Page 28 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Promise me.” Anneliese’s voice hardened. “Promise me you won’t let him get under your skin.”

Erika watched a gecko dart across the villa’s outer wall, disappearing into a crack between stones. “I promise.”

The line went dead. Erika set the phone face-down on the nightstand and caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror across the room—her sister’s face staring back, blonde hair falling in perfect waves where her own dark curls should be. She touched her lower lip, remembering the way Stefan’s eyes had lingered there.

“Damn it,” she whispered, turning away from her reflection.

ERIKA

Erika’s fingers fumbled with the blue contact lens, her third attempt this morning. The lens slipped and fell onto the marble countertop. “Damn it!”

The stranger in the mirror stared back. One blue eye, one brown. A sharp rap at the terrace door made her jump.

“Fifteen minutes to call time, sunshine!” Lily’s voice cut through the morning air.

Erika snatched up the lens and finally got it in place with a wince. Lily Martinez strode onto the terrace, all crisp white linen and clicking heels. The woman set down a tablet, fresh script pages, and—blessedly—a steaming cup of coffee beside a powdered donut.

“Contraband,” Lily said, sliding designer shades atop her head. “You look like death warmed over in Gucci.”

Erika seized the mug. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” Lily said. “Anneliese wouldn’t. Remember—you are Anneliese.”

Erika sipped. “Right. I called Annie last night. She filled me in on the whole Glass Houses disaster. And the Temmy.”

Lily’s perfectly lined lips pursed. “Did she tell you the rest?”

“The rest?”

“Word around town is Stefan didn’t actually leak that Page Eight story—the Glass Houses one. His agent did, without telling him. By the time Stefan found out, the damage was done.” Lily shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Doesn’t excuse him for not fixing it, but the full picture’s murkier than your sister likes to admit.”

Erika’s stomach twisted. That didn’t fit the villain Anneliese had painted. “Why wouldn’t she tell me that?”

“Because it’s easier to hate someone when they’re your mortal enemy, not human.” Lily nudged the new script pages forward. “Speaking of monsters—Martin’s already in a mood.”

Erika flipped through the new pages. “What the hell is this?”

“Martin’s . . . special revision.” Lily’s fingernail tapped the scene heading. “Where you were supposed to have a verbal sparring match with Stefan? Now you’re throwing each other off a cliff. Lunging, tumbling, grabbing—the works.”

“I can’t do this.” Erika looked up. “I can barely do a cartwheel.”

“Welcome to Martin Blackwell’s playground.” Lily’s smile was tight. “He did this on Midnight Run too. Turned a dinner scene into a knife fight the morning of. Sent the lead actress into a panic attack.”

“Great.”

“He’ll lurk at rehearsal, watching for weakness.” Lily leaned in, voice dropping. “When he does, stand taller. If your hands shake, hide them. If you stutter, turn it into a laugh. He’s like those T-rexes in that dinosaur movie—movement triggers the attack.”

Erika’s throat constricted as she nodded. “See you out there, chica,” Lily said as she headed for the door. The brightness was forced. She paused, glancing back. “And Erika? Chin up. He smells fear.”

Erika stepped onto the black platform at the edge of the beach. Salt spray misted her face as a wave crashed nearby.

Stefan was already there, his body pivoting with each kettlebell swing. Of course, he’s shirtless. Did he emerge from the womb flexing? When he spotted her, he set the weight down with a soft thud.

“Sunrise call time, and the princess actually showed up.” His gaze slid over her, slow. “Someone check the weather report for flying pigs.”

Erika stepped onto the mat. “I’ve been up since five. Some of us prepare for our scenes instead of just . . .” Her eyes flicked to his bare torso, then away. “Flexing.”

“This?” He rolled one shoulder, muscle rippling. “Just maintenance. Like your weekly collagen injections.”