I stare out my tinted window as we pass by a particularly vibrant strip of shops. The neon signs and congested sidewalks look more like something out of a Salvador Dali painting than a modern metropolis. If I crane my neck, I can see the looming shape of warehouses in the distance. I swallow to dislodge the growing lump in my throat. My perfectly painted fingernails dig small crescents into my kneecaps.
We’re nearly there.
I refocus on Masters and try another tactic. “You know, I pay your salary — you’re required to listen to me. That means you have to call me by my first name if I want you to.”
“Actually, I’m required to protect you, not listen to you,” he corrects in a bland tone. “And you’re avoiding my question.”
“Oh, did you ask something?” My voice is innocent.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Just fine.”
His eyes find mine once more, holding my stare in a challenge.
“I’m fine, Masters.” I swallow again, but it does nothing to clear the thick dollop of anxiety resting on the back of my tongue like peanut butter. “Really. You and Harper can’t keep treating me like I’m made of glass. I won’t fall apart when I see— when I see—”
Grayson.
Wyatt.
Together.
In the same room.
For the first time since…
I clear my throat so hard it hurts. “When I’m back on set,” I finish weakly.
“Uh huh.” Masters’ eyes crinkle slightly. “Whatever you say, Miss Firestone.”
I glance out the car window and feel my heart stutter inside my chest as I recognize the familiar sight of AXC Studios’ wrought-iron gates.
We’re here.
Masters hands over his identification to the man guarding the back gate and, before I have time to prepare myself, we’re pulling into a reserved spot by Stage 13, where we filmed the first part ofUnchartedsix weeks ago, before flying to Hawaii to shoot the rest on-location. I stare at the imposing silhouette of the warehouse, looming in the bright midday sunshine, and try desperately to remember all the sensible advice Harper has given me over the past month.
It’s useless. All her pragmatic suggestions and practical tips have vanished from my brain like vapor.
“Miss Firestone.”
Masters’ voice snaps me out of my stupor. I glance right and find he’s already shut off the SUV and rounded to my side. He’s holding open my door, waiting for me to climb out.
His eyes soften when they meet mine. “Just breathe. You’ll be fine.”
Nodding, I haul air into my lungs, steady my shoulders, and climb out. He closes the door behind me and comes to a stop at my side, a mountain of a man towering over me.
“Harper’s doing makeup for that new teen werewolf show next door, so she’s not far.” His elbow grazes mine in a gentle nudge. “And if you need me, you know I’m just a call away. Harper programmed my number into your new phone asBoy Toybut I changed it back.”
I snort. “Thanks, Masters.”
“I mean it. Say the word and we’ll leave. No questions asked.”
“I can’t just leave. It’s my first day back. There’s the photoshoot for the promotional posters, then later we’re meeting at Sloan’s place to go over the press tour itinerary for the next few weeks…”
“They need you more than you need them.” His stare is unwavering. “If you can’t handle this, there’s no shame in admitting it. You’re allowed to ask for help. Entitled to it, even.”
“I’m not a quitter, Masters.”