Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Which means fewer days with her. If she’s even here for the show. I try to ignore the hope I feel at seeing her again. I try to ignore the way my stomach churns at the thought of being close to her again.
Hally was a mistake all those years ago. She brought chaos to my life. A torrent of emotion I thrived on, a tension between the two of us that I was addicted to. I know it was the same for her. The two of us together was nothing but destructive. Both of us tearing at each other, even if it was only to get closer. Desperate for one another in every way.
If she’s here, I’m fucked. I already know that much.
I’m on edge as I open up the door to my room and stand there, watching everyone move about and praying for a distraction. The fourteenth and fifteenth floors are booked for production. Different sets on each and our rooms are scattered throughout the building.
My eyes drift from one person to the next, each on a cell phone or getting their makeup done or preparing in some way for the long days ahead of us. It’s showbiz and it moves a mile a minute. Or at least it does around me.
I used to be eager for this. To play a role that someone else chose and fade into a life that wasn’t my own. Even if it was just for a moment. I could be someone else and forget my own name. Forget where I grew up and how I had no one. Forget how I ran away from the one person who had ever made me feel anything but anger.
Scripts and gigs were easy to become consumed with; I was that desperate to be anyone besides the person I’d become. And not a damn thing could stop me from playing the part Mark gave me. I wasn’t bred for this lifestyle, but after years of being shoved in front of cameras and taking over the spotlight, nothing fazes me anymore.
But knowing she’s here somewhere in this building, or was … She may have already left.
The realization makes my blood spike with adrenaline, and the need to run to her and stop her from getting any further is sobering.
I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want to walk away. But that’s the way it had to happen. Life decided that, not me. I never thought I’d see her face again. I’ve been running from her for years.
CHAPTER 3
Harlow
You’re going to do great, sweetheart. Break a leg!
I stare down at the text from my father and I can’t even reply. He’s so damn proud of me and I know he chuckled when he typed up that second line. But my lips are unmoving and in a grim line.
My butt is firmly planted on Lydia’s bed by the desk in her room, laptop open and script in hand. I haven’t budged from my spot in her room, but I know this is temporary.
I have to go out there. Any minute now, I need to get up and face him.
Nathan’s name is in bold lettering on the first page of the screenplay. Mine is in tiny print toward the very end. Mostly on the second to last page. I need to suck it up and prepare myself for the inevitable. I’ve had two days to try to figure out what to do and get a grip.
No one told me who was in this production when I signed up for it. No one warned me that the one person on the face of the earth who hates me was going to be here. Yet I can’t bring myself to turn around and walk away. I keep telling myself it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; that I won’t let him ruin it for me. Or let the past haunt me like it did for years.
But the truth is that I want to see him more than anything else. I never wanted to say goodbye to him, but he shoved me away when I needed him most.
I know he’s here. Now that filming’s begun, I’m well aware of the fact I’m on the same floor as he is. I don’t know if he knows I’m here. He saw me, I’m sure of it. But he hasn’t come searching for me. He hasn’t had me fired either. So maybe that’s a start.
The only thing I really know is that I’m desperate to get one more look at him. I’m desperate to see him in person again and not just in the trailers for movies I refuse to watch. I’m scared to death, but I need to hear him say my name again.
Not enough to leave Lydia’s dressing room, though. Chickenshit is what I am. But at least I haven’t run.