Page 106 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Come back to me, Princesa.” Quieter now. “Yeah?”

She turned around. He was still propped on one elbow, sheet pooled at his waist, morning light doing unfair things to his face. He looked at her—like she was the only real thing—and it almost broke her open.

“Yeah,” she said. “I will.”

She kissed him one more time, and walked out before she could change her mind.

The morning air hit her the moment she stepped outside. She was halfway down the path, still warm from his bed, still tasting his mouth, when her phone buzzed.

My office. 9 a.m.. Don’t be late.

No signature. He didn’t need one.

She stood on the path. Hibiscus brushing her arm, the ocean somewhere behind her, Stefan’s villa still glowing through the trees. Every reckless night she’d spent in his bed stacking up like evidence.

Martin knew. Had known for days now. And she’d handed him more ammunition every single night she’d told herself she didn’t care.

ERIKA

The path from Stefan’s villa to the production offices ran past the resort’s front gate, which meant running the barricade—photographers three deep, lenses up before she’d cleared the hedgerow.

“Anneliese! Is it true about Bradley?”

She kept her sunglasses on and her mouth shut.

“Are you and Stefan over?” That one stayed with her past the gate.

Lily stepped into her path.

“You look like you haven’t slept in three days and you’re walking toward Martin’s office before call time.” Lily’s arms were crossed. “Pick one of those things to explain to me.”

“Script notes. He wants to go over some changes before we roll.” She gave Lily an easy smile—Anneliese’s smile. “You know how he gets before a big sequence.”

“I know exactly how he gets. That’s why I’m standing here.” Lily dropped her voice. “I’ve watched him do this, Erika. The private meetings. The early calls. He finds the person on set who’s most vulnerable and he makes sure they know he’s the only door in the room.”

The truth pressed against her teeth—the photo, the note—and she swallowed it like she’d been swallowing it for days, because telling Lily meant Lily would try to fix it, and Martin would bury her for trying.

“Spite and caffeine, Lil. That’s all that’s keeping me vertical right now, and if I stop walking, I’m going to fall over.” She squeezed Lily’s arm. “I’ve got this.”

Lily studied her for a long moment.

“When you walk out of that office, you come straight to me. Not Stefan, not your villa. Me.” Her hand caught Erika’s wrist. “And if something feels wrong in there—anything—you leave. You make up an excuse and you walk out. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Lily let go, and Erika kept walking. His window glowed through the trees—blinds open, light on. He’d been there for hours.

The door was unlocked. It would be.

Martin’s office was smaller than she’d expected. Movie posters on every wall, a desk that had seen better decades, and the man himself behind it in a chair that sat six inches higher than the one he’d left for her. He didn’t stand when she walked in. She hadn’t expected him to.

“Close the door.”

She closed it and sat down without being asked, because waiting for his invitation meant giving him the satisfaction of granting one.

“You’ve handled yourself remarkably well this week.” He leaned back, watching her the way he watched his monitor. “The press, the barricades, the timeline questions. Most people would have cracked. You haven’t.”

“It’s been manageable.” Anneliese’s voice. Anneliese’s composure.