Page 48 of The Hollywood Switch-up

The rescue boat’s engine grew louder, crew members shouting instructions across the water. He opened his mouth, but the boat pulled alongside them before he could answer. Hands reached down. Voices barked orders. Someone threw a line.

Stefan held her gaze for one more heartbeat. Long enough for her to see he meant what he said: not like this. Then he turned away and grabbed the line.

ERIKA

Erika hadn’t slept. Stop being so hard on yourself, Erika. Her real name in his mouth. She’d replayed the moment a thousand times, searching for another explanation, but there wasn’t one. The rescue boat had arrived before she could demand answers.

Morning light streamed through the villa windows. What was his angle? He could have exposed her on the boat. But he hadn’t. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and her phone wouldn’t be quiet.

Annie Banana:

Did you post the detox video yet?

Annie Banana:

Also, WTF is this Page Eight article?? “Morgan and Cruz’s On-Set Meltdown Sparks Dating Rumors”???

Annie Banana:

There’s a photo of you two on that jet ski looking VERY cozy.

Annie Banana:

Are you SLEEPING with him?!?!?!

Eri:

No! God, Annie. It’s not what it looks like. The jet ski died. He was helping me.

Annie Banana:

He BROKE MY ANKLE, Erika. And now you’re cuddling with him in the ocean?

Annie Banana:

You’re supposed to be on MY side.

Erika stared at those words. She’d been there that night at PLUMP. Anneliese had tripped on her own heel. Stefan never touched her. The headlines blamed him anyway.

Eri:

I’m on your side. Always. Promise.

She moved to the terrace, needing air. Beyond the bougainvillea, a figure caught her eye. Stefan stood on his terrace, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand dragging through dark hair. He wore a white T-shirt that clung to his shoulders and loose linen pants low on his hips. Even from thirty yards away, she could see the tension in his jaw.

He froze. His gaze found hers through the foliage. His chin dipped, that small movement meant only for her.

Her fingers found the railing and gripped hard. Her body remembered what her brain was trying to forget—the hard press of him against her spine, the way his arm had locked around her waist like she belonged there. The way she’d wanted to turn around, wrap her legs around him, and find out if his mouth tasted like salt⁠—

She couldn’t walk onto that set tomorrow without knowing what he wanted.

Fantastic. Add ‘interrogate costar’ to the schedule.

She grabbed her sandals and headed for the door before a voice stopped her.

“Miss Morgan?”

Erika turned. Lena stood at the edge of the terrace, clutching a small notebook to her chest.