Page 56 of Cast to be Mine

19

GRACE

Iarrived at the soundstage a little before noon, still floating on the high of last night. My body ached in the best possible way. Every muscle remembered Micah’s touch. Thank God Becky made me do yoga at least once a week. Micah bent me like he thought I was Gumby. I had to actively work to keep the dopey grin off my face.

But the second I stepped through the door, something felt off.

People were looking at me. Not the normal glances you get when you’re the lead actress on a production. These were loaded looks. Whispers that stopped abruptly when I walked past. A grip I’d chatted with yesterday suddenly found his shoes fascinating.

What the hell?

I did a quick mental inventory. Was there something in my teeth? I ran my tongue over them. Clean. Did the back of my pants rip? I reached back casually, pretending to adjust my shirt. Nope, all intact. Did I sit in something? I twisted, trying to check my ass without being obvious about it.

Nothing.

There was no way they knew where I’d spent the night, right?

“Grace.”

Micah appeared at my elbow, his hand closing around my arm. His expression said something was very wrong.

“We need to talk,” he said quietly. “Your trailer. Now.”

My heart did a little flip. Part of me thought, Hell yeah, he can’t resist me. But then I caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes kept scanning the room like he was looking for threats.

This wasn’t a booty call.

I followed him, acutely aware of every pair of eyes tracking our movement. The whispers started up again the second we passed. My stomach began to sink. Micah held the trailer door open for me, then climbed in behind me and shut it firmly. The click of the lock made my pulse spike.

“Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I said. “What’s going on? Why is everyone looking at me like I murdered someone?”

He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “You need to see this.”

I looked down at the screen and felt the blood drain from my face.

Sex scandal on Breathless!

The headline screamed at me in angry red letters. Below it were photos—grainy parking lot shots of me in a passionate kiss with Jack Montana. And next to those photos, another picture of me wearing the exact same clothes.

It took me a second to realize I wasn’t the one kissing Jack. Duh.

“What the fuck,” I breathed.

I scrolled through the article, my stomach churning with each new paragraph. The comments section was a cesspool. People calling me a homewrecker. A gold digger. Worse.

“This is insane,” I said. “We have to fix this. We have to tell people the truth.”

Micah’s jaw tightened. “That’s the thing. Chantilly doesn’t want us to.”

“What?”

He explained the whole twisted situation. Chantilly’s Instagram followers. The studio’s enthusiasm. Carol’s blessing. The plan to let it ride for a few days before dropping the “cute behind-the-scenes story” that would make everyone look good.

I stared at him, trying to process the sheer audacity of it all.

“So they want me to just let people think I’m sleeping with Jack Montana?”

“I’m not on board with this,” Micah said firmly. “I think it’s bullshit. Your reputation shouldn’t be collateral damage for Chantilly’s follower count.”