Page 41 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“You walk away from me, and you’re done.” Martin’s voice pitched higher, cracking at the edges. “I’ll make sure you never work on a major lot again.”

Stefan pivoted back, shoulders squared. “You’ve been making that threat for fifteen years. Still waiting.”

Martin’s face went purple. He turned on Erika instead. “And YOU. Standing there while your guard dog does the barking. You think that face makes you untouchable? You’re a placeholder. A warm body with a follower count. I can replace you before lunch.”

Stefan shifted beside her, ready to step in again.

But something cracked in her face. Something that had been building since the soup he’d brought to her door. Since he’d looked at her like she was worth defending.

“No.”

Both men went still.

She stepped forward, holding Martin’s gaze. “We’re done for today. Not because he says so.” She nodded toward Stefan. “Because I do.”

The silence swallowed everything. Madre mía. She pivoted and walked away, each footprint deliberate.

Stefan caught up to her at the catering tent. She turned. Her chin was up. Defiant. But her hands were balled into fists at her sides, knuckles white.

“Joder.” He was grinning. He couldn’t help it. “That was the best thing I’ve seen all week.”

“I’m dead.” She wasn’t whispering—she was barely breathing. “I’m actually dead. Martin is going to bury me under the craft services table.”

“You’re spiraling.” He stepped closer. “Breathe.”

“Don’t tell me to breathe⁠—”

“Then let me get you out of here.” He nodded toward the golf cart behind the tent, keys dangling in the ignition.

She glanced back at the chaos of the set. “We can’t just⁠—”

He was already pulling her toward it. “Watch me.”

The engine sputtered to life. Tires spat sand as the shouting shrank behind them.

The path curved through dense palms until it opened to water so blue it hurt. He parked at the edge of pristine sand.

Stefan yanked off his shoes and waded in, not caring that his pants were soaked through. He turned to find her still on the shore, arms crossed, watching him.

“What are you doing?”

“Washing the day off.” He met her gaze. “You should try it.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off.”

He held out his hand, palm up. “Who said anything about clothes? Though I wouldn’t complain.”

She stared at his outstretched hand. Her expression shifted. A decision was made. She kicked off her shoes and waded toward him, stopping just out of reach.

“If you splash me, I will end you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned. “Need a hand?”

She rolled her eyes but took it. The moment her fingers closed around his, he tugged, not hard, just enough to pull her off balance. She stumbled into him with a gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.

“Stefan!”

“Sorry.” He wasn’t. “Current’s stronger than it looks.”