Scooting his chair closer, Kole leaned toward me. His cobalt eyes swirled with challenge. My breath caught. His presence didn’t intoxicate like Greyson’s did. Instead, it offered a slow, luxurious warmth—like easing into a lavish bath sprinkled with rose petals. “Just imagine what you could create if you actually believed in what you were writing.”
I watched his lips form the words and found myself tempted to delve into the promise of their salty-sweetness. All I had to do was lean in … to rock forward on to my toes and take a chance. Fear twisted around my legs in constricting vines that bound the flesh with a painful pinch, and pinned me where I sat.
Wetting my suddenly parched lips, I fought to keep my wavering voice neutral and unaffected. “I think it’s about time for my golf-cart ride back to my trailer.”
Chapter 17
Tandy eased herself into the canvas backed chair, mostly to get out of the way of the film crew busy at work staging the interiors of the bed and breakfast. “Did the entire country decide to forget the swing music epidemic? I believe Brian Setzer’s coiffed hairdo was to blame for the entire thing. If he can wield that kind of power, I don’t think we should ignore it.”
I paused, hovering over the chair I’d been lowering myself into, to shoot my friend a bewildered frown. “Okay, what the hell did Mateo do to you last night that left you pondering such random crap?”
“Hmmm?” Tandy’s head jerked my way, as if she only then remembered I was there. “Oh, nothing. He was, surprisingly, a gentleman. I heard “Jump, Jive, and Wail” while I was getting dressed this morning, and it got me thinking about how public perception controls us.”
“I have not had enough caffeine for you to get that introspective.” Flopping into my chair, I tightened my messy bun.
From around the back of my chair a cup of java-scented goodness swung in front of my face, held by a masculine hand.
“I could also use a million dollars …”
“Sorry,” Kole grinned over his own steaming cup, “my miracles end at caffeinated beverages.”
Taking a small sip, I smacked my lips in appreciation. “Chai latte extra whip.”
“With a sprinkle of nutmeg,” he finished for me, over his shoulder. He had already resumed his stride, headed in the direction of the waiting camera crew. “I was behind you in line the other day, heard how you take it.”
I knew there was a proper response for situations such as this, a courteous expression coined to show gratitude. Unfortunately, with my mouth opening and shutting like a beached carp, I couldn’t seem to recall it. After last night’s embarrassing debacles I had expected a fair share of awkwardness between Kole and myself. I anticipated the usual displays of heavy avoidance and forced small talk. Gifted coffee was foreign territory that I didn’t quite know how to read into.
“What was that?” Tandy’s brows knit in tight, her heart-shaped lips pursed.
“Coffee.” I breathed the word, my tone heady with unease.
“You understand he got it from roughly ten feet behind you, right?” Tandy jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at on-set bistro cart. “He didn’t scale Everest to retrieve it. No need to go all Gollum over it.”
A sudden upsurge of buzzing conversation halted any response I may have made. King Greyson had arrived on set. All of his subjects rushed to fawn over him and pay homage. Anticipating an insanely uncomfortable conversation about voyeuristic acts and spontaneous spewing, I attempted to calm my nerves with another swig of creamy chai goodness. The tipped cup blocked my view of Grey brushing his followers aside to saunter straight for me. Stealing the coffee from my hand and setting it aside, he encircled my wrists in his hands and pulled me to my feet.
I had enough time to suck in a shocked breath before he crushed his lips to mine, his tongue teasing and kneading mine with a fevered intensity that bleached my mind of coherent thoughts. My hands fell limp to at my sides, my legs threatening to buckle. Holding my face in his hands, he worked my mouth with masterful technique. It could’ve been a minute or a week later that he pulled away, but in my corkscrewing world there was no way to tell.
Running the calloused edge of his thumb over my bottom lip, he swiped away a dollop of whipped cream left there by my coffee and licked it off with an appreciative sigh. “Just as I thought, you taste amazing.”
Without another word, he strolled away and left me simmering in embarrassment lit by the watchful eyes of so many spectators.
Tandy was instantly on her feet, using her body as a buffer between me and my audience. “Bree, breathe. No one saw. Everyone was too busy to even notice—”
“Good for you, girlie.” The gray-haired actress, cast as the inn keeper, clapped a hand on my shoulder as she scurried past in response to Kole’s call for places. “I’d spank his little apple-butt and make him call me mommy!”
Shriveling in on myself, I felt the weight of every judgmental gaze … picked up on every subtle whisper. This was exactly the prison of public scrutiny I had feared from the moment Raven’s Claw had concocted their arrangement.
“Aubrey, look at me.” Tandy’s fingernails dug into my upper arms, luring me back to her. “It’s over. It was a quick and uncomfortable moment that the attention deficit L.A. crowd has already moved past.”
“I … gotta go,” I murmured, swatting away her hands before darting off after Art, who I had watched round the bend into the dining room.
My flip-flop clad feet slapped against the wood floors. Every step resonated through my pounding head with the sharp echo of a banging gong. I’d left a huge part out of the story I’d told Kole last night. The decision to split with Danny wasn’t mutual. I loved him as much the day we spoke our vows as I did when he decided we were done. He ripped my heart from my chest and stomped it into dust that he blew away with a few strums of his guitar. Since then, I constructed a wall within myself to keep all others at a distance. Now prying stares, stolen kisses, and the threat of undeniable chemistry were putting cracks in the foundation of that emotional fortress. I needed out. I needed to go home and escape into the stories of my own creation where I held all of the power. That overwhelming desire to break away spurred my steps forward. I sprinted down the hall of my confining nightmare, hoping at the end I would burst out into the expansive utopia of my solitude.
“Art!” I gasped. Pushing back against the stitch in my side with one hand, the other clamped down on his shoulder.
He turned my way, gnawing on the unlit cigar lodged between his teeth. “Are you seriously breathless from running from one room to the other?”
Releasing his shoulder, I held up one finger. “Don’t act surprised,” I wheezed. “I’m a writer. It’s a sedentary career.”
Extracting his stogie, Art puffed his cheeks and expelled an aggravated breath through pursed lips. “Did you need something, Ms. Evans? Perhaps a paramedic or personal trainer?”
“Filming is almost over,” I managed, forcing myself upright. “Only a couple more weeks and we’re done here. I’m wondering what our end game is. How are we extracting me from this fictional fairy tale so I can go back to my regularly scheduled life?”
Art leaned against the ornately carved dining room table, his gaze traveling skyward as if beseeching the angels to grant him patience to deal with my ramblings. “Whatever made you think our arrangement ended with the filming?”
“Hopeful optimism?”
Art folded his hands in front of him, careful not to wrinkle his suit that I estimated to cost about the same as six months of my rent. “The premiere is scheduled for three months from now. That will basically be the senior prom, and all of the world will be watching to see you and Greyson as the proverbial queen and king.”
“That’s the second time we’ve been referred to as royalty. I’m not sure Hollywood understands that the US is a democracy.”
Art shushed me with a potent frown. “Our audience needs to have that moment to believe you two are headed for your happily ever after. After that we can phase it out, or concoct
a break-up story with him leaving you for some co-star.” He clapped a hand on my upper arm hard enough to making me wince. “On the bright side, as a writer you can work anywhere. So, there really is no reason you can’t be bound to Cali for the next few months.”
Steeling my spine, I glowered down my nose at him. “And if I say no? The studio has a lot of money invested. You won’t shelf this project now. Too much hype has been built for it.”
Art stepped in close enough for the smell of the cigar on his teeth to assault my nostrils. “No, we won’t. However, there is one little Hollywood secret you have yet to learn. Being a star or a cast-off all depends on how we spin the story. I would hate for all other production companies to avoid optioning your books because they think you’re a scheming bitch that manipulated Greyson Meyers just to get her fifteen minutes of fame.”
My mouth fell open. The audacity of that little troll of a man caused my eyes to bulge out of their sockets.
Art stretched his arms out wide as if displaying how helpless he was in this matter. “I want us all to be friends here, and we still can be. Raven’s Claw arranged a gorgeous beach front condo that will act as your little love nest. Think of it as an extended vacation to explore wherever your literary mind may wander. All we ask in return is that you and Greyson occasionally venture out and act like you like each other. A sweet setup like that isn’t worth throwing your career away over, now is it?”
He didn’t wait for me to respond, put patted my cheek with one sweaty palm and strode off with a smug smile twisted across his plump lips.
Clamping my eyes shut, I tried to regulate my heaving breath. Finding that an impossible task, I turned on my heel and stomped back into the other room. It barely registered through my angry red haze that they were mid-scene, with camera’s whirring at every angle. I marched right into the middle of the moment where Greyson’s character, Aiden, confessed his love to Paige, and seized him by the arm. He whipped around, his stunned eyes wide with confusion.
“Cut!” Kole hollered, springing from his chair. “Can we clear the set of enraged authors?”
“In a second!” I snapped back, and dragged Grey to a quiet corner of the room. I spun on him with my nostrils flaring and my jaw clenched to the point of pain. “Did you know about the beach front condo?”
Realization swept across his face, followed by the cocky half-smile that America had fallen in love with. “Yeah, Art called me this morning. It sounds like a fun moment in time to explore what we started last night.”
Adamantly shaking my head, my hands curled into tight fists at my sides. “Look, Greyson, I’m going to lay this on the line for you right now. I’m not into flings, that’s just not in my DNA. If I have you for that ‘moment,’ I’ll want you forever and that’s not on the table.”
Raising one hand, Grey brushed the back of his fingers down the length of my arm. “But just think of what a fun moment it would be.”
Catching his hand, I firmly deposited it back at his side. “I’ve had that moment—the flash ignite that burns bright and fast with a blissful agony. I’ve also had the dark, soul-sucking abyss of emptiness that follows. I can’t and won’t subject myself to that again. You’re a good man, Greyson, but getting involved with you, even fictionally, is playing with fire and I’m a recovering burn victim. If we go into this—and it seems we have no real choice in the matter—you need to know that I can offer you friendship and nothing more.”
Greyson caught one of my wildly gesturing hands and held it between both of his. “Aubrey, you tell it like it is and that’s a breath of fresh air in this town. I will gladly take you being in my life in any form I can get it.”
“No false promises?” My tone softened, a bit of my rage extinguishing.
“No claims that this is something it isn’t,” he said with a warm smile.
In that moment we found honesty in its rawest form, and an unlikely friendship was forged between myself … and the sexiest man in America.
Chapter 18
RB’s professionalism deteriorated. Kicking off her heels, she flopped down on the couch with one arm thrown over her eyes like an obstinate teenager.
“What you’re telling me is that all of Beach Front Camelot was a lie?” Her tone, muffled by her arm, boarded on a plaintive whine. “You even got a dog! A half-huskie/half-lab named Liza! Or was she fictional, too?”
Crossing the room to fetch her a glass of water, the heels of my shoes sunk into the plush carpet. “Liza was very real—and super sweet, but she was on loan to us by Sebastian. The name should’ve been the giveaway there.”
“It was an entire summer you two were rumored to live there.” Sitting up, she accepted my offered glass. “So, what? You were the studio’s puppet that entire time?”
“Did you miss the beginning of the story when I terrorized Kole over trivial details about my work?” I asked with a humorless laugh and eased myself into the chair opposite of her. “I don’t relinquish control easily. When I discovered the arrangement was going to linger on, I made the decision to own it. I worked alongside Sebastian to stage every second of our public outings. Those moments I told Kole about? The ones that take your breath away and create memories that last a lifetime? I made sure that whenever there was a camera around they caught us in some sort of moment that might as well have been stolen straight from a fairy tale. Candle light, music, elaborate formal attire, linger gazes, soft caresses; the paparazzi captured every minute we intended for them to.”
RB lifted the glass to her lips, allowing herself a long pull from it. Setting it down, she dabbed at her mouth with the back of her hand. “All that time in such close proximity to Greyson Meyers. I gotta ask, woman to woman, how did you not hit that daily, and nightly, and ever so rightly?” Pausing, she hiked one eyebrow and considered me with fresh interested. “Or did you?”
“The friendship pact we made that day on the bed and breakfast set held true. Although, not for lack of trying on Grey’s part—and I won’t pretend for a second that I was stone and impervious to it. Be that as it may, as long as I knew the studio put him up to it, I couldn’t cross that line. However, as our summer together began to wind to a close and the premiere neared, I found myself opening up to naughty temptations …”
Three Months after Filming Ended
Greyson leaned forward with his forearms pressed against the shopping cart, guiding it through the aisles of the health food store. The thin fabric of his navy fitted tee clung to the muscles across his back.
“You’re out of almond milk,” I reminded him, plucking a carton from the refrigerated aisle. “This is the brand you like, isn’t it?”
“Right brand, wrong packaging.” He grinned. The golden flecks that pirouetted within his gaze whispered his pleasure that I’d remembered. “I like the brown label one. It has a hint of cinnamon in it. That way my lips are all that much sweeter for you.”
“You’re so kind to think of me in your dietary decisions,” I laughed, and deposited the brown labeled milk in the cart.
Greyson pushed the cart to match my stride, his arm brushing mine as he glided alongside me. “Are you headed to the studio again tonight, or can I lure you to stay in for an evening of sushi, Netflix, and naked time?”
“I do love sushi,” I smirked, casting him a sideways glance at my deliberate sidestep of his further offer. “Unfortunately, I am headed to Raven’s Claw. Kole is going to give me screen writing tips so I can be the sole producer on future film adaptions of my books if I want to.”
“Good ole Kole,” Greyson muttered, his jaw flexing with annoyance he didn’t bother to conceal, “always so eager to help.”
“Now, now, no pouting,” I said, playfully hip checking him, “or I won’t buy you one of the gluten-free gingerbread cookies you like.”
“Can I eat it off of you?” he leered, his lazy gaze traveling the length of me.
Fingertip-light prickles skittered down my spine, which I forced myself to ignore. Instead, I silenced him w
ith an eye roll and exasperated groan—mostly so he wouldn’t press on and crumble what was left of my resolve.
Rounding the endcap of the aisle, a display of gossip magazines caught my eye. How could they not? My face was plastered on every friggin’ one of them, a fact I found cringe worthy. The giant headlines glared back at me:
“Aubrey Evans; America’s Kate Middleton!”
“Recreate Aubrey’s Sleek Style!”
“Engagement Rumors Swirls Around Au-son!”
Au-son, the media’s combination of our names. What it lacked in creativity it made up for in … absolutely nothing.
As if setting eyes on their work poofed the paparazzi into existence, we rounded the corner to awaiting camera flashes. Two men, in backwards baseball caps and food-stained sweatshirts, crouched down with their lenses fixed and firing.
“There they are! Give him a kiss, Aubrey!”
“How is it settling into domestic bliss, you two?”
Greyson caught me by the waist and pulled me against him. Instinctively, I curled my face into the crook of his neck. Our salvation came in the form of the shop clerk. He ran over, broom in hand, and swatted them right out the door.
“Get out of my store!” the small, bird-like man yelled after them in a thick Spanish accent, then spun back to Grey and me. “I am so sorry, Mr. Meyers! Sometimes they sneak in before I spot them.”
“It’s okay, Salvadore,” Greyson reassured the frantic shop-keeper. His hand lightly skimmed down the small of my back, causing my back to arch and my breath to catch.
Nuzzling against his neck, I whispered against his earlobe, “Your hand is precariously close to the perimeter of quadrant four. You know anything beyond that is a no fly zone.”
Greyson pressed his lips to my forehead, the scruff of his chin stubble seductively scratching over my skin. “How else do I know if the ban has been lifted without frequent flybys?”
Adapted for Film Page 12
