“That’s my girl!” He releases me and turns to stare at the green screen soaring behind us. The props are minimal: a few driftwood logs are scattered on a thin layer of white sand; a lone palm tree sits to the left, its branches swaying in simulated wind piped through giant, freestanding fans. Most of the background will be computer generated, just as most of my body will be photoshopped — made thinner, sleeker, sexier for the sake of selling movie tickets. By the time they’re done, the lead actress in posters on the back of bathroom stalls and billboards advertisingUnchartedwon’t look a damn thing like I do in reality.
“Great to be back, isn’t it?” Sloan asks. “After we get you and Dunn into costume, we’ll take a series of shots in different poses. We need to get these images to our marketing staff as soon as possible, now that the film is wrapped and ready to go.”
“You’ve finished editing, then?” I ask. “You and Wy—” My words stammer into silence. I’m not sure why it’s so hard to say his damn name. “You and— and—Wyattare done in post-production?”
“Nearly.” Sloan smiles, blissfully unaware of my unease. “It’s coming together marvelously. I have some exciting news about the next few weeks — very exciting. I think you’ll be pleased.” He pumps his fist through the air, like a train conductor pulling an invisible horn. “Full steam ahead, Firestone!”
“Does that mean you’ve scheduled an official premiere date, then?”
He shrugs vaguely. “We’ll talk more about it once everyone is together, at the meeting later. I don’t want you getting distracted before the shoot. And I’d like Dunn and Hastings to be there, when I tell you — I’ve got a bottle of champagne set aside to toast the occasion.”
Nerves shoot through me. “Where is he?”
“Who, Hastings?” Sloan asks, eyebrows raised. “Or Dunn?”
Isn’t that the question of the year.
I evade a direct answer, shrugging nonchalantly. “Either. Both.”
Sloan’s mouth opens to answer me, but it’s not his voice that reaches my ears.
“I’m here.”
His words hit me hard. A punch to the back of the neck, rattling my spinal column, frying my nerve endings. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the effect of Grayson Dunn’s smug, sultry tones on my body as long as I live.
“Dunn!” Sloan calls, looking past me with a grin. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Sloan.”
I feel him hovering behind me, waiting for me to turn and greet him. Waiting for me to acknowledge his arrival. But I cannot move. Cannot breathe. Cannot do anything except relive the memory of the last time I saw him, at three in the morning in the doorway of his Malibu mansion, with mussed hair and sleepy eyes and anguishing apathy toward my slow-breaking heart.
I can’t be the guy you fell for in Hawaii. Maybe someday, I’ll feel differently. Maybe someday, I’ll be ready.
I bite my bottom lip, craving the distraction of physical pain as the conversation plays out in my head.
No, Grayson. Somedayis an empty promise.Somedayis a lie you tell girls you blow off, to make yourself feel a little better.
Futilely, I pull in a breath, hoping it might steady me.
Kat… Wait…
My hands curl into fists.
I can’t wait for you, Grayson — I’ll be waiting forever.
Sloan has turned away to scold Trey and Annabelle about something. There’s only me and the man at my back — the man who built me up and then broke me into so many pieces I no longer recognized myself afterward.
Childhood crush. Co-star. Callous ex-lover.
Grayson Dunn defies definition.
“Kat.”
One word.
It vibrates every hair on my neck until they each stand upright, then slithers down my spine like a living thing and pools inside my stomach.
I feel him take a step closer.