“Done.”
“And a lot of chocolate.”
“You got it.” She sets her glass on the side table between us and gives me a serious look. “You know I will always have your back, Emmy. But I do think we should make some things clear.”
“You’re the boss here.” I set my own now-empty glass on the table, knowing where this is going before she has to say it. “I know we have to have some boundaries.”
“Let’s maybe try to keep the Grayson-related venting purely professional, shall we? We can’t let drama from more than a decade ago dictate life on set, even if he is an asshole.” She stands and tugs on my arm. “Let’s go get settled in.”
I give Liz a resigned nod and let her pull me out of my seat. “I can do this?”
She takes my face between her hands, squishing my cheeks like I’m a chubby baby. “You wrote a beautiful script, Em. And this is the perfect role for you. I know it’s taken a long time for you to feel like you could step back in front of the camera, and I promise I’m not going to let you blow it. Especially not because of some dumb man.”
I pull her into a quick hug. “Thanks.”
After collecting Liz’s key from Linda, we brace for the cold and head back out to our cars to grab our bags. Because it’s just Linda working at the front desk today, we haul them up the carpeted stairs ourselves, turning right at the landing. I drop off Liz at her room and continue on down the hallway to the last door on the left.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, given the perfection downstairs, but my mouth still drops when I open the door to my room, my new home for the next six weeks. There’s a large four-poster bed topped with a yellow quiltand a mountain of throw pillows. The furniture is all antique heavy wood. Heat radiates from the fireplace, with my own squishy, floral-covered armchairs in front of the flames. I cross over to the large picture window, complete with window seat, and take in the view. Nothing but snow and trees as far as the eye can see.
I’m about as far out of my comfort zone as I could possibly be. But Liz is right. I’m not going to let anyone or anything blow this opportunity for me. Not my insecurities or my hang-ups or my past.
Not even Grayson fucking West.
I inhale a long, deep, cleansing breath before cracking my neck back and forth. Like I’m preparing for a fight. Which I very well might be. But better to have one tiny fight now—before filming starts, before the rest of the cast arrives and Grayson and I have to pretend to like each other—than a big blowup that could surely derail the entire production later on.
Checking my appearance in the full-length mirror on the back of the door, I fluff up my long auburn waves, wipe a mascara smudge from under my hazel eyes, and head out. I’m planning on asking Linda to direct me to Grayson’s room, but I don’t have to venture that far.
Because as I step into the hall, the door right across from me opens, and there he is.
And for the first time since he walked through the front door of the inn, I actually have a moment to properly look at him.
It’s been years since I last saw him in person, and those years have been more than kind. He’s still tall and tan and blond—although the beard is new—with the kind of blueeyes often described in romance novels. Piercing and with the depths of the ocean and sapphires full of sunlight. But this Grayson carries himself differently than teenage Grayson did. Partly because it must be hard to lug around all those muscles every day. The man is regularly cast in action movies for a reason—he looks the part. But it’s not just the physique, which is clearly visible underneath the thin fabric of his gray Henley. It’s the confidence.
What I wouldn’t give for just a smidge of that confidence. One pec’s worth. Fuck, even one sliver of an ab’s worth.
He closes his room door behind him, the sound jolting me out of my drool-filled compare and contrast.
“Hi,” I say before he has the chance to turn down the hall and leave.
“So you do know the traditional greeting one normally bestows upon a colleague.” He shoves his hands into his back pockets, causing the fabric of his shirt to pull even tighter across his sculpted chest and broad shoulders.
“Yeah. About that.” I take another long breath, readying myself to swallow my pride. “I’m sorry about all of that.” I wave my hand in the general direction of the lobby downstairs. “I didn’t know you were coming. I hadn’t heard about the last-minute replacement, and you caught me off guard.”
He gives me a cocky grin—not that he has any other kind. “You’re not the first woman to be flustered at the sight of me.”
My nose wrinkles and I open my mouth to spar back, but then I remember why I’m here in the first place. To make a movie.Mymovie. With this man, if I must. “Iwouldn’t say flustered so much as surprised. But let’s not argue semantics. I’m sorry if I was rude—”
“You were.” He grins again, pushing up the long sleeves of his shirt to reveal his corded forearms before crossing them over his chest.
“Fine. I apologize for being rude.” I turn to head down the hallway, not even sure where I want to go, but knowing I need to be not here.
“Then I guess I should apologize for not recognizing you.”
His words stop me in my tracks. I spin back around, just in time to catch him giving me a long, slow look, those blue eyes tracing me from head to toe. The blatantly gross move ignites a spark of outrage in my chest. And a different kind of spark, somewhere farther down.
“Oh?” is the only witty retort I can manage.
“But in my defense, you have definitely changed since I last saw you.” His eyes linger on my chest for several seconds too long.
