“I’ve got you, baby.”
My eyes slide closed as he holds me. Wyatt’s arms feel solid and safe, after all day in the pool. Like stepping through your front door after a week away, seeing all your belongings, breathing in that indescribable, intangible aroma that announces to all your senses, you’re here, you made it, you’re home .
“So! That’s a wrap on Day Two.” Sloan’s voice shatters the moment. I step hastily out of Wyatt’s arms and turn to face our director. Grayson, wrapped in a black towel of his own, lingers a few feet away, his eyes moving slowly from me to Wyatt. I can’t read a damn thing in his expression — and I’m not sure I want to. I force myself to look at Sloan instead.
He takes a sip of his kombucha and smiles faintly. “I’m off to review footage. Tomorrow is our last day here in the studio, so we all have to be fully focused. Once we’re on location, it’ll be much harder to superimpose green screens, so I really want all the main CGI stuff wrapped before we leave. Get some sleep; I’ll see you bright and early.”
Grayson doesn’t hesitate. As soon as we’re dismissed, he turns on a heel and heads for the brunette in the corner. I watch them walk off set and bite the inside of my cheek so I can focus on a physical ache, the only kind of pain I know how to handle with any success.
I force myself to look away from the sight of his retreating back, directing my focus up at Wyatt. He’s already watching me, a knowing look in the depths of his eyes.
His voice is soft. “You need a lift?”
I shake my head. “I’ll catch a ride with Harper. She doesn’t live too far from me.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Katharine.”
“You’re never going to give up calling me that, are you?”
“I told you — the original is always better than a derivative.” His lips twitch up into a smile. “You won’t convince me otherwise. And, anyway, I’m older and therefore much wiser, so I think that means you have to listen to me.”
“If you think that’s true, you’re so old you’re getting senile.”
He grabs his chest. “Shot to the heart!”
“You’ll live.” I roll my eyes. “Night, Hastings.”
Turning away, I hug the towel closer around my body as I head for my dressing room. I’m weary down to my bones. And yet, even after I strip off my wet costume and change into a pair of warm, dry jeans and a sweater, I can’t quite shake the chill running through my veins every time my mind wanders to thoughts of dark hair and a sardonic smile and infinite green eyes…
Eyes currently fixed on a set other than mine.
Harper’s waiting for me in the parking lot, her car idling quietly by the curb. Earlier, when she informed me we’d be hanging out after filming wrapped for the day, I didn’t argue. If she’s avoiding going home, there’s probably a good reason. Best guess is, she’s fighting with Greg again. I figure she’ll tell me when she’s ready to talk about it — likely after two or three glasses of Riesling have loosened her tongue.
I slide into the passenger seat with a sigh.
“Tired?” she asks.
“Exhausted.”
“I was going to suggest we go out for dinner somewhere, but why don’t we just grab Thai takeout instead? We can rent a movie and gossip about all the shit that happened on set today. You wouldn’t believe what you hear when you’re working behind the scenes — I got the full scoop on the next season of Vampire High , which they’re filming on the stage next door, and let me tell you, it’s going to be bloody fantastic.” She grins. “Get it? Bloody . Because… vampires.”
“Life rule: if you have to explain why a joke is funny, it’s not a good joke.”
“Bitch.”
“Cow.”
“Are you in, or not?”
“You had me at Thai takeout.”
“I knew we were friends for a reason.”
* * *
W e’re almost to my door when we’re ambushed.
Someone steps out from behind a withered hedge, scaring me half to death. Harper reels back, nearly dropping our bag of takeout to the sidewalk as the figure stomps closer, her high heels rapping against the pavement like gunfire.
“Finally. I’ve been waiting over an hour.”
My fear that it’s a stalker or paparazzo is replaced by horror as I realize the intruder is someone far, far worse: my mother.
“Funny, I didn’t see your car in the lot.” My voice drops lower. “And we checked before getting out. Twice .”
“Yes, I parked around the corner.”
“How very covert-ops of you, Cynthia.” I narrow my eyes. “Though, generally speaking, if you have to lie in wait for someone like a Bond-movie villain, it’s probably a sign they don’t want to speak to you.”
“I’ll just wait inside,” Harper says smoothly, plucking the keys from my hand and making a quick exit. “Nice seeing you, Mrs. Firestone.”
The front door closes soundly behind her.
“I had no choice but to lie in wait , as you so charmingly phrased it.” Cynthia’s eyes narrow on me. “For some reason, every time I’ve come by in the past week, you seem to be out of the house.”
“What a strange coincidence!”
“I’m sure. And the reason your phone goes straight to voicemail whenever I call you?” Her pause is frosty. “Also a coincidence?”
“You know, I’ve been meaning to check with my wireless provider about that. LA is just notorious for dead zones. They should really look into it.”
“Katharine. I’m growing tired of this game. I shouldn’t have to track you down like bail bondsman hunting a skip.”
An eye-roll is the only response I offer.
“I’m your agent — what if I had something important to discuss with you?”
I’m your daughter — what if I want to discuss something other than business?
I push the ridiculous thought away and ask the pertinent question. “What are you doing here, Cynthia? What could be so vastly important that you’d resort to subterfuge just to tell me about it?”
“I’ve been completely stonewalled by the people in the AXC office. Apparently, the executive producer on the project told them not to give me any information unless it was specifically approved by you first.” She sounds thoroughly pissed. I can imagine why — there’s nothing that bothers her more than thinking she’s out of the loop, or that I’m slipping out of her control. “Do you know anything about that? Why would Wyatt Hastings make such a request?”
Because he knows you’re a witch . I smile to myself as I think of my hulking blond Viking. Because he wants to protect me from everyone, but especially from you.
“I don’t know, Cynthia. I’ll have to ask him.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Anything else?”
“Anything else? What do you mean, anything else ?” she hisses. “This situation is out of hand. I can’t manage your career if I’m not kept appraised of everything happening with the Uncharted project.”
“Let’s see… We have one more day of filming at the studio tomorrow. We leave for Hawaii the following morning. I’ll be gone for two weeks, three at the most.” I tilt my head. “There — consider yourself appraised.”
“You were just going to take off to Hawaii without speaking to me?”
“Well, I was going to ask if maybe you could water my plants while I’m gone but, based on the tone of this conversation, I’m guessing you’d probably be more likely to slaughter my succulents than nurture them according to a slow, regimented watering schedule.”
“Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“I never joke about succulents.”
Her glare intensifies. “I am at my wit’s end with you, Katharine.”
“I wasn’t aware you had any wits to begin with.”
“More jokes.” Her long-nailed hands curl into fists. “Don’t you have any appreciation for everything I’ve done to get you this role?”
“Excuse me?” My heart picks up speed and I feel the firs
t sparks of anger flare to life inside me. “You didn’t get me this role. Wyatt got me this role. You had nothing to do with it.”
“I got you in that audition room. Without me, you’d never have met your precious Wyatt ,” she spits. “Without me, you’d be nowhere. You’d be no one .”
“Everything I am, I am in spite of you,” I say very quietly. “Not because of you. Never because of you.”
“I gave you everything!”
“All you gave me was a near-lethal teenage eating disorder, thanks to your constant comments about my weight, along with a flawless ability to dodge older men’s wandering eyes — and hands — thanks to your third husband. Or was it your fourth? There’ve been so many, they all start to blur.”
I see the hit coming, but I don’t duck or flinch back or even move to block her. I let her clip me full across the cheekbone, and as the eye-watering ache of pain radiates through me, some small, stubborn part of my soul cries out in triumph at my flawed show of defiance.
The therapist I used to see, before I told him to fuck off, would call this “textbook passive resistance.” He’d also call it unhealthy — but that’s probably why I fired him. Hearing his double-talk about my “backwards struggle to free myself without actually making any strides to break from my mother’s hold” week after week grew tiresome.
And expensive.
I pull in a steadying breath and, when I speak, my voice reveals none of my anger.
“If that’s all, I’ll be going now,” I say calmly, gaining twisted satisfaction from the blotchy redness of her face as she struggles for control. “My Thai food is getting cold.”
“Get back here!” she calls as I head up the walkway. “Katharine!”
I don’t look back.
“Goodbye, mother. Always a pleasure.”
Ten
“ N o , nice guys don’t always finish last!”
- A girl who has never dated a nice guy in her entire adult life.
I slam the door behind me, hauling deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. When my heart rate has returned to normal, I turn and find Harper staring at me, a bowl of takeout extended in my direction.
“Drunken noodles?”
“Hold the noodles,” I mutter, heading into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of vodka from my freezer. “The drunken part, on the other hand, I’m perfectly okay with.”
“You should eat something.”
“She ruined my appetite.”
Harper sounds stern. “You barely touched your lunch. And you did a lot of physical activity today. All those water scenes…”
“Harper. You’re harping.”
“Fine. More for me.” She lifts a set of chopsticks to her mouth, but her chewing doesn’t quite mask the sound of disapproval that escapes as she watches me slug back two shots of vodka in quick succession. Ice cold and unflavored, they go down almost too easily.
“So.” Harper casually sidesteps, positioning herself between me and the counter to block my access to the bottle. “Let’s talk.”
“Subtle.” I snort.
She ignores me. “Can you believe you actually spent all day filming with Grayson Dunn? The man is distractingly good looking. I caught myself drooling more than once.”
“He’s much less attractive up close.”
“Really?” she gasps.
“No. Not really.” I hop up on the counter, so my legs dangle, and lean back against the cabinets. “He’s even more beautiful. It’s annoying.”
“Annoying because now you’re supposed to be his friend and nothing more?” She smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were happier when you hated him.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Do you think it’s because you… you know…”
I raise my brows.
“Because you have feelings for him?” she finishes weakly, tucking a strand of blue hair back behind her ear.
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why is that ridiculous? You’re spending lots of time with him. You’re playing lovers onscreen, for goodness sake. You’ll be filming sex scenes with him in less than a week’s time. I don’t think it’s such a stretch of the imagination to consider you might develop real feelings for the man.”
“It’s ridiculous because he’s not any man — he’s Grayson Dunn.” I reach deftly behind her and grab the vodka bottle. Before she can stop me, I’ve poured myself another shot and thrown it back. “He’s incapable of loyalty, of love, of anything resembling an adult relationship.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“I think you’re being pretty hard on him without any real cause for it.”
“Trust me, he’d be the first one to agree with me.” I screw the cap back on the bottle and hop down from the counter, stumbling a bit on the dismount. The shots have started to kick in. “Grayson has no interest in dating. In fact, at this very moment, he’s probably balls-deep in that busty brunette PA.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, though,” Harper protests. “I think, if it was you, maybe he’d be different.”
“And by different I assume you mean monogamous.”
“Yes.”
“That, my dear, is exactly the kind of delusional thinking that leads to getting your heart broken. You think you can change a guy, that he’ll be different with you, that you’ll finally be the one to tame him… and before you know it, you’re alone in your underwear at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, crying to Adele songs, eating ice cream straight from the gallon, and wondering what the hell is the matter with you that you fell for such a goddamned man-child, after he explicitly warned you not to.”
Harper blinks. “I think you really need to get laid.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been a bit busy, what with getting cast in this movie, and the constant filming, and dodging the paparazzi, and trying not to fall for my goddamned idiot of a co-star.”
“So you admit it — you could fall for him.”
“Harper, honey, half of America has fallen for him. He’s hot. He’s cocky. He’s charming.” I roll my eyes. “Point is, I’m not getting involved with him. All a guy like Grayson is good for is meaningless, mind-blowing sex.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…?”
“Because casual sex only works under certain conditions. It’s one thing to shamelessly exploit a random stranger for the occasional screaming orgasm. It’s another thing entirely to sleep with someone you interact with in close proximity.” I sigh. “If I started sleeping with Grayson… and working with him every day… and playing his star-crossed lover in front of the cameras…” I shake my head. “No good would come of that.”
“You’re probably right,” she concedes. “But what about your other man?”
“I wasn’t aware I had another man.”
“Wyatt.”
My eyes widen. “Wyatt is not my man. He’s not even my type. We’ve been over this.”
“Yes, we’ve been over it… and yet, I still don’t understand it.”
“What’s not to understand? He’s my friend. He’s my employer. He’s thirteen years older than me. I don’t see him like that.”
“Have you tried?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean have you actually allowed yourself to think about Wyatt in that way.”
“You talk about attraction like it’s a choice. You can’t always control who you’re attracted to, Harper.”
“I think that’s a cop out.”
“Well, I think it’s bullshit to listen to some computer program that tells you who to love instead of actual things like pheromones and chemistry and a real goddamned connection, but you don’t see me shoving my opinions down your throat, do you?”
My words come out far sharper than I intended. I want to snatch them back as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but it’s too late. A horrible stillness settles over the room as I watch my best friend’s face go completel
y white, her turquoise hair a stark contrast against her skin.
“Harper… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“You did, though.” Her eyes are welling with tears.
I’ve never felt lower in my life. “I’m just hungry and overtired and pissed off about Cynthia and annoyed about Grayson and his new girl…” I shake my head. “I’m an asshole. I realize that.”
She nods and brushes at the corner of her eye.
“I need you not to hate me.” I pause. “I need you, period. You’re my person. You get that, right?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“What can I do to fix it?”
“For starters, eat something.” She pushes a takeout carton in my direction. “You being drunk tonight and hungover tomorrow isn’t going to help matters.”
I open one of the Thai cartons and use my chopsticks to grab a small dumpling. Under her scrutiny, I pop it into my mouth and chew, tasting nothing.
She nods in approval. “Now, you’re going to listen to me.”
“Fine.”
Her gaze drops to my chopsticks. “And you’re going to eat at least one more dumpling.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t argue as I wield my chopsticks once more to fish another dumpling from the carton.
“I know my relationship with Greg isn’t perfect. I know it probably won’t end in marriage and babies and a ride off into the sunset like I’m the heroine of some ridiculous romance novel. I know that.” She sighs. “But at least I try. At least I haven’t given up. Honey, you don’t even put yourself out there anymore. I worry about you. It’s not normal to close yourself off so completely.”
“I’m not closed off,” I lie. “I date. Sometimes.”
“Who do you date?”
“I dated that guy I met at the gym. Pablo? Paolo? Who cares what his name was, the sex was good and he made a mean chicken piccata.”
The Monday Girl (The Girl Duet #1) Page 15