The small cabin kitchen fills with her memories as she works the dough, her movements precise and practiced. “Haven’t made these since Christmas with my grandma.”
A soft dusting of powdered sugar drifts onto the butcher block counter as she dips a finger in the bag, sampling it with a pleased moan.
Her lips are sweet when she kisses me. Her laugh echoes off the walls when I make a mess. And I realize, with startling clarity, that this isn’t just another night, another casual encounter. This is Reese Sinclair. In my clothes, beside me, under my hands, making my kitchen smell like beignets and possibility.
Reese, who doesn’t know the darkest parts of me yet, the parts I’m terrified will send her running.
Reese, who I’ve wanted for so long I can’t remember what it felt like not to want her.
Being with her is different than I imagined.
I’ve had her poster on my wall since I was thirteen—lying in a field of magnolias, hair spread out like liquid gold. I used to trace the curve of her smile with my finger, wondering what it would be like to kiss the lips those magazines always described as peach-perfect. They don’t taste like peaches at all.
They taste like sugar and something darker, which makes my head swim with want.
The reality of her surpasses any imagined versions I’ve dreamt up.
“You’ve got flour everywhere,” she says, brushing it from my nose. Her fingers are cool against my skin.
“Worth it.”
“When did you get so sweet?”
“I’m not sure.” The words come out flat, honest.
I fucking hope this film doesn’t get cancelled now that she’s opened up. It doesn’t matter. I have her number saved. This thing between us has weight now, momentum.
I’m not going to lose that.
Chapter 24
Reese
September 16th
Viggle Alert: Felix QuitsRobyn HoodAmid On-Set Friction
Heather
We have a problem. Ramsey is picking you up, need you in LA stat.
Felix Langford quit Robyn Hood, paid back his director’s fee, and now the movie status is unclear.
I hover outside the production company’s conference room. Inside, it’s like a beehive that’s just been struck with a stick—a table full of people who could end my career with a single decision. Executive producers, a head screenwriter practically vibrating with anxiety, and the production team scrambling to maintain order.
Next to me, Ramsey shifts, the only sign he’s just as uneasy as I am.
Twenty-four hours ago, I was barefoot in Dante’s kitchen, licking powdered sugar off his fingertips. Delusionally lettingmyself believe that taking a day away from thinking about Felix would do me any good. Now, all my worries and fears have come to life.
I yelled at an Oscar winning director. I became a diva. Threw away the movie of my dreams.
I conceded to almost everything Felix wanted, but slandering me in front of the crew wasn’t professional. He accused me of sleeping my way to my role. It wasn’t right. I stood up for myself. I had every right to.
Maybe it isn’t about you at all, the logical voice in my head suggests. I can’t be the only one who had issues with him. Heather tried to warn me about this back in June. His toxic behavior was unbearable, the belittling comments, the public humiliation, the explosive temper that had the entire crew walking on eggshells. Maybe the executive producers learned about what happened at the lake and let him go.
Or maybe everyone here knows about what I did in the armory with Dante. We violated the insurance policy, for goodness’ sake. That’s such a liability. What was I thinking? All so I could touch his sword?
Someone surely saw us there before he turned off the cameras.
