Page 59 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“Maybe.” He let his hand drop. “So which is it tonight?”

She glanced toward the spot where Isabelle had disappeared, hands going still at her sides.

“She’s very beautiful,” Erika said. “Isabelle.”

Stefan raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“She’s very . . . polished.”

“Isabelle’s had plenty of messy days.” He reached for the towel he’d abandoned, slung it over his shoulder. “She’s better at hiding them than most.”

“You two seemed close.” She tried for casualness and missed by a mile. “The way she touched you.”

“Are you asking if I’m sleeping with Isabelle Vance?”

The flush on her neck went scarlet. “No. I was just—noticing. I notice things. It’s an artist’s curse.”

He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up. “What else did you notice, then?”

She should step back. She didn’t.

“That she’s exactly the kind of woman who belongs in your world. Powerful. Connected. The sort of woman who could help your career instead of destroying it.”

He was quiet for a moment. The pool filter hummed between them.

“Isabelle and I have history,” he said carefully. “But that’s all it is. History.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I know.” He brushed a strand of wind-blown hair from her face. “But I wanted you to have one anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never explained myself to Isabelle Vance. And I’ve never wanted to.” He held her gaze. “Draw your own conclusions.”

“You can’t just—” She gestured at the space between them. “Say things like that while standing there looking like a cologne ad that gained sentience.”

His dimples appeared. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“It was a little bit a compliment.” He stepped closer. “You’re cataloging me right now. I can see you doing it.”

“I’m an artist. I catalog everything.” But her voice had lost its edge.

“Isabelle and I are ancient history,” he said, his voice low. “She’s not the woman keeping me up at night.”

She held his gaze. Then she gathered her phone and her towel.

“Goodnight, Stefan.”

He watched her disappear into the dark.

ERIKA

Erika woke to the moan of wind against shutters and a sky the color of wet slate. Rain tapped against the window in uneven bursts, and the palm outside her villa was bent nearly sideways.

She reached for her phone, rubbing her eyes. 10:47 a.m.. Two texts from Lily.