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32
Three Weeks Later
“Ryan.”Someone was talking through my hotel room door, but I just shoved my head further under the pillow. “I’m not joking—fucking open this door!” It sounded like Grant…though maybe not; all of their voices were blurring together at this point.
I closed my eyes, refusing to yell or acknowledge whatever it was that this person wanted. I already knew why he was here.
“You can’t just walk off set! We have a contract, and why the hell are you at this resort instead of in your trailer?” A fist pounded on the door.
I could call security, thought maybe I should…but it would just escalate things. I needed to deal with this head-on and spare the poor families around me.
Letting out a heavy groan, I got out of bed, the dark room spinning as my hangover crashed over me, reminding me of how empty my minibar currently was. Another reason I should get up—so the housekeeper could come in and restock everything.
Shuffling to the door, I opened it and blinked harshly against the white light that crept in.
“Fuck.” I stumbled back, pushing the heel of my hand into my eye socket.
Someone slammed the door behind me then walked around me and pulled open the curtains, letting in sunlight—bright, horrific sunshine.
“Really, Grant? Is that necessary?”
“Yes, Ryan, it fucking is!” He lowered his face, yelling into mine while I slumped into the bed.
“Why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” A harsh scoff left Grant’s throat. “I’m here because you walked off the production set in the middle of filming. I’m here because your little stunt set us back two weeks, and I’m here because there’s already press who got wind of your little breakdown!”
I winced as his voice thundered through the space. A second later he threw a pillow across the room with force.
Heavy silence flourished as I sat there, unwilling to address his accusations. Yes, I had walked off set, and yes, I knew I was screwed for doing it…but in my defense, I’d been totally hammered when I had done it.
“Why are you doing this?” Grant crouched until he was eye level with me. “Why risk your career? Do you know how hard it is to remain relevant in Hollywood? Or with HitFlix, for that matter? All the A-listers are signing contracts left and right for roles because streaming services are where their money is. You’re on top right now…the top choice of male lead for a new role, the top for interview requests, the top for all of it, and you’re just throwing it all away.”
“I’m not…” I started then stopped, gritting my teeth. “Look…I’m going through some personal stuff right now. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to ruin anything for anyone, but I can’t work with Shelly right now.”
“Why?” Grant moved until he was sitting next to me.
I doubted very much that he wanted to know the real reason all this was going down. Everyone knew Shelly was a diva, but very few knew how horrible and dark a person she really was.
“She’s saying shit under her breath every time we finish reading lines. She changed up that scene we were doing, the one where she was just supposed to kneel in front of me and then the scene would fade to black.” I looked over just as Grant grimaced in acknowledgment.
He knew what I was talking about. Instead of the scene fading and her kneeling, she gripped my length and tugged on my jeans while biting her lip, like suddenly we were in some porno.
“You guys are so harsh with me about all this, but no one…not a single person said jack shit to her about that stunt—or the one where she kissed me even though the script said she was merely supposed to press a peck to my cheek. It’s sexual harassment, and I won’t tolerate it.”
That and every time she did anything to me, she’d laugh or joke about my small-town girlfriend, the one I was actively trying to forget. Time, as it turned out, was a cruel bitch when the other shoe was shoved onto the proverbial foot.
I had wondered many times if this was how Bexley had felt after she’d left me…if she’d wondered about me all night, missing out on much-needed sleep. I wondered if she had second-guessed it all, going over the relationship in her mind and wondering where it all went wrong. I hated that I didn’t know what was happening in her life, or with the kids. My stomach churned as I considered what they must think of me after hearing how I’d treated Bex that last day.
“This isn’t just about Shelly,” Grant whispered, moving off the bed and walking toward the television. TMZ was playing a clip of celebrity news, and one of their headlines wasRyan Prince’s small-town fling getting frisky with a local. My gut twisted. I’d seen it, the footage of Bexley at a bar, dancing with some guy, letting him kiss her, move her, and get twisted up so much so they had to blur out the video.
She hadn’t called a single time, not that I thought she would. The day I left her, I had been drunk as hell, but it wasn’t an excuse for what I said, and I knew her well enough to know she could never overcome those words.
I missed her. I ached for her in ways I hadn’t ever felt…this time it was a deeper cut, a more intense loss than it ever had been in the past. I wasn’t sleeping, I was drinking more than I normally did, and when I showed up for production, I didn’t talk. I also didn’t want to work.
Shelly knew something was off and had seen the mess we’d made regarding our fake relationship. It all worked out for her, but now she was pressing for there to be something between us, something real. Not emotionally—never emotionally—but physically. If I had to guess, she’d stage a sex tape or catch me in the act somehow, so she could sell it or hand-deliver it to Bexley while smirking about ruining my life.
“I’m sorry we put you in this position, Ry…I didn’t realize how serious it was between you two.”
