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But I ignore that bastard voice and clear my throat to ask her, “Do you want to practice some lines together?”
She sees right through me, although she does glance at the stack of papers on her vanity. Her script. It’s fresh and neat. Obviously an updated version since her role has changed.
“It must be difficult changing roles during filming,” I say as if I’m genuinely interested in helping her.
“I’ll be fine, I promise,” she says and that look comes back to her eyes. She’s waiting for me to offer more. Hopeful for it, even if she’s scared.
“We don’t need to practice lines then,” I tell her, holding her gaze and watching it heat.
“You want to … talk?” she asks.
“Not really,” I answer her honestly and she immediately looks away, brushing her hair from her face. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It’s been too long to just assume she’d come back to me so easily. “We could just catch up,” I offer her, lightening the intensity of what I want from her.
“What about-” she starts to ask with a pained look. “I need to talk about what happened,” she says with tears in her eyes.
“It’s over with, Hally,” I shake my head, wanting that night to go back to not existing. Just pretend. It’s what I had to do for so long. She can too. It makes living that much easier.
I silence her and ask her, “Can we just pretend?” I feel like an asshole. Like a coward. Like I don’t fucking deserve my freedom. “Just forget it happened,” I tell her and pray she’ll play along. I can’t make it right; there’s no way to make it better. I wish I could for her. I’d give anything to go back and never tell her to go home in the first place. Then she wouldn’t have done the one thing she knew would piss me off. She wouldn’t have put herself in danger.
If that night had never happened, if so many little things had just gone differently, our paths would have been so divergent from where we are now. I don’t think I ever would have left her.
She searches my eyes for something, I don’t know what she’s looking for, but whatever it is, it spurs her to rise up on her tiptoes and plant a small kiss on my lips. Her long lashes flutter open and she says, “I can.” Then she chews on her bottom lip and her fingers comb through her hair as she looks away and I’m not so sure she’s being honest. But what choice do I have?
“I just don’t know if this is best, Nathan,” she tells me the truth and it guts me. “I don’t know if I can be around you and not …” she doesn’t finish, but I know exactly what she means. It’s a constant reminder just being this close to her.
I shrug as if it doesn’t shatter everything in me and say, “Just to talk, Hally.” I almost don’t say anything more, but I know she just needs a small push. “I miss you,” I tell her and it’s only then that I realize how much truth there is in those words.
“I miss you, too,” she breathes the words so easily like they were waiting on the tip of her tongue to be confessed. “Okay,” she says but then she chews the inside of her cheek nervously.
“Okay, what?” I ask her as someone knocks on her door. My blood fills with anxiety. I just need her to say yes.
“Okay to the talk,” she answers shyly.
And that’s all I need to rise from my chair and get out of her room before I keep pushing her until I’m taking too much. It’s been too long and the last thing I want to do is make things worse for us. “Monday then,” I tell her without looking back at her. Without touching her or even saying goodbye.
I open the door to find the girl who came in with Hally, the one named Lydia in the paperwork Mark gave me. I give her a tight smile and keep the door open for her. Her eyes are wide and assessing, but she simply says a polite thank you and doesn’t ask questions. I can see she has them though. Everyone here does.
It’s only when I close the door behind me that I can breathe.
It’s only then I even realize what I told her. It’s only Saturday.
Monday’s too far away.
CHAPTER12
Harlow
Margo Hawkins is striking. Her blunt bob is angled and severe; paired with her thick-rimmed chic glasses, she looks like a sexy librarian. Or maybe I just think that because of the notebook in her lap as she jots down notes during the interview.
I wring my fingers around one another nervously. My anxiety is getting the better of me, but I’m trying not to show it. It’s an interview that was really meant for Julie … and yet again, I’ve taken her spot.
“There are only four weeks to shoot the first season ofNight Fireand with the sudden change of roles, you’re demanded to work nearly fourteen hours a day, is that true?” she asks me, peeking up past her glasses and then flashing a gorgeous smile.
“Yes,” I reply hesitantly. Time is blurring past me as I go through the motions. The only time I feel in control is when I’m on set. When I’m someone else.
“What’s it like working with your former flame?” she asks me, catching me off guard even though I knew this question would be coming.
My lips twitch into a small smile and I let out a small laugh, although it’s rehearsed and for good reason. “It’s wonderful seeing Nathan again,” I say easily as a blush creeps into my cheeks.
