Page 56 of The Hollywood Switch-up

Wind screamed past her ears. Her stomach lurched into her throat. She was falling, flying. Stefan’s arm locked around her waist, his body curling around hers, his heartbeat drumming against her skin.

Please, please, please⁠—

They hit the mat and the impact punched the air from her lungs. She lay there, fighting for air, staring at the gray sky overhead, every inch of her humming.

“CUT!” Martin’s megaphone crackled. “Reset for coverage—and someone get me that angle again, the light was perfect!”

Scattered applause broke out. Erika’s chest heaved. She turned her head and found Stefan’s face inches from hers. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere behind her sternum. Half relief, half joy. She flung her arms around his neck.

His arms came around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. He spun her, feet dangling, his laughter shaking them both. When he set her down, he didn’t let go.

Someone wolf-whistled and they flew apart as if the contact burned.

Heat rushed to her face. The set snapped back into focus. Half the crew stood frozen. Martin slack-jawed behind his monitor. Lily caught her eye from the edge of the set; one eyebrow raised to her hairline.

“Sorry.” She stepped back and found her footing. “The blocking called for contact. I was committed to the scene.”

“Committed.” Stefan’s mouth twitched. He raised his voice for the crew. “Someone tell Morgan that committed doesn’t mean tackling your costar off a pier.”

“Someone tell Cruz his ego barely fit on that pier in the first place.”

The set creaked back into motion as Martin barked orders about coverage, the strange spell breaking. But when Erika turned to head toward the monitors, Stefan caught her elbow.

“Hey.” His voice was low, just for her. “That fish stall vault, where the hell did that come from? Anneliese would’ve filed a lawsuit.” His thumb swiped a fish scale off her shoulder. “Not bad, Morgan.”

She didn’t trust her voice. Just nodded, warmth spread through her chest. She’d refused the takedown. She’d questioned the Temmys. She’d jumped off a pier because a man she was supposed to hate told her he’d catch her. And he had.

STEFAN

Stefan’s cocktail glass slipped from his fingers, amber liquid splashing onto the hot stone of the villa’s patio. The setting sun cast long shadows across the infinity pool.

“I see you’re still enjoying the simple life, Stefan.”

He jerked upright as Isabelle Vance stood at the edge of his pool, her white pantsuit without a single crease, not a strand of her icy blonde bob out of place. The last time she’d appeared unannounced, Marcus Chen had been on a plane to rehab within six hours.

“Isabelle.” His tongue felt thick. He reached for the sunglasses he’d discarded. “¿Quién murió?”

Her mouth curved. “Still with gallows humor. Some things never change.” She circled the pool’s edge. “You’re looking well. The island suits you.”

“You didn’t fly three thousand miles to compliment my tan.”

“No.” She settled onto the lounge chair across from him. “But I can appreciate the view while I work.”

He needed something in his hands. The rum bottle was closest. “The studio is providing oversight,” he said flatly. “That’s the official line?”

“Martin’s little passion project is twenty-six hours behind schedule and four million over budget.” She plucked the bottle from his grip before he could pour, examining the label. “And you’re still drinking this cheap swill. I thought Cabo cured you of that.”

“Cabo cured me of a lot of things.”

Her eyes held his before sliding away. Isabelle set the bottle down. “Martin has a history.” Her voice dropped. “The studio has cleaned up after him before. We’d prefer not to do it again.”

His hand tightened on the armrest.

“So no,” she continued, “I’m not here because of some trashy tabloid speculation about you and the Morgan girl. Though that little display was . . .” She smiled thinly. “Illuminating.”

“I’m here for the bottom line.” Isabelle stood, smoothing her pantsuit. “Stefan. I mean it, be careful. Martin’s not the only one who leaves wreckage behind.” Her voice softened. “I can protect you from a lot of things. But not from yourself.”

She was halfway to the gate when she stopped. Stefan followed her gaze.