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Anna sighs. “Shit,” she curses, pulling out her phone and frantically texting. “He didn’t show up to rehearsal, and he’s never, ever late,” she explains.
“Did you try—”
“The gym, his trailer, his room, every square inch of the set? Yes!” Anna’s eyes bug out. “He’s justgone.”
“Sorry. I’ll let you know if I see him,” I offer uselessly. She races away, clearly freaking out.
Leaving me in the hallway with Fraser, who’s studying me carefully.
“I didn’t go home with Hugo,” I repeat, glaring at him.
“That’s your business, sweetheart,” he drawls, and strolls away—
Just as I remember why, exactly, I drank all that tequila in the first place.
The kiss.
And not just any kiss, either, but an epic thigh-clenching, head-spinning meeting of the minds and mouths that should go down in the history books as the Best Kiss Ever™.
I groan, resting my forehead against the doorframe in despair. As if things weren’t complicated enough!
Can I get a Bloody Mary around here?
* * *
After I spenda half hour under the hot water, trying to shower off last night’s bad decisions, I make my way to the hotel dining room for brunch. I need a full English fry-up, at least three cups of coffee, and for Fraser to re-disappear to wherever he was hiding for the past ten years.
Thankfully, there’s no sign of him, but most of the cast and crew have dragged themselves in to refuel. Everyone’s clearly worse for wear, with heads are hung low, slurping coffee or hair-of-the-dog. I fill a plate from the buffet and go join Reeve and Hazel at a table in the corner. Their heads are bent together, whispering urgently.
“… Did you try his manager?”
“He can’t reach him either. And his phone still goes straight to voicemail.”
“Maybe he turned it off.”
“Maybe he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, and this whole movie is fucked!”
That last one was Reeve, who shuts up pronto when I sit down. “Hugo still AWOL?” I ask, digging into some buttered toast.
“Shh!” Hazel shushes me. “We don’t want anyone to panic just yet. It’s only been a few hours.”
“Or eight, if you count when anyone last saw him,” Reeve mutters. He looks pale and anxious, nervously tapping his phone.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I offer. “Maybe he just went home with some girl last night, and forgot about the time?”
“Or she’s holding him hostage in a basement somewhere, and our insurance bondsman is about to freak the fuck out.”
“Breathe, little brother.” Hazel shoves his coffee cup closer. “Hugo’s a professional. He wouldn’t just bail on production one week into the movie.”
“Wouldn’t he?”
I listen to their back-and-forth, still a little fuzzy-headed. Beneath the hangover fog, something is scratching at the back of my brain.
I sip my coffee, trying to string the events of last night together. I remember the first and second drink at the pub with Hugo… And even the third and fourth ones, too. More karaoke. Some dancing. And then…
I’ve got nothing.
I focus on hosing down carbs to soak up the booze still sloshing around in my stomach, then Reeve drags me into a production meeting in the hotel conference room. “Not a word about Hugo,” he warns me in a low voice, as Fraser takes a seat across the room. “The last thing we want is Suit Guy narc-ing to the studio that we’re in trouble.”
