me a morning person. I started to doze against the wall when my phone buzzed again.

You just made my day. This has been haunting me.

I typed back. No problem. I thought of u when they started yelling. It’s not really her fault. Joey’s been an ass.

Well … she can be a diva. Thanks for putting up w/ her. How’s ur week going?

I smiled. Wondered how much to share. It’s good. Exciting. I like being on set. Are u going to come by?

I stared at my words, the dots indicating his response pending. Why had I asked that? It was a horrible idea to put in his head. Then again, it would be helpful to know if he was going to come on set. Make sure that Nicole and Paulo weren’t humping in the bushes when he strolled in. I smiled at the image, a bit of wicked glee at the idea of her getting caught.

The dots stopped. Then restarted. I imagined him biting his lip, thinking over the response. When it finally came I sighed in relief.

Probably not. I’ll let my girl work in peace.

A good response. One that a trusting and loving husband would make. My girl. So freaking sweet. I locked my phone and tucked it underneath my legs.

My girl.

It bothered me, a pang of sadness hitting hard at the endearment. I must be lonelier than I realized. Single didn’t sit well with me, not in this big city, not in my empty apartment.

I scrolled through the texts and deleted them all, including the video I had sent to him. There hadn’t been anything wrong with the communication … but still. Something about the whole thing felt tainted. The video. The lies. My girl.

I confirmed the deletion and wondered how this would all implode, and when.

31. Am I a Terrible Kisser?

Shit. One of the lids was coming off. The lid was on one of the two cups of coffee between my elbow and my body, one decaf and one regular because I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember which one Nicole had requested. I also carried two plates, one of fruit and one of sushi, the queen’s breakfast of choice, a banana jostling close to one edge. Eyeing it, I rounded the corner of the props warehouse, hugging the edge in case anyone was coming in the opposite direction.

Someone was. Someone in a white oxford and slacks, his head down, phone out. I tried to dart left, tried to call out a warning, and didn’t manage either before BLAM. Impact with the beautiful Joey Plazen.

I’d never heard such a sexy curse in my life. He spoke Italian in some part of it, a rough accent coming into his voice as he stepped back, coffee going EVERYWHERE, a California roll sticking on his shoulder. I gasped, covering my mouth, which was convenient, because the next sound that spilled out of me was a laugh. A laugh. I had no earthly idea where it came from. Or why it came out. It was a disaster, coming out around my hand, and his head snapped up when he heard it, his eyes locking on mine with murderous intent. I shouldn’t have laughed. It wasn’t funny, and he was probably due on set, but coffee was dripping from his chin, and a piece of mango was sliding down his arm, and I was so horrified by the entire thing that a laugh was the only thing my body knew to produce. So I laughed. And then, to make matters worse, I couldn’t stop. I didn’t stop when he shook out his hands. When he flicked the California roll and the mango off his previously crisp shirt. I didn’t even stop when he stepped closer and pushed me back against the wall, his warm hand covering my mouth.

“Stop laughing,” he gritted.

I couldn’t. My body was shaking I was laughing so hard.

I finally did stop. I stopped when he moved his hand and silenced me with his lips.

My last kiss had been outside a club, in the snow, with an asshole. This kiss was with a different asshole, against a wall, on a movie set. Unlike the other asshole, this asshole … God, he knew how to kiss.

I was laughing when his lips pressed into mine, a hard and insistent *shut the hell up* move that instantly worked, my laughter halting, his body pushing against mine. His coffee-soaked shirt was cold and wet against my Vince sweater, but I didn’t care. The hard press of his lips lifted then immediately came back down, this time softer and sweeter, my mouth opening, our kiss deepening. I gripped at the wall behind me, fought the urge to reach for his head, dig through that hair, and I almost moaned when I felt his hand wrap around my waist and pull me away from the wall and into his body. He tasted like coffee and sugar, and his fingers bit into my waist in the moment before his mouth ripped from mine. He let go and stepped back, leaving me panting against the wall, my glazed vision fighting to find its focus.

“Huh.” He let out a puff of air and twisted his mouth. “I thought that would be better.”

His expression was almost wistful in its confusion, his words without any sarcasm. My ego took a nosedive, and he shrugged, glancing down at his outfit.

“Shit. Get me a change of clothes.” His words were dismissive, an order handed out with absolute certainty of being obeyed. He gave me a parting wink then strode off. God, he was an ass. An ass that made Vic look positively gentlemanly. I pushed off the wall and looked down at my cream sweater, now ruined. The coffee was a lost cause, and Nicole’s sushi … I looked at the few pieces still stuck to the plate and wondered if they were salvageable.