Page 65 of Cast to be Mine

Instead, I found myself walking toward the elevators and pressing the button for Micah’s floor.

I’d overheard Patty mention his room number earlier. Another suite. The biggest suite in the hotel that wasn’t presidential—because God forbid anyone have nicer accommodations than Jack Montana. No one wanted that tantrum.

My heart hammered as the elevator climbed. This was stupid. He was probably in the middle of something important. He’d remind me of the rules and send me on my way with my bags of food.

I walked down the hallway, checking room numbers. When I reached his door, I hesitated. Just standing there like an idiot, clutching takeout containers and second-guessing every life choice that had led me to this moment.

Screw it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

22

MICAH

Iwas elbow-deep in shot lists, trying to figure out how to squeeze an extra setup into tomorrow’s beach sequence without blowing the budget and getting nowhere. I should have asked for more time. I didn’t want to rush this production, but after paying Jack’s salary, things were slim. It cut down on shooting time, which meant every minute had to count.

A knock on the door pulled me from my spiral. “Room service,” a voice called out.

I frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything. Toby. He was convinced I was going to work myself into an early grave. The kid meant well, even if his hovering drove me crazy.

“Coming,” I called, pushing back from the desk.

I looked around, found my wallet, and pulled out a twenty.

I opened the door, expecting a cart with a silver dome covering a basic cheeseburger.

But that’s not what I saw. It wasn’t room service.

Grace stood in the hallway, her hands full of takeout bags that smelled like heaven. Her smile hit me like a punch to the chest. I could see the nerves like she wasn’t sure if she’d made the right call showing up here.

She’d made the right call.

She wore a flowy skirt thing that moved when she breathed, paired with a top that stopped just short of her waistband. A strip of toned stomach peeked out, golden from the California sun. Her hair was down and she smelled like plumeria.

Heaven. This was what I imagined heaven’s gates to be like.

I stared, still trying to figure out why she was at my door.

“Hungry?” she asked, holding up the bags.

“Starving,” I admitted. “Get in here.”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, then stuck my head into the hallway. Empty. No witnesses. No one to start whispering about Grace Stone visiting the director’s suite. I was already making excuses for her visit. Discussing the shoot. Reworking some lines. There were plenty of reasons a director would meet with his lead actress.

I shut the door and turned to find her already spreading containers across my coffee table, pushing aside the scripts and schedules I’d left scattered there.

“I hope you like Hawaiian food,” she said. “The concierge swore this place was the best on the island. Auntie Lani’s. Apparently she doesn’t usually deliver, but I have connections now.”

“Connections?”

“Kai at the front desk. We’re basically best friends after a five-minute conversation.”

I laughed, moving to help her unpack. The smell was incredible—garlic and ginger and something smoky that made my stomach growl loud enough for her to hear.

“When did you last eat?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been busy. I had one of Hollis’s shakes… this morning? Last night?”

She shook her head, that disappointed-mom expression crossing her face. “Sit down. You’re eating. Now. We can’t have our fearless leader passing out on the beach tomorrow.”