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“Yes?”
I cleared my throat, but the words wouldn’t come. I knew why, as well. This had happened before. Happened every time I thought about crossing that line.
Sam glanced at his watch. “Did you have something to say?”
I swallowed hard, feeling sick. Feeling thirteen again. Me and Sam had ditched class and gone to the Pumpkin Smash, this janky street fair with a Hallowe’en theme. We’d stuffed our faces with corndogs and candy corn, puked on the Scrambler, and screamed through Ghoul Mansion. It had been the best day, then evening had come, our last pennies spent, time to go home. I’d looked over at Sam, at this backpack he’d won, this big stupid frog thing with a zip for its mouth. I’d thoughtI could tell him. We could be like real friends.
“Hey, Sam?”
He’d grinned at me, lips blue from grape soda.
I’d stared at him then like I was doing right now, wanting to tell him all I’d been holding back — my parents, the car crash, my dumb foster mom. Those stupid soaps she watched. Her stinky hand lotion. But if I did, what if he freaked? What if he thought I was sad? Social poison? Too low on the ladder even for him?
What if hedidn’t, and told his secrets right back? If we got close like I’d once been with Dad, and then something happened, and he was gone from my life?
“Nothing,” I said, in time-lapse stereo. I couldn’t tell him back then, and I couldn’t do it now. Couldn’t show him that side of me, that messy, fucked-up side. The side that got drunk and got married, andwhyhad I done that? What was so broken in me that even drunk, I’d agreed?
Better to keep Sam like he was, someone I cared about, but no more than that. Once you let people in, once you let yourself need them—
“Very good, noted. You have nothing to say.” And, there it was. Full English butler.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything else, but before I could, Lacey came knocking. She didn’t wait for an answer, and let herself in. Sam stood at the sight of her and held out his hand.
“Ah, Miss Hall, or, excuse me, Mrs. Harper. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Sam, Eric’s manager.”
Lacey shot me a puzzled look, but she shook his hand.
“Great to meet you,” she said, and I almost laughed. She did the same thing he did, retreating into politeness, but it meant she was nervous, not hopping mad.
Sam frowned at my tiny huff of amusement. He pulled his briefcase toward him and snapped it open. “I’m here today with a proposal for you both. An opportunity, really.” He pulled out two contracts marked with colored tabs and laid them out side by side on the table. “Berg’s already agreed to this. In fact, he’s eager. All I’ll need are your signatures, and—”
“What kind of opportunity?” Lacey’s cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off.”
“That’s quite all right, ma’am.” Sam somehow went stiffer. “It’s a feature inSwipestyles, the lifestyle magazine. They’d like to send a crew to capture a day-in-the-life, two glamorous newlyweds at home and on set. There’ll be interviews, photoshoots—”
“No.” It was my turn to cut Sam off. Lacey’s pink flush had drained, leaving her pale.
“You said Berg agreed to this?”
“It’ll boost his profile too. Free press for his movie. He’s happy to accommodate as long as he picks the day.”
“So they’d be in our hotel with us, in our suites, in our business.” Lacey’s voice shook. “When you say ‘all day,’ you mean…”
“They’ve sent an itinerary.” Sam leafed through his papers. “It’s from breakfast to bedtime. A day in the life. And they’d like you to go out somewhere, a date they can shoot. They had some suggestions.”
I scowled. “I said no.”
Sam ignored me. “Lacey?”
Lacey stared at the contracts laid out on the table. She’d barely looked at me since she entered my trailer. Hadn’t spoken to me either, not so much as a word. I coughed to get her attention, but she didn’t look up.
“Swipestyles,” she said. “They shot Kaylee Jaye’s wedding. Did that whole spread on her. I remember the cover.”
I stood, fuming, hands bunched into fists. “You’re considering this?”
Lacey still didn’t look at me. She kept her eyes fixed on Sam. She’d been the same in the limo riding over this morning; quiet, reserved, absorbed in her script. I’d figured she was nervous about today’s shooting.
“It’s only one day,” she said. “If Berg wants to do it, don’t we have to say yes? He might hold it against us, missing that kind of hype.”
