Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
I’d recognized Chelsea but couldn’t place her at the time, and my heart sank to my toes. She wasn’t a PA for Void . . . she was its fucking star.
Was anything she’d told me true? And how had I been so stupid as to believe what we’d had was real?
“Oh, wow.” The younger man nodded. “You’re right. Her hair was different though”—he shrugged—“and I guess I didn’t spend that much time looking at her face, if you know what I mean.”
Disdain rolled through the older guy’s expression. They were strangers and probably would’ve avoided each other out in the real world, but there weren’t many options in here for people to talk to, so neither could be picky.
“Right.” The older guy shifted on his seat and swirled the drink he was holding. “You know, I’ve done the last few seasons of Void, and they really stepped it up this year. The elevator falling scene was amazing, and not just the mechanics of it. They set up the expectation that we’d get recovery time, and then . . . damn. They took it away.”
I couldn’t help it. The bitter words spilled from my mouth. “Yeah, but the kiss was a bit much.”
Both men snapped their attention to me with puzzled expressions, like they hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.
“Wait. She kissed you?” The younger guy’s face soured. “She didn’t kiss me.”
The older guy looked disappointed as well. “Yeah, me neither.”
A tiny spark of hope flickered in me, but I immediately squashed it and went back to staring at my mostly blank notebook page. I should probably interview these two and try to build a comprehensive walk-through of Void, but all I wanted was to sulk like a lovesick teenager. I certainly didn’t want to hear how Chelsea had flirted with other guys—even if it had been her job and she’d only been playing a part.
I was angry I’d let it become real for me.
When I finished the final sip of my water, I switched to the Scotch, and the bartender appeared moments later. He took my empty bottle and tossed it in the bin before his gaze settled on me. “Someone has been waiting for you to finish that,” he said. “They’d like to speak with you.”
He gestured to the back door and then went back to wiping the bar.
I hesitated, wary.
But I knocked back the rest of the Scotch, climbed off my barstool, and made my way toward the back exit, feeling the other men’s gazes on me the whole time.
The door led out to a stone path, and ivy crawled up the sides of the high walls that lined the perimeter of the large garden. There was a bench beneath a lamppost, and when I appeared, the woman seated on it rose to her feet.
The pink wig had been replaced by long dark hair, and her makeup was more subtle. She’d changed her clothes, but this new outfit was still sexy. Thigh-high boots clung to her legs underneath her short skirt, and her chunky sweater hung provocatively off one shoulder. Despite the chilly air, she looked comfortable in her clothes, and—more importantly—real.
This wasn’t a costume. This was her, the real Chelsea.
If that’s even her name.
“How are you?” I didn’t like the bashfulness in her voice. She’d been so confident in the elevator.
My tone was brusque. “I’m fine.”
“Can we take a walk?”
I exhaled a breath, and it was visible in the air. “You’re not wearing a coat.”
I was—I’d changed back into the jeans, button-down shirt, and navy sports coat I’d worn to Void in an attempt to look professional.
“I’m okay with the cold if you are. I’d really like to talk to you.” When my expression remained skeptical, she softly added, “Please?”
She didn’t act like she was chilly, and even if she were, I got the feeling this was more important to her than her comfort.
“All right,” I said.
She walked slowly, allowing me to fall in beside her while we strolled between the manicured rows of autumn flowers and shrubs.
“I lied to you about a few things,” she started.
“I figured that out already.”
She frowned, her eyebrows tugging together. “I’m sorry about that, but it was part of my job. I did my best to make sure almost everything I told you was true.”
“That your name is Chelsea and you’re really an aspiring screenwriter from Saint Charles, Illinois,” I said flatly.
“Yes.” Her nod was enthusiastic. “And that kiss, Tyler?” She abruptly stopped walking and turned to face me. “Our phenomenal kiss? That was real, and I need you to know that.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” She seemed to search for the answer. “I like you.” She lifted her chin, and the confident woman she’d been returned. “I liked you enough to break the rules, and even though I’m risking my paycheck by meeting a guest afterward, I’m here. I’m taking that chance, for you. I get that it seems crazy because we just met, but I like you.” She said it like it couldn’t be helped.