I roll my eyes. “I heard you, you know. After filming that scene forMy Love on Top.” He still looks bewildered and so I barrel on. “You told our entire cast that I was a nepo baby who kissed like a dead fish, Grayson, and then one of them—or maybe even you—put it all over social media.”
The moment of realization washes over him, I can practically see the memory popping back into his head. His confused face morphs into an “oh shit” expression before transforming into pure annoyance. “Are you seriously telling me you’re still pissed off about something I said more than fifteen years ago? A dumb throwaway comment made by a stupid, immature kid? That’s why you hate me?”
I cross my arms over my chest defiantly because there’s no way I’m letting him spin this. “A throwaway commentthat haunted me every time I logged on to my social media accounts for months! That ran through my head every time the director called action. Yes, that’s why I hate you. Jesus, Grayson. I was fifteen! I was halfway in love with you and delusional enough to think you might feel the same. Hearing you say that shit about me, calling me out on one of my biggest insecurities, it destroyed what little confidence I had. It affected my performance, which affected my reviews. I stopped acting because of you!”
A flash of sympathy darts through his eyes for a half second before it’s clouded over with anger. “I was seventeen—and an idiot. I’m sorry I said what I did, but I’m not going to take the blame for you giving up on something you loved after one bad experience.”
“Of course not. Why would you take responsibility when everything turned out just fine for you?” I pull myself up to my full height, although it doesn’t bring me anywhere near his eye level.
He turns away, striding the few steps across the hall toward his room. He stops but doesn’t turn back to face me. “I was just as scared and insecure as you were. And maybe you’ve conveniently forgotten this part of the story, but you ran away from me as soon as they called cut, Emmy. And I thought I was alone. In what I felt. In what we’d shared. So yeah, I said something dumb, and I am sorry that I hurt you. But don’t you dare blame your insecurity on me. I’ve never once blamed mine on you.”
I watch in silence, mouth hanging open in shock, as he pushes into his room and shuts the door behind him.
Chapter Eight
I don’t sleep at all that night, the day’s events running through my brain in a constant loop of confusion and arousal. That, coupled with crippling anxiety because I realize I still have tofilma sex scene with Grayson fucking West, doesn’t exactly lend itself to restful slumber. When it becomes clear I’m not going to be able to catch even a wink, I head down to the dining room early, needing to fuel up on caffeine sooner rather than later.
And of course he’s already there, early for the first time since we started filming. Neither of us says anything as I cross to the sideboard and fill my mug. Grayson is stirring sugar into his own cup and wordlessly hands me the creamer. I wonder if it’s some sort of peace offering. I don’t know what to do with the words he threw at me yesterday, with the emotions they riled up. What I do know is that I want nothing less than to have to bare myself to this man, quite literally, within the next couple of hours.
I shake off the proffered creamer. “No dairy today.” I pat my stomach. “Don’t want to be bloated.”
He sets down the small pitcher and looks me over from head to toe. “You’re always gorgeous, Emmy.”
And before I can formulate a response to that—was that sarcasm?—he’s pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen and disappeared.
I head into hair and makeup, desperately needing a distraction and some humor, otherwise the dread pooling in my stomach might actually devour me from the inside out.
Sam and Amanda both come at me at once, tools and brushes flying, and I’ve never been more grateful to have to sit still and be gussied.
“How are you feeling about, you know, all of this?” Sam gestures wildly to the room at large, his eyes twinkling with something like glee, although he tries to hide it behind a veil of forced sympathy.
“Fine. I’m totally fine. It’s going to be fine.”
Sam and Amanda exchange a look that is laden with something I don’t want to parse out.
Amanda wraps a strand of hair around a thick curling iron. “ ‘Fine’ is one way to describe a naked Grayson West.”
My nose wrinkles, forcing Sam to pause his concealer application. “Ew. No, thank you.”
Sam gives me a pointed look. “My friend, I know the two of you aren’t exactly besties, but you cannot deny the man is gorgeous.”
Sam’s right, and of course we all know he’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. “He’s okay, I guess.”
They exchange another look, lips pursed and eyes knowing. It’s clear they’ve had many a conversation about the topic when I’m not in the room. I burrow down into myself, determined to not think about Grayson again untilI absolutely have to. Sam and Amanda seem to catch on to my bad mood, leaving me to fester alone in silence until they pronounce me camera ready.
Wardrobe takes a surprisingly long time given I’ll be half naked for most of the day. Not only do I have my actual clothing for the start of the scene, but I also have a matching panty and bra set and, of course, the nude-colored bikini bottoms that I’ll be wearing once we get to the nitty-gritty.
After I’m dressed and primped and shaved and moisturized, I make my way to the back-corner room of the inn. It feels like I’m quite literally walking the plank. Or perhaps making my way to the guillotine.
Liz and Clare are already stationed in their director’s chairs, and the room is full of crew members, even though we’ll go down to as small a crew as possible when we actually get going. I hang by the doorway, wanting to wait until the very last second before making my way inside. Focusing on my breathing, I let my steady inhales and exhales calm my nerves.
I feel him before I see him, and any hint of calm flies out the window, but he doesn’t stop to acknowledge me hovering by the door. He just strides into the room like he does this every day. And he probably does. Not the filming part, I mean, but I can’t imagine Grayson fucking West isn’t out there getting laid whenever he damn well pleases.
Liz sees me, hops out of her chair, and gestures me over, forcing me away from my perch and into the center of the room. I trudge over, leaving as much space between me and Grayson as humanly possible.
Liz claps her hands together and looks at us both, eyes moving from one to the other. “Look. I’m just going to be straight with you. I get that today is going to be weird and uncomfortable for everyone. But we are all professionals here, and I know we can push through and get this done. Yes?”
I nod.
