by Lila Monroe
“Oh!” I say, feeling a little dopey. As down to earth as Selena might seem, homegirl isn’t about to be scrambling her own eggs. “Hi!”
The woman smiles warmly. “I’m Brooke,” she says, setting an armload of leafy greens down on the marble countertop and holding a friendly hand out. “I’m the chef here. You must be the Breakup Artist.”
“Katie,” I say with a grin. “Nice to meet you.”
“Serena and Ryder aren’t getting in until later this afternoon,” she explains, pulling a chef’s knife from the block on the counter and getting to work. “They had a photo shoot for Vanity Fair this morning. But you should feel free to get settled, explore the grounds a little bit. Use the pool. Unless you’re hungry?”
“I ate . . . a lot of plane food,” I admit with a guilty smile. “But did you say pool?”
Brooke points me in the direction of my guesthouse, which is twice the size of the apartment I share with April back in New York and about a thousand times more luxurious. The floors are terra cotta tile, the walls a warm white stucco hung with bright modern art. There’s a kitchenette and a small private deck that’ll be perfect for sipping iced coffee and blogging in the mornings, plus a soaking tub with enough room for three of me.
Bliss!
I roll around on the crisp white sheets for a while before changing into my bathing suit, pulling a coverup over my head, and grabbing the straw hat Natalie insisted I’d need. If I have some time to kill before officially clocking in, I’m going to spend them as God and nature intended: catching rays and lounging like a pro.
The pool is like something out of a magazine. Palm trees sway gently in the warm afternoon breeze, and wooden lounging beds are laid out with fluffy striped towels, flanked by huge canvas umbrellas in case you need a respite from the California sun.
The part of the view that really catches my eye, though, is my ex-boyfriend. Lying with his eyes closed and his fingers locked behind his head.
On a lounge chair.
In a pair of dark blue swim trunks.
And nothing else.
“Are you kidding me?” I manage, barely managing to scrape my chin off the flagstone. What is this guy’s secret, anyway? He definitely wasn’t this ripped back when we dated. Back then, he was kind of lean, but clearly, he’s been hitting the gym, because now he’s all washboard abs and strong-looking arms.
I shake my head. Now is not the time to get distracted, not when there are way more important things on my mind, like: “What the hell are you doing here?”
He gives me a lazy smile. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Nice?” The shock of seeing him wears off all at once and suddenly I’m furious. It feels like I’ve been tricked by him all over again. Bad enough trying to ignore my history of hurt and rejection, but he acts like breaking my heart was no big deal. “You promised I wouldn’t have to see you again!” I exclaim accusingly. “What happened to none of this having anything to do with you?”
“Change of plans,” he says with a casual shrug. “Turns out my boss wanted me to come here and keep an eye on things.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides, involuntary, like possibly I’m going to pop him one right in his perfectly sharp jaw. “Keep an eye on me, you mean.”
“Maybe,” he says, and I tell myself I’m imagining the way his gaze flicks up and down my body, physical as a touch. “Either way, looks like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together this week.”
Together? With him?
I’d rather walk across hot coals and then sit through a root canal surgery. “Doubtful.” I glare at him, annoyed. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re dressed for work,” he counters calmly. “You taking a dip?”
I open my mouth, close it again. “I was thinking about it,” I admit.
“Well.” He smirks, lifting his chin in the direction of the water. “Don’t let me stop you.”
It sounds like a challenge, but the last thing I want to do is strip down to my bathing suit right in front of him. Sure, he’s seen it all before, but not for five years, and let me tell you, gravity can do a number on a girl in half the time.
“Sorry to interrupt you two,” says a voice behind us; I turn to find Suzie the publicist standing at the edge of the pool deck, looking even more orangey-tan than I remember. “Selena and Ryder are just pulling up.”
Welp, so much for my relaxing pool sesh. “Duty calls,” I tell Wes, then I turn on my heels and scurry off without another word.
I head back to my room and change into a crisp pair of white jeans and a sleeveless blouse before making my way back up to the main house. I want to be professional, and yes, I’m still shaken from seeing Wes here—and more than a little nervous about what exactly Selena expects from me. I’m just approaching the den when I hear Ryder’s voice.
“I don’t see the point of this,” he’s saying, his tone one-half sexy movie star and one-half petulant teenager. “I love you, and I know you love me. We’re better together. We’ve always been better together.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Ryder.” Selena sounds full of regret, but sure of herself. “All we do is torture each other.”
Sounds like my cue to enter.
“Hey there,” I say softly, knocking on the partially open door. The den is dark and cozy, with an overstuffed leather couch and mid-century chairs. “Are you guys ready for me?”
“Katie!” Selena jumps up and gives me a hug. Ryder doesn’t move from the couch, just lifts his chin in a half nod that somehow manages to convey both “’sup” and “screw you,” depending on which way you squint. The guy’s got an expressive face, I’ll give him that much, with dark eyes and plush pouty lips, a kind of slinky grace that makes him a natural fit for Hollywood bad-boydom.
I take a seat on the opposite side of the coffee table and open my notebook. “So, Ryder, I don’t know how much Selena has told you about me—”
“Enough,” he says sullenly, collapsing back into the overstuffed couch.
I smile gently. “I know how difficult this process can be, especially when one half of the relationship doesn’t want to break up in the first place. I can totally understand if you look at me and see the enemy. But I promise I’m here to help both you guys.”
“If you want to help me, just tell me what I need to do to keep her,” Ryder pleads. He turns to Selena. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”
“You say that literally every time,” Selena counters. “And then things are great for a while, but before I know it, you’re off in Vegas doing tequila shots out of Ariana Grande’s belly button—”
“That was one time!” Ryder protests, sounding genuinely stung.
“And Cabo with the Jenners?”
“Also one time,” Ryder says, though he has the decency to look cowed.
“And the yacht party with those girls from TikTok?”
Ryder winces at that, his shoulders slumping. He looks from Selena to me, then back again. “This is really what you want?” he asks in a small voice. “To break up for good?”
“It is,” Selena says firmly.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He blows a breath out. “Then I guess I’ll go along with it.”
Phew. I exhale in relief—but it’s too soon.
“I gotta say, I’m surprised you’re giving up that easily,” offers a deep voice from the hallway. I whip my head around, and there’s Wes leaning in the doorway. He looks relaxed and sun-kissed, like a person who spent the morning lounging peacefully by the pool without his ex randomly showing up with no explanation whatsoever.
“Excuse me,” I snap, suddenly flustered. Ryder I can handle, no matter how reluctant he might be to trust the process. Wes, on the other hand . . . “This is a private session.”
“Oh, it’s fine if he stays,” Selena says, completely unbothered. “He was with us 24/7 on set. He’s practically a member of the family now
.”
“I . . . OK, then,” I say, trying not to cringe. “Well, generally I like to begin by having you both take turns telling me the story of your relationship as you experienced it.”
“Sure,” Selena says. “I guess I’ll start. We first met at Ryder’s screen test for Forever Your Treat.”
“Great movie,” Wes puts in from the doorway, taking a noisy, crunchy bite of an apple. “One of my favorites.”
“I was seeing Jennifer Aniston at the time,” Ryder explains. “Talk about a MILF, am I right? But I took one look at Selena and said, Baby, are you a time traveler? Because I can see you in my future.”
“The movie was about a vending machine in a high school that was also a time machine,” Selena explains. “So—”
“I get it,” I assure her. “What happened next?”
“Well, I told Jen to scram,” Ryder says. “And we had a romantic interlude—”
“Well . . .” Selena hesitates, her expression sheepish as she tucks her feet underneath her on the couch.
“OK, we had a romantic interlude, and then I told Jen to scram.” Ryder waves a hand.
“Details, baby.”
“Sounds like nothing could get in the way of your true love,” Wes volunteers. “Ryder, why don’t you tell us what you love about her?”
I shoot him a look that could take the paint right off a car. What is he doing? “I’ve got this, thanks,” I manage through gritted teeth.
“What do I love? Her boobs,” Ryder says immediately. “And her face. And her smile.”
A muscle twitches in Wes’s jaw, infinitesimal, but his expression remains serene. “Anything else?” he prompts. “Something not physical, maybe?”
Ryder nods. “Her aura,” he says seriously. “She has the most beautiful aura I’ve ever seen.”
Selena sniffles loudly, her expression misty. “I love your aura too,” she says, reaching out a hand for Ryder’s. “I always have.”
I’m working so hard not to roll my eyes that I’m about to pull a muscle in my brain. Thankfully, we’re interrupted by a knock at the door. “Selena?” Suzie asks, her gaze flicking to Ryder for the briefest of moments. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your reiki instructor is here.”
“Oh, shoot, I forgot to cancel!” Selena frowns, then looks at me. “Do you mind if we continue this later? She drives all the way up here from Calabasas.”
“Take all the time you need, babe,” Ryder answers for me. “I’m in no rush.” Then he smiles. “Actually, do you mind if I sit in? I’ve been feeling really out of alignment lately.”
“Sure,” Selena says with a nod. “I don’t see why not.”
They saunter out, hand in hand. Once Wes and I are alone, I whirl on him. “You!” I say angrily. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” Wes asks, all innocence. He’s eaten his apple right down to the core.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” I glare. “You guys are so great together? Forever Your Treat is my favorite movie?” I mimic.
“Forever Your Treat is my favorite movie,” he deadpans. Then he grins. “Just kidding, I’ve never actually seen it.”
“I don’t get it,” I exclaim in frustration. “You’re the one who brought me out here to help them break up!”
“I mean, I didn’t bring you out here to do anything,” Wes says calmly. “And . . . about that . . .”
I narrow my eyes. “About what?”
“The whole ‘breaking them up’ thing.” He makes a face. “It might actually be better if they . . . didn’t.”
I frown. “Better for who?”
“Well, for me, to start with.” He shrugs. “Look, it turns out my boss at the studio is actually very invested in the future of Selyder. We have their new movie coming out, and we need them playing nice to make it a hit.”
I shake my head, not understanding: the nickname or the change in plans. “So he sent you here to . . . what? Sabotage me?”
Wes makes a face like, Guilty as charged. “Something like that.”
“Seriously?” I can’t believe this. No, scratch that, I can believe it, and all at once I’m mad as hell. Wes might have broken my heart, but I put myself back together and launched this career from the ashes of my lovelorn misery. No way am I about to let him ruin it now. Or keep Selena trapped in what is obviously a toxic relationship.
“Listen here, buddy,” I tell him, angrily pointing my finger at his chest. “Selena wants out, no matter what you say. I came here with a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I’m about to let you stand in my way. Understand? You’re going to back off, and you’re going to back off now.”
So much for cool and professional. I’m way too worked up; he just has a way of getting under my skin. And worse still, Wes looks completely unruffled. “We’ll see,” he says easily, tossing his apple core into a nearby trash can before heading for the door. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”
He’s out the door before I can come up with a witty reply. Dammit.
6
Katie
“So, wait,” April says the following morning as I sit on the patio, trying to calm myself with the dawn birdsong and splendors of nature. And technology. April and Natalie’s faces are twin pictures of incredulity on the slightly smudgy screen of my iPhone. “You’re telling us Wes is just going to be hanging out there at the ranch the whole time you’re working with Selena and Ryder?”
“Oh, no,” I correct, holding up an index finger for emphasis. I came out here bright and early to try to work on a game plan for the day, but after tossing and turning all night I’m too exhausted—and too worked up—to string a coherent thought together. “He’s not just hanging out. He’s actively trying to sabotage me.”
“Can you just avoid him?” Natalie asks. “That place looks huge.”
“I’m trying,” I say with a sigh, “but he’s everywhere.”
And I mean everywhere. It’s like the guy put a tracker on me, and everywhere I turn, there he is. Hanging out with Brooke in the kitchen last night after dinner. Typing away on his laptop beside the pool. I thought I’d get a workout in after my session with Selena and Ryder got cut short yesterday, try to sweat out some of my frustration, but when I got to the gym, he was already running on the treadmill.
With his shirt off.
His bare chest glistening with sweat.
“Adding to my misery,” I continue, sitting back in my lounge chair, “did I mention he’s at least a full click hotter than he used to be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” April says archly. “Maybe once or twice.”
“I mean, the whole thing is kind of perfect,” Natalie says with a laugh. “The two of you thrown together out there in this rustic paradise, all this unfinished business between you. It’s like the Harry Potter fanfic I used to write back in high school. All you need is a hotel room with only one bed.”
“Don’t even start,” I groan, at the same time as April asks, “I’m sorry, you used to write Harry Potter fanfic in high school?”
“It was a different time,” Natalie sniffs, and I laugh.
“Anyway, this is nothing like the imaginary sexy adventures of Ron and Hermione,” I say, taking a bite of a still-warm blueberry muffin. I found a basket of them at my front door this morning, along with juice and a pitcher of cold brew. The celebrity life has its perks, that’s for sure. “I keep trying to remind myself that the sex wasn’t even that good.”
“I mean, to be fair, I kind of doubt the sex between Hermione and Ron was that good either,” April points out, even as Natalie raises her eyebrows at me.
“No?” she asks.
“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” I admit, thinking back on all those nights between the sheets. “But it wasn’t like he could see into my soul and transport me to a higher plane of existence, either.”
“And that was how many years ago?” April asks pointedly. “Could be he’s had plenty of time to learn.”
I consider the possibility before I
can stop myself, imagining those strong-looking arms wrapped around me. That hard body on top of mine. That mouth migrating down my neck, brushing across my collarbones, before finally—
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, taking an icy sip of cold brew—all of a sudden, I’m feeling the teeniest bit hot despite the mild weather. “There’s nothing going on between us.”
“Right,” April says quickly, though I can’t help but notice she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “And it’s all going to work out, no matter what Wes is up to, because you’re great at what you do. You’ve got this, girl. It’s going to be amazing publicity for the book. Eyes on the prize, et cetera.”
“The prize being a fat royalty check,” Natalie says helpfully.
“Good point.” I nod.
I say my goodbyes and head inside to get ready for the day. I try to clear my head as best I can, thinking through my strategy for today’s session with Selena and Ryder as I shower and dry my hair. I meant what I said to my friends on the phone—there’s nothing going on between Wes and me—but still, I find myself taking my time getting ready, digging through the clothes I brought from New York and spending extra time on my hair and makeup.
I mean, there’s nothing wrong with looking my best, is there?
I finally settle on a pair of white jeans and chunky wedges, checking my eyeliner one last time. “Let’s go break up some celebrities,” I tell my reflection, then take a deep breath and head up to the main house.
I’m meeting the unhappy couple on one of the ranch’s many screened-in porches. Brooke has set out coffee and tea on a side table, and I grab another cup as I look over my notes one last time.
“Ryder’s on his way,” Selena promises, arriving in a cheery yellow sundress, her hair spilling in beachy waves down her back. “He was just up really late last night running lines.”
That surprises me. “I didn’t know he’d booked another movie already.”
Selena hesitates. “Well, it’s possible he wasn’t so much running lines as he was watching a ten-year-old play Call of Duty online for seven hours,” she admits. “But he’s just been really tense lately. It helps him relax.”
