Acting Lessons 5l2cb

Acting Lessons

Book 3 in the Center Stage series

Adele Buck

Quiet Confidence Press

Copyright © 2021 by Jill A. Smith

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ornamental scene break: New York by Gab Bandala from the Noun Project.

Edited by Liz Lincoln.

Cover design by Marika Bailey.

For Lisa Lin, who has been there from the beginning.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Enjoyed Acting Lessons?

Chapter 1 of Fast Acting

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter 1

Ever since that summer in Connecticut, Freddie Alves promised herself she’d never work with Susan Vernon again. “I know how you feel.” Cath’s low voice was hard to hear over the buzz of conversation and the hiss of the machines in the coffee shop and Freddie pressed the phone to her ear so hard it hurt. “Susan is a world-class problem and Michael was an idiot to hire her.” “Right. So you’re saying I need to say no.” Relief washed through her. A perverse sort of relief, considering how badly she needed the job. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. This is a really big opportunity. I wouldn’t blame you if you eventually said no, but you need to at least talk to Michael first. He’s a good guy and a great director.” Freddie squeezed her eyes shut. “Susan aside, it’s a musical. I’ve never stage managed a musical. I only ever assisted on one, and that was in college.” “Yeah, it’s daunting. But you can do it. Didn’t you tell me you danced as a kid? It’s not like you have no sense of timing or rhythm and that’s really what you need. Nobody’s going to ask you to get up and sing and dance yourself.” “Yeah. I did dance and gymnastics in school,” Freddie said, opening her eyes and staring at nothing. “Well, then you will be great.” Cath’s voice sounded bracing and confident. “Meet with Michael. See if you click. I think you’ll work well with him. He’s very experienced and used to dealing with volatile musical theater types. He should handle Susan just fine.” “Easy for you to say,” Freddie grumbled. “You’re not the one looking at her

treating you like a piece of furniture. At best. Again.” “Just talk to Michael.” Cath’s voice held that commanding tone she had sometimes used back in the days when Freddie had worked for her as her assistant stage manager. When Cath had been in charge. Which sounded…kind of nice right now, not having to make decisions. “Don’t decide before you have more information.” “Fine.” Freddie sighed. “If you’re going to be reasonable about it. I’ll give him a call and set up a time to talk.” “Good.” Cath was out of “compelling” mode and back into “bracing.” “This could be a great career move for you. I’m glad you’re considering it.” After hanging up, Freddie sat for a few minutes, sipping her coffee until the moment where the drink went from “cool but still acceptable” to “utterly disgusting.” Putting the cup down, she tapped her fingernails on the screen of her phone, not picking it up off the table. She almost laughed when she ed the youthful crush she had had on Susan Vernon. Susan had once been her number one lust object. Freddie had seen the actress play Maggie the Cat in a revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof when Freddie was still in college, and the thought of Susan prowling around in a satin slip for the better part of two hours was still hot. But then, a few years later, Freddie had actually worked with Susan. Her infatuation with the woman behind the actress had been killed within days by Susan’s selfish, predatory behavior. But that wasn’t the only reason why Freddie was procrastinating now. Susan was always going to make her think of James.

James Martin stepped into the baggage claim area of Kennedy airport and heard the click of a shutter almost immediately. His jaw tightened and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even though they were hidden behind his mirrored aviators. Striding out a little more quickly and tightening his grip on the strap of his leather duffel, he didn’t look to the left or the right, keeping his eyes on the door as he walked. He heard another few clicks and saw light glint off the lens of the camera out of the corner of his eye. Slow day for the paps, I guess. He hadn’t seen anybody more recognizable on the flight out from Los Angeles, so he guessed he was this poor bozo’s consolation prize. Getty or one of the other photo wires might buy a picture or two of him on the strength of his new gig, he supposed. But it wasn’t like his last two years in L.A. had been a roaring success. His career had started in television, then moved to theater and then television had called again, luring him out to Hollywood. He had kept his career puttering along out there, but never seemed to get anything more sustained than a threeepisode guest spot on an established show. Even worse, the roles were almost inevitably “Black stereotype” of one sort or another. Finding himself longing for something more stable and less insulting, he had started to fantasize about getting back on stage. About going back to New York. Fantasies turned to plans as the months went on and the one- and two-episode guest roles trickled through, just enough to keep him going. And then, just as he was getting ready to kiss off television forever and try for Broadway, television went and handed him a ing role in a new superhero series. A last-minute replacement for the original actor in the pilot. Best of all? It was shooting in New York. An all-expenses paid ticket out of Los Angeles? Yes please and thank you. He sold his car, sublet his apartment, had a crew pack his belongings into a truck, and practically sprinted for the airport. Los Angeles hadn’t been terrible, but it had never felt like home the way cities on the East Coast did. And now he was back. He could almost taste the bodega coffee.

Stepping up to the line for a taxi, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and rubbed the screen with his thumb, thinking. He hadn’t talked to Freddie in months and wondered if she’d be thrilled or peeved at his sudden, unannounced arrival in New York. He also wondered if she was single.

Michael Balducci’s handshake was strong and sure as he welcomed Freddie into his tiny office in the Hatbox Theater in TriBeCa. “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice. Cath can’t say enough good things about you. Says she wanted to keep you as her assistant stage manager forever, but I know she’s too fair to hamper your career like that.” Michael’s warm smile made lines fan out from his deep-set brown eyes. “And I value her opinion. I even tried to lure her away from Paul once to do a show with me. But that was shortly before they got engaged, so I suppose that was a vain hope.” Freddie nodded. She had worked for Cath that summer. The summer of Susan. The summer of James. “Cath was a great mentor to me,” Freddie said. “She taught me a lot.” “I don’t doubt it. And you have that same calm, competent demeanor that she has. It’s part of what makes me hope you’ll consider taking this job.” Freddie leaned back in her chair, trying to relax her tight, upright posture a little bit. She wasn’t used to being offered things on a platter like this. Her gaze roamed over Michael’s desk. Two framed pictures had pride of place. One showed Michael and another man, Freddie supposed this was his husband, both suntanned and standing with their arms around each other and their backs to the ocean. The other was of a snaggletoothed, shaggy little mutt who looked as if it existed in a permanent state of bafflement. “What happened to your original stage manager?” Freddie asked, her eyes flicking back to Michael’s face. The production was halfway through rehearsals. “Losing a stage manager at this point in rehearsals…” “Must be either a misfortune or carelessness?” Michael asked, paraphrasing Oscar Wilde, and Freddie suppressed a smile. Cath and her husband Paul were forever quoting plays at each other, playing a game of “name the source material.” She wondered if she would eventually pick up the habit as well. “Neither, I’m afraid. Carolyn Tanner’s mother became gravely ill. Carolyn is an only child and was, unfortunately, the only person available to step in and take care of her.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Freddie reflected on her large, chaotic family. At least she would never be on her own like that if something happened to her parents. She had once been the one everyone counted on, the go-to girl in the midst of her four brothers. But the rest of them still lived in the former fishing town where her parents did, where her Portuguese ancestors had made their livelihoods on the sea. Whereas, she had made the decision to leave. While she would always help out where she could, she knew she could count on her brothers to figure things out. “So, what do you say?” Michael’s voice broke in on her irrelevant thoughts and his heavy brow made his intent expression even more compelling. “Can you bail us out?” Freddie thought about her bank . And then about Susan. She considered the resumé credit this project would represent. And then she considered Susan. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before answering. “Can you give me a day or two to think about it?” Michael leaned back in his chair, considering. “I can give you twenty-four hours. Honestly, I shouldn’t even do that. I’m hoping you’ll say yes, but I’ll continue to get the word out. I need someone and I really need them yesterday, Freddie.” “That’s fair,” Freddie said, rising. “I just have a few things to iron out. Thanks for being flexible.” Shaking hands again with Michael, she headed for the theater door. Her phone chimed in her bag just as she reached the sidewalk. Pulling it out, she stared dumbly at the text message on the screen. A text from James. Hey. Back in NYC. Drink? Speak of the devil.

James fidgeted, checking Twitter on his phone, glancing at the door, swiveling on his bar stool. You know Freddie better than this. She’s always punctual. And James had shown up twenty minutes early. He was always too eager with Freddie, it seemed. He’d asked her to move to Los Angeles with him, but she had panicked at the thought. She had been too young, too intent on building her own career. She couldn’t imagine what she might do on the West Coast except be James Martin’s girlfriend, and she had wanted more than that. Your own fault you have to wait, he thought. James decided to answer a few tweets while he waited. The new show had raised his profile and activity in his mentions had picked up. He scrolled through the feed. Compliment: reply with thanks. Troll: block. Request for birthday wish… “When you’re done with your adoring fans, can an old friend get a hello?” James dropped the phone on the bar, his head whipping around to trace the sound of Freddie’s voice. The sight of her was a physical blow, a soft whump to his solar plexus. “Hey stranger.” The husky voice that James had gotten used to hearing on the phone was even sexier paired with her face. Freddie hated cameras, which pretty much left out video chatting, so their infrequent, sometimes lengthy conversations, after they had gotten past the hurt of the breakup and stitched their friendship back together, had been voice-only. James had appreciated the intimacy of just that voice in the dark, but looking at her now, he ed how much he had been missing. Her eyes still dominated her face: huge, dark brown, and tip-tilted, she was a Disney princess come to life. That pointed chin still d her stubborn nature. Her hair was longer now, grown out from the short curls that had clustered around her face. Now it waved past her shoulders, and James’s fingers itched to tug at the dark brown silk. “Hey.” His own voice flaked with rust and he cleared his throat. “How’re you doing, Fred?” he asked as she clambered to the stool next to him, making a face

as she boosted herself onto the barstool, her short, shapely legs dangling and her skirt riding up distractingly when she seated herself. He coughed again. “Sorry. I should have picked a table, not the bar. We can move if you want.” “Don’t worry about it. I’m short, I’m not incapable.” Her glance flickered from James to the bartender and he tried to gather himself as she ordered a drink, winking audaciously as the man mixed her a gin and tonic. Accepting her glass from the bartender with thanks, she took a sip as she gave James a long, assessing glance. She placed the drink down, centering it carefully on a little cardboard coaster. “So. You get a ing role in a hot new tv show and you only call when you actually arrive? What’s that about?” James’s throat went dry and he took a sip of beer. When he was offered the role, his first thought had been of her. But he had panicked, been afraid that she would be with someone or just not want to see him. And now those big eyes had him transfixed, unable to offer explanation or apology. Over two years before, he had taken the lead in their relationship. Now, it appeared he was following.

Shifting uncomfortably on the barstool, Freddie sipped her drink and continued to look at James. He was… Oh, crap. He was even more attractive than he had been two years ago. Nothing to do but brazen it out. “Well?” James shrugged, an unusually awkward, one-shouldered motion. “I honestly don’t know. I was definitely thinking about you. It’s just… I don’t know,” he said again. She decided to let him off the hook. For now. “You shaved your head,” she said. “Yeah.” He rubbed the dark brown skin of his scalp with an open palm. It looked smooth and inviting. Freddie’s fingers itched to stroke him. “‘Keepin’ it real,’ right?” Freddie laughed, the nervous clenching of her stomach pushing it toward a giggle. “You that?” “I’m going to forget you forcing me to watch Clueless fourteen times in the course of a single summer?” “Once. I made you watch it once. And you laughed your face off.” Freddie sipped her drink and tried to look challenging. She was all too aware that she probably looked about as intimidating as a chipmunk. James’ beautiful mouth stretched in a reluctant smile, exposing perfect, white teeth. Freddie melted a little. It’s just not fair. “Yeah. It was funny,” he said. “I it it.” Freddie’s eyebrows lifted. “You do, huh?” “I do. In fact, my masculinity is strong enough to also tell you that it was on cable last month and I watched it again. Is it still one of your favorites?”

Gulping a sustaining mouthful of gin and tonic, Freddie nodded. “Yup. I used to watch it with my mom all the time when I was a teenager and what’s not to love? It’s probably the best modern-day Austen adaptation out there.” “Well, all right then. Not going to argue with the classics.” An awkward silence stretched between them. James spun his beer bottle on its coaster and Freddie fidgeted with the tie of her blouse. She had no idea how to ask the question she really wanted the answer to. “So…” James said, tension drawing his jaw tight. “You seeing anyone just now?” Or he could ask me, I guess.

Heart thudding, James took a sip of his beer. He hadn’t intended to get so personal so quickly. He had planned to get to know her again slowly, see if the attraction that they had shared two years before could be reignited. Well, it had been abundantly clear from the moment he saw her again that he was still drawn to Freddie. Whether or not she still felt anything for him was another question. Speaking of which, she hadn’t yet answered his question. James’s throat and chest tightened. “No.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “No, not seeing anyone just now. You?” James coughed. Her response eased the band around his chest, but his throat still felt clogged. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Haven’t for some time.” “Me neither.” Her eyelashes fanned across her cheek as she looked down. Impulsively, he cupped her face with one hand and she jumped. “Sorry,” he said, realizing his fingers were freezing from toying with his beer bottle. “It’s okay.” One of her hands flew up to clutch his, holding it to the curve of her cheek, which flushed pink as he watched her. “Your face is hot,” he said, his own relaxing into a smile as she glared at him. “I mean it,” he said more softly as he let his fingers caress the soft skin, his hand soaking up the heat. “Your face is hot. And pretty. And sexy.” He traced the plump curve of her lower lip with his thumb. “Always did love your mouth.” “Likewise,” she said, looking at his lips. Her breath had a hitch to it, and she had slid a little way off the barstool, her skirt riding up on her thighs. He let his hand drop softly to her leg, and she looked down, seeing the exposed length of toned thigh. “Shit,” she said, tugging her skirt down and sitting back more firmly. Her face had gone from pink to bright red and her eyes darted around the bar. “Relax, you didn’t give the entire place a show. Just a few inches of leg.” James took another sip of beer and was rewarded with yet another glare. “What? What

did I do?” Freddie sighed and finished her drink, clinking the remaining ice around in the glass. “Nothing. I’m just a little on edge today.” James took in the skirt, the V-neck top that showed the barest hint of cleavage, and wondered if they were just clothes or a message. His jaw tightening, he decided to risk it. “Any chance I could relax you? I’m in a hotel for the next few weeks. It’s not far away.” Those big brown eyes flew back up to his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 2

James tossed a twenty onto the bar and reached for Freddie’s hand. She gave it to him, amazed at how natural being with him again felt. Conscious of keeping her skirt in place, she got down carefully from the stool and was practically yanked along behind him as he walked out of the bar. “Dude,” she protested, her legs pinwheeling to try to keep up with his long stride. “Slow down, Daddy Long Legs.” “Sorry,” he said, moderating his pace to match hers. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she wondered how long it had been for him since he’d last dated. She had been out a few times about four months ago with an NYU librarian—a fun, smart woman with an appealing, dry wit. Unfortunately, their opposing schedules had made finding time to spend together a challenge and they had drifted apart. Since then, nothing. Just work and more work. Well, and her vibrator. But it wasn’t like she could take it out for drinks or to a movie. Also, it was a shitty conversationalist. She snorted as she imagined the blasé reaction she would get from most New Yorkers if she indulged in that particular eccentricity. “What’s so funny?” James asked as they waited on a corner for the light to change. “Nothing.” Freddie tried to keep a straight face but the image of a vibrator in a fancy restaurant sitting on a booster seat popped into her head and a burst of laughter escaped her. His head rocked back at an angle. “Right. That nothing is pretty hilarious.”

“Oh, just…” She shook her head and decided to come clean. Like I said, it’s been a while. I had a sudden image of dating my vibrator.” James gave her a blank look for a moment then threw his head back, laughing. “Never change, Fred. Never change,” he said, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. For what felt like the fifteenth time that evening, Freddie felt her face flush. “I don’t try to be ridiculous.” “You’re not ridiculous. You’re funny.” The light changed and James moved forward, tugging her along with him. “Someday you may have to explain the difference to me.” “If you were ridiculous, I would be laughing at you. I was laughing with you. And don’t say you weren’t laughing, because your laugh was what gave you away.” Nodding his thanks to the doorman, he led her into a trendy boutique hotel. The lobby was dark and moody, loud music pounding in her ears. “Well, this is ridiculous,” she said, indicating the rave scene and going on her toes to try to get closer to his ear to be heard over the din. “The hotel is the show’s choice. Not mine. But my room is quiet,” he said, also raising his voice. The elevator doors slid shut, blocking out most of the noise, and Freddie took a deep breath, trying to ease her tense shoulders. “Hey.” James moved behind her, settling his large hands on her neck and circling his thumbs to dig gently into the tight muscles. “Oof. That’s good. Thank you.” “I did promise to help you relax.” “There better be more to it than this.”

Smoothing his hand up the back of Freddie’s neck, James swept her hair aside and bent to press a kiss to the exposed skin. “Oh, I’m barely getting started.” His eyes narrowed with satisfaction as he saw the shiver that ran through her at his caress. Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and nibbled at the nape of her neck. “Oh,” Freddie moaned gently as her head dropped toward her shoulder and his mouth moved up the side of her neck. He pulled her closer to him, delighting in the way his arm fit into the dip of her waist, her hips and breasts flaring below and above. Her body felt warm and delicious against his, a once-familiar territory to be re-explored. The elevator chimed, doors sliding silently open, and James straightened up, taking her hand again to lead her down the hall to his room. When he dropped her hand to fish his keycard out of his wallet, she moved behind him, tugging his shirt free of his jeans and wrapping her arms around his waist to run hands over his abs. “You’ve slacked off in the gym, I see.” Her voice behind him sounded amused and aroused and he had to slide the key card in a second time after she distracted him by reaching up to tweak one nipple, making his breath catch and hiss between his teeth. Twisting the doorknob and opening the door, he turned to her, catching the challenging gleam in her big eyes. “Temptress. Come in here.” When did Freddie get so bold? Flicking the light switch on, he backed into the room, not touching her now, letting her pursue him into the tiny foyer of the hotel room. He stopped moving when the door closed behind her with a heavy thud, his breath coming a little quickly, gazing over her face and body. She was looking directly back at him, the new assurance in her expression making his heart race a little faster. “So,” she said, her usually husky tones even rougher than usual. “You gonna kiss me, or what?” “You don’t have to ask me twice.” James closed the short distance between them, sliding one hand to cup the back of her head as she tilted her face up. The

other hand slipped down to the curve of her butt, pressing her body against his erection. For a moment, he just looked at her face, cheeks flushed and eyes already heavy-lidded with arousal. With the same unhurried deliberation, he brought his mouth to hers, nipping at her lips with his own, teasing. “Hey,” she said, winding her hands behind his neck and tugging him down. This time, her hands skimmed up the back of his neck and over his scalp. She hummed with evident pleasure, stroking his skin as their lips parted and tongues slid against each other. Her lips were soft and full against his own and he pulled her more tightly to him as he grew harder. “Bed now?” he asked, pulling back a bit. “Bed now.”

Freddie stroked the back of James’ scalp and kissed him deeply, her muscles relaxing as if she was sinking into a hot, deep bath. She had forgotten how much the sheer feel of him made her melt. Pushing him backward, she started to undo the buttons of his shirt as they moved toward the bed. When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he sat heavily, the mattress bouncing underneath him, his eyes mirthful slits as he watched her. Slipping her fingers under the edges of his open shirt, Freddie pushed the fabric away, letting her hands linger on the hard curves of his shoulders. She bit her lower lip as her eyes and hands roamed over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen. His skin was the same luminous brown that she ed and so smooth to the touch. “Yeah, it’s a damn shame you stopped working out.” Trying for sarcasm, her voice landed somewhere closer to choked disbelief. “Right. Just like it’s a damn shame you decided to wear a flirty little skirt instead of your usual jeans.” James was definitely suppressing a smile. “Maybe I’ve become a skirt-wearing type. Maybe I wear them every day now.” “Maybe.” His fingers teased up the outside of her leg, starting with just the fingertips, then stroking her skin more boldly with his full hand. He lofted an eyebrow as he reached her hip. “You definitely weren’t a thong-wearing girl two years ago, so…” One corner of Freddie’s mouth tugged up. “Well, seeing an old friend. You know. Special occasion.” “Hmmm.” His other hand was under her skirt now as well, exploring the curve of her ass. “So you almost gave that bar full of people a bigger show than I thought when your skirt rode up.” “Guess so. Don’t care so much now.” Bending to kiss him, she felt his hands move away then heard and felt the zipper of her skirt being lowered. The garment dropped to the floor and the warmth of his hands returned. “This very, very fine ass has not changed, I see,” he murmured against her lips,

his hands stroking the curve of her butt and tracing the lacy line of her thong. Pushing at his chest, Freddie kneeled on the bed, straddling him and letting her hips settle to his. She rocked against him, feeling a rush of heat and pressure and pleasure. Hello, old friend.

James swallowed a curse and clutched at Freddie’s hips as she undulated on him. Christ, yes. Eyes closed, he gripped tightly, stilling the motion that was about to send him over the edge before they even began. In the darkness, he felt the warmth of her breath on his face, then the silky drape of her blouse on his chest and belly as she bent to kiss him. A small part of his brain reflected on the absurdity of her almost naked from the waist down, him naked from the waist up and he chuckled as her lips and teeth traced the edge of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Skimming his hands up her body to her face, he opened his eyes to see her looking down at him. “Everything okay here?” she asked, rolling her hips in a teasing echo of the driving pace she had previously set. “Just about,” he said, fingertips teasing at the hem of her blouse, drawing it upwards. Freddie flashed him a wicked smile and raised her arms, letting him pull the fabric over her head. Tossing it aside, he took a moment to appreciate the sight of Freddie in a lacy bra and thong, resting on his dick and looking at him with a flushed, heavy-lidded gaze. “God, I missed you, Fred.” Her face showed genuine surprise, and her hand on his face stilled its restless exploration. “Really?” Grabbing her wrist, he planted a kiss on her palm. “Yes. Did you miss me?” “Yeah. I did.” She bent to kiss him again and he skimmed his fingers up her back to unhook her bra, easing it over her shoulders until she sat up again to fling it across the room, her shifting weight a delicious torture. James took advantage of Freddie bending over again to cup a breast in his hand, pulling it to his lips, sucking the tightly puckered nipple into his mouth, her soft, hitching gasp a reward. Swirling his tongue, he slid his hands down over her ass, cupping its generous, muscular curve and tracing the enticing line of her thong with one finger. Releasing her nipple with a soft pop, he lifted his face to kiss her

mouth, his fingers continuing to follow the line of the thong to where she pressed against his erection. “Oh, I…oh.” Freddie’s gasp exhaled into his mouth and he breathed it in. Capturing her lips again with his, he threaded his fingers under the waistband of her underwear, tugging it down over her hips. Freddie shimmied a bit, encouraging his fingers to slide the lacy fabric down, then lifted up off of him to get rid of it entirely. The sudden loss of her weight against him made his dick throb with need. Instead of settling back on top of him, though, her hands went to the button of his jeans, gently popping it open and sliding the zipper down with devastating slowness.

Sitting back on her heels, Freddie took a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering rush. She smoothed her hands over James’ broad, bare chest, down his taut belly and toward the tip of his erection, just poking out of the top of his boxer briefs. Hooking her fingers under the waistband of his underwear, she tugged downward as he lifted his hips, pausing to let him tug out his wallet and toss it on the bedside table. Crawling off the bed, she tugged jeans and boxers off him, dropping them to the floor. James rose to his elbows, watching her as she stripped him and he sat up completely as she moved back to the bed. “How do you want this to go?” he asked, sliding his hands around to cup her butt again. Two years ago, this question would have made her demur, shyness threatening to swamp her desire. She reached out a hand to trace the full curve of his lips. “I’ve missed your mouth,” she said softly. The mouth in question curved upward, and James took her index finger between his lips, sucking gently and swirling his tongue around the tip. A pulse of heat shot through Freddie and her knees wobbled. James released her finger and pulled her toward him, his hands on her hips. Tracing the underside of one breast with his tongue, he brought his mouth up to pull the nipple into his mouth, sucking almost to the point of pain as he weighed her other breast in his hand, running his thumb across the pointed peak. Freddie gasped, closing her eyes and swaying her hips toward him. “Where do you want my mouth, Fred?” James mumbled into her skin. “I want it on my clit,” she said, eyes still squeezed tight. “Look at me when you tell me that.” Her eyes blinked open slowly and she looked at James. His eyes were dark and serious with desire. “I want your mouth on my clit. I want your tongue on my pussy. I want to come on your face.” James’s eyebrows went up and his hand descended from her breast to trail over

her belly and into the soft nest of curls between her thighs. Brushing her clit, he said, “Here.” She nodded. His fingers continued into the slickness between her legs. “Here,” he repeated. She nodded more slowly. “Lie back.” Freddie crawled onto the bed and lay against the banked pillows. James’s hands skimmed up from her ankles, lifting her legs to hook over his shoulders, sliding up until she could feel his breath hot against her damp flesh. He started with a long, languorous lick up her folds, the tip of his tongue coming to rest at her clit and pausing, teasing. Freddie’s eyes fluttered closed as she fought to remain relaxed, to wait. His tongue circled once, twice, unhurried. Her breath was coming more quickly now, and she heard James chuckle softly. “Sadist,” she muttered. “Mmm.” A full, open-mouthed kiss that ended in gentle suction and Freddie felt like the top of her head was going to fly off. His tongue began moving faster now, and one finger slid inside, curling and pulsing in time with his tongue. Freddie looked down at his head between her legs, the light shining softly off his shaved skin and then let her head fall back and her eyes close as a second finger ed the first and he began alternating suction with the flicking of his tongue. Delicious tension wracked Freddie’s body, winding tighter and tighter until she thought she couldn’t bear it a moment longer. He held her there for a few more breaths, a few stuttering heartbeats and it snapped. Freddie wailed, closing her eyes and throwing back her head as ripples of pleasure rolled through her while he continued to kiss and suck until the tremors quieted. James chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. “Relaxed yet?”

“Fucking hell, I’m boneless,” Freddie muttered. Feeling smug, James pressed kisses to the insides of her thighs, then kissed up her body, pausing only when he reached her face. “I’m not boneless,” he murmured in her ear. “No, you most certainly are not.” Freddie lifted her hips up to meet his, grinding on him, and James hissed as pleasure and desire shot through him. “Fuck, Freddie.” “Yes.” Her eyes narrowed to humorous slits. “Fuck Freddie. Now.” “Like I said. You don’t have to tell me twice.” James reached for his wallet, drawing out a condom. Dang. Shy, unfolding Freddie of two years ago, just learning to ask for what she wanted had been hot. Confident Freddie who knew and demanded what she wanted? Scorching. James rolled onto his back, ripping open the condom and rolling it on. Levering a hand under her butt, he encouraged her to move toward him. “Your turn, Fred.” She laughed as she rolled over, swinging one leg over his hips and grasping his length. His breath nearly stopped as she squeezed gently and positioned the head between her legs. Dipping her head to kiss him, she murmured, “You taste like me.” He gripped her hips and thrust slowly upward, rewarded by the surprise and heat in her face. She was tight, swollen from his mouth. Slick and hot. James groaned as she sank lower, rocking her hips, surrounding and squeezing him. Lifting one hand to wrap around the back of her neck, he lifted his head and urged her mouth back down to his. She kissed him long and hard, nipping and sucking at his bottom lip and sinking her hips down on him, her knees sliding

wider. James kissed up her neck as his ass clenched, pushing as deep inside her as he could get. “What are you feeling, Fred?” he murmured in her ear, teeth catching at her lobe, tugging. “Ungh. Full. Fucked. Good.” Freddie groaned, bending to tease at one of his nipples with her lips and tongue. James’s breath hissed as an electric current shot from his chest to his groin. Her hair was feathering across his skin, teasing, and the combination of sensations threatened to pull him over the edge. Gripping her hips, he slowed her rocking to a slow roll. “Easy…” James smiled as Freddie rose up over him again, her hands braced against his shoulders. Her expression had gone inward, concentrating as she moved. Her breasts were mesmerizing, undulating with the motion of her hips. Lifting his hand, he captured a nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching hard, rewarded by the hiss of her breath and the press of her hips. He continued to tease that nipple as he stroked and pulled at her other breast with his hand, his breath catching with hers as she bucked against him and shuddered, pulsing around him and sending him over the edge with her.

Chapter 3

Light filtering between the curtains dragged James from slumber, and he rolled away from the windows, squeezing his eyelids tight. Something soft tickled his nose and a familiar, citrusy scent filled his nostrils. Freddie. Cracking his eyes open, he saw the dark waves of her hair spilling across the pillow. Lifting his head, he rested his cheek on his fist and looked down at her. She was fast asleep, curled up on her side, dark lashes fanning down across her cheek. It reminded him of the first time he had really seen her that summer. James had been working on a particularly tricky monologue and his co-star hadn’t been included in the rehearsal since all she had to do was to pretend to sleep through his speech. Susan Vernon, temperamental as she was, would not have appreciated having to fake slumber through repetition after repetition of the same monologue. But talking to an empty string of folding chairs didn’t work for James. He needed a real, breathing person to focus his attention on. So the director asked Freddie to serve as Susan’s stand-in. James and Freddie had been friendly up until that point. He ired her professionalism and thought she was cute as hell, but young as she’d seemed, he hadn’t considered her as a romantic prospect. James’s lips curved, ing the moment he had looked down at Freddie, dutifully curled up on a moving blanket on top of those folding chairs, dignity keeping her spine straight. In the course of one monologue, she moved from cute kid to I want for James. After that, he sought out opportunities to get to know her better—he started

getting caffeine cravings and accompanying her when she bought coffee, he offered to walk her home, and finally he asked her if she would go out with him for a drink. Seeming surprised, she accepted. That first date reinforced everything James had learned during their ten minute coffee runs and short walks to the room she rented for the summer in an elderly lady’s home. Freddie was pretty, smart, and had an oddly earnest sense of humor. She was also responsible and ambitious. The seven year age difference between them that had seemed at first like too much of a barrier to James fell away as he got to know her better. Her bisexuality he could have handled better, at least at the outset. Shame still flooded his face with heat when he ed his bafflement, his slight withdrawal from her after she had matter-of-factly mentioned that while she had had a boyfriend in high school, she had dated women exclusively since then. He had almost lost her before things even got started. Fortunately, he realized his error almost immediately. It caused a hitch in their romance, but not a permanent one. The summer had been mostly glorious, dating Freddie and creating a role in an incredible new play. The only dark spot in an otherwise completely sunny memory was the way Susan Vernon had caused emotional chaos in the production, flirting with the men—including James—and slinging disdainful comments at anyone she didn’t consider worthy of her respect. Which was just about everyone she wasn’t sexually interested in. And even sometimes people whom she was. What was worst for him was the way she belittled Freddie, dismissing her in tiny but cutting ways, such as calling her by the wrong name if she deigned to notice her at all. James finally lost his temper with his co-star just before tech week, causing Paul to offer to fire her, and the virago was civil thereafter. At least while he was around. He wasn’t sure that common courtesy continued to be extended to Freddie in private and she had never talked about it. Well, the past is the past and Susan is definitely in the past. We never have to think about her again.

Freddie woke up abruptly, transitioning from sleep to alertness with a suddenness that was unusual for her. She blinked once at the sight of the unfamiliar hotel room, gasping as adrenaline flooded through her before memories of the night before scrolled through her brain. Relaxing and sinking back into the pillow, she took stock of her body. She felt nicely sore and sort of nostalgic. She snuggled her cheek into the pillow, closing her eyes again as she heard water run in the bathroom. Being with James again felt cozy and familiar, almost homey. The water shut off and she heard the bathroom door open. “I can tell you’re awake, Fred. You don’t smile in your sleep.” James’s voice shuddered on the edge of laughter. Freddie cracked one eye open and nearly groaned. She wasn’t sure why he had felt the need to put on boxer briefs when they had spent the night naked, but he had. The gray fabric clung, straining around muscular thighs, outlining and highlighting… well, everything. James’s hand dipped into her line of vision, two fingers hooking upward. “Freddie. Eyes…up here.” Sighing, she raised her gaze to meet his amused expression and shrugged. “What do you expect when you walk in here looking like an underwear model on his day off?” James walked to the bed and vaulted over her, making the mattress buck and bounce, the motion tossing Freddie around as the shock waves settled. He looped an arm around her waist, tugging her against him, the weight of his body pulling the bed clothes tight around her. She wriggled in the curve of his arm, appreciating the heat and solidity of his body against hers. “So.” His voice was deliciously familiar in her ear, his breath tickling her skin, making her shiver. “I never asked: what was stressing you out so much that my offer of relaxation services were so welcome? Not that I mind. I can keep on the job if you’re still stressed, in fact.” Freddie huffed a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, reality returning to her in an unwelcome, crashing wave. “Oh, I’ve been offered a gig.”

James released his hold around her waist, ri over her to look at her face. Freddie turned to look up at him. “That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” he said. “It’s not, at least in the abstract,” Freddie said, her jaw tightening. “What’s the job?” “A new musical down in TriBeCa. They're halfway through rehearsal and the current stage manager has to leave the production to take care of her sick mother. It’s stepping in at sort of the last minute, which is nerve-wracking. Also nervewracking: musical theater.” James gave her shoulder a bracing little shake. “But you can do it. I know you can.” Freddie looked at him. Normally the assured expression in his eyes would be a bolstering vote of confidence. As it was… “Yeah, I think I can do it. It would take a lot of work to get up to speed, and I’d be completely in the dark for at least a little while, which is scary, but I do think I can do it.” Giving her a long look, James finally asked, “Well, then what’s the problem?” Freddie shifted, turning fully onto her back and looking up into his dark brown eyes. “Susan Vernon is in the cast.” James’ expression went blank in that careful way that said he was hiding his true reaction and Freddie’s stomach clenched. “Would you really consider working with that human train wreck again?” James asked, his beautiful mouth drawing tight. “What, you don’t have people you’d prefer to never see again that you have to deal with?” “You don’t have to deal with her.” James pulled away a little and rolled over to lie on his back, rubbing his hand across his face. “You don’t have to take the job.” Freddie turned, his movement having released the cozy hold the covers had

exerted on her body. “No, I don’t. Unless I need a job. And I kind of need a job.” “‘Kind of?’ What does that mean?” “Well, it means I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.” Freddie’s pulse picked up speed and heat flooded her face. “A bit.” She said in a rush, “Okay, long enough that I’m freaking out and I’m not really in a position where I can turn down work.” James turned to look at her out of the corners of his eyes. “Even if it’s work that includes Susan Vernon?” The heat in her face intensified and her heart hammered even harder. “We’ve both taken jobs that have included Susan. It’s how we met. Don’t act like you’re so pure.”

James flopped onto his back, his forearm flung up to shield his eyes, exasperation flooding his body. “Purity has nothing to do with it. Besides, neither of us knew what we were getting into back then. But in this case, you do know. How could you even think about subjecting yourself to that again?” “What about, ‘I need a goddamn job’ don’t you understand?” “I understand about needing work—” “Do you? Do you really?” Freddie got out of bed, casting around for her clothes, her heart thudding hard. She grabbed her underwear, pulling on the thong and then fumbling with the clasp of her bra. “Because I don’t think you do. You have a steady gig and you’re established. I’m still making a name for myself. I can’t afford to say no.” James sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, come on. You know my career better than that. I was barely keeping it together in L.A.” “Maybe, but you were never seriously in trouble, and now you have steady work for I don’t even know how long. I have rent to pay and an offer on the table and I’m going to have to take it, regardless of how I feel about it and really regardless of how you feel about it.” Freddie found her blouse, turned it right side out, and pulled it over her head, grimacing and brushing at the wrinkles. “I had forgotten how pigheaded you can be when you try,” James said, his face hardening into a mask of disapproval. Freddie yanked her skirt on and shoved her feet in her shoes. “Yeah? Well, I’d forgotten how sanctimonious you can be. I’m not even sure you’re trying very hard. It seems to come naturally.” Grabbing her bag, Freddie whirled to face James, who stood, extending his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t,” she said, looking at his hands. “I’m mad at you. I need to call a director and accept a job. And you either need to get okay with it, or…” “Or what?” James pitched his voice soft to go along with his gesture of surrender. “Or nothing. I’m out of here. I’ll…” She shook her head, closing her eyes.

“We’ll talk later. Or something.” Before he knew what had happened, she was gone. James stared at the door as it swung closed behind Freddie with a resounding thud. How had that gone so spectacularly wrong? Scrubbing his hands over his face, he turned to look at the bed, the tumbled covers mute evidence of the night before. He had been looking forward to more, and not just more sex. More time with Freddie, more exploring that half-easy, half-wary pull between them. Freddie had grown and changed and James wanted to know more, what had set her on the road to being the flirtatious, confident person who was a far cry from the tentative young woman he had coaxed out of her shell two years before. But one thing hadn’t changed. Freddie was still as stubborn as a stump. James rubbed his lips, wondering if his opposition to her taking the job had actually pushed her toward it. He ought to have known better than to immediately object. He should have talked it through with her instead of saying no. As if he had any right to say no. But James’ protective instincts towards Freddie had not changed a bit over the last two years. It had been okay when he stood up for her when Susan had belittled her two years ago, but over the course of their conversations in the intervening years, she had let him know it had grown to irk her when people treated her like a child. He groaned, thinking about all the ways he could have handled the conversation so much better and wishing he could rewind time by about ten minutes. Had it only been ten minutes? He glanced at the clock. Yup, just a few minutes to wreck something promising and then just a few minutes more to wallow in guilt and responsibility. She certainly seemed to have an outsized idea of how his career had gone. He

wondered if he had papered over the insecurity he had felt in L.A.—still felt, to be honest. Even though he had a regular gig now, anything could happen: a television show could be cancelled, a role could be written out. And then he’d be back to auditioning and wondering. Maybe if he had had less pride, if he’d been more open to her about how things were going, she wouldn’t assume he didn’t understand. He wondered if he could convince her to give him another chance. Talk it over. Well, if he knew Freddie, she was going to need to cool off. By the time her temper had simmered down, she would have already taken the job. He would have no way of talking it over with her more rationally, without the baggage and emotion getting in the way. Any excuse to talk to her would probably receive a vehement rejection right now. Sighing, James surveyed the room—his clothes from the night before were still scattered all over. Bending to pick up his shirt, he noticed a gleam of gold on the nightstand. Freddie had stormed out without her favorite earrings.

Freddie stomped up the subway stairs and onto the sidewalk, still fuming. Who the hell does James think he is, anyway? Sanctimonious jerk. Shoulders hunched, she pounded down the block toward her apartment building, glaring in ing at some rando who had that “Smile, honey” look spreading across his face, like he was getting ready to tell her that she should change her expression just because he thought her face needed redecorating. Men. Letting herself into her building, she checked her mailbox in the vestibule. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs to the second floor and unlocked her apartment. “Miranda?” she called. “Hey, baby, where are you?” Locking the door behind her and hanging her keys on a little decorative hook, she walked into her tiny living room. Green eyes blinked sleepily from the loveseat, framed by motley black and orange fur. “Holding down the fort, sweetie?” Freddie moved to the sofa and sat heavily, stroking the cat’s plush coat. Miranda yawned, exposing sharp teeth, eyes squeezing closed and ears slicing back. “Yeah, you have it so hard here,” Freddie said, bending to press a kiss to the downy spot behind one of Miranda’s ears. The cat pushed at her cheek with one paw, head lolling away as if she was disgusted. Freddie’s mouth twisted away from the shoving paw and sat up. She’d been warned when she adopted Miranda that tortoiseshell cats had very…strong personalities. The last year had proven those people correct. “You got that tortie ‘tude in spades there, girl. But yeah, you’re right. I need a shower and to brush my teeth.” Sighing, Freddie hauled herself to her feet and detoured through the kitchen, changing Miranda’s water and refilling her kibble before heading to the bedroom. Stripping off her clothes, she hurled them with more force than necessary at the hamper and walked into the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of

her reflection in the mirror, she groaned. Her hair had gone positively feral overnight. It would need a deep condition to get her curls back to where they should be. She turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking about whether she had any additional questions for Michael before accepting the job. Why would you bother with any more questions? You’re taking the gig. It’s not like interrogating him is going to change anything. Testing the water temperature, Freddie pushed the shower curtain aside and stepped under the spray, closing her eyes and leaning back, letting the water cascade through her hair and over her face. Squirting shampoo into her palm, she scrubbed her fingertips vigorously over her scalp, thinking the situation over. Maybe Susan has changed. It’s been more than two years… Yeah, probably not. Well, was she really that bad? Yeah. Yeah, she was. James did have a point. That was the main reason she had been so infuriated. Well, sometimes you just gotta saddle up and ride, regardless. It’s only a few weeks of rehearsal and a three month run, anyway. Then, poof. No more Susan. Ever again. …You hope. Rinsing the soap from her body, she shut the water off and leaned her forehead against the cool shower tiles, taking deep, deliberate breaths. It will be okay. You’ve learned a lot since the last time you had to deal with her. You’re not as sensitive. You have more experience. You can do this. Drying off, Freddie wrapped herself in a cozy white terry cloth robe, blotted her curls with a towel, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. There’s no way I’m calling Michael without caffeine in my system. Drumming

her fingernails on the countertop, Freddie knew she was just procrastinating, imagining some last-minute force that could sweep out of nowhere and save her from having to take this job. Her intercom buzzed, jolting her out of her glum reverie. Stepping over to the box, she pressed the voice button. “Yeah?” “Hey. It’s James. Can I come up?”

Chapter 4

Freddie was standing in the doorway to her apartment when James rounded the landing and came up the final set of stairs. Her hair was wet, slicked back from her forehead, her ringlets dripping water on her shoulders, and she was wearing a bathrobe, bare toes with chipped, bright yellow polish curling and flexing on the threshold. A black and orange streak surged past Freddie’s ankles and headed for the stairs. Reflexively, James bent and hooked the fleeing cat under her belly, lifting her up to cradle her in his arm and scratching her under her chin. “Hello. You must be Miss Miranda. Why would you want to leave your cozy apartment with Freddie? You have it made. She’s been telling me you’re the love of her life for at least a year.” The cat regarded him through slitted eyes, but deigned to lift her head to give his scratching fingers better access to her jaw. A reluctant, rusty purr emerged after a couple of seconds and James lifted his gaze to Freddie, who had started forward when Miranda fled, then leaned against her doorframe again, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. James climbed the last few stairs and tried to hand the cat over to Freddie, but Miranda hooked her claws into his shirt and butted the top of her head up under his jaw. “Another female seduced by James Martin.” Freddie reached out and tickled the cat’s fur, seemingly unfazed by her pet’s defection. “I guess you better come in.” James carried the purring feline into a tiny living room with an open kitchen built into one wall. He smelled freshly brewed coffee and his mouth watered. His hand stilled as he looked around at the whimsical art posters in frames on the walls and Miranda bumped him again with her head. “Fine,” he said to the cat,

resuming his exploration of her soft fur. “I suppose I should make it up to you after keeping Freddie out all night.” “Have a seat,” Freddie called from the kitchen. “I made coffee. And my mom sent me some of her Lavadores. You want?” James sat on the loveseat in the little living room, continuing to stoke Miranda’s purr with his fingers. “Those the lemon cookies she always made?” She nodded and he grinned, ing their tangy sweetness. “Then yes, please.” He regarded her with curiosity as she poured coffee into two mugs. What had happened to the massively pissed-off Freddie? The Freddie who had thrown on her clothes and stomped out of his room in a righteous ball of furious rage? That Freddie was nowhere in evidence as she brought him his coffee and a plate of cookies and folded herself into a cozy little IKEA armchair set at a right angle to the loveseat. Letting Miranda settle onto his lap, he sipped and scratched, not wanting the cat to head-bump hot liquid all over him. Freddie gave him a long look over the rim of her mug as she drank her coffee, her normally humorous eyes solemn and a little tired. “So. What brings you to the lair of the spinster cat lady?” she asked, crunching into a cookie. “Spinster cat lady?” James chuckled. “That doesn’t exactly fit with the images I have from last night.” His breath caught in his chest as some of the images in question played in his mind. Freddie shrugged and sipped her coffee, her casual gesture belied by the rosy glow in her cheeks and the darkening of her eyes. He wondered if similar pictures were running through her brain. If they hadn’t argued, he might have asked. As it was, he sipped and continued to stroke Miranda, who had stretched out on his lap and was flattening herself into a warm puddle of fur. “She likes you.” Freddie’s eyes were warm with affection for the cat. “But I’m still not sure why you’re here.” “I’m surprised you let me in,” James itted. “But you left your earrings on my nightstand. And they’re your favorite ones. Or they used to be.” He looked down

at the cat, who sighed and inexplicably relaxed even further. He wondered if her bones were melting. “I’d give them back to you, but I’d have to disturb her to dig into my pocket and she might be the only female in the room who isn’t mad at me.” “I’m not mad at you,” Freddie said so softly he wondered if he had heard her right. “You’re not mad?” James set his cup carefully on the coffee table to snatch a cookie, earning a green glare from Miranda as his movement shifted her. “Sorry, Miss Kitty.” Freddie looked into her cup and shook her head slightly. “No. I mean, I was.” “Um. Yeah. That much was obvious.” Freddie chewed on her lower lip, her eyes focused on the cat. “I may not be at the point in my career where you are, but I have moved on in two years. I can make my own decisions. And if I want advice, I ask for it.” Her jaw set and her eyes raised to meet his again, steely determination in her expression. James nodded, taking in a long breath. “Okay. I’m sorry for giving you unsolicited advice.” Pursing her lips slightly, Freddie nodded. “And I’m sorry for storming out on you. That wasn’t exactly my most mature moment, which is a little ironic, all things considered.” Shrugging, James looked down at Miranda, who now appeared to be asleep. “You needed some space. It’s understandable.” His stomach clenched as he went on. “So… where does all of this leave us now?”

Panic jolted through Freddie’s body at James’s question. His large frame seemed to fill up her little apartment, taking up all the space, all the oxygen. “What do you mean?” His eyes caught and held hers. “Well, where do we go from here? Just friends? Friends with occasional benefits? Lots of benefits? Back to where we were two years ago?” The panic surged again, making her jittery. She really hadn’t considered anything except…except what? She had certainly fallen into bed with him easily enough. Did she want to keep doing that? What did she want anyway? “Um. I don’t know what I want, to be totally honest.” “Okay…” He looked at her and then down at Miranda. “Should I get out of here? Give you some space?” Absurdly, the panic surged again, this time at the prospect of him leaving. Make up your mind, fool. Struggling for a cool she didn’t feel, she shook her head. “Miranda might never forgive me if I made you leave now. She doesn’t grace just every lap with her furry presence, you know. She’s very selective.” James leaned forward and picked up his cup again, appearing careful not to disturb the cat. “Well, if that’s the case, can I take you for breakfast when she stops using me as her personal mattress? I’m starving and I’ll bet you are too, despite the cookies-for-breakfast routine.” He drank his coffee and stroked Miranda, the weird familiarity of his presence reasserting itself. Freddie blinked. “Um. Yeah. That would be nice.” Maybe they should have some non-charged, non-sexytimes, non-whatever-yesterday-was time together. She got up and retrieved the coffee pot, refilling her cup and his before retreating to her bedroom to dress. Pulling on a sweater and a pair of jeans, she grimaced as she ed that she still had to call Michael and accept the job. Shoving her feet into boots, she took a deep breath and walked back into the living room. James was still quietly stroking Miranda and sipping coffee, regarding the cat

with a quizzical expression. She noticed the Lavadores were gone, though. James had always loved her mother’s cooking, and Mom had always loved fussing over and feeding him. “So… I need to make a phone call before we go,” Freddie said, butterflies starting her stomach trembling. James’ eyes slid over to her and his mouth tightened. “The job?” Freddie’s hands clenched into fists. “Yes.” He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes scanning her body, pausing at her tensely bunched fists. “Okay. Make your call and we’ll go get pancakes.” Freddie took a shuddering breath and nodded. “Be right with you.”

James finished his coffee and continued to run his fingers over Miranda’s soft fur as he tried not to listen to Freddie making what he thought might be the biggest mistake of her still-fledgling—well, it wasn’t exactly fledgling, but it wasn’t exactly established either—career. He could hear her voice from her bedroom, but not the actual words. He squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing the surge of defensive emotion the thought of her taking this job brought out in him. Dude. Recalibrate. He reminded himself that it wasn’t two years ago, Freddie wasn’t the relatively inexperienced young woman he had befriended, then slept with, then… everything else. Their relationship then had been a combination of shared discovery and delight, overlaid with a patina of James’ protectiveness. Freddie had been uncertain back then, making her way. She had really needed him. Or at least she had responded well to his he-man act. She had been uncertain in the bedroom back then too. But look at her now. James breathed deeply, the memory of her confident assertion of what she wanted last night sending blood surging to his groin. Miranda shifted and glared at him as the tone of Freddie’s voice sounded like the call was wrapping up. Freddie’s got this. Let her do this. Also, let’s not get inappropriate around the wrong pussy. He continued to breathe slowly, deeply, and carefully until Freddie came back into the living room. Her face looked set, hard. “So. It’s done?” he asked. She nodded briefly. “Yes.” A deep breath. “I’m now the stage manager for the off-Broadway musical, Anyone Can Dance.” James set his jaw and nodded. “All right then. Let’s get you some pancakes.” Freddie lifted her chin at the cat. “You sure you want to disturb the other woman in your life?” James lifted the cat from his lap and deposited her on the sofa cushion next to

him, earning another glare as she stretched, her back arching, then curled into a furry disk, sighing. “She’s too much of a drama queen. Anyway, I have my hands full with one woman at a time. Let’s go.”

As they exited her building, Freddie realized she was waiting for James to take her hand like he had done the night before. But his arms hung loosely at his side and he didn’t reach for her at all. She felt hyperaware of his every motion and started lifting her hand when he lifted his, only to drop it when she saw that he was digging in his pocket. “Here,” he said, extending his palm. She looked down and saw her earrings glinting in the morning sunshine. Embarrassment heated her face. “Oh, thanks.” Taking the little gold hoops, she pushed them through the holes in her ears as they started to walk again. Take my hand. Take my hand. James continued to walk, pulling out his cellphone and looking at Yelp! for restaurant recommendations. Freddie smacked his arm and pointed down the street. “Put that away. There’s a diner two blocks down that makes outstanding pancakes, since that’s what you want.” Take my hand. James shoved his phone in his back pocket and kept walking, apparently immune to telepathic suggestion. She thought about the night before, how his obvious interest and their shared history had made her bold. Now she was mousy Freddie of two years ago again, afraid to demand what she wanted. Afraid even to ask. She hated that. But his face had lit up when she made her desires known last night, his brown eyes crinkling appreciatively when she said those hot, filthy words. Maybe the trick worked here too. Maybe if she let him know what she wanted, that warm look would return to his face. Swallowing hard and ignoring the butterflies rampaging in her stomach, she reached out and slid her hand into his. He paused,

turning to look at her, and glancing down at their ed hands. He didn’t turn away, didn’t pull his hand from hers. Instead, he squeezed her fingers and his expression softened into something that was both approving and warming. Huh. Maybe the handsome, assured, successful James Martin has some insecurities of his own. Making the short walk to the diner, James managed to hold the door for her while not letting go of her hand. When she slid into a booth, he slid in next to her instead of across from her. I had forgotten he did that. Sunny memories of meals in the diner in sleepy little Churchill, Connecticut flooded her. Their first breakfast he had sat across from her. After that, he had slid into the chrome and naugahyde booth next to her every single time. And that booth had been incredibly similar to the one they sat in now. Don’t dwell on it. It’s not significant. As if the décor in American diners was so varied. Still, the memory and the way it resonated in their current circumstance made her toes curl. “Ready to order, sir?” The waiter came from behind them and looked surprised when he came around James and saw Freddie. “Oh, sorry—didn’t see you there, you little thing! Need a booster seat?” To add insult to injury, the guy winked. Freddie’s jaw tightened. She opened her mouth to respond when James said, “That’s uncalled for. You don’t treat an adult woman like she’s a child.” The waiter’s pale cheeks turned a dull red. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his pad. Mouth snapping shut, Freddie looked up at James’ face. His expression was expectant, eyebrows raised, a slight smile beginning at the corners of his lips. Did he want her to thank him for compounding the situation? For defending her automatically and making her look even weaker?

“Fred, more coffee? Or something else?” James tilted his head at the waiter, whose pencil was poised over his pad, waiting for her drink order. Flustered, Freddie ordered coffee and tried to sort through her conflicting feelings as James added his order to hers and the waiter moved away from them. “What’s the problem?” James asked, handing her a menu. “Your chin’s going to poke me in the eye out if it juts out any further.” Freddie exhaled, her breath gusting out of her nose. “I could have handled that on my own, you know.” James blinked and his eyes slid sideways to look at her, wary. “What do you mean?” “The waiter. Being a jerk. I was just about to say something myself.” The laminated menu slid in her sweaty fingers. He leaned back, hurt flickering across his features. “Oh.” One part of Freddie felt like apologizing. She knew he meant well. But another part of her was still angry, echoes of the morning’s fight reverberating through her all over again. The booth and James beside her now felt claustrophobic instead of cozy. Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her voice calm and level. “Don’t you get it? You just told that guy off for treating me like a child. And in the process you treated me like a child.”

Chapter 5

James’s head reared back as if Freddie had slapped him. Blood surged in his face and his eyeballs felt tight in their sockets. “I can’t do much right today, can I?” he snapped. A small piece of his brain was encouraging him to remain calm, even acknowledging that even though he didn’t see it yet, she might have a point. The larger mass was swamped with frustration. Freddie’s jaw jutted forward and her large eyes narrowed. “Don’t play the good guy card with me right now.” “What does that even mean?” James felt his temper running like a stream, unrestrained. He was the good guy, dammit. The waiter had been a jerk. He had put the guy in his place. End of story. “It means…” Freddie clamped her jaw tight, her eyes locked on his. “You just gave that guy grief for treating me like a kid, but by charging in like a white knight instead of letting me handle the situation, you treated me like a kid. And now you want cookies for it. And I’m sorry, but I’m fresh out of cookies.” “Cookies? What the hell do cookies have anything to do with anything?” Confusion widened the anger stream to a torrent and James took a deep breath, trying to retain the barest semblance of control. “Miss? Is everything okay?” A thunk of stoneware as the waiter put their coffee mugs down on the table. James turned and saw concern and…was it fear in the man’s expression? He was looking at James as if he was going to do something unpredictable. The blood drained from James’ face as the realization of how this must look crashed over him. The way he was sitting next to Freddie instead of across from her, his evident anger… James rubbed a hand across his face and took a deep

breath. “I’ll just sit over here. That okay with you, Fred?” He didn’t wait for Freddie’s reaction to swing himself around and seat himself in the banquette opposite her. “Thanks,” she said to the waiter, pulling one of the cups toward her, confusion mixing on her face with her earlier irritation. “We’ll be ready to order in a minute.” The waiter looked at her for a moment longer as she added cream and sugar to her cup, then gave James a quick glance before he walked away. “What…what just happened?” Freddie asked as she stirred her coffee, her eyes dark and direct as she looked at James. “I think maybe our waiter misread the situation,” James said, trying for nonchalance, but realizing his hands were shaking, the coffee nearly sloshing out. He set the cup down again and tried to take a deep breath. Freddie frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “How?” “Like maybe this was an abuse situation.” Freddie stared at him for a few beats of his thudding heart, her expression going stricken. “How could anyone see you that way?” James’ teeth ground together. “Well, I was obviously frustrated and angry. Which must have looked scary. Apparently.” Freddie nodded, her lips pinching together, her focus on her cup. “For the record, you’re not scary and that guy was a jerk.” “Can we get back to that subject if I promise to come to it without the anger and frustration?” he asked, impressed with how calm his voice sounded, even though his pulse was thudding in his ears. “Sure. If you’ll listen.” James set his cup down in front of him and looked at her. “Yes. I will listen.”

Freddie’s heart thumped uncomfortably. She shifted on the hard vinyl seat of the booth and blinked. Between James’s previous frustration and the interference of the waiter, she felt like she had exactly one opportunity to get this right. She had never seen James this off-balance. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Two years ago, I couldn’t defend myself. I didn’t know how. Susan was awful to me and you—you stepped in. It felt good, safe. I loved it.” James’ head tilted up, his gaze searching her face. “But since then, I’ve had to learn to stand up for myself. I’ve learned how to stand my ground and what battles to pick. I’ve done it professionally. I’ve done it in my personal life.” “You’re saying you don’t need me?” James’ voice had a brittle quality to it. Freddie guessed he was trying for humorous self-deprecation. He was missing it by yards. She sighed. She could either soothe his ego or she could take care of herself. She couldn’t do both just now. Her eyes prickled with frustrated tears. “James, not for nothing, but if I needed you that much, what would I have been doing for the last two years?” James’ head ducked, acknowledging her point. His fingers were tightly laced, resting on the formica surface of the table. Her jaw worked as she thought. “So now that I’ve cultivated that skill, I have no problem using it. In fact, I want to use it. Having someone step in for me is a luxury I can’t afford right now.” “Why not?” A crease dug between James’ brows. “Because under normal circumstances, I have to take care of myself. Even if you’re here for the long run, you won’t always be on the spot. More urgently, going to work on a production with Susan in it means I have to be at the top of my game. I have to be able to be professional, calm, stand up to her, and cope with whatever unpredictable bullshit she’s going to throw my way. Even if you were going to be there in rehearsals—and you aren’t—I can’t afford to think that I’m going to get white-knighted on this. I can’t be a damsel. I have to save myself.”

The muscles in James’ temples bulged with the clenching of his jaw and Freddie wondered how many more arguments she was going to have to muster. This was beyond frustrating. It was her life, her turf to defend. How was that hard to understand? She sighed. “Even if you were there every day, can’t you see how much relying on someone else to fight my battles would undermine my authority? I’m not Cath’s assistant anymore.” Freddie picked up her coffee cup, stared into the liquid as if she could see her future there. James nodded once, reaching for the menus in their stand at the end of the table. “Fine. Let’s have some pancakes, then.” Freddie blinked at the sudden concession. She was pretty sure this wasn’t the end of the argument, but she didn’t have the energy to continue it just now. She looked down at the menu in her hands and gave him a covert glance as he looked over his own choices. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t be aware of the effort he was taking to seem fine, unworried. But Freddie did know him. James was anything but cool and collected just now.

James dropped Freddie off at her apartment after breakfast with a cheek kiss and a promise to text her later. Their discussion at the diner had ranged into more neutral topics, staying away from subjects like his attempt to play the white knight and her taking a job he disapproved of. The whole morning still left James with a restless, dissatisfied energy. He set off down the street, making his face purposefully neutral while his thoughts roiled below the surface. Keeping his hands swinging loose by his sides, he tried to transform his discomfort into pure motion. As he walked, his tightly bunched muscles started to warm and loosen. ing bodegas and apartment buildings, he started mentally circling around what had happened this morning with a calmer outlook. Why had he gotten so upset? Yeah, it sucked to have his well-meaning gesture handed back to him with a, “Not necessary, pal.” But was Freddie wrong? No. So why did he feel so rotten? Freddie had changed. That was certain. And it was normal. She was, after all, seven years younger than he was. Rather than being irritated that she had developed the skills to take care of herself, shouldn’t he feel proud? Shouldn’t he her? Sure. So what was so wrong? James walked another block, checking the crosstown street sign for his bearings, realizing he had no idea how long he had been moving nearly blindly down Manhattan sidewalks, crossing streets at random based on what walk signal gave him the go ahead. He was only a few blocks from his hotel. There was nothing there to draw him, so he took advantage of a walk signal to veer north toward Central Park. Entering the green space, his tension eased a bit more and he

reconsidered the question from a different angle. Was this really about how much Freddie had changed? Or was it about how little he had?

Freddie let herself into her apartment, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking hard. Whatever was wrong with James just now, she wasn’t sure she had the capacity to deal with it. She had to focus, to get her game face on and be ready for the challenge of her new job. The new job that started tomorrow. First things first. Digging her phone out of her pocket, she tapped Cath’s information, wandering over to the sofa while she waited for her erstwhile mentor to pick up. Miranda didn’t seem to have moved since Freddie and James left, and she opened one eye in a sleepy slit to peer up when Freddie sank down next to her. “Freddie. What’s up?” Cath’s voice sounded strong and positive. “I took the job. Thanks for the heads-up.” “That’s great news. When do you start?” Freddie could hear the clanking of a pan and the pop-pop-pop-hiss of a gas burner lighting in the background. “Tomorrow. What are you cooking?” “Just sautéing up some veggies to mix into turkey burgers for this evening.” Even though she had just had breakfast, Freddie’s mouth began to water at the thought. “You want to come over later? There’s going to be plenty.” Pushing aside the vague, irrational guilt that her gluttonous thought might have somehow caused Cath to issue her invitation, Freddie accepted. “Thanks. It would be great to catch up with you and Paul. It’s been a long time.” “It has.” Some additional meaning seemed to lurk in Cath’s tone. Freddie thought she could hear a sly smile in the older woman’s voice. “Is everything okay?”

Another clank from Cath’s end of the call. “Everything’s great, Freddie. Come on by at six-thirty and we can get caught up.”

Chapter 6

Arriving at the tiny foyer of Cath and Paul’s apartment that evening, Freddie handed a bottle of wine to Paul and exchanged hugs. Over the years, her relationship with Paul and Cath had slowly changed from slightly nervous respect of a subordinate for her bosses, to the comfortable warmth of friendship. Cath had taken a chance on Freddie when she was fresh out of college, giving her increasing responsibility in their productions until Freddie was ready to take on her own shows, and Freddie would always be grateful to her for that. Paul gestured with the wine bottle toward the living room. “Thanks for this, Freddie. Cath’s in the kitchen. She’s been looking forward to seeing you.” Freddie examined Paul’s face intently. His expression was…odd. Proud in a funny sort of way. “Yeah, she sounded like she might have news. Are you guys working on a new production?” “Something like that. Go on in.” Paul’s odd expression got even odder. Freddie wasn’t sure she had ever seen him like this. He was usually filled with restless, kinetic energy. But this was different. He seemed almost nervous. “All righty then.” Moving into the living room, Freddie saw Cath, swathed in a long apron, washing her hands at the sink in the little galley kitchen. “Freddie.” Drying her hands and dashing her long brown hair off her forehead, Cath wrapped long, slim arms around Freddie’s neck and pulled her into a hug. Hugging her back, Freddie blinked as Cath’s normally flat belly poked into her. Her mind blanked for a moment. When logical thought resumed, her eyes went wide. “Oh my god. Are you…?” Freddie tried to bite the words back, folding her lips into her mouth. If Cath wasn’t pregnant, she had almost committed a huge gaffe.

Cath leaned back, laughter in her eyes as she looked down at Freddie, cradling her bump. “Yes. Due in the spring.” “That’s the co-production we’re currently collaborating on,” Paul said as he worked a corkscrew into the bottle. “Sorry, dearest. You don’t get any of this.” “I think your part of the collaboration is pretty much done, except for holding my hand and telling me to push in a few months,” Cath said, her voice dry. “Not at all. I’m drinking the wine you can’t as well.” Paul poured out two wine glasses and filled a water glass for Cath. Handing the drinks around, he lifted his glass and opened his mouth to speak. “I think it’s for me to make the toast,” Freddie interjected. “To two of the best people I know, who are bound to be two of the best parents I know. Congratulations, guys.” Paul glanced at his wife, the corners of his blue eyes creasing in a smile as he drank. “Well, Cath’s the calm, organized one. She’s definitely going to be a great mom. Me? I’m a wreck.” “You’ll be fine, dear. I’ve done the prep on dinner. Your turn.” Pulling the chef’s apron over her head, she draped it over Paul’s neck, giving him a peck on the lips. Without it, Freddie could see Cath’s belly was definitely rounded, pushing slightly against the stretchy green knit of her top. An irrepressible grin spread across Freddie’s face. She had never even considered that Cath and Paul would have children, but she found the idea thrilled her. It was almost like becoming an aunt. “So,” Freddie said as she and Cath settled onto the sofa, “how are you feeling?” Cath made a face and rubbed her palm over her belly. “It was pretty gross for the first trimester, but I seem to have turned a corner.” “Ugh. Glad to know it’s gotten better.” Freddie took a sip of her wine, and then put it down on the coffee table with a guilty grimace. Cath observed her with a wry twinkle. “You can drink your wine. It doesn’t bother me.” Pausing, she added, “But eat sushi in front of me and you may die a

slow and painful death. That I miss like crazy.” Cath tilted her head as she regarded Freddie. “Is something wrong? I mean, something other than you probably having to seriously psych yourself up for this new gig?” “Well, that is part of it. It’s a bit unreal that everything’s starting tomorrow and I’m going to have to come in cold on a rehearsal process that’s already well underway. I have so much catching up to do. It’s overwhelming.” “And on top of that challenge you’ll have to ride with whatever Susan chucks at you.” Freddie sighed and covered her eyes with one hand. “Yeah. That too. This is a nightmare.” “You can do it,” Cath said, leaning forward to touch Freddie’s arm and smiling. “Yes you can.” Paul’s voice came from the kitchen. “But it’s not going to be easy.” Cath rolled her eyes. “Thank you, darling. That’s very ive of you.” Paul poked his head out of the kitchen and leveled a spatula at his wife. “No legacy is as rich as honesty.” He quoted solemnly. “Mariana was talking about her virginity, nitwit.” “I thought the game was you guys always named the play the other was quoting,” Freddie said, confused at this shift in her friends’ behavior. “We decided to give Shakespeare a ,” Paul said, glancing over his shoulder and disappearing back into the kitchen. “Paul decided to give Shakespeare a when I stumped him with The Phoenix and the Turtle,” Cath said, raising her voice so it carried over the sound of the turkey burgers frying. “That’s poetry, not a play,” Paul said, his voice pained. Cath’s grin in response was positively feral. “The Sonnets were always fair game and they’re not plays.”

“So you guys can change the rules, huh?” Freddie said, rubbing her lips with her fingertips, considering. “Sure we can. Why not? It’s our game. They’re our rules. As long as we both agree, what’s to stop us?” Cath picked up her water and sipped. Freddie took a big gulp of her wine and set the glass on the table, facing Cath. “James Martin is back in New York.”

James thanked the waitress and pushed his script out of the way as she set a plate down in front of him. Glancing around the restaurant, he noticed a couple of curious faces regarding him. Either they recognized him or thought he was pathetic for dining alone. He shouldn’t have chosen to eat at the restaurant in his hotel. Too many tourists. At a restaurant that was frequented by mostly New Yorkers, his choice to eat alone would have been unremarked upon. Ignoring the looks, he turned a page and forced himself to take a few bites of his meal. It wasn’t the best script he’d ever read, but it was the most important television script in his career to date. The part was bigger than anything he had ever done and he was determined to get the character right from the first scene. All too often actors on television shows didn’t have their characters’ personalities and motivations locked down until well into the first season. Which was, in his opinion, one of the reasons for so many first-season cancellations. No viewer could empathize with a character that was only half realized by the actor. You needed to make a decision. Shit or get off the pot. At least, that was the way he’d always thought when he was watching a new show, frustrated and feeling like he could do a better job. It was a little more nerve-wracking to actually have to make those decisions, knowing he was going to have to live with them—possibly for years if the show was a success. Add to that the fact that he was a replacement for the original actor in the pilot and he really had to have this nailed right out of the gate. Pulling a notebook out from under the script, he started to jot down what he knew about the character from the script. Journalist. He put the pen down and took another bite of his dinner, thinking further. Picking up the pen again, he added Professional, Smart, Driven, and Sense of humor to his list. He paged through the script, shoving another bite of dinner into his mouth and chewing deliberately as his eyes scanned the page. Was his job all there was to this guy? Closing the script to focus on his dinner before it went cold, James continued to think. He had a pretty limited amount of stuff to do and an equally limited amount of screen time to do it in. This was going to make creating a well-

rounded character that people responded to more difficult. As written, the guy didn’t even seem to respond to the lead character, a perky, attractive young woman who just happened to have a secret identity as a superhero. If his role hadn’t been written for a man, it would have been one of those 80s “career woman” clichés. As it was, it merely presented him with yet another challenge to overcome. No problem. Just take a cardboard caricature and turn him into a fully realized, living, breathing human being who people want to tune in to watch, week after week. No sweat.

Freddie nearly squirmed as she watched Cath’s face. The other woman’s brain was like a computer, ticking over the conversation and making connections. She had always been like that. It made her great to work with—she could see complications and problems coming and headed them off before they got too bad, or sometimes before they even happened. But it also made her uncomfortable to be around sometimes. “So you and James are a thing again?” Freddie rocked her hand from side to side in a “sort of” gesture. “When did he get back from L.A.?” Freddie swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Yesterday.” One of Cath’s eyebrows arched. “You guys move fast. What happened to that librarian from NYU?” “She and I didn’t work out. Our schedules…” Again, Freddie resisted the urge to squirm under her former mentor’s stare. Instead, she diverted her attention back to her wine glass and took another sip. “Too bad. She sounded nice. Also nice to have a relationship outside this crazy business.” “Hey.” Paul’s voice called out from the kitchen. “I resemble that remark.” “Garfield,” Cath retorted, turning her head and raising her voice to be heard over the frying burgers. “Cartoon cats aren’t part of the game, dear heart.” “I was feeling competitive. If I can’t drink, I can at least use my brain.” “Terrifying. Months of this.” Paul’s voice couldn’t conceal the pride and affection he felt for his wife. “Anyway.” Cath returned her attention to Freddie. “How is James?”

“Good.” So, so very good. Freddie’s face heated at the thought. Cath’s green eyes roamed over Freddie’s face, but she didn’t comment on the blush that must be visible from space. “So is he back for the long haul? Or just a guest spot or something?” “Long haul. He’s got a gig on that new superhero tv show. It shoots here.” “It’ll be nice to have him around again. He’s good people.” “Yeah, well. It’s not like James and I are…” “James and you are what?” “Well, it’s not like whatever we’ve got going on is a real relationship.” Cath gave Freddie a long-suffering look. “He got back from L.A. yesterday. You’re already making decisions about your future relationship or lack thereof? You guys were serious enough two years ago that he asked you to move to the other side of the country with him.” Freddie shrugged one shoulder up, resisting the urge to hunch down into herself the way she had done when she was just Cath’s assistant. Cath had broken her of that habit, insisting she carry herself straight and with authority, even if she didn’t feel that way. Maybe especially if she didn’t feel that way. “Fake it ’til you make it, girl,” Cath had said to her. The advice had helped. Freddie’s stature and the fact that she looked younger than she was meant she needed to have even more confidence than someone like Cath, who towered over her. “I don’t know. James and I… I’ve changed a lot over two years.” “And that makes you less compatible?” “Maybe. He seems to think I’m still the kid I was when we were back in Churchill.” “Why don’t you take some time to find out rather than deciding before you’ve spent even twenty-four hours in each other’s company?” “What happened to encouraging me to have a relationship outside the business?”

“Apparently that didn’t work out so well for you. And you and James seemed to have a really nice thing two years ago. I ship it.” Cath’s eyes glittered with amusement, one hand curled over her softly rounded belly. Freddie crossed one leg over the other. The move exacerbated the slight soreness from last night’s sex and her mouth twisted. Forcing herself to meet Cath’s eyes, she nodded slightly. “Yeah. We did. James still wants to be the hero, though, you know? And I don’t need rescuing anymore.” “Well, why don’t you give him a chance to learn how to stand back and let you rescue yourself?”

By the time James had finished his dinner and was nursing a cup of coffee, he had two pages full of notes and a bunch of scribbled marginalia in his script. Even if the text didn’t give him much to work with, he was determined to turn this character into a three-dimensional person. By building out backstory, creating memories for his character, identifying moments in the dialogue where he could add some subtext, he could add shading and layers: the history and little inconsistencies—the spark of humanity that made a performance real. Sipping the last of his coffee, he took care of the bill and picked up his script and notebook as he got to his feet. Heading for the elevator, he wondered what he should do with the rest of his evening. He was in that drab mood where nothing sounded appealing. Letting himself into his room, he looked around at the sterile scene. Even though the housekeeping staff had changed the bed and smoothed away all traces of the night before, the space still reminded him of Freddie. Well, it was a pretty spectacular night. Enough already. He ed his real estate agent had promised to send him some apartment listings to look at. Grabbing his tablet off the desk, he sat in an armchair and swiped through them, taking notes on features he liked and dismissing a couple of options out of hand. He sent an e-mail back to the agent, asking if they could start viewing the ones that looked good the next day. Putting the tablet down, his gaze returned to that smooth, neutral bed. He realized he was rubbing his fingertips across his lips, ing Freddie’s bold demands and his eager response to them. He really wanted to get her back here and mess up that bed again. No. What he wanted was deeper than that. Why not try, then? Digging his phone out of his pocket, he sent her a text. Hey, up to anything tonight? Not wanting to torture himself waiting for a response, he opened Twitter and

started to scroll through his mentions. So he was surprised when a reply popped up almost immediately. Just leaving Cath and Paul’s. You at the hotel?

Chapter 7

Freddie mentally kicked herself in the elevator on the way up to James’ room. Foolish, foolish, foolish, foolish. She should have said she’d meet him in a public place. She should have given herself room to maneuver, to think. Instead, she was probably going to go up there and just screw him senseless. No thinking allowed. His text had sent a bolt of sheer lust through her and she had hardly been able to get out of Cath and Paul’s apartment fast enough. Cath, given her knowing nature, was probably laughing about Freddie’s response to the text this very minute. She’d practically left a Freddie-shaped hole in their front door, like an old-timey cartoon. On consideration, Freddie discovered that she really didn’t care. Great. Just great. No shame, no dignity, just sheer unadulterated horniness. This was what came of always doing and not thinking. She wasn’t used to not thinking. Her entire life, her job, hinged on her ability to use her brain, to look ahead, to see potential problems and defuse them before they could blow up. The elevator dinged and the door whooshed open, the trendy hallway stretching out in front of her, evenly spaced doors punctuating the long line. It was like a sleek version of The Shining, except what awaited her wasn’t a crazed man with an axe, but the possibility of a supremely amazing orgasm. Or five. Overdramatic much? Straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath, Freddie marched down the hallway to James’ door. Balling her hand into a fist, she tapped out a brisk tattoo and waited almost no time at all. The door opened and James was there, filling up the space, his gleaming grin making something inside her chest expand like a

flower opening. “Hey, Fred.” “Hey, yourself.” Freddie’s voice had turned into a croak and she resisted the urge to clear her throat. “You coming in?” “You getting out of the doorway?” The grin widened and he backed away from the door, giving her room to enter. ing how she had left it, she suppressed a smile as she realized how tidy and streamlined the space was in comparison to the scattered clothing and thoroughly disordered sheets she recalled leaving behind. “Thinking of how it looked this morning?” Damn. He really does know me too well. “Maybe.” James turned and bent over the desk, hefting a champagne bottle out of a silvery ice bucket. Freddie blinked as he looked back at her, one eyebrow cocked. “Cheesy?” he asked. Freddie shrugged, suppressing a smile. “I like champagne as much as the next girl. Go ahead and pour.” James’s grin reasserted itself and he eased the cork out of the bottle and poured the wine into two flutes. Handing one to her, he said, “Here’s to second chances.” Freddie tipped her glass so it rang against his. “I like the sound of that.” Taking a small sip, she let the bubbles prickle over her tongue. James extended a hand and she took it, letting him tug her to the oversized armchair next to the bed. Sitting on it, he pulled her sideways onto his lap. She settled herself, careful not to spill her drink.

“So,” he said. “Now I think we should talk.” Dread settled into Freddie’s stomach. “Talk?” “Yes. Talk.”

James sipped his wine and thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I think we got everything a little backwards.” Freddie shifted on his lap to look at him and he mentally braced himself, telling himself not to react to the sensations her movements created, ing her rocking against him the night before. “What do you mean?” she said. Suppressing the nervous jigging in his gut, he said, “I still really like you, Fred. As crazy-making and stubborn as you can be, I can’t ever get you out of my mind. And it’s not just about sex. I like you. I’d like to see if I can have a relationship with you. And jumping into bed feet-first like that…it seems like it put the cart before the horse. I don’t know if we would have had the same arguments this morning if we hadn’t just thrown ourselves at each other yesterday, but it feels like we might have been able to figure things out a little better than we did. Maybe we would have thought instead of just reacting.” He forced himself to look into her eyes, trying to assess her reaction. Her tongue ran along her lower lip and her pupils expanded ever so slightly. Shoving aside the glossy magazine that sat on the little side table next to the chair, she put her glass down. Another surge of nerves ran through him. He had been honest and vulnerable, laying himself open to the possibility of getting hurt. Now was the moment that strategy could backfire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and asked, “Could you do that? Do you want to do that?” Freddie bit her lip. He could smell the light, citrusy scent of her hair. She moved slightly and again he willed his body to be controlled and still. To not react to the sensations caused by her shifting weight on his lap. She had no idea what she was doing to him. Here it comes. She doesn’t feel the same way. His stomach clenched. She nodded. Wait, what? “Is that a yes, you want to give this a try?”

Freddie laughed softly. “Are you asking me to wear your class ring? Again?” A spurt of laughter bubbled up inside him at the old joke. It was what she had said to him over two years before when he made it plain he wanted to do more than just hang out with her. Her cheekiness had charmed him then. It warmed him now.

Freddie leaned forward and picked up her champagne flute again. She was aware that every time she shifted in James’ lap that she was probably causing him some difficulty, but the solid thighs under her, the mass of chest radiating heat, the faint, clean scent of his shaving soap all made it difficult to stay still. She wanted to wriggle, to straddle his lap instead of sitting across it, to wrap her arms around him and kiss him senseless. But what he had said about them—about how their headlong dive into sex possibly being at the root of their problems today—it made sense. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t taking him seriously, that she only wanted him for his body. Even though she did want to climb him like a tree. Sipping the wine, she contemplated what he had said. “So what does this mean going forward?” “Well, I think maybe we slow it down a little bit. Get to know each other again.” Freddie rolled her eyes. “We know each other. We’ve known each other for years.” “Sort of. The occasional phone call or text doesn’t exactly keep people that close. I liked how we did it the first time. We took our time. We were friends first. But two years is a long time. And we’ve both changed, I think. You definitely have.” The gravity of James’ expression pinned her and Freddie resisted the urge to squirm under that intense gaze. Her brain was telling her that what he said had merit. It was mature and reasonable. It might lay the groundwork for something lasting. Her libido wanted to strangle her brain and dump it in a ditch. “Are you on board here, Fred? Because if you’re not…” “I’m on board,” she blurted.

“Good. Because if you weren’t…” “What?” “I’d have a hard time not just throwing away my brain and getting carnal with you.” Freddie resisted the urge to groan. Instead, she took another sip of champagne, swallowing convulsively. “So. We’re…not?” “Not what?” James’ eyes danced with mischief. “Not going to get carnal?” James took a drink and shifted underneath her. She stayed carefully still. “Not tonight, at any rate. I think we need to learn some self-control.” Oh. This was going to be torture. “So.” Freddie’s voice squeezed through her thickening throat. “What do you propose?” James’ large, warm hand skimmed up her back and gently gripped her shoulder, shaking it slightly. “Relax. I propose a radical agenda. Dates.” “Dates?” “Yes, dates. Going out on the town, experiencing things. Go have the stupidest, touristy-est, most cliché experiences ever. Public places where we can’t get handsy with each other. Getting to know one another again. How does that sound?” Yup. Torture. She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Sounds good to me, I guess.”

The tightness in James’ gut released at her agreement and he leaned back in the chair, relieved. Finishing his champagne, he placed the glass on the table and closed his eyes, thinking. Freddie’s fingers, feather light, skimming along his jaw made them spring open again. She was smiling faintly and her cheeks had an all-too-appealing pink flush. “What’cha thinking?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m thinking that staying in a room dominated by a king-size bed is probably not the best way to start our non-carnal getting to know each other again plan.” Freddie’s lower lip jutted in a minute pout and James resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss the petulant expression away. Or bite that sassy lip. “Are you kicking me out, then?” she said. “That wouldn’t exactly help in the ‘getting to know one another’ part of the getting to know one another again plan.” “True.” Freddie finished her wine and he took the glass from her, placing it on the table beside them and setting her on her feet as he rose to stand. “Let’s go for a walk. How about that?” “I suppose it’s as good a plan as any at this time of night.” Grabbing his wallet off the nightstand, he made sure his hotel keycard was in it and took Freddie’s hand once they were in the hallway. It was definitely a good idea to get out of the room. His master plan could have incinerated itself in a matter of moments if he had stayed there with her a moment longer. Or another glass of champagne longer. Reaching the lobby, they proceeded outside. James waved off the doorman’s offer of a cab with thanks, leading Freddie down a crosstown street. “Where we going?” she asked. “I was thinking Fifth Avenue.”

“Shopping?” She peered sideways at him, mischief in her eyes. “Well, window shopping. In a month or two those windows are going to be pretty spectacular for Christmas. I want to see what they normally look like. Have a basis for comparison.” “Don’t forget ice skating at Rockefeller Center. You did say touristy and cliché.” She pointed at the lower plaza with its statue of Prometheus as they walked past. “I can’t skate to save my life, but I might come by and watch a little,” he said. “James Martin, professional perfect person, there’s something you can’t do?” Startled, he stopped and turned to look at her. “Perfect? We both know that’s not true.” She shrugged. “You just seem to have a lot of stuff figured out. You do a lot of stuff well. It’s…” She trailed off, her shoulders sagging back. “What am I doing so well right now?” “Being an adult. The whole dating-before-mating plan. I guess this stuff comes easily to you.” James huffed an astonished laugh. “You think this is easy? It’s incredibly hard.” “Ha ha. Pun intended?” Freddie’s mouth twisted in a wry expression. “No but it might as well be.” Freddie’s eyes lowered. He waited for her to look up at him again, but it was as if the sidewalk was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. “What’s this about?” he asked. “I just thought…maybe…” “Use your words, Fred.” Her gaze flew up to his face again and she spoke in a rush. “I just thought maybe this was about not really wanting to do this.”

Baffled, James just looked at her. “Maybe you were trying to let me down easy or something.” An involuntary laugh huffed out of him. “That is the furthest thing from what I am trying to do.” “Okay.” James squeezed her hand. “What’s this about? It’s not like you to be suspicious. You’re usually the most trusting person I know.” A small gleam in her eye appeared. “Well, you’re getting to know Freddie twopoint-oh. And I’m about to go to work tomorrow and see if Susan Vernon is Susan two-point-oh or if she’s the same old original model.” “That would make anyone cynical, I guess.” Freddie pinched the thumb and index finger of her free hand together and squinted through the tiny gap at him. “Leetle bit.”

James squeezed Freddie’s hand again as they turned and continued to walk down Fifth Avenue. Her hand always felt tiny when engulfed by his so much larger one. With a lot of people that would annoy her. She didn’t see her short stature as a problem—until she wanted something on a high shelf—but some people had a way of almost treating it as if it made her an eternal child, someone who couldn’t possibly be taken seriously. It was different with James. The fact that he hadn’t started in on her again about taking the job wasn’t lost on her. She had left him the opening. It hadn’t been a test, she just wasn’t thinking. But he didn’t dive into that opening, nonetheless. It was a gift, of sorts. A measure of how he was willing to get to know her again and not assume he knew what was best, assume he needed to charge in and be the white knight and save her from whatever situation she found herself in. She took a deep breath as they waited for a light to change, glancing up at James’ profile. The familiarity of it zinged through her and she realized exactly how much she had missed him over the last two years. And maybe realized a little why she fought so hard against letting him guide her, try to fix things. She was afraid she could lose him again. In case this didn’t work, she needed to know that she could still stand on her own, be her own savior, her own white knight. Lost in her own thoughts, she realized she had let James steer them safely across streets and down the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue. They were stopping now. She glanced again at his face and then followed his gaze to her right. The lions of the Public Library loomed over them, regal and ghostly in the night. “I love these guys,” James murmured. “They’re called Patience and Fortitude, you know that?” His grin broadened as his gaze shifted between the two stone statues. “That right?”

She looked again at his face, relaxed and happy. “You’re glad to be back in New York, aren’t you?” she said. He glanced down at her, a teasing smile dancing in his dark eyes, making her stomach twist with desire. “You have no idea. I don’t think I’m a left coast kind of guy, you know?” Freddie bit her lip. “No, I guess I didn’t know.” You seemed to leave so easily. “Well.” He looked back up at the lions. “Now you do.” Punctuating the declaration with a squeeze of her hand, he tugged her further down the street, turning down 40 th Street to walk by Bryant Park. Lights still twinkled there, and people still moved around among the trees. “New York is just really fucking special, you know?” Freddie nodded. Seeing the city through his eyes was peeling away the way she would take New York for granted, the same way the prospect of guests could make her see that a rug needed vacuuming. Familiarity may not have bred contempt, but it had given her a cynicism that the city might or might not deserve. She glanced again at the park and inadvertently made eye with a woman strolling through the trees, holding hands with another woman. A small smile ed between them before Freddie ed the cardinal rule of New York: Thou Shalt Not Make Eye With Strangers, and jerked her eyes forward. “I thought we were window shopping,” she said. “Windows, lions, parks. Whatever works.”

The next morning, the alarm on Freddie’s phone shrilled on her nightstand and she groaned, rolling over and sitting up before tapping the phone to silence it. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep through her alarm and be late for her first day on the new job. That would be… just one hell of a bad idea. Grabbing her robe off the hook on the back of her bedroom door, she put it on and shuffled, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen, mindful of Miranda trying to wind herself around Freddie’s ankles as she walked. “Homicidal feline. Who’ll feed you if you murder me?.” She pulled half a can of wet food out of the fridge and scooped it into a bowl, stooping to refill the kibble, and finally switching on the coffee maker. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way back to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Emerging clean and dressed from her bedroom, hair still wet, she poured a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Michael had sent over Carolyn’s script via a messenger service and she took it and her breakfast to the little table in the corner to go over it one more time. Carolyn’s handwriting wasn’t particularly easy to read, but once Freddie got used to it, her notes were clear enough. She didn’t use any obscure abbreviations or unusual ways of noting stage directions. Freddie could see the scenes pretty clearly in her mind, though she was sure there would be some hiccups in the days ahead as she caught up. But with Susan on stage, she needed to be on top of her game. The actress was a one-woman Venus flytrap for hiccups or mistakes. One slip and she would capitalize on it, seizing attention for herself and undermining Freddie. Finishing her breakfast, Freddie tucked the script into her messenger bag. She checked to make sure she had her phone and said a quick goodbye to Miranda before she grabbed her keys off the hook and swung out of the apartment. The cat had already settled into the center of the loveseat and didn’t twitch an ear. “Get a cat, they said. They’re such great company, they said,” Freddie muttered to herself as she ran down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, moving briskly for the subway. On the platform, a violinist was playing a very decent version of Bach’s “Ode to Joy.” Freddie dropped a dollar in the woman’s case, sighing internally at the number of talented artists who weren’t going to get the chance

to go to work the way she was. And here’s Susan Vernon, who still gets to work, even though there are actresses as talented as she is out there who aren’t complete nightmares to work with. Life really wasn’t fair sometimes.

A skinny, pale production assistant with an iPad and a headset met James at the location of the shoot, showed him to his trailer, handed him a paper schedule for the day and pointed out the location of the costume and makeup trailers. “Not like you need the hair trailer,” the man said, glancing at James’s shaved scalp. James rubbed his palm over the top of his head as the guy walked off, selfconscious over the other man’s comment. First day nerves, he assured himself. Turning back to his trailer, he poked around it, examining its amenities. It was the biggest trailer he had been given to date. He was due at the costume trailer in a half hour, but until then he was at a loose end. In fact, most of his day was made up of loose ends. Ah, the glamor of television. He wondered how Freddie’s first day was going. Enough of that. Keep your mind on your job, not Freddie’s job. A tap on his trailer door sounded and he crossed the room to open it. A blond woman in skinny jeans and a figure-skimming top stood on the steps, smiling brightly. “James,” she said, sticking a hand out to shake. “Hi. I’m Clarice? With publicity? This is Tracey Gooding from Hollywood So Fine.” She gestured to another young woman, dressed similarly. James wondered if they were issued a uniform in some sort of journalist/publicist training camp. “Tracey just needs about twenty minutes of your time? She’s doing a piece on the show?” James blinked, bemused. “This is a little lastminute. I’m due in wardrobe in half an hour.” Clarice waved a careless hand. “Really, all she needs is twenty minutes. So no worries then? Great.” Turning her back, she trotted down the stairs, shooting a breezy, “All yours,” to the other woman as she ed. Teeth gritting with annoyance at being simultaneously blindsided and railroaded, James stepped back into the trailer and gestured for Tracey to come in. Seating himself in one of the armchairs, he waved his hand at the other. “Have a seat.” Seeming to sense his irritation, Tracey glanced at his face then around the

spartan interior as she seated herself and pulled out a recorder. “I’ll just set this up here,” she said, setting it on the coffee table in front of him and turning it on. She asked him a few innocuous questions about the show and his character and James relaxed. Consulting her notes, she said, “So what about your personal life? Did you leave someone behind in Los Angeles?” James stiffened. He wasn’t much used to interviews. The low level of success he had had in the past didn’t lend itself to much media attention, and certainly nobody had cared about anything other than work. “Um. I’d prefer to keep my personal life personal.” “Something to hide?” The question was posed jokingly, but the journalist’s pale blue eyes narrowed. James shifted in his chair. Feeling guilty was ridiculous. The question was ridiculous. He knew actors got asked personal questions all the time in interviews. Most seemed to answer them, but some didn’t. Why should he have to? “Nothing to hide. But I have boundaries.” “Hm. Well, that will give some hope to the fangirls and fanboys out there. James Martin may be single.” She made a note. Wait, what? “Who are you talking about?” Tracey shot him an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me you’re unaware of the reaction to the production’s media campaign. There are at least five Facebook groups about you. Half of Instagram seems to be annoyed that the last post you made is about a month old. There are even a bunch of new tumblr sites.” James rubbed his eyes, not sure if he had stumbled into an alternate reality. “I’ve been busy with the move and trying to find a new place. I haven’t paid much attention to anything but a few of my mentions on Twitter.” “Yeah, and the few that you’ve responded to are objects of jealousy for a lot of the other fans.”

I have that many fans? When did this happen? He checked his watch. “Look. I have a costume fitting in fifteen minutes. As I said, I’m going to keep my private life private. Can we keep the rest of this to the show?” He couldn’t imagine Freddie’s response to having their relationship splashed all over tabloids and gossip websites. Her innate reserve, her horror of cameras… Yeah. That wouldn’t be good. Tracey asked a few more questions about the show, gathered up her things, and left the trailer. James thought about pulling out his tablet to try to what the woman had said and decided against it. That sounded like a possible time-suck and he had work to do.

Freddie inhaled deeply, held the breath for a beat and expelled it in a whoosh. Showtime. Tugging the theater door open, she walked into the little lobby. The Hatbox was well named. Tiny, intimate, and decorated in bright, primary colors. Walking to the doorway to the house, she paused at the top of the aisle to consider the set, such as it was. The show was a series of street scenes in different parts of New York, with a variety of painted flats flown in and out at the back of the stage to represent those places. A Fifth Avenue scene was the one currently on view, and she grinned at the memories of the night before that it conjured. Bryant Park, the lions from the Public Library, the marquee of Radio City Music Hall, and the ice rink at Rockefeller Center all met her eyes at once. “It’s not exactly photorealistic, what with things from blocks apart jammed into one scene, but it’s evocative.” Michael’s voice behind her made her start, and she turned to greet her new boss. “I like it. I was just walking down Fifth Avenue last night. It works.” “Doing the tourist thing, Frederica? I wouldn’t think it of you.” “Please. Freddie is fine. Frederica makes me think I’m in trouble with my mom,” she said. “I have… an old friend. He’s back in town after being in Los Angeles for two years. He wanted to visit the lions.” “An ‘old friend.’” Michael’s fingers stitched the air quotes and his eyes twinkled. Freddie bit her lip. “Yeah.” “I see. Anyway, we have a production table set up.” Michael nodded at a long table set a few rows back from the stage. “We’re going to do a complete runthrough of the first act today for the first time. So you’re really diving into the deep end. Feeling ready for it?” “Better to dive in at the deep end if you’re going to dive,” Freddie said. “Fewer head injuries than you get at the shallow end.”

Michael’s smile broadened and he wagged a finger at her. “Funny. We’re going to get along just fine.” “So how are rehearsals going? How is the cast?” Michael’s open palm tilted to one side and he shrugged slightly. “They’re a talented group. There’s been some tension, but we’re getting through it.” “Tension?” Susan. Michael’s mouth flattened and he looked at the stage as if he was assessing the quality of the set. “I usually say that musical theater gets an undeservedly bad rap for diva behavior, but I it there’s some stuff going on with this cast.” Freddie wished she knew Michael better and could be frank with him. Or just ask him outright if Susan was causing problems. It was clear to her that he was holding back to protect his cast, to be discreet. “Um… Is there anything specific I should know?” Michael’s hands settled on his hips and he turned to look squarely at Freddie. “I don’t know why I’m being coy about it. You’re going to see it in action soon enough.” Freddie braced herself for a tale of Susan’s usual shenanigans. “Candace Cooperfield, our ingenue, is being a raging diva.” Surprised, Freddie blurted, “Wow. I thought you were going to tell me that Susan Vernon was being an issue.” Slapping her hand over her mouth, her face flared with heat as her indiscretion hit her. Michael didn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, I had all sorts of people tell me not to hire Susan. Frankly, she does have a history of being a pain in the ass. You worked with her on The Catalyst, right? You were Cath’s assistant?” Freddie nodded, lowering her hand from her mouth, but her heart still beat uncomfortably hard. Kicking off her first day of the job with loose lips wasn’t exactly her finest moment, even though Michael seemed unfazed by it.

“Word on the street was Susan was enough of a problem when the show previewed in Connecticut that Paul Mainwaring recast her part when you guys transferred to New York.” “It wasn’t a preview,” Freddie said. “When we mounted that production, it was straight regional theater. We didn’t know we were going to get a New York run.” The show had been the making of Paul and Cath’s careers, and even her minor role in the production was a prime credit on Freddie’s resumé. Michael’s eyes twinkled, seeming to acknowledge her demurral of his implicit question. “Yes, well. At any rate, Susan is a bit of a spent force in the tantrum department, but Candace has picked up the torch.” Freddie made a face. “That’s too bad. Well, at least there aren’t two of them creating havoc.” Michael turned amused eyes on Freddie. “Oh, but that’s the interesting thing. Candace’s favorite target is Susan.”

“That’s a wrap for the day, then.” The second unit director nodded at James. “Good work today. Thanks for everything.” James forced himself to smile and nod. If the guy thought today’s efforts represented good work… well, James guessed he would knock the guys socks off later. Frankly, he was frustrated. Which wasn’t a great start to the job. Tomorrow is another day and all that happy horseshit. Striding back to his trailer, he let himself in and changed into his street clothes. Stepping into the bathroom, he washed his face. The makeup that wouldn’t to viewers even on high-definition television screens seemed all too obvious to him when he looked in the mirror. After toweling off, he grabbed his backpack and headed to the subway. He had some apartments to look at. His realtor had texted him the address to meet her at. He hadn’t really ed where it was before, but now he realized it was only a few blocks away from where Freddie lived. A slight smile curved his lips as he wondered how well he could resist her if he was that close to her. Well, if his plan worked, he wouldn’t have to resist her in the long term. He just had to worry about the short term until they got to know one another again. Stepping onto the subway car, he flipped through the pictures of the first apartment on his phone. It looked promising in the photos, but then again, real estate photographs always did. Wide-angle lenses made cramped rooms look spacious. Lighting made it seem like the windows were bigger than they really were and promised endless sunny days. Carefully chosen accessories, angles… It was almost like working in television. Continuing to flip through the photos, he realized there were two people standing a little too close to him for your average half-empty Manhattan subway car. He looked up and saw two girls, probably in their late teens. When he met the eyes of one of them she giggled and looked at the floor. Her friend poked her and she looked up again, saying in a rush, “Are you really James Martin?” Nonplussed, James nodded.

“Ohmygod,” the other girl said. “Can we get a selfie with you? Please tell me this day isn’t going to get any weirder. “Um. Sure.” He slid down so the girls could sit to either side of him and smiled as they each held up their phones in turn, continuing to giggle as they snapped. They seemed reluctant to let him go, and James was grateful that the train was fast arriving at his stop. “I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you,” he said, realizing he hadn’t met them at all. He had no idea who they were. One of them pouted extravagantly while the other smiled and waved her phone at him. “Thanks!” she chirped. As James stepped onto the platform, doors sliding shut behind him, the two girls put their heads together over their phones, flipping through the photos with evident excitement. They’re just eager kids, he reminded himself. He wished he knew why the episode had unsettled him so much.

“Okay, let’s take it from the top,” Michael called out and the company reset themselves on the stage, ready to begin the opening number for the third act. The rehearsal accompanist struck the first few chords of the song and the stage erupted into synchronized motion. Susan and Candace, playing a pair of sisters trying to make it in New York, were buffeted among the chorus dancers, showing how a simple journey downtown could turn into a saga for baffled newcomers. While the number progressed, Susan and Candace seemed like a great team, in step with one another, their characters relying on each other as they combatted Manhattan together. But when Michael called a halt to the number to adjust some of the choreography, a palpable tension vibrated between them. Susan’s back was stiff and her jaw was clamped tight. She asked a question of Michael and Candace rolled her eyes, murmuring something that was inaudible except for one word: “Old.” Susan’s amber eyes snapped with fury and her lips folded into her mouth. With exaggerated politeness, she said, “I’m sorry, Michael. Could you repeat that? My aged ears couldn’t catch what you were saying over Candace’s comments.” Glancing a warning at Candace, Michael repeated his instructions while the younger woman retied her shoes. Rather than crouching to reach her footwear, she chose to bend at the waist, displaying both an extreme degree of flexibility and her tight, round butt to the rest of the company. Amused, Freddie looked at the cluster of male chorus dancers. None of them reacted in the way Freddie presumed Candace wanted them to. In fact, one of them turned to his neighbor and arched a sarcastic eyebrow, mouthing a silent, “Girl, please.” Freddie made notes as she observed this byplay. Susan probably never banked on her life turning into a remake of All About Eve, but Freddie thought that, in hindsight at least, it was probably inevitable. Susan had darted a look at her when Michael introduced Freddie to the cast at the beginning of the rehearsal, but otherwise had shown no sign that she recognized or ed her. Freddie didn’t know whether this was a good sign or a bad one, but shoved the issue aside, keeping her mind on her work. It

wasn’t like she had much of a choice. Trying to get up to speed on the production was as challenging as she had guessed it would be. The music and dancing portion of it actually wasn’t as daunting as she had feared, but she was pretty sure that the real test was going to come when they were actually running the show. She would be responsible for calling all the technical cues, making sure that lights, sound, and all the other things that weren’t done by the actors were carried out flawlessly. The production’s two assistant stage managers, Trey and Denise, stood by to wheel in a representation of Central Park’s Umpire Rock for the next scene. Freddie hadn’t had too much of a chance to learn anything more about them than their names, but they seemed on the ball and competent. Also, to her relief, they seemed happy to have someone in the stage manager’s chair again. It would have really sucked to have one of them gunning for the top job and then have to work for her instead. Checking the time, she waited until the cast ran through the number one more time and caught Michael’s eye. “Time for a fifteen-minute break, Michael.” “Thanks, Freddie. Fifteen, everyone.” The cast wandered off to check their phones, use the facilities, and do whatever else actors did during their short, union-mandated breaks. Michael strolled over to Freddie, who rose and stretched her arms above her head. “Going well so far,” he said. Freddie nodded. “You weren’t kidding about Candace, though.” Michael sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting for the day Susan rips her pretty red hair right off her head, but so far Susan has been pretending like she doesn’t hear half the stuff Candace says. It probably helps that Candace, despite not being able to perceive it, isn’t well liked by the rest of the cast.” “Yeah, I caught that too.” “And after only half a day.” “She’s not subtle and the rest of the cast doesn’t have to be since she’s not

paying attention.” “That’s the other thing. I think Susan can ignore Candace because she’s really not that bright. Candace hits one and a half notes in her sniping, basically boiling down to the fact that Susan is older than she is and to Candace, ‘older’ is tantamount to ‘washed up.’” “It takes a special sort of person to think they’re immune to the aging process.” Freddie shook her head. Lines fanned out from Michael’s eyes as he smiled. “Truth.” Freddie’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She didn’t even try to suppress a smile at the text that was on her screen. James Martin: Think I found an apartment. Would like you to see it. You free after work?

Chapter 8

Freddie turned in the center of the large room, her mouth an “O.” James bit back a smile, glancing from Freddie to Stacey, his realtor. The woman had dragged him over what felt like half of Manhattan in a ridiculously short span of time and he felt a bit smug that he had dragged her right back to the first apartment they had looked at. “So, what do you think?” he said. Freddie’s large, dark eyes swiveled to him as she finished the circuit of the room. “You’re serious?” “Serious about this place? Yeah. What do you think?” Continuing to look around the room, Freddie settled her hands on her hips. “I think your big talk about job insecurity seems a bit bullshit now. My entire place could fit in this room alone.” Freddie gestured at the expanse of living space, which was intended to hold a living and dining area. “You even have a view.” She waved at the windows, which looked over a pocket park. “It’s actually the smallest of the apartments he looked at,” Stacey said, clipping her lips together when James shot her a quelling look. “And you could afford all of them?” Freddie’s eyes bore through James. “Well, not all at once.” His joke landed with a thud on the parquet floor as Freddie continued to glare. “So, why this one?” She glanced at the realtor, but the other woman seemed to have gotten the message that she wasn’t to be a part of this conversation and was examining something on her phone with exaggerated care.

James shrugged. “I like the neighborhood.” Freddie’s lips folded into her mouth and she stepped closer to James. “It’s five blocks from my place,” she said, pitching her voice low and darting her eyes at the realtor, who was still acting as if she wasn’t eavesdropping. “And that’s a bad thing?” James fought to keep his voice light, his stance easy. Why was she fighting him on this? He’d hoped she would be pleased. Waving a hand in the space in between the two of them she hissed, “What if this… doesn’t work? Am I going to run into you at the corner store? The subway? Or don’t rich television stars take the subway or say hi to bodega cats?” James captured the flapping hand, folding his own around it. “Fred. Calm down. Why are you so sure we’re not going to work?” “Well, it’s still early…” Her face flooded with color, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “Come on and look at the bedroom,” he said, tugging her to the door. Pulling her through after him, he looked back and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging grin. “Check it out,” he said. “Corner apartment, south and east facing windows. We can catch the sunrise.” “You always were an early bird.” Freddie made a face. “And you like to sleep in. But that’s what blinds are for.” “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Trapped. Why did she feel so trapped by this? New York was big enough for the two of them, even if James was thinking of renting an apartment so near hers— or was he buying? Freddie had no idea how these things worked for people whose finances weren’t so… day to day, week to week, paycheck to paycheck. James had moved away and was leaning against the wall. She could envision a king-size bed standing against that wall, facing the south windows. Prowling around the room, she stuck her head into the en-suite bathroom. It wasn’t as huge as the rest of the rooms she had seen, but it had been renovated recently, with a big glassed-in shower and modern tile. She could picture James in this apartment, see him filling the space with his broad shoulders and long stride. See him enjoying the sunrise in tumbled bedsheets. But could she see herself there too? Even as a visitor? “This is… quite the setup,” Freddie finally said, peering into the closet. “Closet space… a Manhattan miracle.” “Come see the kitchen. It’ll bring you back down to Earth.” James interlaced his fingers with hers again and tugged her to the galley kitchen off the large living space. Though small, it too had been renovated recently, boasting gleaming appliances and marble countertops. The backsplash behind the enameled sink was outfitted with gleaming, white subway tile. Sleek, dark cabinetry complemented the airy lightness of the counters, walls, and flooring. “Dude. A kitchen outfitted like this is hardly slumming it,” Freddie said, trailing her fingertips along the cool marble counters. “It’s minuscule. I learned how to cook in L.A. I’m pretty good now and I like doing it. I wouldn’t know how to cope in a tiny space like this.” Truth to tell, he did fill it up. And the smile that spread across his face seemed to expand his presence further. “Get with the New York story, big guy.” Freddie jabbed a finger into the center of his chest. “This kitchen would probably make that food writer at the Times salivate with envy. You have plenty of room.” “True. I mean, you’re in here with me and I don’t feel crowded.” James grabbed

the hand digging into his sternum and tugged her close, his body radiating heat and his face beaming down at her with quiet humor. “That’s because I’m minuscule too.” “All the more reason for me to get this place. You fit.” Freddie set her open palm on his chest, feeling like she was trying to hold up a brick wall. “You have to want this place for you. We split up before. It could happen again.” The humor went out of James’ eyes and he looked down at her with solemn intensity. “I like this place. It suits me. And I know I asked for too much too soon two years ago. But I’m committed to taking my time and getting this right. I won’t press you.” “Okay, then.” She closed her eyes and tried to quiet her racing mind. “But.” Freddie’s eyes flew back up to his face at the sound of his voice. “You’re right about something—this place feels right for me. It fits. And so do you.”

Time for a change of scenery. “What do you say to another date?” James asked. “Are we going to have a date every day at this point?” Freddie’s eyes crinkled with repressed humor and James felt something in his chest ease. In hindsight, maybe this whole scene was a bit too intense. Not just the apartment near her, but including her in the decision. “Well, you’re going to go into production soon, and with my schedule, I don’t know how many daytime hours I’ll have free. If my show takes a turn for the dark and gritty, we may have more night shoots, and be free when you are, but I can’t count on it. It might be difficult to find time to see each other in a few weeks. We might as well make the most of our compatible hours while we can.” “Yet again, you have an answer for everything. Do you need to give your real estate broker an answer now?” “And you have a question for everything. No. I think I can sleep on this.” James left her to open and close cabinet doors and walked back to the living area where Stacey was checking something on her phone. “Come to a decision yet?” The woman’s bright red lipstick stretched into a fake smile that didn’t meet her eyes. James tilted his head and extended a hand. “Not yet. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” Stacey shook hands solemnly. “This could get snapped up by then. If you really want it, you should move on it.” James reviewed what he knew about the listing. It had been on the market for a month. “I’ll take that chance and call you tomorrow.” “Does the girlfriend not like it?” The artificial smile transformed into an equally artificial moue of disapproval, her eyes looking over his shoulder, seeking Freddie. James glanced back, but Freddie still hadn’t emerged from the kitchen. “No, she likes it fine.” James hoped their low-voiced conversation wasn’t carrying to Freddie’s ears, but was resigned to the fact that the empty space

virtually echoed and sound carried easily, bouncing off of hardwood floors and plaster walls. “We just need a chance to talk.” “Well then.” Stacey stuffed her phone into an expensive-looking leather tote and gestured toward the door. “We’ll call it a day then.” Collecting Freddie as they ed the kitchen, the trio exited the apartment. After riding down together in the elevator, she stuck out her hand and James shook it. “I’ll be looking forward to your call tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Ms. Alves.” Turning on her heel, she walked out of the building and down the street. “Well that ordeal is over for now,” James said. “Ordeal? Really?” Freddie’s eyebrows lifted as she turned to him. “Looking at a bunch of shiny new apartments, all of which you could afford to move into tomorrow?” “Well, my furniture doesn’t arrive for at least another three days. But yes,” he said, raising his hands at her skeptical expression. “Sure, it’s fun at first, then it’s exhausting. There are a lot of variables to consider. It’s overwhelming to try to balance them all. It’s a huge decision to make.” Freddie’s expression softened, her dark eyes glowing. “Fine. So. A date. Where do we want to go?” “Well, I’d ask you if you wanted to get Portuguese food, but you’re a total pain in the ass about it.” She grinned. “Nobody cooks like my ma.” He rubbed his belly. “I know. So, I noticed a little Italian place around the corner. It smelled good, too.” “Sounds perfect.”

Freddie could smell the restaurant before they rounded the corner. “Did you say it smelled good?” she said, her voice rising to a squeak on the last word. James turned to her, eyebrows crimping together. “You don’t like?” Inhaling deeply, Freddie shook her head. “That doesn’t smell good. It smells amazing.” Garlic, tomatoes, and…oh, God. Yeast. Did this place make its own bread too? The mix of smells just about made her lightheaded and she realized how long it had been since her hastily scarfed lunch during today’s rehearsal. James’ white teeth flashed and his face relaxed again. “Yeah, I thought you’d like it. Another reason to consider moving into the neighborhood, you know?” “How did I not know about this place?” she murmured as he opened the rough wooden door and the rush of aromas intensified, making her mouth water. The place was tiny, but only half full on a Monday, with an open kitchen in the back and exposed brick walls lined with shelves full of wine bottles. She and James were waved to a table in front of a plate glass window that looked out onto the street and she sat, receiving a menu in a daze. “You really didn’t know this place was here?” James asked. “Nope.” She gulped down water and scanned the menu, thinking about her usual routines. “The subway I usually use is in the opposite direction, the bodega I usually go to is around the corner from my place, and…” She trailed off, thinking about how un-adventurous she sounded. “And Manhattan is a checkerboard of incredibly tiny villages.” James grabbed a piece of focaccia out of the basket between them and dipped it into a plate of olive oil, taking a bite and chewing. “True.” His observation made her feel a bit less pathetic and she followed his example, tearing off a piece of fresh, chewy bread and dredging it in the oil, which had fresh parmesan shaved into it. Popping it into her mouth, she closed her eyes and repressed a moan as she ate. “This is amazing.” The focaccia had a springy bite, with rosemary and salt blending with the mellow olive oil and pungent cheese. “I could make a meal of this alone.”

Opening her eyes, she saw that James was looking at her with a familiar expression. He could make a meal of her, if the black pupils spreading across his dark brown irises were anything to go by. She nearly choked as the look sent a bolt of heat straight through her, causing her knees to involuntarily clamp together, lust pulsing between her legs. James coughed and lowered his eyes to his menu. “So. Anything look good to you?” His normally modulated, deep voice sounded strained. Freddie looked down and tried to focus on the long, single sheet of heavy paper in front of her. “Um. Pasta puttanesca?” She swallowed, her own throat tight, her words coming out in a sort of strangled squeak. “What about you?” “Pork,” he said, and Freddie suppressed a juvenile giggle at the double entendre. Suddenly, everything was about sex. “So…” Freddie placed her menu to one side of her place setting and raised her eyes to James’ face, trying to think of a casual way to frame her next question. “How long are we going to…date before…” She picked up her water glass and took a sip. “Before falling back into bed with each other?” James’ expression was wry as he shuffled their menus together. Freddie choked. So much for casual. She gulped some ice water, hoping to cool the burning in her cheeks. No luck. “Um.” James leaned toward her, his forearms on the table. “Is this the woman who told me in no uncertain that she wanted to come on my face? Why so shy now?” The warmth in Freddie’s cheeks fanned to a blaze and her eyes darted around the restaurant. “Shh.” “Nah.” James leaned back and regarded her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “It’s too soon if you’re all shy again.”

Freddie was really almost too cute to tease this way. Almost. James watched her gulp water as if her face was a five-alarm fire that she needed to quench. Which it was. Of course, looking at her flushed face reminded him of how the flush would spread lower, across her chest when she was aroused. The memory made him shift uncomfortably. His chair felt too hard, her eyes too accusing. Freddie set down her water glass. “So,” she said with quiet deliberation. “What’s next?” “Next?” She gaze held his. “Yeah, big guy. You’re the man with the plan. What’s next?” James blinked. Freddie’s big eyes were solemn, with none of the humor that they usually contained. The waiter came, giving him cover for his confusion as they ordered. What was next? What was the signal that told him that they were ready to move to the next step —or move back to the step they’d just vacated? And glancing back at Freddie, who seemed to be gathering herself for battle, why was it up to him? Raising his hands preemptively, James nearly laughed with relief when the waiter appeared again with the bottle of wine he had ordered. Ignoring Freddie’s thwarted glare, he nodded at the waiter and proffered the taste he poured to Freddie, rather than trying it himself. Her expression said, Nice try, buddy. But she sipped and nodded and waited while the man poured out for both of them. Left alone with their wine, Freddie continued to look at him. “Well?”

“Why is this up to me?” “Like I said, you’re the guy who had the bright idea.” “Aren’t we in this together?” “That’s a cop-out and you know it.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a plan, do you?” James set his glass down and rubbed his fingertips over his lips. “No,” he said. “It seemed like a good idea to take a step back, but I don’t know what the sign for a step forward looks like. But does anyone ever have a good answer for that one? Did we have a good answer two years ago?” Freddie appeared to consider this. “I guess not. It just seems… so weird. Artificial in some way.” Nodding, James reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Yeah. It is. But we’re not fighting, either.” “It’s not because…” Freddie looked past him, as if she couldn’t look him in the eye. “Because what?” “Because you don’t want me that way anymore?” The words came out in a rush, as if they had been dammed up inside her and the merest chink in her defenses had broken down an entire wall. James squeezed her hand and she looked at him, her eyes a little shiny. “No, Fred. It’s not because I don’t want you ‘that way.’ I want you that way, and this way, and the other way. All the ways.” “Okay.” Freddie’s fingers returned the pressure and the corner of her mouth quirked up. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When it’s right, we’ll know.” He just hoped it was true.

A few days later, Freddie was packing up her things after rehearsal. The cast milled around, gathering their own belongings and talking. A sudden, unnatural hush from the stage made Freddie look up. Almost to a person, the cast was looking at the back of the house. Turning her head, she saw James, standing at the top of the aisle, shaking hands and chatting with Michael. He was wearing a soft-looking dark green Henley, the sleeves pushed up to reveal muscled forearms. Freddie suppressed a sigh. The man doesn’t even have to try to make an entrance. He just does. Glancing back at the stage, she saw that, with the exception of Candace and Susan, the cast had mostly returned to their normal activities and stopped staring. Candace’s face might as well have been replaced with a heart-eyes emoji. Her mouth was even hanging open a little. Susan was looking at James with undisguised fury, her eyes narrow and her lips tight. Strap in, this is going to get interesting. Candace hopped down from the stage, setting an intercept course for James as he moved down the aisle. Freddie shouldered her bag, stiffening when Susan moved over to stand by her. “So. You two are still an item,” Susan said, her voice like an edged weapon. Freddie’s stomach tightened and her pulse quickened. “Again, not still,” she said, proud of the way she was able to control her voice. It didn’t shake, squeak, or waver. She picked up her mechanical pencil from the table and slid it into the outer pocket of her bag, focusing on the mundane task to avoid the actress’s gaze. Susan’s eyes slid from Freddie to James and back again. “I saw on a gossip site that he was moving back into town. Still in television, is he?” I’m sure you know he is. Freddie nodded. “That new superhero show.” Susan rolled her eyes, a swift dismissive flick. “I suppose it pays the bills. It’s not art, though.”

Freddie suppressed a laugh. Michael had told her that Susan’s last job was an industrial video on product safety for a toy company. Her Serious Theater Artiste pose was just that—a delusion that only she believed. “Well.” Susan’s spine straightened. “I’m not hanging around to chitchat with the guy who made me look bad in front of Paul Mainwaring.” Unable to keep from snorting, Freddie turned the noise into a cough. Susan hadn’t needed anyone’s help to look bad in front of the director. She had one too many meltdowns in rehearsal and he had declined to extend her contract when The Catalyst transferred from regional theater to a New York run. But of course she would see that as someone else’s fault. Susan, according to Susan, was never at fault. Always a victim. Susan moved up the aisle where James was backing away from Candace, practically peeling his body away from the avid redhead, one hand extended as if ready to fend her off. He glanced at Susan as she approached. Despite her claim of not wanting to speak with him, Susan’s next words were clearly audible to everyone. “So, you’re dating our stage manager. How long has that been going on?” James’s response was a low murmur, rejecting the attention-seeking tones she had adopted. Susan’s next words rang out. “Huh. Funny you’d say that now since you told Hollywood So Fine that you were single.”

James’s veins ran with ice water. Yep, same old Susan. His brain scrambled for purchase, trying to the short interview with its disorienting revelations. He hadn’t given much thought to it since, what with working, making an offer on the apartment, and getting the paperwork he needed for the closing. Without glancing at Freddie, he took a steadying breath and said, “No, I didn’t say that. I told that journalist that my private life was private. I haven’t seen what they posted, but if they said I said I was single, they’re fabricating.” “Hm.” Susan’s eyes narrowed and he could see that fine lines now fanned out from their corners, her perpetual dissatisfaction now permanently etched into her face. James couldn’t find much sympathy for this. It was self-imposed, after all. Susan had been given all the advantages in the world: talent, beauty, intelligence of a sort. Or cunning, at least. And instead of using them to bring joy to the world, she used them as weapons, seeing anyone who wasn’t her as the enemy. Susan’s lips crimped together. “Well. Congratulations on the TV gig. Hope it lasts.” James almost laughed. That was about the most gracious thing he’d ever heard from Susan’s mouth. Coupled, of course, with the implication that the show would be cancelled more or less immediately. He inclined his head toward the stage. “And to you. I can’t sing or dance, so I don’t know what this entails, but I’m sure it’s impressive.” He allowed himself a sort of petty congratulation on his restraint for not following that up with, “At your age.” There was no need to sink to the woman’s level. “Well. Yes.” Susan’s shoulders straightened as she preened slightly. “Musical theater is challenging, but I do enjoy a challenge.” You are a challenge, you monster. “Right. Well, I have a date with my best girl,

so nice seeing you again, Susan.” He glanced around to see if the dizzy, predatory redhead was still around, but she seemed to have taken herself off. Thank God. The woman had been as transparent as spring water, though hardly as refreshing. He was a piece of meat to her, pure and simple. He spotted Freddie in the theater’s aisle, her shoulders hunched as he approached, a bad sign. “What’s up, Fred? What’s the matter?” “Gossip sites?” Her dark eyes flicked up to his face, then she busied herself looking for something in her bag. James suspected it was a something that didn’t exist and she therefore wouldn’t find. He held up his index finger. “One gossip site. The PR people sprung it on me without warning.” “And you said you were single?” James’s neck went rigid. “No. Did you not hear what I told Susan?” Freddie’s breath huffed, a puff of impatience and temper. “No. She was the only one whose voice was carrying loud enough to be heard.” “As I’m sure she wanted it to.” James licked his lips and tried to summon the patience to deal with Susan fucking Vernon again. “That woman doesn’t do anything halfway. She’s always been up to no good. Anyway, I didn’t say I was single. I told the reporter that my private life was private. If they published something else, I don’t know what to do about that.” Freddie was standing a little straighter now, her composure returning even as her face flooded with color. “Sorry. It was…that was just weird.” James reached out and rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry too. I should have mentioned it to you. The reporter said some weird stuff that I haven’t even confirmed yet. Fan stuff. I guess I have fans now. Who knew? I’ve been so wound up in shooting and trying to get this apartment settled… it completely slipped my mind.” He thought back to the girls on the subway. Wondered if there was more of that in his future. “I was approached by two strangers who recognized me the other day, wanting photographs. Pretty surreal.”

Shrugging, Freddie looked at him for a long moment, her eyes telling him nothing about her mental state. His arm dropped to his side and she turned and set out up the aisle. “Um. Okay.” “Are you all right?” He hurried after her, hitching his backpack up on his shoulder. Freddie stopped so abruptly he almost ran into her. “I don’t know. I didn’t consider what would happen if…you being in the spotlight. I don’t know what to do with that.” James reached out and gripped both her shoulders in his hands, fingers flexing gently. “Hey. Let’s figure out what exactly this all is before you run away screaming.” “And what do you mean by that?” Freddie’s skeptical eyes scanned his face. “I was thinking we’d try Google.”

While they had originally planned to go to the Met, Freddie’s skin crawled with unease about the gossip site and she suggested going to her place. “We can check my laptop,” she suggested. Half of her wanted to keep the stupid computer closed and never find out what was going on and half of her burned with curiosity. When she opened the front door to her apartment, Miranda hopped down from the sofa and greeted them with a trembling, back-arched stretch and yawn, her sharp teeth bared and her eyes squinting with the effort of it. “Nice to see you too, Miss Lady,” James said, bending over to stroke her. She butted his hand with her head and he laughed softly. “Never had a cat. Are they all like this?” “Like what?” Freddie put her bag down on a chair and moved over to open her laptop. Opening up a browser window, she typed in James’ name and the name of the tv show. James, moving behind her and looking over her shoulder, pointed at a link halfway down the page of search results. “The URL says, fyjamesmartin? Fuck you, James Martin? That doesn’t sound very fan-like.” Freddie clicked on the link. The header for a tumblr blog sprang into view, proclaiming, “Fuck Yeah, James Martin.” Freddie started to laugh so hard she nearly choked. Scrolling a little way down the page, she saw that it was mostly photographs. “When did all these get taken?” Some of them were pretty beefcakey: James lounging by a pool, his white shirt unbuttoned and his gaze fixed on something in the distance. James pulling himself out of that same pool, wet shirt still unbuttoned and now completely translucent, giving a come-hither look into the camera, water sliding over the hard planes of his chest. Freddie had to it they were hot. She looked back at James, who was rubbing his face, his eyes closed and his expression sheepish. “Dammit. My manager in L.A. thought that was a good idea. I never thought the photographs went anywhere. Thought they were a complete waste of money.” “Well somebody sure likes them.” Freddie continued to scroll. A shot of two

young—very young— women on what looked like a New York subway car with James. A selfie. The two girls were grinning maniacally. James’s smile, if Freddie was any judge of the situation, was more of a professional production than a display of real emotion. “Wait. Weren’t you wearing that shirt the other day when we looked at your apartment?” James was staring at the screen, his mouth open slightly. “Yeah. I was on my way to meet the realtor. Those are the two I told you about before. They recognized me, asked if they could take a picture. I didn’t realize it would end up… well, anywhere, really.” “Looks like it’s ended up somewhere quite a few times,” Freddie said, hovering her cursor over a note at the bottom that said “275 notes.” Clicking on it, a window popped up saying, “149 likes and 126 reblogs.” She scrolled through some of the comments until James straightened, saying, “Enough,” his voice pained. Freddie didn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes. The comments were typical teenage girl fare. Oooh. I can’t believe you got so lucky! He’s OTT or HOTT, OR BOTH, LOL. I’m melting! This was accompanied by an animated gif of a woman fainting. Turning in her chair, Freddie looked at James head on. He stared back, eyes glassy. “What am I going to do about this?” he asked. Freddie laughed. “You’re serious?” “As a heart attack.” “Dude. You’re getting famous. That’s job security. I think you suck it up and deal.”

His brain scrambling like a squirrel in a trap, James paced around Freddie’s small living room. “You okay?” Freddie asked. “I mean, I know this is pretty freaky, but… wasn’t it what you wanted?” “What I wanted?” James stopped walking and turned to her as she stood up from her chair and closed the laptop, shutting out what seemed like endlessly scrolling images of him… and yet not him. Some publicist’s version of him. Some stranger’s version. “I wanted to act. I wanted to work. This…” He gestured at the computer. “This has nothing to do with anything I ever wanted.” Freddie’s eyebrow quirked up. “Dude. You work in television. You’re so gorgeous, it’s ridiculous. You never thought about what would happen if you got famous?” James lifted one hand as if trying to grasp for words. “I…it never seemed like the kind of success that would bring attention like this was in the cards for me. I just figured I’d be—at best—a middle of the pack working actor.” “So you’ve exceeded your goals. What’s so wrong with that?” Freddie moved to stand in front of him, her head tilted back to look him in the eyes. James settled his hands on her shoulders. They felt strong and warm. Real. Not like… whatever that was that they had just seen. “It just seems so out of control. Out of hand. Invasive. Weird. I mean, I’ve been snapped by the paps before, but I always felt like if I was getting attention it was because there was nobody around who was more important to focus on and they needed to take pictures of somebody—anybody. Third, fourth choice for people who made their living off of that kind of thing. But this… these people could fixate on anyone they wanted to and they picked…me.” Freddie rubbed her hands over his. “I don’t find that so crazy. I picked you too.” James’ fingers flexed, squeezing her shoulders. “Yeah, but you know me. Those people, they don’t know me. They haven’t even met me. The show hasn’t even aired yet. That’s just weird. It seems obsessive.”

“It’s fan culture. You’ve never seen it in action?” “Yeah. It’s just different when you’re the one in the spotlight.” He drew Freddie to him, her body solid and comforting against him. Her arms slid around his waist and he took a long breath. “Sorry to freak out all over you.” Her hands moved over his back, soothing. “That’s okay. First and foremost we’ve always been friends. That’s what friends do. Freak out on each other. Weather the freak-out storm together.” Her steadiness and the warmth of her body soaked into him. He stroked her silky hair and her face tilted up to look at him, dark eyes steady and assessing. Without another thought, he bent and kissed her, the lightest brush of his lips over hers. She rose up on her toes, seeking more, her hands moving up his chest and around the back of his neck. Groaning softly, he opened his lips and angled his head as her tongue sought his. The citrus scent of her hair, the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth—they were all immediate, demanding his attention, driving away the anxiety and out-of-control feelings. Arousal coiled in his belly, moved lower as Freddie pressed closer, her soft breasts pressing against him and weakening his knees. Something else soft and warm thudded against his lower legs and dragged. The cat. James ignored her and turned his attention to feathering kisses down the column of Freddie’s neck. Pain sizzled through the back of his thigh. Jerking upright, he looked over his shoulder and down. The damn cat had reared up on her hind legs and sunk her claws into his leg.

“Miranda!” Freddie’s face was on fire with mortification as she stooped to grab at the cat at the same time as James moved to do the same. Pain exploded in her temple as it connected with James’ forehead and she staggered back a couple of steps. Miranda took the distraction as an opportunity to race into the bedroom, a black and orange streak speeding across the floor. “Ow.” James stepped back a couple of paces and sank onto the love seat, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah. Ow for sure.” Freddie stood, likewise rubbing her temple where it had connected with James’s head. James squinted at her for a long moment and her face, which had cooled a bit, heated up again. His eyes creased in a smile and he waved her towards him, his hands beckoning her to sit. “Come here. You need ice?” “For what? My head or my embarrassment? Are you okay?” Moving stiffly and pressing her hands to her heated cheeks, Freddie walked to the couch, turned, and sank down next to him. His arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her against him. She resisted for a moment, clinging to her embarrassment and grievance against the cat, then collapsed against him, allowing his big hand to cradle her head against his chest. “That’s better.” His deep voice rumbled against the ear that was pressed to him, warm and comforting, his breath a steady rise and fall under her cheek. “Sorry about my stupid fucking cat,” she mumbled. His hand stroked her hair. “Don’t worry about it. She startled me more than anything.” “Still. My cat, my apartment, your leg.” His chest vibrated under her cheek with a low chuckle. “Fred, she’s a cat. You’re saying you can control a cat? What are you, a miracle worker?” “No, but she’s never done that before. I think she’s jealous. She likes you.”

“Well, maybe she was our conscience. We did agree to take things slow. And that was heading towards…not slow. On-ramp to the fast lane, for sure.” Freddie suppressed a frustrated growl. “I want to wring her neck.” Another chuckle bounced against her face and she lifted her head to look at him. “I could too,” he said, “But you know it’s probably for the best. We haven’t fought since we decided to take things slow.” Freddie settled her aching head back onto his chest, thinking. “Is that going to be the only barometer of our success? If we’re fighting or not? Because we’re people. We’re going to disagree and fight. At least occasionally.” His hand moved up and down her back, soothing in spite of her internal tumult. “Yeah. We’re going to disagree. But I think this restraint is helping. And I look forward to kissing you again. Everywhere.” Freddie couldn’t suppress the little gasp that thoughts of him kissing her everywhere produced. He chuckled and she thumped his chest with a fist that felt small and inconsequential. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, tenderly kissing the knuckles. “Patience, Fred. I think this is worth it.”

“So. Susan seems like the same nightmare she always was,” James said as he settled across from her in a restaurant booth a few blocks from her apartment. They had punted on the museum, opting for Thai food and a head-clearing walk. James didn’t know if he was glad or furious that Freddie’s cat had essentially cock blocked them. His body wanted her. His brain knew that if he wanted the relationship to work, the long game was essential. And the long game meant waiting. Even though now that the pain in his head and his leg had worn off he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin. And Freddie looked like she could spit nails. “Susan.” Freddie shook her head as if to clear it. “Yes and no. She’s a lot quieter. Fewer tantrums. She may actually be mellowing.” “Really?” James considered his menu. Something hot to eat seemed appropriate. Like really hot. Atomic hot. Maybe discomfort would distract him from his other discomfort. The one sitting across from him. He wondered if she was suffering half as badly as he was. From the little sound she made when he had talked about kissing her all over, it seemed like she was. Somehow that made him feel better. As long as they were experiencing more or less the same things, they were still in it together. But how he wanted to kiss her all over. To put his tongue on her, feel her thighs shake around his ears, to taste her release as her back arched and she cried out… Dammit. He cleared his throat and looked at the menu again. What had the most stars next to it? What was going to be the most likely to provide a distracting counterirritant? His eyes scanned the laminated paper. Panang curry. Done.

“Candace probably has something to do with it, though,” Freddie said. What? “Candace?” James blinked and put down his menu, realizing that as his thoughts had wandered, Freddie had stuck to the conversation he started. “Oh. The adhesive redhead.” Freddie started to laugh, her shoulders shaking, the menu she had been considering discarded, her hands covering her eyes. “What?” James fought the urge to laugh along with her. “Adhesive. That’s one word for Candace, for sure.” Freddie ran her fingers under her eyes, collecting the little moisture that had gathered there during her laughing fit, then picked up her menu again. “She’s a piece of work, that one. And she rides Susan like a rented mule.” James blinked again. “She does?” His impression of the woman was that she was a world-class ditz. Susan wasn’t necessarily the sharpest tool in the box, but she was cunning and could be vicious. Or at least narcissistic. Sometimes it amounted to the same thing. “Yeah. Basically she drums out a constant message that Susan’s old and past it. You know. Your basic actress kryptonite.” “And Susan’s not firing back? That doesn’t sound like her.” “Well, her resume has been a little thin over the last couple of years. I think she’s worried about her career. Michael definitely knows it’s going on, but he’s not going to do anything. He knows what she’s like normally. I think he likes her a little scared. It’s sadistic of him, but it keeps her in check.” The waiter came to take their orders and James mulled over what Freddie had said. Not that he really gave a crap what happened to Susan. His former co-star was the last person he wanted to think about. But she was a factor in Freddie’s life now. “So are you saying that today was the first time she was like the old Susan?”

James’s words stopped Freddie in the act of picking up her water glass. She held it suspended in front of her as she stared, dumbfounded, at him. “Um, I guess. Like I said, she’s been pretty quiet, hasn’t tried to mix it up with me or anyone else. She even deigned to recognize me before you came on the scene, though we didn’t exactly have an old home week about it.” Getting Freddie’s name wrong—probably intentionally—had been one of Susan’s signature micro-aggressions when they worked with her before. Freddie hadn’t expected the actress to recognize her. “Huh.” James’ face grew pensive and he rubbed his fingertips over his mouth. Distracted by thoughts of his mouth on her, Freddie missed the next words that came out of it. “Um. Sorry, what?” she said James grinned as if he knew why she had been so distracted. Dammit. He certainly didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping his lust in check. Freddie’s cheeks burned and she nearly kicked him under the table. “I’m just wondering what broke the dam. Why is she going back to her old shenanigans?” “Probably your gorgeous mug.” Freddie stuck her tongue out for good measure and James laughed. “Seriously. She was oiling all over you that summer before you made it clear that you were with me. And she seems to think that you’re responsible for her missing out on the extended gig when we moved the production here.” “What?” James’ mouth actually dropped open and for once, it didn’t induce Freddie to fantasize. Recovering his composure with apparent effort, he said, “The woman’s delusional. She signed her own death warrant on that job more than once with the way she behaved.” Freddie shrugged. “She’s a narcissist. That’s what they do. They project. Nothing is ever their fault. According to her, you were probably the one sniping at everyone, not her. Unless I miss my guess.”

“Sounds like you know something about the matter.” “Yeah, well.” Freddie picked up her menu again and pretended to study it so she didn’t have to look James in the eye. “I had a granny who wasn’t the sweet, cookie-baking type. More like the ‘everything is about me’ type. My brothers and I were told from kindergarten onward that we were the ones who had to be the grownups.” Freddie put the menu down and studied the table as if her life depended on her being able to describe the fake wood grain from memory. James leaned forward, capturing one of her hands, which had been rolling the corner of a paper napkin, fidgeting. “Yikes.” Freddie shrugged and the urge to grip his hand more tightly competed with a desire to flee. “What are you going to do? She wasn’t going to change. The rest of us had to deal.” James’s hand squeezed hers, and it was as if the pressure made moisture collect in her eyes. Blinking, she lifted her head and looked straight at him. “I don’t know why I’m getting all emotional about this. She’s been gone for years.” Without letting go of her hand, James came around the table and slid into the banquette next to her, something he hadn’t done since that disastrous morning in the diner. “Hey.” One arm went around her shoulders and Freddie fought the urge to shake him off. His sudden solicitousness was threatening to make her break down crying. “Don’t make too much of it. She was a lot harder on my mom than she was on us.” And a lot less hard on Freddie’s brothers, boys being more important in her eyes. But Freddie wasn’t going to get into that with James. That would just mean more sympathy and the waterworks really would start. One of his hands squeezed her shoulder, pulling her body tight against his side. Despite her emotional state, she thrummed with awareness. She let her head drop to lean against his body, soaking up the heat and strength that he radiated.

Rubbing her shoulder, James smiled slightly as he felt her relax into him. Freddie’s stubborn independence could go too far at times and he was glad that she was letting herself rely on him now. But her revelations about her grandmother worried him. He wished more than ever she hadn’t taken this job. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Yeah.” Freddie straightened and he resisted the urge to tug her back to him. He had learned that he couldn’t fight Freddie’s obstinacy head on. He had to her, help her. Let her make mistakes if that’s what she needed to do. That didn’t mean it was easy. The waiter arrived and set plates in front of them. He glanced sideways at Freddie, who was picking up utensils and poking at her food in a way that didn’t bode well for her appetite. Nudging her with his elbow, he said, “Hey. You don’t exactly seem okay.” Freddie took in a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh. “No, but I will be.” “You sure about that? What’s going on in that head of yours?” “It’s just… everything, you know?” Concern squeezed his chest. “What everything?” “Well, for one, your new fan club. What is that going to mean for me?” James took a bite of his curry, stalling for time. Yow. Definitely hot. The spiciness mingled with the heat of shame rising in him as he realized he hadn’t thought much about how this might affect her. Only him. But of course she would get dragged into it somehow. That stupid gossip journalist poking her nose into his love life wouldn’t be the last and he had a sense he could only shield Freddie for so long, he was sure. “I don’t know,” he said. “I hardly know what it’s going to mean for me. Maybe it will blow over.”

Freddie rolled her eyes and the side of her foot connected with his under the table. “Right.” “People get famous and then get obscure again. It happens.” Putting her fork down, Freddie twisted to look at him squarely. “Dude. Your network television show that is starting to get media buzz is about to air. I don’t think you’re going to magically become less famous as a result. Also, what about your career?” James shrugged, “Okay, fine. Fair enough. All I’m saying is I don’t know what’s going to happen or how this is going to play out. It’s new for me, too. This situation doesn’t come with an owner’s manual.” Freddie started eating again, her face thoughtful. James watched her, waiting for her to say something. When she continued to be silent, worry washed over him in a cold wave. “What’s up? You thinking of bailing on me because of this?” Taking a sip of water before she responded, Freddie finally said, “No.” James wasn’t sure he believed it.

Freddie ate without tasting her food and she could feel concern radiating off of James as if it was an electrical field. Her potential role in this whole “James is now getting famous” thing hadn’t occurred to her at first. But something about it had burrowed into the back of her brain until she realized that in the interview he had given—the one she hadn’t seen yet—he had had to draw boundaries around his personal life. How long could or would he do that? Did she even want him to? Freddie didn’t consider herself a jealous person, but a fierce sort of possessive feeling rose up in her when she thought of people asking James if he was available. Every cell in her body screamed, No! She wanted to snarl and snap at anyone who expressed interest. But what were they to each other, really, with the take-it-slow plan in place? If he answered some journalist honestly now, what would he say? She reminded herself about their last kiss, his expressed desire to do more than that, but what did that really mean except they had always had physical chemistry? Freddie wanted to ask the questions. But she was afraid of the answers. “Hey.” His elbow nudged her. She resisted the urge to sigh and focused on her food, forking a bite into her mouth and chewing. “Fred.” Damn, the man was relentless. Freddie lifted her eyes as far as his mouth. His usual lurking smile was absent. Concerned, her gaze flew to meet his eyes and she almost choked at what she saw there. Worry. Care. She swallowed, her throat tight. “What?” Her voice was a croak. “You’re seriously on board for this?” The question seemed difficult for him to ask, as if he was afraid of her answer, and something in Freddie thawed.

“What—the fame thing?” “Yeah.” His lower teeth worried his top lip, uncertainty making his eyes soft. Maybe he’s as lost as I am in all this. “I think so.” She put her fork down and rubbed her eyes, scrunching up her nose as she thought. “I mean… seriously? I’m not crazy about the fame thing. I’ve never wanted to be famous. I’m a stage manager, for crying out loud. We’re the definition of ‘invisible.’ And I like it that way.” James bit his lip, but didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue. “But that journalist asking you if you were available…the picture with the two girls on the subway…” “Did it bother you?” His question pulled a bark of sarcastic laughter out of her. “Bother me? It made me want to cut a bitch. Or several bitches. I don’t care how many. Wait—maybe that’s a mistake. Can you make a bunch of bitches out of a single bitch if you cut them just right? Are they like earthworms?” Realizing how much she had given away, her jaw tightened. “Um, asking for a friend.” James stared at her for a few long seconds. Then his eyes crinkled and his beautiful mouth stretched wide. He put his fork down, laughing helplessly and wrapping one strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight against him. Crushed against his chest, Freddie finally relaxed a little bit. The future might be a big unknown, but there was history too. Good history. They weren’t building on no foundation at all. She just hoped that foundation was solid enough to take whatever was coming next.

Chapter 9

“T hat’s a wrap.” The episode’s director turned in his canvas chair to say something to the cameraman and James shrugged to try to ease the tension from his shoulders, twisting his head from side to side. “Brutal scene,” said a deep voice behind him. Alexander Fox was an older actor who played James’ character’s boss. Alexander had been a heartthrob in his twenties, the star of a television medical drama. James liked him—the man had a steady temperament and good work ethic. He had an avuncular way of teasing Grace West, the star of the show, that made her laugh and seem to forget that she was carrying an entire prime time network show on her young shoulders. “Yeah. Brutal scene plus lots of takes equals tiring day,” James said. “That’s the kind of math that warrants a drink. You want to me?” His eyebrows lifting, James nodded. “That sounds great, thanks.” The older man had been friendly, but not particularly familiar, and the invitation surprised James. “Great. Go get changed and I’ll meet you at your trailer,” Alexander said. James strode back to his trailer, changing out of his costume and into his street clothes and washing his face clean of the day’s makeup. Stepping out of the door, he saw that Alexander was even faster than he had been. He was scrolling through something on his phone with the same crooked smile that had caused women to swoon thirty years before. Turning the device to James, he showed a photograph of a little girl, her wispy hair in a spiky ponytail on top of her head. “Cute kid,” James said. “Yeah. Granddaughter. Becky. She’s a pistol. I swear, my son sends me pictures

of her just to rip my heart out when I’m on location and can’t drop by just any time.” “That’s rough, I guess.” A strange pang went through James, imagining kids. “Anyway.” Alexander pocketed the phone and turned north. “There’s a bar a couple blocks away that I used to go to when I first lived here,” Alexander said. “If it still exists, that is.” James fell into step beside him as he set out with a long stride. “When did you live in New York?” James asked. “Late eighties,” Alexander said. “Before Times Square became a playground, when my hair was still dark, the Earth was young, and dinosaurs roamed.” He ran a hand through his thick, silver mane and quirked a sideways grin at James. “No idea what you’re talking about,” James said, rubbing his palm over his shaved scalp, and Alexander pointed a finger at him, blue eyes twinkling. “A hit, a palpable hit.” James pointed back. “Shakespeare. Nice.” “I have my moments of culture. I even did Shakespeare in the Park back in the day.” He heaved an exaggerated, martyred sigh. “For my sins.” They reached a scarred wooden door. “Ah. Still here. This will be interesting.” Pulling the door open, he held it for James, then followed him inside, shoving his hands into his pockets as he surveyed the gloomy interior with evident satisfaction. “Excellent. Hasn’t changed a bit.” James followed Alexander to the bar. A basketball game was playing silently on a television suspended over the serried rows of bottles. A few patrons were scattered around the interior at booths and stools. A lone bartender, who had been watching the game with his arms crossed over his chest, turned and offered a minimal smile to James and Alexander as they approached and took seats at the bar. “What can I get for you?” he asked, slapping flimsy cocktail napkins down in front of both men.

“Jameson’s. Neat.” Alexander turned to look at James and lifted his eyebrows. “You?” “Um. Sounds good. Same.” The bartender filled their order with rapid, efficient motions, placing the glasses of whiskey in front of Alexander and James with a decisive thud. “To youth and fame. The two most fleeting things in the universe.” Alexander picked up his glass, tapped it against James’s, and took a sip. Bemused, James picked up his own drink and followed suit. “What brought this on?” James asked. Alexander squinted sideways at James and pointed the index finger of the hand holding the glass at him. Despite the theatricality of the gesture, James had to it it was effective. Classic old-school Hollywood tough guy. “I see a lot of me in you. Well, me about thirty years ago.” Alexander waved his free hand around the darkened bar. “This place may not have changed, but I sure have. I’ve learned a lot over the years as well. Want some advice?” James leaned his elbow on the bar and turned to face the older man more fully. “Lay it on me.” Alexander put his glass down on the bar and stared into it like it was a crystal ball. “Buckle up. Your life’s about to get out of control.”

Freddie’s phone chimed as she was leaving the theater. A text from Cath read, Paul giving lecture at the New School tonight. Free for dinner? Grinning, Freddie tapped out a response. Definitely. Long day. Starving. Where does the preggo lady want to eat? The preggo lady wants tuna sashimi but she can’t have any. So… Thumbs tapping, Freddie replied. Some nice soft cheese and a cocktail? Three dots pulsed and her screen was populated in quick succession with a poop emoji, a middle finger, and a yellow wailing face. Freddie smiled and typed. Sorry. That was mean. How about that bistro near your place? I’ll keep the cheese menu away from you. Perfect. Meet you there in half an hour. Pocketing her phone and shrugging her backpack more securely on her shoulder, Freddie headed for the nearest subway station that would take her to Cath. Moving through the turnstile and onto the platform, she saw a tall guy and a smaller woman a few feet away, standing close, facing each other. He was looking down at her with a smile of unabashed iration. She was smirking up at him in an adorable way, basking in the affection. A pang shot through Freddie as the man drew the woman to him, enfolding her in his coat. Would she and James get there again? Would they have that ease and open affection, or would they keep ping-ponging between raging sexual tension and irritation? They had agreed to wait to see each other until Saturday. It was her last free weekend before she plunged into the hell of tech week and then the grueling production schedule. James’ shooting schedule was also apparently going to be ramping up. They were both heading into a very busy time. The train arrived and Freddie boarded, dropping her backpack between her feet while she held to a pole in the crowded car. A big dude, not paying attention, stepped sideways into her and glanced down, seemingly surprised and put out

that anything could exist below his eye level. Freddie glared at him and firmed up her grip on the subway pole. Fucking clueless dudes, man. Sighing, Freddie monitored the ing stations until her stop. Pushing her way through the throng, she made her way onto the platform, breathing more easily once she was out of the crowded car. Setting out towards the bistro, she felt bookended by couples. The two on the platform, Cath and Paul. Even though Paul wasn’t going to be there, his DNA was currently combining with Cath’s to make a completely new person. Yup. She was surrounded by couples. She just didn’t quite know if she was in one.

James choked on his whiskey, coughing and finally managing to swallow. “Out of control? What do you mean?” Alexander shrugged. “I could be wrong. But I’m probably not. The buzz that’s starting around you reminds me of me thirty years ago. I’ve seen it happen more than once since. It’s accelerated with the internet and the social media crap we have now, but it’s essentially the same. A feeding frenzy.” James’s belly turned to ice. “What’s going to happen?” An absurd image of being ripped apart by sharks as he thrashed in the water assailed him. “Well, forget about walking down the street without getting papped, for one thing. Vultures with lenses instead of beaks, that’s photographers.” Alexander savored his whiskey. “And the media is going to get very interested in your love life, if you currently have one.” Freddie. “I do.” “Well she or he is about to have the lid ripped off too.” The freezing feeling intensified, a lump of cold lead in the pit of James’ stomach. “How do I protect her from this?” “She in the biz?” “Sort of. She’s a theatrical stage manager.” The older man mulled, swirling his drink. “Well, the media and the bloggers and all the tweeters—or whatever they are—are only going to be interested in her by virtue of her relationship to you. If she was an actress, she might be able to leverage some publicity for herself.” James shook his head. “No. She’s definitely not interested in being in the public eye. She’s told me that in no uncertain .” “She’s not going to be happy about this, huh?” James felt his shoulders slump. “She’s already not happy about this. What am I

going to do?” Alexander’s brows drew together. “So it’s serious, then.” “Yeah.” James hadn’t realized until that moment just exactly how serious it was. The idea of Freddie backing away, panicking from the exposure and running—it was unbearable. “So you need a plan, my friend.” “What kind of a plan?” The panicky feeling swirled through his brain, making rational thought impossible. Alexander’s hand landed on James’ shoulder and squeezed. “Prepare her. Talk to her. Make sure she knows that this exposure doesn’t mean that you belong to the world now. That your circumstances might be changing but you’re not. Does she know how seriously you feel about her?” James thought the question over, reviewing their conversations of the last couple of weeks. “I don’t know,” he itted. “I mean, we were already in a slightly weird place…” That’s what happens when you fuck first and ask questions later, genius. “Well, learn from my mistakes. I was considering asking the woman I was with at the time to marry me when the feeding frenzy hit. I waited too long and got too distracted by all the new attention. It went straight to my head and Kim ended up going straight out the door.” James considered this statement. “Well, you’ve got a granddaughter. I’m guessing that doesn’t happen without a successful relationship somewhere along the line.” “True, and eventually I met Ella and we’ve had a great run. Still wish I hadn’t fucked it up with Kim, though, not that way. Even if it hadn’t worked in the long term, I would have liked it to have played out naturally instead of me getting distracted by fan bullshit. That’s why I say you have to let her know how you feel—let her know she comes first, regardless. If she does.” James rubbed his chin, stared at the baseball game without seeing it. “That could be a problem. We dated a couple of years ago and she bolted when I wanted to

take things to the next level. I don’t want to pressure her right now. She might do it again.” Alex tossed back the last of his drink. “The situation is going to pressure her. You’re going to have to find a way to balance that, or it’s going to become an allout pressure cooker.” “Great. No pressure on me either.” James took a deep, steadying breath. And then another for good measure to keep the panicked feeling from overtaking him entirely. “Anything else?” “Yeah.” Alexander turned, sighing, to face the bar and signaled for another. “Don’t hit photographers. That way lies lawsuits. Potentially expensive ones.”

Cath settled herself into the bistro chair with a small groan. “How are you feeling?” Freddie asked. Rubbing her rounded belly, Cath said, “Tired and spacey. But at least I don’t have morning sickness anymore. I can’t believe I have five more months of this. Except it’s only going to get worse as I slowly grow to the size of a planet.” Folding her lips together, Freddie suppressed a smile. “Hey. My mom did it five times.” “No.” Cath lifted a hand as if to halt Freddie, her expression pained. “Not again. This is enough. One child per New York couple. I think it’s a law or something.” Freddie picked up her menu. “The dual strollers I have to dodge daily say otherwise. Yet the real estate expenses alone would be on the…well, the much side.” Cath rolled her eyes. “Oh, you have no idea. Paul is already talking about moving to a bigger apartment and I’m like, ‘Hey. I’m going to be as big as an elephant in a few months here. Can we have the kid first and then think about the moving thing later?’” “Oh wow. Yeah. I can’t imagine trying to move and being pregnant at the same time.” Freddie considered for a moment. “Of course, moving with an infant can’t be easy either. How’s Paul settling in to impending fatherhood?” Cath’s big green eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. “Well, we learned we’re having a girl, so he’s… going slightly caveman on and off. I have to keep reminding him that he’s a feminist and a pacifist and to calm the hell down.” “Paul? Caveman?” Freddie couldn’t think of anything less likely than the kinetic, distracted, artistic Paul acting like a caveman. “I think there’s a protective instinct in men that gets triggered by the damnedest stuff. He was kind of the same way around me when we first got together. It didn’t help. Anything.”

“Man-woman stuff. Even if the woman isn’t even born yet.” “Exactly.” Cath’s eyes went thoughtful. “Speaking of which, how’s James? Looks like his show is getting some serious buzz.” Freddie rolled her eyes. “It’s…complicated.” “How so?” “Well, there’s starting to be some buzz about him, too. He’s getting all sorts of attention. And we’re in a kind of a funny place. Good, I think–maybe–but funny.” “And you don’t want to share him with all these strangers?” Freddie barked a short, mirthless laugh. “No. But I’m not a hundred percent certain how he feels about me, so I don’t know what’s going on.” Cath’s eyebrows crimped together. “Adults have this thing called talking. You might want to give that a try.” Letting her head loll back, Freddie groaned. “I know. But I don’t even know how to bring it up.” “You say, ‘James. I’m a little freaked out by this—okay, a lot freaked. I need to know how you feel about me.’” “If only it were that easy.” “Why isn’t it?” “Because…” “Pride? Fear? Suck it up and put your big girl pants on.” “Yes, Mom.” One of Cath’s hands settled on her belly and the other pointed at Freddie. “Hey. This one is the only one who can call me that and she can’t talk yet.” The gravity of everything suddenly settled over Freddie. “Yeah.”

Chapter 10

“Y ou can put that over there,” James said, pointing to the corner of the living area where he wanted his small dining table. The two movers carried it over and set it down, pausing at the door to let two more men come in, balancing stacks of boxes taller than they were against their backs. They lifted these box towers with canvas straps threaded under the lowest box and shrugged over their shoulders. The arrangement looked impossible, but the movers were amazingly adept. “Bedroom. Anywhere,” he said to the guys with the boxes. James didn’t even try to figure out what they contained. It was likely that half of the boxes needed to go into the kitchen, but he would sort that out later. He couldn’t believe he really had this much stuff. Any plan of trying to handle the influx of his possessions in an organized manner had gone straight out the window in a matter of minutes. The movers had arrived late and they weren’t interested in organized, they were interested in fast. And damn, but they were fast. The boxes were piling up at a furious rate. Fine. He’d organize later. A guy carrying the side rails of his bed frame appeared in the door. “Where do you want your bed set up?” James hustled into the bedroom and indicated the wall he wanted the headboard to be up against. “Where do you want the sofa?” Another voice echoed through the half-filled apartment. “Good grief. This is nuts,” James muttered to himself as he practically sprinted out to show the men where the furniture should go. His phone chimed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he smacked his forehead with his palm when he saw the time. A text from Freddie, coinciding with a call from the doorman. She was

downstairs. James told the doorman to let her in, helplessly looking at the hive of activity his new apartment had become. A few moments later, Freddie arrived. “Wow,” she said, peering in the doorway. “This is quite a production.” Seeing another mover with a rolled-up carpet on his shoulder appear behind her, James reached for her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, a relative oasis of quiet and calm. He looked over her head and hooked his thumb at the living room and the man nodded and walked in. “Sorry. The movers got here late and it’s been such a crazy whirlwind, I completely lost track of time,” James said. “That’s okay,” Freddie said, but her expression was alarmed. “Maybe we should forget about dinner tonight, since you have all that going on.” She waved a hand at the ing parade of movers. “Aw. Come on. Stay with me,” James said. “This should take another hour or so, but then we can…” He realized that he was going to have to at least start to unpack or he was going to be sleeping on a bare mattress. Asking Freddie to either help him rummage through boxes or hang around and watch him wasn’t exactly the romantic night he’d had in mind. “Well, maybe that’s not the best idea. I’m going to have to find some stuff to make this place ready for human habitation by tonight.” Freddie glanced at him sharply. “Expecting someone?” James blinked, nonplussed. “Yeah. Me. I don’t know where my sheets are, for instance. Hard to make the bed without them. And I checked out of the hotel. So I have to camp out in this chaos until I get it figured out.” “Oh.” Freddie looked abashed. “What did you think I was going to do?” She shrugged, looking at the floor. “I don’t know.” “Hey.” Running his finger under her chin, he tilted her face up toward him. Her expression was worried, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. “What’s

this about?” Before she could answer, another shout for him to make yet another decision rang through the apartment. Freddie shifted, obviously uncomfortable, and said, “Look. You’re clearly super busy here. I’ll just go home and we can call a rain check on this, okay?” James was about to protest when another voice called from the living room. “Where do you want the bookcases?” “One minute!” he yelled, his eyes squeezed shut in exasperation. Rubbing his thumb over the back of Freddie’s hand, he opened his eyes again to catch her gaze and hold it. “Okay, yeah, maybe trying to fit in a date on moving day was a bad idea. Tomorrow?” “Won’t you still have all this to contend with?” Freddie waved her free hand at the parade of movers walking past the kitchen. “They’ll be gone.” “Yeah, but you still have to unpack.” James shrugged. “I can get to minimally livable by tonight and work on it in stages. Don’t worry about that.” “Okay.” Freddie seemed to collapse into herself in a way that worried him. This was old Freddie, shrinking Freddie. He wanted his confident Freddie back. She gave him a little wave. “Go deal with the movers.” “I’ll text you when they’re done.” “Fine.” He gave her a swift kiss on the cheek as he left the kitchen, another shout from the living room claiming his attention. When he was finally able to look up from making decisions, Freddie was long gone.

Freddie waited at the crosswalk, bouncing on her toes as she waited for the walk signal. Her entire body was electrified, ready to run. She couldn’t figure out why she felt so panicked. Getting the go ahead to cross, she practically sprinted across the intersection, walking as fast as her legs would take her back to her own apartment. Geez. What’s the matter with me? Forcing her stride to slow, Freddie glanced into a wide window looking in on a busy restaurant. It seemed to have been taken over by a party of some kind, with people milling around a central someone who was apparently the guest of honor. Even the people having conversations at the fringes of the room seemed aware of the tall man holding court in the middle of the big room. Her stomach gave a sick roll and the sight of the raucous, shifting crowd focused on a solitary person made her want to flee again. She forced herself to stay and breathe, identifying the source of the emotion that spurred her back to her apartment like a rabbit seeking its burrow. Ah. That’s it. She groaned to herself. Thanks, Universe. This was like a big Monty Python hand coming out of the sky, pointing at the riotous party with its human centerpiece. Here’s your metaphor for the thing you fear most, Freddie. Enjoy. The chaotic scene in James’ apartment had also been like a real-life version of the social media whirlwind that had freaked her out so much, with everyone in the immediate vicinity wanting—no, needing—James’ immediate attention. Demanding he pay attention, make decisions. The realization eased the racing of her heart a little, and she resumed walking at a more normal pace, her hand pressed over her chest. Another block and Freddie felt almost ashamed of herself, fleeing the scene of James’ apartment like that. The poor guy was just dealing with movers, not crazed fans. The hustling throng of workers didn’t really want anything to do with James, they just wanted to haul his stuff in, collect their tip, and get out. But unease blossomed in her stomach again when she thought of those fans and their inevitable demands on him. She could see herself shoved aside by a mob, forever on the outside as James tried to respond to an increasing tide of people.

Two years ago, she had let him go with only a little twinge of pain, liking his easy friendship and loving the sex, but not ready to change her life or her career for him and being a little freaked out by his readiness for something bigger and more permanent. They’d been at different stages, their lives not fitting together and their goals conflicting. But now, their connection was electric. Insistent. Her instincts were protective. Of him, of herself. Of the bond that she believed was being formed. Of the fact that they were now both moving in parallel with their careers and doing it in the same city. She wanted to find a place where they could both disappear. And that was ridiculous. James’s entire career was based on being visible, being seen. His entire job was one big Look at me! Reaching her apartment building, Freddie sighed. Cath was right. They were going to have to talk.

“Thanks, man.” The moving foreman clapped his hand on James’ shoulder as he pocketed the generous tip James had handed him and took the clipboard containing the thick stack of paperwork James had had to sign. “No, thank you. That was some fast work.” James looked around at his apartment, a jumble of furniture, cardboard boxes, and pictures leaning against the wall. A swell of hopelessness rose like a wave, threatening to drag him under. He was a believer in breaking big tasks down into smaller ones, making the seemingly impossible into the definitely manageable, but this looked infinite. Overwhelming. Like the situation with Freddie and his career. “Don’t worry, it will all be dealt with before you know it.” The foreman winked. Bewildered for a moment, James thought the other man was referring to his career, Freddie, anything but the chaos in his apartment. My apartment. My. Apartment. The enormity of what he had taken on—a thirty-year mortgage, permanence, responsibility—loomed like a giant, black pit at his feet. Though it was only an apartment and a storage unit in the basement of the building, the fact that he couldn’t wait out a lease, drop off the keys, and walk away was unprecedented in his life. Thirty years. Where was he going to be in thirty years? Here? His mind rebelled. No. He wasn’t going to be living in a bachelor pad on his own in thirty years. For crying out loud, by then… By then, if he was anything like Alexander, he would be a grandfather. He blinked as the door closed behind the moving crew supervisor and he was left alone. Well, if grandfatherhood was his ultimate goal, he’d have to become a father first.

Unbidden, an image of Freddie holding a child flooded his brain. He could see it as if it were in front of his eyes. Light streaming onto the side of her face from a nearby window, her expression rapt and joyous as she looked at the newborn in her arms. Freddie. He rubbed his forehead and ed his promise to text her when the move was over. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a photo of his living room and tapped out a message. Hey there. Move done. Apartment in chaos. You ok? Reply dots pulsed almost immediately. James waited, impatience mounting. Yeah, fine. Just didn’t want to get impaled by a ing chair leg. Understood. We on for tomorrow? When? How about morning? Yes. Where? I’ll figure it out. Have a nice night. You too. James felt the ridiculous urge to send a heart emoji. Or a kiss. Immediately, he gave himself a little pep talk. Oh my God are you that much of a fool? How fast do you want to drive her to the nearest exit? Taking a deep breath, he pocketed his phone and headed for his bedroom. He needed to dig through some boxes and find some sheets if he was going to get any sleep tonight.

Freddie looked at her phone screen, frowning. Sometimes she hated texting. She really wanted to send him a silly emoji, something to break the tense mood that seemed to pervade their short messages. But that felt wrong. Too familiar and cozy after her panicked dash out of his apartment. Mixed messages. Putting her phone back on the coffee table, she leaned back on the couch and restarted the movie she had paused to text James. Lying on her side next to Freddie, Miranda stretched, her shuddering legs pushing her spine into Freddie’s thigh. Stroking the cat, Freddie only half paid attention to the movie she had seen too many times before. Girl meets inappropriate boy, gets kissed in field full of poppies. Girl gets whisked away from boy by her chaperone, gets engaged to guy who is, come on, most definitely gay, gets kissed by inappropriate boy again, breaks engagement, ends up marrying inappropriate boy in the face of familial disapproval. A classic tale, really. Not that anything like that had happened to Freddie. First of all, her family had loved James. And also, with the exception of that summer, she always just bounced from short-term dating situation to short-term dating situation, her job schedule eternally conflicting with the schedule of anyone she was even remotely interested in. Until now. But what were she and James doing, really? She could practically hear Cath’s voice in her head. Really? You’re going to try to figure this out on your own? Seems like the question requires the other party to weigh in. Just a thought. “Shut up,” Freddie grumbled, turning up the volume on the movie, trying to drown out her thoughts. Quiet period pieces weren’t really ideal for that, though. She should have gone with something that had car chases or explosions. Except she wasn’t really a car chase or explosion kind of girl. Her stomach growled and one of Miranda’s eyes slitted open, her pupil focused on Freddie in a malevolent glare.

“Fine, cat. I’ll stop disturbing you.” Mentally reviewing her fridge, she didn’t have anything that would do for dinner. Pausing the movie again, she heaved herself to her feet and went to the kitchen, rummaging in the junk drawer for her favorite Chinese food menu. “I don’t even know why I’m looking at this. I know I’m going to get pot stickers and mustard greens with soy,” she told the cat, who had sprawled across the place where Freddie had been sitting, effectively taking up most of the space on the little love seat. “Don’t get comfortable over there,” she said. “I’m coming back.” Returning to the sofa, she shoved Miranda aside as she sat and picked up her phone again to order dinner.

James carried yet another box of kitchen stuff and set it just outside the door to the kitchen. He had originally started piling boxes at the far end of the small room, realizing quickly that would be a losing strategy. He would fill up the entire space in no time at all, leaving no room to maneuver or put things away. This process was going to be like one of those cheap plastic number puzzles, moving one thing out of the way to position another, only to find that new thing was in the way of something else. A sharp pang in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he searched local listings for someplace that looked good that would deliver. Chinese. Yes. Skimming the online menu, he made a few selections and called to place his order. With food on its way, he felt ready to tackle the bed so he could fall into it as soon as he was ready. Rubbing his aching lower back, he walked back to the bedroom. He opened his pocket knife with a practiced flick and sliced open the tape on the next box. When he saw the dark blue fabric of his comforter, he closed his knife and nearly sat on the floor in relief. Instead of indulging his exhaustion, he pocketed the knife and started pulling out the bedding, throwing it on the bed in a disordered heap. The doorbell rang just as he was floating the comforter over the tightly tucked sheets. “Excellent.” Told the doorman to let the guy up, grinning at the savory smells that floated up from the bag full of containers that was handed off to him. Moving over to his dining table, he shoved a couple of boxes aside with his foot so he could free up enough space to sit. Laying out the containers, he realized he’d subconsciously ordered for two, including Freddie’s favorite pot stickers. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he photographed the spread, then went into the bedroom and photographed the bed, a pile of softness in the whirl of cardboard chaos. Texting both photos to Freddie, he typed a message. Chinese food and a bed to fall into. Ultimate luxury now. A short pause and Freddie responded with an open-mouthed emoji and a message. Did you order from Lin’s?

Yeah, why? Aren’t they good? Even got your favorite pot stickers. Like I forgot you weren’t here. A short pause while dots pulsed. Maybe she didn’t like pot stickers anymore. I ordered from Lin’s tonight too. They’re awesome. My favorite. A bolt of something that could have been shock and could have been low blood sugar coursed through James. Well. Coincidence? I ordered pot stickers too. An absurd swell of pride made James’ mouth curl into a smile. Better eat while they’re hot. Night. Night. Clicking his phone off, he was about to set the phone down when it chimed again. Lifting it again, a red heart emoji glowed on the darkened screen.

Chapter 11

Staring into her closet, Freddie groaned. Digging her phone out of the pocket of her robe, she texted James. What am I supposed to wear? Freddie chewed on her lip and stared at her phone’s screen, feeling ridiculous. When did she ever worry about her wardrobe? She was pretty sure that whatever they would do in the afternoon wouldn’t be fancy, but how un-fancy should she go? An afternoon in New York could be anything from a coffee to a museum to a climbing gym. Oh, no. I am not going to a climbing gym, she thought. Her phone chimed and she breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at the reply. Jeans. Comfortable shoes. Be ready to walk. Just be you. Putting her phone on her bedside table, she opened her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, tossing them on the bed next to Miranda, who glared at her as if she had nearly missed getting bombed. “Get over yourself, girlfriend.” Rummaging through her hangers, she found a top she almost forgot she owned. The lady in the shop had pushed her from maybe to yes when she came out of the dressing room, but Freddie had never been confident enough to wear it. The neck scooped lower than she was comfortable with on a first or second date, and it seemed that most of her social life lately consisted of first or second dates. This is hardly a first or second date. Go for it. Untying her bathrobe, she dressed and hunted for her favorite black combat boots, finally locating them under the bed. Surveying the total effect in her fulllength mirror, she wasn’t sure what to make of her reflection. She looked a little punk rock, a little seductive, and a whole lot not-Freddie, despite the fact that

these were all her clothes. She was about to reconsider and change when her doorbell rang. Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she walked to the intercom box and buzzed James in. A thud from the bedroom announced the fact that Miranda had abandoned her bed, and a few seconds later the cat approached, bumping her chin against Freddie’s shin and winding her body around her ankles. Stooping, Freddie picked the cat up and cradled her to her chest as she opened the door to her apartment. “That’s enough of that, Miss Moo. I’m not going for a repeat of your escape artist tendencies just so you can be scooped up by Mr. Professionally Handsome Actor Person.” Miranda purred as Freddie scratched under her chin and listened to the thumping of James’ footsteps ascending the stairs. When he finally rounded the last landing to reach her floor, she couldn’t repress the grin that flooded across her face. “There’s my two best girls,” James said, a similar grin splitting his face. Miranda started pressing her paws against Freddie’s chest, eager to get to James. “Come on in. This flirt wants her James cuddle time,” Freddie said, turning into the apartment and trying to contain the cat. “Mmm. Which flirt are we talking about?” James asked, closing the door behind him and pressing a fleeting kiss to Freddie’s mouth as he took Miranda out of her arms. “Hey there, sweet girl, did you miss me?” Crooning at the cat, he looked sideways at Freddie and winked. “Stinker,” Freddie said as James smoothed Miranda’s fur. The cat shot Freddie a smug look. “You keep it up, girlfriend, but I’m the one going… Where am I going with you?” She grabbed a black leather moto jacket out of her little coat closet and shrugged into it. “Hey, wait.” James let Miranda down to the floor and the cat stalked back to the bedroom, her tail erect with displeasure at being dismissed. “That’s a hot outfit.” His gaze ranged up and down her body, heating Freddie from the inside. “Very hot. Very nice.” Stepping up to her, he rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed another kiss to her lips, a light, teasing caress.

Freddie took a deep breath, her muscles seeming to melt away as she craved more. Lush kisses instead of friendly ones. The feel of James’s hard chest against her. The warmth of his bare skin against hers. We could stay in, not go anywhere… Or maybe they should get going before her libido completely replaced her brain.

“Damn,” James said, drinking in the sight of Freddie’s instant arousal. She was flushed from her cheekbones to her chest and her pupils had dilated until her brown eyes were inky-black. Get going. Get out now. The view that Freddie’s unusually (well, for her) low-cut top was making James consider abandoning the go-slow plan, chuck the date out the window, and spend the afternoon re-learning Freddie’s body in the pale autumn sunlight. No. Jaw clenching, he extended a hand. “Ready to go, Ms. Alves?” Her hand landed in his with a stinging slap and she gave him a tight smile. “Sure, Mr. Martin. Care to tell me exactly where we’re going yet?” “Nope.” He waited while she looped her bag over her head, settled it on her shoulder, and grabbed her keys. When she had locked up her apartment, he led her down the stairs and out onto the street. “I hope you’re hungry, though.” She eyed him sideways as they walked down the sidewalk. “Really.” “Yep.” Leading the way to the subway, he tried and failed to suppress a smile. “I gotta warn you, though, since you’re a hardened, jaded New Yorker, that this is going to be a pretty touristy thing.” “You promised me touristy. So far you haven’t really delivered on that.” “Well, that’s about to change.” Freddie didn’t respond until they were through the turnstiles and waiting on the downtown platform. Looking up at him, she counted off on her fingers. “Hungry plus touristy plus lots of walking plus downtown. Are we going on a food tour?” James felt his jaw go slack. “Chelsea Market. It was that obvious?” “You weren’t so very subtle, Sherlock.” Freddie’s eyes twinkled, taking the sting out of her words. “Is it something you want to do?”

Freddie grinned. “Sure. I haven’t ever done the market. Or the High Line, for that matter. One of those things I always figured I’d do…sometime. And sometime ends up being later. Which ends up being never.” “Outstanding,” James said as the train rushed into the station. “Because I have tickets for a tour of the market with tastings and then we’re going to check out the High Line.” They boarded the train and stood facing each other, gripping a pole and grinning at each other inanely. “So how is the apartment this morning?” Freddie asked. James shrugged. “Still a cardboard nightmare. I’ll get there. But it’s going to take a lot of work.” Freddie’s eyebrows went up. “From the pictures you sent me, the scene yesterday was a serious cardboard nightmare.” “You know it. Like locusts in reverse. Boxes and furniture just kept piling up. I couldn’t believe I had that much stuff. After all that living out of a suitcase in a hotel, I was like, ‘Do I really need this stuff?’” Freddie shot him a speculative glance. “And do you?” James rubbed his chin and tightened his grip on the pole, shifting his weight as the subway screeched and slowed for a station stop. “I don’t know. I mean, I bought a place to live for the first time in my life. That’s a pretty big step. It feels like it needs stuff to fill it. Is that stupid?” Freddie huffed a laugh. “You’re talking to the woman who got a cat. I think that’s the definition of anchoring yourself with something.” “Anchoring. Huh.” James frowned, thinking. “Wrong word?” James blinked. “No, actually. Exactly the right word. I want to be here. I want to anchor myself here. It’s why I bought instead of rented. The uncertainty of the business be damned. I don’t want anything more to do with Los Angeles.”

A tightness that Freddie hadn’t been aware of snapped loose in her chest. He’s really staying this time. “So you’re committed to New York?” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Instead, she focused on a shirt button at her eye level. James brought two fingers under her chin, exerting gentle pressure upward. She lifted her gaze to a button above her eye level, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he said, his low voice carrying over the rumble and whine of the subway as they swayed to accommodate its movement. “I’m committed to…New York.” Freddie swallowed, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. Trying for a light tone, she looked him in the eyes. “I hope New York appreciates the commitment.” James’s mouth quirked sideways and his fingers slid from her chin, his hand dropping to his side. “Yeah. I hope so too.” With an effort, Freddie dragged her gaze away from James’s intense stare. Glancing down the subway car, she noticed a young woman staring at her, hostility practically radiating from her expression. Blinking pointedly at her, Freddie stared back until the other woman looked away. That’s right. Excuse you, Ms. Rude. Glancing up at James, she saw that he had noticed the stranger as well, his brows knitting. “Problem?” she asked. James seemed to return to the present moment with an effort, looking down at her with an echo of his usual easy smile. “Nah. How many problems can I have if I’m hanging out with you?” Hanging out. Huh. Freddie wasn’t sure she liked the distancing, casual sound of that. “Do you know her?” “The woman who was staring at you? No. Why?” “I can’t think of a reason why a total stranger would glare at me except for the

fact that I’m with you.” James shrugged. “Don’t know her, don’t want to know her if she’s glaring at my date.” Date. That was better. Freddie stepped closer to him, hooking one finger into the pocket of his jeans, pulling him closer. He came without resistance, smiling at her as he stepped between her and the hostile woman, his hand coming up and tangling in her hair, tugging her head to the side. She allowed her head to list over and he dipped his head to press a swift kiss to her neck. “Not fair,” she said, shuddering at the sensations shooting through her from the fleeting touch. He straightened, smirking down at her. “Wasn’t meant to be fair.” Freddie’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “Smug, aren’t you?” “Well, I have reason to be. I’m with you.” “Nicely played.” Freddie’s cheeks heated at the compliment and she looked at the floor of the subway car, not knowing what to say next. “We get off here,” James said as the car lurched to a stop. Freddie glanced one more time at the hostile stranger, but she seemed to be ignoring Freddie now, looking at her phone with an absorption that looked almost ostentatious.

Keeping his hand on the small of Freddie’s back, James stepped quickly, wanting to put distance between him and whoever that woman was on the train. He thought he had fooled Freddie with his nonchalance, but he couldn’t be sure. Stepping between Freddie and the openly hostile woman, shielding Freddie from her malice, may have been too obvious. But the situation troubled him. He had signed up for the spotlight, as much as it surprised and alarmed him when it came in the form it did. Freddie hadn’t. James took Freddie’s hand after they ed through the turnstiles and they headed up the stairs to the street. The sun was bright and James dug his sunglasses out of his pocket, flipping them open and sliding them onto his nose one-handed. “Ooh, I see that Mister Cool has shown up to play.” Freddie’s voice teased and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Squeezing her hand, he tugged her closer. “You’re cruising for some special treatment later on if you keep that up, Miss Smart Mouth.” He spoke without thinking and a bolt of desire ran though him as he played his own words back in his mind. Freddie’s teeth worried her lower lip. “That a threat or a promise?” James’s mind whirred as his feet continued to move down the sidewalk. Were they ready? Was now the time? “Could be either. What do you want it to be?” She waited a few moments, their steps slowing as they reached the glass awning over the market’s entrance. “I think we’ve done slow long enough.” James stopped and faced her, pulling her to the building’s red brick wall to get out of the way of ers-by. “No fair making my knees weak when I’m trying to get somewhere, Fred.” “Hey, you were unfair to me on the train. Turnabout is fair play, I say.” “Is that a threat or a promise?” “Can’t it be both?” Freddie’s cheeks were pink, but her eyes were glittering with

satisfaction. “You’re bad. Very bad.” James trailed one finger across her blush, gratified to see it deepen, but her eyes remained steady, looking straight into his. “Guilty.” “Come on.” James twined his fingers in hers, pulling her after him as he opened the door to the market for her. “I’m going to need something to eat. I think I’m going to need my stamina up for today.” “That would be a true statement,” Freddie said as she walked ahead of him into the bustling crowd. James nearly groaned in frustration and anticipation. This was going to be a long date, even if they only stayed five minutes. And the full tour was three hours.

I’m going to murder him. Freddie narrowed her eyes at James as he winked and popped a bit of pastry into his mouth. Two more hours? she mouthed. He nodded, his eyes dancing with amusement. She took a deep breath and uncapped the water bottle that Darrell, their Texasbred tour guide, handed her as he checked them in, using their names at every opportunity in order to memorize them. “Isn’t that right, Freddie?” Darrell said. Her attention hooked by the use of her name, Freddie gave the man a look she hoped was attentive, but she was sure she hadn’t fooled him a whit. He kept up his spiel, hardly seeming to stop for breath. It was interesting, Freddie thought guiltily. The man knew seemingly everything about the history of the giant old brick building and the trains that had run past and through it, beginning as vast warrens of bakeries and meat packing plants, the location’s seedy history in the late twentieth century, and then its dramatic reinvention as a tourist attraction. It was just that Freddie was too preoccupied for history lessons. She wasn’t inclined to focus on the past just now. Her mind kept drifting to the future, and the photo of James’s big, inviting-looking bed he’d sent her last night. Darrell directed the group to the next spot and they were on the move again. They had crossed and recrossed the halls of the market, sampling fried Oreos, lobster bisque, pork pies, halvah, and Freddie didn’t even know what else. As the morning slowly cranked toward the afternoon, the market went from bustling to outright crowded and Freddie had to sharpen her attention to stay with the group and keep from getting trampled as they zigzagged around. Finally landing in front of a gelato stand in a quieter corner of the market, Freddie received a tiny cone with a generous dollop of cold, minty, creamy sweetness. Despite feeling full, Freddie slurped at the dessert. It seemed to clear her head. She checked her phone. One hour more. James came up behind her, his warm bulk making her body vibrate like a tuning fork. “We’re headed up to the High Line next,” he said, his warm breath fanning her

ear. “Home stretch.” “Not a moment too soon,” Freddie said. “All right then, we’re going to head out over here.” Darrell directed them out into a hallway filled with historical photos, instructing them to take a look and compare them with the views they would see in a few moments. Emerging outside, a freshening wind whipped Freddie’s hair around her face. She hunched her shoulders and zipped up her jacket. Ascending the steps to what had been an elevated railroad track that had been reimagined as an urban park, Freddie followed Darrell with the rest of the group. James walked beside her, his fingers laced in hers. She gazed around at the ordered gardens, now looking austere and spare, almost all leaves gone from the trees. The scenery was still spectacular, boats chugging along the Hudson River, the view jumbled with new and old architecture. James dropped her hand and walked over to Darrell, shaking his hand and saying something that made the other man twinkle with glee and glance at Freddie. Despite the chilly wind, her face heated and she looked at the walkway. Coming back to her, James said, “I gave him his tip and told him we were cutting out a bit early.” He swallowed with apparent difficulty. “You ready to get out of here?” Freddie nodded. “Really ready.” “My place or yours?” “Miranda will be jealous.” “Of you or of me?” “Of me. She wants all of your attention. I vote yours.” “You okay with the cardboard craziness?” “You showed me the bed’s made. What more do we need?” He grinned. “Good point.”

“Springing for a taxi, way to make a splash, big guy,” Freddie said as she scooted across the bench seat of the yellow cab. James slid in beside her, slamming the door and giving the driver his address. “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself after all those crowds.” Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he tugged her to him, her hip bumping his. The dipping neckline of her provocative blouse showed her cleavage and only the presence of the cabbie and the knowledge that anyone could see into the cab kept him from exploring with hands, lips, tongue… Simmer down. He wrapped his palm over her shoulder, the buttery leather of her jacket smooth under his palm. Freddie tilted her head, looking up at him. “Or maybe you were afraid of seeing another stalker fan type on the subway.” Damn. She was too perceptive. “Odds are against that happening, but honestly? I didn’t like the way that woman looked. And the subway is efficient—when it works—but it’s also simultaneously public and confining.” itting his unease made him feel exposed, paranoid. But if he and Freddie were going to take this next step, he needed to be fully committed. No hiding, no holding back. They were in this together and he needed to treat her as a partner, not someone to be protected and sheltered. Freddie’s mouth flattened, then she shrugged, her gaze looking past the driver’s head at the traffic on Ninth Avenue. “Nothing I can do about a bunch of ladies finding you the hottest thing since the George Foreman grill.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You sure you’re okay with everything?” She inhaled and held the breath for a moment, then said in a rush, “As long as they’re just looking, yeah. I can’t help where their eyes stray. Just as long as that’s the only thing that’s straying.” “You’re not saying you think I’ll stray?” “No…”

James bent forward so he could look her full in the face. “Then what are you saying?” Freddie met his gaze without flinching. “That maybe some of this will start to go to your head. Will you still be you if—no, when the adoration gets big enough to be a distraction?” Thinking about Alexander’s warnings, James said, “You think my head is going to be turned by a bunch of strangers? They don’t even know me. How is that any kind of anything?” Freddie bit her lower lip, worrying it for a moment as she thought. “I don’t know. I’m not an actor. I don’t have that kind of personality. I don’t seek the spotlight or applause or anything like that. But I’ve seen plenty of people who do. It gets weird for some people.” James was about to automatically deny any desire for any of those things, but innate honesty made him stop and evaluate. He had loved the applause ringing through the theater when he had done stage work. The louder the better. And when people rose to their feet to give the cast a standing ovation? Intoxicating. And Alexander had warned him about this very thing—fans, hero worship, all the distractions they represented. It had separated the older man from a woman he had loved once. But this in-person, individualized attention was different. When he took a curtain call, the applause was for the performance. This random attention on the subway or on the ’net, that was more personal. But also not personal because these people didn’t know him. And that was unnerving as hell. He wanted to be recognized for what he did, not for what he looked like. He couldn’t even tell himself comfortable lies about the attention he was getting. It definitely wasn’t about the work. It had nothing to do with his acting. Not a single episode of the show had aired yet. No, all this was based on public relations and marketing. Pure spin. And likewise, it made his head spin.

Freddie snuck a look up at James’ profile as the taxi lurched slowly uptown. He looked… worried, despite his assurances. “Care to tell me what’s going on up there?” Reaching a hand up, she tapped his temple with a finger. “With you being so much taller, I sometimes worry you’re not getting enough oxygen.” James smiled at the joke, a distracted, distant expression. Freddie’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She bit her lip. “Seriously. You’re starting to worry me.” He focused at this. His clasp on her shoulder tightened and he turned to look at her again. “No. Don’t worry. I’m just sorting through some of the stuff I’ve learned in the last few weeks. Alexander Fox took me out for a drink a while ago. Said some things that I’ve been thinking about ever since.” Freddie blinked, shaking her head. “Alexander Fox gave you advice.” She chuckled in disbelief. “Wow. Okay.” “He’s on the show.” James’ expression went defensive. “But I think he’s really on my side in this.” She folded her lips into her mouth and looked at him. “What did he say?” “Well, he said I reminded him of himself back in the day.” “Oh geez.” Freddie took a deep breath, turned to face forward, her eyes unfocused. “Wow.” “What’s the matter?” “My mother loves Alexander Fox. Like, still practically swoons when he’s in something. I have a little bit of a sense of how popular he was ‘back in the day.’ He was huge. The panty-droppingest thing of the eighties. And he thinks you’re the next him?” James shifted on the taxi seat and looked straight ahead. “I didn’t say that. He said something about seeing something of himself in me. Not like I’m the next him. No.”

If it wasn’t so serious, Freddie would have laughed outright at his alarmed expression. “One thing at a time. You said he gave you advice. What was it?” James rubbed his fingers across his mouth and Freddie covered his hand with her own, pulling his fingers away from his mouth, fighting back the nerves that his delay produced. Alexander Fox must have told him to ditch the behind-the-scenes girl, the one not ready for the paparazzi and the red carpets. She swallowed around the lump rising in her throat. “Really. You can tell me.” “Can I?” James turned back to her again and Freddie was struck by how uncertain his eyes were. “Yeah. Come on. You’re killing me over here. Put me out of my misery if that’s what you’re going to do.” James’s eyes closed briefly and he huffed a short laugh. “Put you out of your misery? When I’ve been worried about you bolting again if I got serious?” Guilt rocketed through Freddie, increasing the pressure in her throat. “You were worried that I wasn’t all in?” Shoulders shrugging up, James said, “Well, we have a history. I was scared of… scaring you off. Again.” Freddie laid a hand on his knee. “But you’re here. And you said you’re here to stay. That makes all the difference.” “So before, it wasn’t about not wanting me?” James’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible over the taxi’s badly tuned engine. Freddie shook her head. “No, if you had stayed here, I think we would have stayed together. But I wasn’t ready to drop everything and go across the continent. And honestly, if you had stayed, I’m not sure I would have been ready for anything big. It might have ended more badly.”

“More badly? Grammar much?” His eyes twinkled with humor. Swatting his knee, Freddie said, “You know what I mean.” “I think I do. And you’re probably right.” The humor in his expression softened to something more tender and sad, and Freddie’s heart lurched. He was so open, so defenseless. “Well, if I’ve seemed nervous it wasn’t about not wanting you, it was about you getting another offer to go somewhere and leaving me behind.” Freddie swallowed and forced herself to keep meeting his eyes. “Or deciding that being famous was too fun and you wanted to be free to enjoy it. I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye so easily now.” “Is that so?” The skin around his eyes tightened. Freddie swallowed again, her throat dry now. “Yeah.” James pulled her tighter to him, his free hand cupping her chin. His deep brown eyes scanned her face. “I’m not planning on going anywhere—at least, not permanently. I might have to go on location for a while or something. But I bought that apartment because I want New York to be my home base. I’m here to stay.”

James’s hand trembled as he reached for the door handle of the taxi and he almost laughed. They had come together so easily that first night. And now he was as nervous as if it was his first time entirely. Wrestling the stiff, creaking door open, he reached for Freddie’s hand, grinning through his nervousness as he caught the ardent light in her eyes. Pulling her onto the sidewalk and slamming the taxi door closed, James paused. He settled his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “You’re still good with this?” Freddie’s eyes closed briefly, then reopened, flicking upwards in an exasperated eye-roll. “Yes. How many yesses do you need?” “All of them. Every single one.” Sliding his hands from her shoulders down her back, he pulled her body flush with his, her responsive shiver making his mouth tug into a smile. Ducking his head, he murmured in her ear. “Your yes is everything.” “You’ve got it.” Freddie’s hands landed on his cheeks and she shoved his face in front of hers. “You’ve got it. Take advantage of it. Take advantage of me. Now. Don’t make me beg.” James didn’t resist as her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to meet hers. His arms tightened around her and they sank into a deep, allconsuming kiss. James shuddered as they broke apart and he wrapped his hand around hers, pulling her to the foyer and nodding at the amused face of the doorman. Waiting for the elevator, he merely held her hand, but once they were inside, he pulled her to him again, winding his fingers in her hair and tilting her head back for more. Her lips were hot against his, responsive and ravenous. She tasted of the cool, minty gelato she’d had at the market. She smelled of citrus and spice. Freddie. The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. James nearly didn’t notice, lost in the taste of her mouth, the feel of her body pressing against his. As the door started to slide closed again, he reached out, forcing it open again as he straightened up. His eyes focused on hers, noting the details of her arousal: her

dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and wet, parted lips. Spinning her around, he pressed his front to her back and walked her to his front door, enjoying the sweet torture of her body against his. Pulling his keys out of his pocket, he realized his hands were still shaking. Freddie’s head nuzzled back against his chest. “Going to get that door open any time soon?” James tried to steady his hand as he guided the key into the lock. “Just don’t want to rush anything.” “Dude. We’ve done the go-slow route. I’m done.” An idea started to blossom in his mind as he twisted the key and opened the door. “I’m not.”

Freddie stiffened as the door to James’ apartment swung open. What the hell? He was going to continue torturing her? Pulling out of his grasp, she stepped through the doorway and turned in the tiny space available among the stacks of cardboard boxes and randomly placed furniture. “I thought we were on the same page,” she said as he closed the door and shot the deadbolt. “What do you mean?” He turned back to her and she was gratified by the raw look on his face, the undisguised ion. “I thought we were done with the no-sex stuff. Are you playing with me?” “Playing with you? Maybe.” She would have been infuriated, except she could see the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, the teasing expression that she knew all too well. His hand came up, traced the neckline of her blouse with the lightest of touches. She shivered and leaned into him, but he pulled back, keeping the feathery. Frustrating. Freddie’s breath hitched and she glared at James, leaning away. He raised his hand, palm open to her, the smile in his eyes spreading across his face, his grin shining. “Yeah. You’re definitely playing games, James Martin.” His eyes scanned her face. “Do you want to play with me?” Ah. Freddie suppressed the hot, urgent feelings that James had stoked in the elevator. Looking at James’ gorgeous, full lips, she said, “I can play as long as you can.” “A challenge. I like it.” James’ response produced a fluttering feeling in Freddie’s stomach. He seemed far more ready for… whatever game they were playing. “Yeah. Challenge.” Freddie’s throat felt thick. Damn him for being so blasé.

Or was he really? Freddie stepped in to him, skimmed her hand up the back of his neck, cupping the back of his head and pulling his head down toward her. Skating her tongue over the edge of his ear, she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, raking her teeth across its surface. He shuddered. Right. Game on.

Oh, Freddie was going to make this very hard. Or harder. He was already fully hard, his dick pressing against his jeans with an urgency that threatened to override the hazy plan that had formed in his mind just a few minutes before. Swallowing hard, he summoned up the will to keep himself from just lifting Freddie off her feet, carrying her into the bedroom, and ripping off her clothes. That would be fun. But if he could do this right, it would be even more fun. Taking her hands in his, he turned and walked backward to the bedroom, stroking the palms of her hands with his fingertips as lightly as he could. Her shoulders shivered and she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “What are you up to?” she asked. “If I told you, it might ruin it.” “I doubt it.” Reaching the bedroom, he released her hands and lowered sheer fabric blinds over each of the windows, affording them privacy while still letting the mellow, golden afternoon sunlight into the room. Freddie didn’t move, though her eyes tracked him as he moved around the room. Returning to her, he stood close enough that he thought he could feel the heat radiating from her body. “You’re awfully still.” “I’m waiting.” “Hmmm. You okay with the uncertainty?” She cocked her head. “Let’s just say I’m intrigued.” “Good. Close your eyes. Keep them closed.”

Freddie looked for a moment like she was about to argue or ask questions, then her eyelids slid down, her long, dark lashes fanning against her cheeks. Her lips parted in an uncertain smile. James took a deep breath and bent over, brushing light kisses across each eyelid. Her smile broadened the tiniest bit. He trailed his fingers along her jawline and her chin lifted in response. Leaning closer, he dragged his lips down the column of her neck, giving her the tiniest of nibbles at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She shuddered and he pulled back, watching her expression. Her eyes squeezed tighter, as if she had to make an effort to keep them closed. Turning his attention to her clothes, James grasped the tab of the zipper on her moto jacket and tugged it down, releasing each tooth with excruciating slowness. In response, her back straightened and her shoulders squared. When the zipper reached the bottom and the jacket fell open, he ran his hands over her shoulders, the silky material of her top sliding under his palms. Pushing the jacket down her arms, he stopped when it reached her elbows. “What—” Freddie bit her lips together as he shushed her and moved as quietly as he could around behind her. Pushing her curls aside, he kissed the back of her neck, flicking his tongue and blowing across the spot. She shivered again and he pushed the jacket all the way off her arms, letting it fall to the floor. Circling her again, he took in every detail of her expression and posture, the pink flush that ran from her cheeks down her neck to her chest, the quiver of her eyelashes on her cheeks, the slight flaring of her nostrils as she inhaled, waiting for his next move. When he traced his fingertips along the neckline of her blouse, she bit the edge of her lip and swallowed. Instead of exploring the alluring line of her cleavage, he brought his hands to skim the outer curves of her breasts, the soft material whisper-light against his skin. Her breathing sped up a tiny amount and the flush in her skin darkened to a deeper rose. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Am I driving you crazy yet?”

Was he for real? Driving her crazy? Um, yes. That would be a definite yes. She nodded, her head feeling loose and disconnected—a marionette controlled by shaking hands. His breath heated her ear. “Good.” Freddie stood in her self-imposed darkness, waiting for his next move. He might be driving her crazy, but she had to it that the insanity was delicious. She may have been shy in the past, but her personality had always been straightforward. She saw the things she wanted directly, a straight line without detours. Now James was taking the scenic route, and she found she was loving it. His clothing rustled and she felt his hands at her feet, apparently undoing the laces of her boots. He grasped her leg and lifted first one foot out and then the other, peeling her socks off for good measure. She staggered and held on to his shoulders as she complied with his hands’ silent instructions. She let go when she had both feet flat on the floor again and she heard him stand. His hands settled on her waist, gently pushing her backward. She stepped back once, then again, then one more time before she felt the bed hit the back of her legs. She sat, half expecting him to keep undressing her right there, but instead, he picked up her hand and pressed a firm kiss into her palm. She nearly jumped with the force of the electric zing that went through her. His lips moved to her wrist, the inside of her arm, and as he pushed her sleeve up, the inside of her elbow. Freddie had never before considered just how sensitive that skin was, but she nearly moaned when his lips and tongue moved over it. Then she groaned when he did the same with her other hand and arm. Warmth washed through her. She was keyed up and yet somehow serene, nerves practically blazing with awareness of everything James was doing.

And equally aware of what he wasn’t doing. His fingers skimmed her waist and the fabric of her blouse skimmed over her belly, then her breasts. She raised her arms overhead to allow him to get it all the way off and it whispered past her face. His hands pressed her shoulders and she lay back, nearly weeping with frustration that he left her bra still on. More torture. His lips and tongue settled on her belly button and she gasped and bucked as sensation shot through her. He chuckled and she rolled her eyes behind the closed eyelids, but didn’t say a word. His lips nibbled up to the bottom of her sternum. Higher, higher, higher, she chanted internally. He stopped. Freddie nearly wailed in frustration but made herself be still. She could feel her pulse, hear it pounding. It felt like her heart was going to kick right out of her ribcage. Finally, his fingers touched the front clasp of her bra. The constriction of the band released and she inhaled sharply. A butterfly touch of lips over the top of one breast, then the other, and he lifted the cups aside. She could feel his hot breath over one nipple, but he didn’t move to touch or suck or do anything she expected. Instead, he popped the button of her jeans. She swallowed as she felt him repeat the same slow move with the zipper as he had with her jacket. She wanted to swell her belly with air, prank him by forcing the zipper open with her breath, but she kept the urge inside and let him work his slow magic. Finally, his hands slid down the sides of her hips and she lifted her butt off the bed as he gradually peeled her jeans and underwear down her legs and off. “Sit up.” He stripped her dangling bra off and with soft murmurs encouraged her to scoot back. When her back hit the pillows against the headboard, she sank into them, complying when his hands urged her knees apart. Every nerve in her body

was awake and ablaze as she waited for the sound of him moving down, of the feel of his breath where she wanted him. Instead, one long finger slid down, inside her, then back out again, using her own slickness to lubricate as he touched her, his finger moving with rhythmic confidence across her swollen clit. She swallowed and her thighs began to shake convulsively, her whole-body awareness exploding into an involuntary shout as she came, her body bucking and shivering. He pressed the heel of his hand against her as she shuddered into stillness and finally opened her eyes. James’s eyes were hooded, attentive. “How come you didn’t use your mouth?” she asked. He gave her his slowest smile. “I wanted to watch your face.”

Chapter 12

Freddie’s eyes were clear and bright as she looked at James. “Got any more plans up your sleeve, since you’re the one who’s still fully clothed?” James huffed out a laugh. “You got a problem with that?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I want to be able to see you too. It’s not fair.” Her hand drifted over the placket of his shirt, releasing the top button and tugging him to her. Surrendering the control he had exerted up until now, he obeyed and leaned in to kiss her, but her hands changed course, pivoting and pushing him back onto the pillows. Blinking in surprise, he complied, letting his body go slack. Freddie sat up and swung a leg over his hips, straddling him. “Ah.” James slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, cupping the round, muscular firmness of her backside as she unbuttoned his shirt. The slow pace he had been keeping was abandoned now that Freddie had the reins. She tugged the shirt free of his jeans, making him shiver as the fabric slid over his skin. She smoothed her hands over his chest, her touch trailing electrical currents across his body. Bending forward, she nipped one of his nipples, the slight shock of pain jolting through him then ebbing into pleasure as she soothed with her tongue. Sliding her hands lower, Freddie made short work of his belt buckle, popping open the button on his fly and sliding the zipper down in less time than he had taken with a single tooth of hers. He lifted his hips as she drew his jeans and boxers down and nearly laughed when she growled in frustration to find he still had his shoes on. They made two dull thumps as she tugged them off and dropped them to the floor. The jeans followed and James watched as she stood

and looked up and down his body, amused to see her eyes stop at his crotch. “See anything you like?” he asked. “Everything.” Her avid eyes lifted, locking to his gaze. “It’s all yours.” “Excellent.” Climbing back onto the bed, Freddie nibbled up the inside of James’s thigh, pausing at his crotch. “Careful with those teeth,” he said. Freddie smiled and bent her head to draw her tongue up his length, jolting him again when she blew a cool stream of air across him. James’s breath hissed in. “You gave me the idea. Blame yourself.” Freddie’s smile went feral, her huge eyes narrowing to glittering slits as she looked up at him. He would have responded, but his brain dissolved as her mouth closed around him, hot and soft and wet. He groaned and closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensations as she worked him deeper and deeper into her mouth, one hand wrapped around the base, tongue swirling over the head as she drew her head back, then plunging him back inside, over and over again until every muscle in his body was drawn tight as a bowstring. “This is your show, but—“ he hissed as she pulled away with a soft pop and blew again. “Oh, God.” His voice was strangled. “I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer if you keep doing that.” Her response was to take him back inside her mouth, a deep hum emanating from her throat. His release was instantaneous, rushing through his whole body and robbing him of breath. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. The heat and pressure and slickness continued, swallowing him down until he subsided back onto the bed and covered his eyes with his hand. “Holy hell, Freddie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, removing his hand from his face and looking down at her as she released his softening penis

and gave him a stern look, swallowing one last time. “Shh. I meant that to happen.” Sitting up, he trailed a finger over her cheek, her skin smooth and luminous. “Thank you.” Her expression lost its edge and she nipped at his finger as it approached her lips. “I need some water. You have a glass in your bathroom?” “Let me get it.” James slid off the bed, his knees wobbling slightly as he stood. Good grief. That was…intense. Amazing. Walking to the bathroom, he filled a glass with water and brought it back to the bed. Freddie watched him as he weaved his way through the boxes and discarded clothing, her eyes intent. He handed her the glass. “Everything okay?” She sipped, her eyes locked on his. “More than okay.”

Freddie drank some more water. Her jaw ached a bit, but it was worth a bit of soreness to see that dazed, loopy look on James’s face. He slid into bed beside her and she offered him the remaining water. “Thanks.” He drained the glass and set it on the nightstand, tugging the covers over both of them and sliding down into the bed, his hard, warm body pressing against her side. She trailed her fingers along the planes of his chest, his abs, smiling teasingly as she reversed course at his belly button. “You think you’re teasing me, but I’m down for the count for now,” he said, his dark eyes hooded and sleepy as he looked at her. “Maybe I’m teasing me.” “Well, then. Don’t let me spoil your fun.” He tugged her down under the covers, wrapping his arm around her until she was snuggled into him, the warm, familiar smell of his body drugging her senses. She felt his lips press to her forehead and then he reared his head back to look at her face. “Was the wait worth it?” Freddie scanned his eyes. Was there a trace of uncertainty? What happened? Where was the supremely confident James? Freddie took a deep breath. “Worth it? You wanted—well, I wanted too—to get back to knowing each other before we, well, before we got physical again. I think we did that. Don’t you?” The pinched look at the corners of his eyes eased. “Yeah. I think so.” “Where’s this coming from?” Freddie’s heart was a rabbit threatening to run out of her chest. “What?” James’s eyes widened, guileless. “This uncertainty. You’re usually the guy who has it all figured out.” His eyelids slid down as he puffed a self-deprecating laugh. “According to you, maybe.”

A twinge of irritation twisted Freddie’s gut. “Are we back in the, ‘I’m looking up to you and you’re so beyond me in years and experience’ and whatever else?” James’s eyes flew open and his alarmed stare made her instantly regret her words. “No, Fred.” His hand slid up her side, warmth radiating from his palm. “This has nothing to do with the differences between us and everything to do with making sure that we’re on the same page.” Freddie bit her lip. “Sorry.” His hand rubbed in soothing circles on her back, his face relaxing as his eyes met hers. “No, don’t apologize. We’ve got history. We can’t ignore it. We have to incorporate it. There’s no such thing as a real fresh start.” Blinking, Freddie realized he was right. There was no erasing their past together, even if she wanted to. Which, she didn’t. As much as their history came with the baggage of him being the guy who knew what was going on and her always lagging behind, it also contained delighted discovery and deep affection. And now? Freddie’s throat was tight and her heart thudded uncomfortably fast. Affection suddenly seemed like a tepid word for what she was feeling.

“Whoa, what’s going on in there?” James slid his hand up Freddie’s back and he tapped the back of her head with a soft finger. Her eyes had gone wide, then shuttered, as if she didn’t want him to know what she was thinking. Too late. He always wanted to know what she was thinking. She looked at him as if from behind a barrier, wary as a prey animal. A sickening, nervous thrumming started up in his gut. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” She shook her head, but her eyes were still guarded. “No. Nothing wrong.” “Your mouth says nothing, but your face says everything.” If he wasn’t so nervous, her expression would make him laugh. She was trying to make her face clear and guileless, but Freddie was no actress. Stress and worry radiated from the tension at the corners of her eyes, the set of her mouth. She shook her head. “Freddie.” He smoothed a hand over her cheek. “You’re scaring me.” She huffed a laugh as if she had been punched in the gut, her chin ducking into her collarbone. “Scaring you? What do you have to be scared of?” James scanned her face as the attempt at cover faded away and he saw the real emotion. Freddie was raw, vulnerable. She was scared too. “Fred.” Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her in for a kiss. Her muscles were stiff, her lips lacked the responsiveness he had grown used to. Nipping gently, he pulled her on top of him, smiling as her body settled over his, warm and soft, her leg sliding up the outside of his thigh. Her lips softened and her tongue curled against his. Pressing his palms to her cheeks, he pushed her face back until he could look into her eyes. “Do you trust me?” She blinked. “To do what?”

“To take care of you. Of us. To make sure this thing we have is good.” The muscles of her face tightened under his hands. “What’s the matter, Fred?” He resisted the urge to try to kiss away whatever was causing the turbulence behind her eyes, trying to breathe trust and acceptance into her as she rode the rising and falling of his chest. “What would be the matter?” she said, her jaw working sideways. He bit back irritation at her evasiveness, smoothing one hand into her hair. “You’re tense as fuck, Fred. Talk to me.” She looked at him for a long moment, then breathed a shuddering sigh, her breasts pressing into his chest. “I’m not trying to keep score, but…this means a lot to me.” Her head dipped down against his chest, her forehead resting on his collarbone. “And you think it doesn’t mean a lot to me?” He resisted the urge to pull her face back up, to make her look at him. Instead, he threaded his fingers into her hair, running his fingertips along her scalp until she groaned, the sound reverberating into his chest. “I don’t know anything when you touch me, when you look at me,” she said. Her head came up, a wild look in her eyes. “When it comes to you, I’m…” “Freddie.” His hands cupped her face again, his thumbs running along her cheekbones as he scanned her eyes. “If you need me to tell you I’m crazy about you, then here it is. I’m crazy about you.” Her eyes stopped their frantic searching and settled on him. “Really?” “Come on.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, trying to ignore the arousal building from her body pres against his. “I was the architect of the goslow plan. If all I wanted was to get off and get gone, why would I have suggested that?” Freddie’s body relaxed a fraction, her softness and warmth humming in his blood.

That slight release was ambrosia to him. “You with me?” he asked. Freddie lifted her head and looked at him, a cautious smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah.”

Emotion rushed through Freddie, threatening to overpower her. Tears prickled in her eyes and she couldn’t help a sob of an inhale. “What’s the matter now?” James’ expression was a funny mixture of worry and the barest hint of humor. “Nothing.” His thumb stroked her cheek, trailed over to drag across her lower lip. “Stop hiding. You nearly crying isn’t nothing.” Freddie took in a big breath, gathering herself. “No, I mean nothing is the matter. I’m nearly crying because everything is so great. I’m relieved, you big nincompoop.” She hit him on the shoulder with her fist, but it bounced off, a pathetic little ball of fury that he captured easily with one hand, teasing her fingers open with his own until he could kiss her palm. “Good,” he murmured into her hand. “How does that feel so good?” His lips were on her wrist now, teasing, shimmering sensations that caromed through her entire body. She closed her eyes as she felt him start to harden against her leg. Without responding, James rolled them both so he was on top of her, teasing her with rolling hips, pressing his now-hard length to her, then pulling it teasingly away. She groaned, her eyes closing. “You ready for me?” James’ breath was hot against her ear and she could only nod, an eager motion against the side of his head. His weight shifted off of her and she heard a drawer open, then close, the rustle of a condom packet ripping open. Then he was settling back between her legs, positioning himself. He paused. “Look at me, Fred.” Her eyelids snapped open. James’ dark eyes were solemn and fathomless. They held hers as he began to push inside her with excruciating slowness. She

wrapped her legs around him to encourage him, but he shook his head, never breaking eye . “No. I’m going to do this slow. I want to be present for this. Every moment. With you.” His face took on an almost meditative quality as he continued his relentless, gradual slide into her. She ran her hands along his lower back, down the curve of his ass, and he trembled at the touch. Finally, when he was fully buried into her, his eyes slid shut and he bent to kiss her, teasing her lips with his tongue and moving his hips in short, close rolls that pressed against her swollen clit and made her gasp. “You like that?” “Oh, God, yes.” “Me too. It makes you all hot and tight and wet.” He dragged his lips across her jaw and down to her neck, keeping up the relentless small movements that were ratcheting her body tighter and tighter. Teasing her neck with his tongue and teeth, he moved faster. Freddie gasped and clung tighter to him. “Come for me,” he whispered. “I need to feel you.” The words, the pressure of him over and inside her, and the tickling breath against her ear were like a key turning in a lock. Freddie shuddered and wailed as he rode out her orgasm, keeping his hips tight to hers, the pressure making rippling aftershocks. “That’s my girl,” he said, rising onto his elbows and brushing a kiss across her lips. “Now you.” Freddie gripped his butt with her hands and tilted her hips up, pleased when his face slackened with pleasure. “If my lady commands…” He slid out, almost all the way, then back in, taking his time in long, sweeping strokes that made Freddie gasp as he slid home, emptying and filling her. She gripped his shoulders, then the back of his head as

he increased the pace, making Freddie feel like she was clinging to something out of control, with no steering and no brakes. She watched his expression change, going from inwardly focused concentration to a slackening, unguarded rawness until he finally shouted hoarsely, pressing himself tightly to her and dropping his head, breathing heavily.

“So what next?” James dug in the carton of pork noodles with his chopsticks, grinning at how adorable Freddie looked with her hair still wet from the shower, practically swimming in his shirt, which was like a dress on her small frame. She could wrap a belt around her waist and put on a pair of sky-high heels and fit in on a movie premiere red carpet. “What next with what?” Freddie grabbed a pot sticker with her fingers, dipping it in soy sauce and taking a bite. “First things first. Chinese food with your hands? What kind of New Yorker are you, anyway?” Freddie frowned. “The kind that thinks that pot stickers are a delicious, slippery trap designed to decorate clothing with soy sauce, Jackson Pollock style. If someone was unpacked a little more, I’d use a fork. But your kitchen is a minefield of cardboard.” James tilted his head, acknowledging the point. “Since you’re wearing my shirt, I guess I should be grateful that you’re not dabbling in abstract art.” “So what’s the next thing you’re so curious about?” “We’ve acknowledged we’re crazy about each other.” “You itted you were crazy about me.” Mischief sparkled in her big eyes and James kicked the leg of the chair she sat in. “You nearly blubbered all over me because you were worried I wasn’t crazy about you.” Her mouth tightened, as if acknowledging a hit. “Okay, fine. If you say so.” “I do.” James took another bite of noodles, slurping them up messily. “See? You can eat like a slob because you’re not even wearing a shirt.” Freddie picked up a carton and her chopsticks, looking pointedly at his bare chest. James chewed and swallowed his mouthful of noodles. “You could go without a

shirt and I’d be perfectly fine with that.” “I’m sure the delivery guy would have been totally blasé if I’d paid for the food wearing nothing but track pants.” Freddie pursed her lips and nodded as if conceding the point, then returned her attention to her dinner. “There’s always a next time, I guess.” “You can go without a shirt around me, since I wasn’t clear enough. No flashing other dudes. Or women.” Freddie’s face went bright red and her eyes narrowed. “Oh really? I have to get your permission to do anything? Or do you only have veto power over what I do or don’t wear?” Freddie arched a saucy eyebrow as she dug a shrimp out of her carton—thankfully with chopsticks—and chewed it meditatively. Geez, way to fuck up. James’ heart twisted in his chest. “Okay. Sorry. I was trying to be funny, but…” James set his chopsticks and his container down on the table, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at Freddie with his full attention. “Your body is your body. As the guy who’s crazy about you and who you maybe have some sort of mild affection for… Let me please request that your nakedness be reserved for me. Because it’s special.” Freddie paused, took a breath, and nodded. “That’s better.”

Freddie’s heart hammered against her sternum. She hated standing up for herself. She also knew she had to do it. Especially with James. If she couldn’t draw boundaries with him, who could she draw them with? Waving her chopsticks, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “Fuck the patriarchy, know what I mean?” “Fred, you can paste that fake smile on your face, but I know I upset you. I’m sorry.” James was still sitting there, his bare chest a blatant distraction, his hands loosely clasped, elbows resting on his knees. “It’s fine. Eat your dinner.” Unearthing another shrimp, Freddie chewed it as if turning shellfish into pulp was her job and she was being paid by the hour, not the job. “Hey.” A touch on her knee. Freddie concentrated on transferring rice into her mouth, grateful for the inefficient way she used chopsticks, the task requiring all her concentration. His hand gripped her bare knee, sending electricity coursing through her body. “Hey.” Freddie swallowed, the minuscule lump of rice sticking in her throat. She lifted her eyes to meet his. James’ gaze was steady. “What’s going on here?” “I…” Freddie couldn’t corral her swirling thoughts. “I just…” “Let’s back it up. I said something stupid.” “Not stupid, just—” “Stupid. Like I had any right over you. Over your body.” His hand gripped tighter. Warm. Strong. “You staked your claim pretty thoroughly not so long ago.” Freddie tipped her

chin toward the bedroom. “Only so long as you let me. Same as I let you stake your claim on me.” “True.” Freddie set the container down on the table and looked around the cluttered room. “When do you think you’ll actually be moved in here? This looks daunting.” “You changing the subject?” Freddie picked up her water and took a sip. “Maybe.” “Are we good?” His hand was still on her knee. Freddie covered it with her own. “Yeah. We’re fine.” “Good.” James straightened up, and her knee felt cool as his hand pulled away and wrapped around his container of noodles. “So, you want to help me unpack, or was that just a very obvious way of changing the subject?” Freddie shrugged and sipped more water. “Sure. I could help.” “I’ll let you do whatever sort of unpacking you want, especially if you keep wearing my shirt.” “You like that, huh?” James’s eyes glowed with mischief. “Sure do.” Freddie shook her head. “We back to claiming again, big guy?” “Nope. Just you looking sexy as hell.” “Well if that’s the case, then…” She looked at the two big bookcases that dominated one part of the wall. “You got enough books to fill those things?” James turned to follow her gaze. “Oh, I got books to fill those things doubledeep.” “You really know how to turn a girl on, you know that?”

Getting Freddie to wear his shirt while she unpacked books was either his smartest notion or his dumbest. Smart: the shirt tails slid up every time she bent over to pull more volumes out of the box, revealing tantalizing flashes of thigh. Dumb: he had committed to unpacking for at least an hour and the sight was making him crazy with lust. “You’re never going to get this done unless you do at least one little thing every day,” she had said. He knew it was true. It was just that he really didn’t care just now. He moved to the corner and hoisted the area rug for the living room to his shoulder, musing that he would really rather carry Freddie the same way into the bedroom. Well, they had had weeks of the go-slow plan. He now knew he could resist her if he wanted to. For a while, at least. Fifty-five more minutes, maybe. Leaning the rolled-up carpet against the wall, he picked up the coffee table and moved it out of the way. Freddie rummaged in the box she had nearly emptied of books and the shirt rode up to show the edge of her panties. His breath caught in his throat. Down, boy. She wasn’t sporting a thong this time. “I hadn’t figured on getting naked when I got dressed today,” she had told him. But frankly? The bikini pants patterned with silly, pale blue dinosaurs in some sort of soft material were as alluring as any scrap of lace. Or, rather, the woman inside the panties was doing the alluring. Whatever she chose to wear was immaterial.

Blinking and turning away from the vision of unconsciously sexy, bookish femininity, James hauled the rug away from the wall and wrestled it into position, rolling it out in front of the sofa. Walking across it to retrieve the coffee table, his feet ached from their walk around the market. All those brick and cobblestone surfaces. He picked up the table and set it in front of the sofa, his attention straying again to Freddie. She stood in front of one of his bookcases, her hand on her hip, surveying the books she had already placed there. Abandoning the placement of furniture, he moved to stand beside her. “Getting ready to fulfill my sexy librarian fantasies?” Freddie gave him a look that could melt steel. “Dude. I have it on the best of authority that that is tired, clichéd nonsense.” James chuckled. “Okay. So what’s got you concentrating so hard over here?” “Well, I’ve got your biographies and other nonfiction shelved together.” She pointed at the lower shelves. “And it looks like you have plenty of thrillers. But I’m not so sure where to put this.” She held up an old paperback with a worn cover and a creased spine and James’ heart twisted. “I never figured you for a Beverly Jenkins fan.” James reached out a finger and touched the cover image showing a man about to kiss a woman. “That was my mother’s. She loved romance and Ms. Bev was her favorite.” “I didn’t know that.” James took a deep breath. “Yeah. She kept this with her through chemo and it was on her bedside table when she died.” “Oh. I’m sorry.” Freddie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Not your fault. I like having it with me. It’s like having her with me.” “This couldn’t have been hers, though.” Freddie pulled a second paperback from behind the first, its cover shiny and spine unmarked. “Nope. I stood in line to get that signed right before I left L.A.” James took the book from her hands and opened it to show the inscription.

Freddie looked at the inscription, openmouthed. “You stood in line to get a romance novel signed?” “At a romance-only bookstore in Culver City.” “Really?” “Yep. I’m that secure in my masculinity.” Freddie turned a speculative glance his way. “But have you read it?” James handed the book back to her and grinned. “Twice.”

Freddie took the two paperbacks and reached up to shelve them side by side. “I’ll just put these at your eye level, then. So you can find them easily whenever you want them.” She turned back toward him and James trailed one fingertip down the curve of her cheek. “Thanks.” “Sure.” “You can borrow them if you want. Just don’t break the spine on the signed one.” “As if I would. You’ve read it twice and it’s in pristine condition. I wouldn’t dare mess it up.” Freddie looked at the gleaming spine next to the battered one. “You’ve got both kinds of book love right there. The familiar and the reverent.” James huffed a short laugh. “Guess you’re right. Though if Mom had ever gotten a book signed by Ms. Bev, she probably wouldn’t have carried it with her everywhere. She would have had it in a vault like the one they keep the U.S. Constitution in. Climate control, motion sensors, the works.” “I think I would have liked your mom.” James stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. “She definitely would have liked you.” “Would she?” Freddie’s throat closed, an irrational nervousness welling up in her as if she would actually meet the woman, face the uncertainty of whether or not she would approve of her. “For sure. She was a lot like you. Took no nonsense from anyone. Was organized and ionate.” “Was she also short?” James shook his head. “Nope. That’s where you’re different. Mom was pretty tall, actually. Somewhere in all these boxes I have some pictures.”

“I’ll bet she was beautiful.” “What would give you that idea?” “Duh. She produced you.” “You’re good for my ego, you know that?” “You’re an actor. You don’t know you’re gorgeous?” James shrugged, grimacing. “I try not to think about stuff like that.” “You have people building fan sites around you.” Freddie strode into the bedroom and pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket. Walking back into the living room, she pulled up the tumblr site. “Oh, shit.” Freddie’s heart hammered against her sternum as if it wanted out and her stomach roiled. “What’s the matter?” James strode over to stand next to her, looking down at the device in her hand, his eyes widening at what it displayed. “Fuck.” The first image on the site showed Freddie and James on the subway, his fingers tucked under her chin to bring her gaze up to meet his. The look on her face was embarrassing in its openness. Everything Freddie felt for James was there for anyone to see on her face. Then she noticed what they were wearing. “This was from today,” she said. “It must’ve been that woman who was glaring at me.” James’s arm went around her shoulders as she scrolled through additional images. The last one was the moment he had stepped in between Freddie and the woman. At the bottom, the poster had written, “OMG, my heart is breaking—it looks like OUR JAMES is seeing someone. Who is this woman?! An actress? Has anyone ever seen her in anything before??? I need to know who she is!!!” James held out his hand and Freddie gave him the phone, her hand shaking. He put it on the bookshelf and turned her so he could fold her in his arms. “I’m so sorry.” Adrenaline coursed through Freddie. Every sense was heightened. The weight of James’ arms around her, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the press of the very air around her. It was all too much. She felt invaded. “Who does…why…how did she feel she has the right to do that?”

“I don’t know. The paps are bad enough, but you can usually spot them because they’re out there with the big cameras and the bigger lenses. This…” “It’s just people. Regular people. Who think they own you. Who think they have the right to know about me. It’s wrong.”

She blames me. Well, if he searched his soul, he blamed himself. He was almost used to the paparazzi, even though they didn’t usually have much use for him. Cameras in amateur hands intruding in his life was a change, but it wasn’t a huge one. But Freddie hadn’t been inoculated like he had. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his palm over her back as she trembled in his arms. “It’s my fault. I should have…” He had no idea what he could have done to either prevent this from happening or prepare her for it, but the sense of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. Freddie pulled back and looked up at him. “How exactly is this your fault?” James shrugged helplessly. “I… I don’t know. But this is the world I deal with. This happened because of my job, my choices. It shouldn’t have intruded into your life. I should have…” The look Freddie gave him was withering. “Done what? That no-class, dumb-ass woman with the smartphone was the one who should have known better. I’m not mad at you, you big goof.” A trickle of relief threaded through the tide of anxiety. “Well, I knew that all this attention was going to affect you eventually, but I didn’t think it would happen this soon. Or this directly.” Grasping her hand, he pulled her over to the sofa and sank onto it, pulling her against him. She snuggled against his chest for a moment, then sat up and looked him in the eye. “So what’s our next move?” “What do you mean?” “This might be the first time something like this happens, but it’s not going to be the last. We need a plan.”

“We can ignore the internet, how about that?” “That wouldn’t work for long. We might ignore it, but other people won’t and I’d rather not be blind-sided. Again. It was bad enough when Susan tried to play mind games over that article from a while back.” “That woman.” James’ voice sounded tired, even to him. “Okay. Let me think. It’s not like I have experience with this.” “Well, I sure don’t.” James snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Alexander.” “Alexander who?” “Alexander Fox.” She gaped at him. “Alexander Fox?” “Why not? He’s already given me excellent advice.” She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Why not? Because he’s Alexander fucking Fox.” “Still star-struck over that one, huh?” “My mother will lose her…well, her everything, to find out I’m one degree away from Alexander Fox.” “That reminds me. You free next Sunday night?” She gave him a cautious look. “Yeah.” “Wanna go to a movie premiere with me? You’ll be zero degrees from Alexander Fox.”

“What?” Freddie wasn’t sure her ears were working right. “You mean like a red carpet, sparkly dresses, people with cameras yelling, ‘James, over here!’?” She suppressed a shudder at the thought. James’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “Well, red carpet and cameras, yeah. The fancy dres? Not so much. It’s a kid’s movie in the same comic book universe as the show. We’re all supposed to show up to it. Brand loyalty. Taking care of the family, you know? I don’t think we’re supposed to get all spiffed up for it. In fact, I was thinking you could wear my shirt and some heels and look pretty killer.” Freddie snorted. “Right. Couture by James.” “I’m telling you, this isn’t that kind of premiere.” Stomach fluttering with nerves, she asked, “So what am I supposed to do? Show up and get my picture taken?” “Not necessarily. I know you hate that.” “So, stay out of the way and let you get your picture taken?” “You’re not supposed to do anything except what you want. I have to go, but you don’t. But it strikes me that it might make things a little easier if we just get out there in the public eye and say, ‘Yes this is a thing. We’re a couple.’ Maybe the internet randos will even leave you alone.” “Ha. They’ll probably just figure out a way to poison me via email. Murder by internet. Besides, they’re not just randos, they’re your fans. They keep the lights on at Chez James. They are going to pay for all this splendor.” Freddie waved at the mess that was his apartment. “You’re being nicer to them than they are to you.” “It was just the one. And she was, well, she was invasive, but she wasn’t mean. I guess.” “There will be more.”

“Swelled head much?” “No, just thinking about what Alexander said.” “What did he say exactly again?” “In a nutshell? That he saw my future in his past. And he wanted to try to keep me from making the same mistakes he did. Mistakes that included losing a relationship with a woman he loved.” Freddie tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. “Oh.” Down girl. James hadn’t said he loved her. “So we do…what?” James bit his lip, looking at the bookcase for a moment before refocusing on her eyes. “I think I’ll see if we can get some dinner and advice from Alexander before the premiere. That is, if you want to go with me.” “I…” Freddie’s breath caught in her chest. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Stop fidgeting, Fred.” James squeezed her hand and Freddie took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm her frantic nerves. Not even the rich smell of marinara and fresh bread could soothe her. James had chosen to meet Alexander and Ella at the Italian restaurant he had discovered with Freddie in the hopes that its familiarity would help keep things low key for her. No such luck. She was ready to jump out of her skin. Freddie grabbed her napkin and smoothed it onto her lap, then lined up her silverware just so. “I can’t. On top of being nervous about the premiere, I’m going to meet Alexander Fox. Alexander. Fucking. Fox.” “He’s just a guy. An actor like me.” “I’ll do my best to bear that in mind.” Seriously, she had to chill out or she was going to make the whole evening weird. Or weirder than it was already destined to be. “Seriously I look okay?” “You going out of your way to impress Alexander?” James’ eyes twinkled with mischief. “No, smartass. I’m worried about looking like an idiot later this evening by being way too underdressed or something.” James had hooked her up with one of the costume managers on the show who moonlighted as a stylist and she had helped Freddie pick out an outfit. It was not so far off from what she had worn to the Chelsea Market the week before. The slinky blouse and moto jacket had met with the woman’s approval, but she had insisted on black jeans, heels, and a long silver necklace that echoed the deep v of the blouse’s neckline. “You look great, Fred.” James pushed back his chair and rose. “They’re here.” Freddie swallowed and scrambled to her feet. Alexander was taking his wife’s coat just inside the front door of the restaurant. She turned and smiled her thanks and he handed both their coats off to the hostess before he steered her toward Freddie and James’ table, his hand on the small of her back. Seeing the man in the flesh was surreal. Freddie’s mother had had all of his movies and would watch them repeatedly when Freddie was growing up. His

hair had gone from black to silver, but his eyes were still the same—a deep, piercing blue. Freddie shook Ella’s hand and then Alexander’s as James made the introductions. “Freddie. That’s an unusual name,” Ella said as they seated themselves. “Short for Frederica. I have four older brothers and my parents were expecting another boy. I was going to be named Frederick after one of my uncles. They were surprised, but decided not to entirely change their plans.” Heat rushed into Freddie’s face. “Sorry. Babbling.” Ella, a pretty, well-preserved brunette in her fifties, smiled. “Not at all. But let me guess: your mom or your aunt is a fan of Alex’s.” “My mom.” Freddie ducked her head as she took a chunk of warm bread out of the basket that James was offering to her, then ed the basket to Alex. “She’s a huge fan.” She barely stopped herself before she blurted that she had grown up on his movies. She was pretty sure highlighting their age difference wouldn’t exactly be the most polite thing in the world. “You can see how my wife keeps my ego in check,” Alexander said to James, accepting the bread basket from Freddie and offering it to his wife before he took a piece for himself and ed the rest across to James. “Not for an instant did she assume that someone as young as Freddie would be a fan of mine.” Freddie gaped. “I… didn’t mean…” Alexander chuckled. “Stop, Freddie. I know my fan base. You’re at least twenty years too young. Truly.” Freddie wanted to sink into the floor, but Alexander’s self-deprecating deflection seemed sincere. He winked at her and glanced at Ella, who looked serenely amused. James covered her hand with his own and mouthed “relax.” Pushing her shoulders down away from her ears, she attempted to comply. The waiter came and they took a few minutes to look over the menu and order. When he had gone, Ella said, “So, James, I hear you have a bit of a fan problem.”

James wanted to say that problem was an understatement. But that sounded melodramatic. “You could say that. Fans taking pictures of me is one thing, but taking pictures of Freddie seems overly invasive. She didn’t sign up for this circus.” Ella popped a bit of bread into her mouth and chewed, her face thoughtful. Swallowing, she focused on Freddie and said, “But you kind of did, didn’t you?” “What do you mean?” Freddie’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. Ella waved at James. “It’s not like he’s low profile. You had to have had some inkling that a relationship with him would come with some complications of this kind.” James focused on Freddie’s face as she thought this over. “I guess. But we knew each other before his profile blew up like this. We met years ago. I didn’t think about stardom, I just knew James for James. I mean, he was an actor and he was known, but there wasn’t this frenzy.” Even though he already knew that was the truth, hearing her talk about their history warmed him, made him feel more secure and grounded. Ella pursed her lips. “Ah. That makes things more complicated.” “I thought it made them simpler,” James said. “No, a person tends to recognize that they change when they’ve had time apart from someone else, but they forget that other people also change.” James avoided looking at Freddie, but he could feel her gaze boring holes in his head. Okay, fair enough. He’d certainly been guilty of that on his return. But he’d gotten better, right? “So what do we do?” James asked. “Depends. What do you want, Freddie?” Ella’s eyes met Freddie’s and Freddie seemed to take a lot of time and care with a little bit of bread, dredging it in oil and parmesan, eating it slowly. The delay, her not having an instant answer,

started James’ nerves jumping. “If I had my absolute druthers, I’d want to have a guy who wasn’t famous. Or getting famous.” James’ stomach turned over and he began to regret the fra diavolo pasta that he had ordered. Freddie went on. “But that’s not possible. I don’t want some random, imaginary guy. I want James. So I guess I want to preserve my privacy as best I can while still seeing if this will work in the long term.” “Ella’s your guru for that,” Alexander said, cocking a thumb at his wife. “She hates being photographed and stays away from lenses as best she can.” “How do you avoid the attention?” Freddie leaned forward, eyes intent, as if the other woman had the secrets of the universe to impart. “Mostly I can’t,” Ella said. “Where I can—like on the red carpet tonight—I just hang back and let the photographers have their way with Alex. They don’t want me on a night like tonight. It’s all about the stars, not their un-celestial spouses and partners. But on the street?” She shrugged, her face resigned. “If I’m with Alex, I’m going to be photographed. There’s nothing I can do about that. I have to ignore it.” “Good to know that I won’t have to stand there and face them tonight at least,” Freddie said. James didn’t know how he felt about that. On the one hand, he respected Freddie’s desire for privacy. On the other, he was proud of her, wanted her to be proud of him, standing beside him. To be able to claim her and have her claim him for everyone to see.

Stepping out of the limo onto the red carpet was like stepping into a giant disco ball. Camera flashes and shouting immediately started and Freddie fought the urge to throw her arm across her face and dive back into the car. Instead, she looked up at James, who smiled and squeezed her hand. “Courage,” he said as he pulled her out. “It’s just cameras.” “Right.” Only photographs. Which she hated. No big deal. They moved aside to let Alexander and Ella get out of the limo, and the blare of lights and the shouting redoubled. “Alex is the real star,” James said in Freddie’s ear. “For now, maybe.” Despite her apprehension and dislike of the scene in front of her, she couldn’t help but feel oddly proud of the way James was handling the attention. He didn’t seem fazed or changed by it. Didn’t seem jealous of Alexander’s obvious appeal and higher profile. An assistant with a headset and a clipboard approached them and conferred with Ella. “If you’ll follow me,” she said, hooking a finger at Freddie. Freddie squinted at the assistant, who looked familiar, then recognition crashed over her. The woman had been a couple of years behind Freddie in college and had dated Tara, one of Freddie’s college girlfriends, after they broke up. Freddie racked her brain. “Corinne, right?” The assistant turned and her eyes narrowed as she looked over Freddie’s face. “Yeah.” She snapped her fingers, ing. “Freddie Alves?” Her eyes flicked back to James, who was standing with Alex and the young female star of their show, the three of them looking relaxed and gorgeous in the camera flashes. A look of disbelief spread across her face. “You’re here with James Martin?” Freddie nodded, not trusting her voice. The gulf between them now seemed wider than ever. Who was she supposed to be in this? Standing off in the corner while the world fell in love with James? “So you’re straight now, huh?”

Freddie tore her gaze away from James and focused on Corinne, who was looking at her, mouth twisted up in an “I knew it” expression. “What?” What the hell business was her sexuality to this woman? Freddie hardly knew her. “You know, straight. Into dudes. Done with your experimental college Sapphic phase.” Freddie’s jaw grew tight and she glanced over at Ella, who was chatting with someone Freddie didn’t recognize. She pitched her voice low. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was always bi.” “Oh. Sure.” The younger woman’s expression was an annoying mix of disbelief and pity. “What is it to you, anyway?” Freddie could hardly get the words out, her jaw was so tight. “Not much. Just that Tara always thought you were into guys all along.” Their mutual ex had opinions. And Corinne shared them. Great. “Well, she should have known because I told her at the very beginning that I was bisexual. Not straight. I never made any secret about that.” Freddie struggled to keep her voice low, but she wanted to scream. It had been a while since someone had tried the whole bi-erasure thing on her and she was already off balance enough as it was. Corinne glanced at the busier end of the red carpet. “Well, I suppose if I got taken to fancy premieres and probably fancy restaurants too I might be willing to try dick. Once.” Gritting her teeth, Freddie pretended she hadn’t heard the woman. She had already gone too far, discussed more of her private business than she was comfortable with. The only way out now was to ignore her condescending bullshit until James was done. Freddie looked back at James. He and his castmates had been ed by the child stars of the movie they were celebrating. The entire group was smiling and posing like this was the most normal thing in the world.

But it wasn’t normal. And it wasn’t Freddie’s world.

James didn’t feel comfortable until Freddie reed him, led over by a production assistant with an officious manner. Conscious of the cameras still trained on him—both the professionals and the fans behind the velvet rope a little way off—he smiled and reached for her hand. Despite her superficial smile, she looked tense and unhappy. He hastened to lead her into the theater, out of the blare of cameras and shouting. “What’s the matter, Fred?” “Nothing. Just ran into someone I used to know.” “Who?” “Corinne. The girl with the clipboard. I went to college with her.” “The P.A.?” “Yeah.” “How did she upset you this much in such a short time?” “By trying to tell me that I didn’t know who I was.” “What?” Freddie sighed, a frustrated huff, as they reached the lobby. James steered her into a corner so they could be, well, not private. But at least not in the middle of everything. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes blazing with frustration. “She implied—no, she said that because I was with you I was automatically straight. And then told me that our mutual ex used to say that I was. Either she doesn’t believe bisexual people exist or she thinks she can decide what other people are. Either way it was insulting.” An irrational jealousy surged in James. He knew she had exes. Hell, he had them too. But it wasn’t as if he liked hearing about them. “What does it matter what she thinks? You know who you are. Isn’t that what matters?”

“It’s just…” Freddie flung her arms out in frustration. “I was already freaked out enough with this whole movie premiere thing going on. Having to deal with that old bullshit… I don’t know.” “Do you want to go? We can, you know. We don’t have to actually watch the movie.” Freddie’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “What? That’s ridiculous.” James shrugged. “That’s show biz. If you’re an actor at a premiere, they want your photo on the red carpet, but they don’t care about your butt in the seat.” “What about the people who are in the movie? Isn’t that rude? I thought you were supposed to be here to them.” “They wouldn’t know we left. They’re probably not here either. Most actors can’t watch their own work. The was all out there.” James hooked his thumb in the direction of the red carpet. “I…” Freddie trailed off, her face filled with conflicting emotions. Then her jaw set, the familiar, stubborn light in her eye glittering. “No. It’s stupid to go to a movie premiere and not see a movie. I don’t care what the industry expectations are.” “Fine, then. We’re seeing a movie.”

Insisting on seeing the movie had to be one of Freddie’s dumber ideas. Sitting in the dark, surrounded by strangers, she felt trapped and restless. The opening credits were goofy. The movie itself was thinly written and poorly acted. The young male lead was especially awful, mugging outrageously instead of acting, his face stretching into ridiculous expressions. Freddie shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to take out her phone and check the time. She had at least sixty more minutes of this nonsense to get through, she was sure. Knowing exactly how long she was going to have to sit here wouldn’t help. Oh, great. This is one of those “the kids are the only ones who know what’s going on and need to save the world” scenarios. No competent adults anywhere. Half of her was annoyed that she would have loved this movie when she was a kid. The other half of her was annoyed that she had made the decision to stay out of sheer cussedness instead of leaving when James gave her the opportunity. Basically, all of her was annoyed for a veritable buffet of reasons. Fed up, she leaned over and whispered in James’ ear. “Excuse me. Bathroom.” Getting to her feet, she made her way in the semidarkness to the lobby and then to the ladies’ room. On exiting the stall, she nearly groaned. Corinne was at the row of sinks, washing her hands. Gritting her teeth, Freddie moved to the sink the furthest away from the other woman. “I guess you can just ignore me because I’m a lowly production assistant and you’re dating some up and coming star,” Corinne said. Freddie grabbed a paper towel and began to dry her hands. “No, I can ignore you because you were being a petty bitch out there for no reason.” Corinne folded her arms and glared. “No reason? Tara could never stop talking about you, even when we were dating. Forgive me if I’ve had enough of you.” Freddie blinked, the woman’s ridiculous complaint deflating like a tired balloon. “You know what? I have nothing to do with that. Take your beef back to Tara. That is, if you’re still speaking. Which I doubt. Because, as I said, you’re a petty bitch.” Corinne’s mouth opened to reply and Freddie threw her towel away and

turned on her heel, her pulse pounding and her skin feeling oversensitive. Enough with this. When she reached the lobby, James was there, leaning against the wall opposite the door to the ladies’ room, his arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing here?” “Thought you might have changed your mind about the movie.” Perversely, her temper rose again. She wanted nothing more than to leave, but she resented the fact that everyone seemed to think they knew her mind better than she did. “What makes you think that?” “The fact that you fidgeted for the entire twenty minutes of it that you saw and immediately went off to the restroom? That was a tiny hint.” The bathroom door opened behind her and the pressure behind Freddie’s eyeballs rose as she forced herself to wait as Corinne took herself off to wherever she had to be. When they had the corridor to themselves, she took a deep, shuddering breath. “And you’re such an expert on me?” James raked his upper lip with his teeth. “Yeah. I think I kind of am. I’ve taken the time to get to know you. And you’re all over the place tonight. What the hell is going on?” Freddie’s heart hammered against her sternum. “What the hell is going on? I signed up for a relationship, not a circus wrapped in a burrito photographed by a psycho. I don’t know what all this red carpet bullshit is, but it is not my scene, not my thing, and I am not here for it.” Hardly knowing what she was doing, Freddie spun away from James and dashed out a side exit.

Chapter 13

Stunned by Freddie’s sudden departure, James stood for a moment, blinking at the spot where she had stood. Rousing himself, he tore after her, but when he reached the street, she was already out of sight. Scanning the sidewalk, he tried to figure out which way she would have gone. She was wearing heels, that would have slowed her down. Where would she go? Home, of course. How was she likely to get there? The nearest subway. Running was impossible on the crowded sidewalk, but he moved as fast as he could, looking for Freddie all the while. He wasn’t that far behind her, was he? Reaching the station, he made it down the stairs and through the turnstiles only to see a train just pulling away from the platform. Shit. He could just bet that she was on it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped a quick message. Where are you? You ok? Fidgeting, he stared at the screen, willing her to respond. Nothing. No pulsing dots, no message by the time another train entered the station. Stepping into the nearest car, he bit his lip and deliberately typed another message. Come on, I’m worried about you.

Freddie already felt like a world-class fool by the time her phone buzzed. Where are you? You ok? She slumped in her seat and stared at the screen of her phone, her mind roiling. Part of her was inclined to type out a quick message indicating that she was fine. Another part of her wondered if she was, in fact, fine at all. She bit her lip, paralyzed with indecision, her eyes unfocused. Her phone buzzed again. Come on, I’m worried about you. Great. Now she felt like a fool and a jerk. It wasn’t like she meant to worry James. She just hated the whole scene that he was a part of. The glittering attention, the neediness from complete strangers. The jealousy. The cameras. How could she ever be fine with all of that? She typed out a reply. I’m ok. Just needed to get away from that scene. Dots paraded across her screen, indicating his immediate response. You on the train? Yeah. She stared at the screen until it went black again, waiting for a response that didn’t come.

After his train got stuck in a tunnel for twenty minutes, James was boiling with anxiety and frustration as he got off at Freddie’s stop. The energy of the emotion carried him up the stairs and all the way to the front door of her building. He buzzed her apartment and waited. Shit. Maybe she hadn’t gone home after all. He had been so sure of what she would do. So sure he knew her so well. He clasped his hands behind his neck and stared at his reflection in the glass of the door as if it could give him answers, then shook his head and dug out his phone to send her another text. “James?” Freddie’s voice sounded behind him and he turned to find her on the sidewalk, a silver-and-black striped plastic shopping bag in her hand. “What are you doing here?” “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Where have you been?” Her jaw clenched. “Last I checked, you weren’t my dad. And not even he gets to police what I do and where I go.” James rubbed his face with one hand, his other clutching his phone in a fair imitation of a death grip. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry. I was worried about you.” “I texted you that I was okay.” Gritting his teeth and willing himself not to explode, James said, “Forgive me for still being worried after you basically bolted on me in the middle of a conversation.” Freddie’s eyes went uncertain and her spine sagged. “No, I’m sorry. I… feel like an fool and when I feel that way I lash out.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “I stopped at the liquor store. That’s where I was.” “Can I come up? Can we talk?” Freddie looked at him. Time stretched to the breaking point. “Yeah. Okay.”

Letting them into her apartment, Freddie could feel her shoulders seizing with tension. She knew it wasn’t fair, what she had done. She also didn’t know what else she could have done. The pressure of the whole situation had gotten completely out of hand. Miranda, predictably, made a beeline for James as he shed his jacket, stretching up and putting her paws on his thigh. “Hey, pretty lady.” James reached down to rub the cat’s head and Miranda leaned into him, her eyes slits of pleasure. Freddie set the bottle of bourbon down on her kitchen counter a little too hard. “Drink?” “Sure.” Freddie opened a cabinet and pulled out two juice glasses, pouring a couple of fingers into each. Turning back to James, she nearly groaned. He had picked Miranda up, but that wasn’t enough for the cat. She was settling herself onto his shoulders and neck like one of those fox stoles in a black and white movie. Freddie half expected her to bite her own tail just to complete the effect. “That cat loves you in a way that is probably illegal in at least twenty-five states.” Freddie handed James a glass, irritated that he had to stop fondling her cat’s chin to take the drink. His other hand continued to stroke the twitching tip of Miranda’s tail. The cat was actually falling asleep on him, her eyes blissfully shut, her body visibly relaxing. I can’t believe I’m jealous of a cat. You could have his attention if you wanted it. But do I? When I know what strings are attached? How many photographs, how many internet comments, how many…other things and other people come along with that? Freddie took a deep breath and sipped her bourbon. James, followed suit and made a face. “Rough stuff, Fred.”

Irritation surged through her, energizing her and sapping her at the same time. “Not all of us can afford…” She waved a hand, not even knowing what she meant. “Whatever television stars drink.” James toyed with Miranda’s tail and looked at Freddie without saying anything long enough for her to start to feel guilty for her outburst. Freddie waved a hand at James. “Okay, so say whatever you’re dying to say.” “I’m not dying to say anything.” “Well, you must be dying to put me in the wrong. Freddie can’t hack it, cut her loose.” James tossed back the rest of the bourbon in his glass, his throat convulsing. Miranda shifted on his shoulders, sleepy and oblivious. Stepping to the counter, he put the empty glass down with deliberation. “I’m not dying to put you in the wrong. I want to understand what is going on with you. I want us to be okay. That is literally exactly what I want to do. But you seem determined to either push me away or make me push you away. Why is that?” Freddie cradled her glass in her hands and looked at it as if holding it required all her concentration. “I’m not… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know that tonight gave me the willies and I don’t want to feel like that. The scene on the red carpet…the way total strangers think they own you or something. The crazy jealousy.” “I can’t influence how other people behave. I can only control my own behavior.” “I know. And I can’t control how I feel about how they act. The things they say.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why does it bug you so much?” “Why doesn’t it bug you?”

James blinked. “I wouldn’t say it doesn’t. It just doesn’t give me hives the way it does you.” “You don’t feel weirded out by so many people wanting a piece of you?” “I don’t really think about it much. I have a job to do. I do it. When people like it, it makes my employers happy. They continue to pay me. That’s pretty much it.” “Back in the day you talked about getting into production, getting out of acting.” “Yeah, I talked about getting out of acting when the gigs dried up. What I have right now is the opposite of that. Are you saying you want me to give up acting entirely when I have the biggest role of my life to date? To give up on my future as an actor altogether? The future that might make it easier to transition out to directing or production when the time comes?” “No.” Freddie’s chin jutted. James scrubbed his face with his hands. “Do you even know what you want?” “I want you. But without the baggage and the invasive people with cameras.” Her voice sounded tight, close to tears. James huffed a frustrated sigh. “Well, at the moment I happen to come with the baggage and the invasive people with cameras. It is literally part of my job.” Freddie set down her glass, covering her eyes with her hands as if she could shut everything out. “I hate it. I hated tonight. I hated the shouting and the flashes and the…well, all of it.” “I said it was part of my job, not yours. You don’t have to do a premiere ever again. We can figure this out.” James moved toward her, trying to make her see. “Can we? Even if I don’t go to another one of those stupid things, I’m still going to get my photo snapped whenever I’m out with you. I’m still going to have total strangers wondering about my life, making assumptions about who I am simply because I’m with you. Maybe even digging into my private life, putting personal

details up on the internet for anyone to see.” “Can’t you stay off the internet?” “Why should I have to? Why should I have to wall myself off for fear I’ll see yet another picture of me that I didn’t agree to?” Because you love me? The thought came from nowhere. He didn’t dare say it. “Why didn’t you tell me before you felt this strongly about all this?” Freddie shrugged. “It wasn’t like I knew it all at once. I’d only had that one experience on the subway. But tonight made it crystal clear. It was everything I hated about seeing my picture on the internet, but dialed up to eleven.” Frustration surged through James. He wanted to hit something, bang his fist on the counter. Instead, he took a deep breath in through his nose. “But you don’t have to do any more red carpets. It was an experiment, and not something we have to repeat.” “You’ll have to do them, though.” One hand flew up, pointing at him. “And I don’t mind them. At least, not as much. Like I said, my job, not yours.” Freddie’s lips rolled into her mouth and she looked like she was about to cry. “But if you do them without me, the world will think I don’t matter to you. Or they’ll assume we broke up.” Sympathy for her imminent tears warred with his frustration. “Fred, will you listen to yourself? You want to have it both ways. You want the world to know that we’re together but you don’t want to be seen with me.” “That’s not what I said. I never said I didn’t want to be seen with you. I said I didn’t want my picture taken. That’s not even close to the same thing.” James sighed. “If you’re out in public with me, it looks like our picture is going to get taken. So yeah. For us, it is the same thing.”

Freddie crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed pure misery. She felt like she knew exactly what was going on in her own mind, but when it came to actually communicating that to James, everything came out wrong. I want you. I think I even love you. But why do I have to put up with this stuff in my life in order to be with you? “I just want it to be simple again. I just want it to be us. To have the biggest issue in our lives be Susan Vernon being a world-class bitch to me.” She couldn’t believe she would rather go back to that time, that circumstance. But there it was. Everything had been so much simpler. James lifted Miranda off his shoulders and settled her on the couch. Miffed, the cat hopped down and stalked to the bedroom, tail erect. James watched her go, his face expressionless, then turned back to Freddie. “I don’t know what to tell you. You’re asking for the impossible.” Freddie bit her lip. “How is it so impossible? We had it once.” His eyes closed and he took in a deep breath, letting it go slowly, as if marshaling patience. “Stop being dense. Things change. Situations change. Going back isn’t an option. I can’t suddenly get low-profile again, even if I wanted to.” “So you’re good with everybody and their dog wanting to have a piece of you?” “Freddie, why are you trying to have the same conversation over and over?” James scrubbed his face with his hands again. “Never mind. I had thought we were more on the same page with things. Maybe we need to cool off for a while.” Freddie’s heart thudded and her head spun. “What? You’re giving up?” “No. Not giving up. Giving space. This is too intense right now. You said it yourself.” “But…” As much as Freddie had pushed, now she wanted to pull. What is wrong with me? Drowning in panic, she held out a hand as he moved to get his jacket.

“Don’t—you don’t have to go. We can… figure something out.” “Not tonight we can’t. Get through technical rehearsals. Open your show. That’s stressful enough without dealing with everything else. Take some time, figure out if what you want is compatible with what I can give you. We’ll talk again when we’ve had a chance to decompress.” “But…” Freddie tried to marshal one more argument, find one other avenue to talk. But before she could think of anything to say, James brushed a light kiss against her cheek and walked out the door.

Chapter 14

“C ome on, James—where’s your brain?” The second unit director pulled his headset off and ran his fingers through his hair. Anywhere but here, apparently. James bit his lip and ducked his chin. “Sorry. I’ll get it this time.” The scene was a dead simple action sequence, a lead-in that showed his face. The next cut would be to his stunt double who actually had to fake-take the punch from the bad guy. This wasn’t difficult. In fact, it was laughably easy. James stood tall and squared off against the guest actor playing the villain of the week. Grounded himself. It was just one line, after all. “You really think you’ll get away with this?” “Cut. Good, James. Thanks. That’s a wrap for you for today.” James nodded and turned toward his trailer, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked. It had been a week and a day since what he had started calling the “Red Carpet Disaster.” He knew exactly where his brain was. It was vacationing in the small town of “I Miss Freddie,” a picturesque village with a lot of distracting views and scrapbooks full of postcard memories of small-town Connecticut and touristy New York. Wrenching the door to his trailer open with more force than was necessary, he made himself not slam it. For what felt like the millionth time since he made himself walk away from Freddie’s apartment, he tried to think of a way to approach her to make things work between them. But if Freddie wasn’t going to budge on his job, there was no way.

His phone shrilled on the coffee table. He didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway. “James Martin.” “James, hi, this is Clarice? From network publicity?” “Oh, right.” Great. The beginning of all the mess. That interview with Hollywood So Fine. “What can I do for you?” “I really hope you can help me out? I’ve got all sorts of requests for interviews with you. Turns out your fans have waged some online campaigns wondering why you haven’t gotten more media attention?” “Okay…” The intellectual side of his brain knew this was good for his career. The remainder of his brain, still taking its holiday in “I Miss Freddie,” lifted a finger and ordered another margarita before it turned back to the view of the woman who would absolutely hate this conversation. “Well, we were thinking? That we should prioritize the requests?” Why does she have to make almost all her sentences into questions? James bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m not sure I can help with that. I know nothing about the media.” I thought that was your job. Clarice laughed. “Oh, we’re not looking for your input. We were just wondering? If maybe you had hired your own publicist? So we could strategize?” “No.” His brain flipped a scrapbook page. Freddie’s mussed, flushed, post-sex face looked impishly back at him. “Oh.” Clarice sounded nonplussed. “You might want to consider it?” “I’ll call my agent. See what she thinks.” He had to get off this call. One more question mark at the end of a sentence that wasn’t a question was going to send him around the bend. “Great. Meanwhile, we’ll see what we can do here? Wouldn’t want to wear you out?” “Fine. Great. If you could weed them out that would be great. I’m not so crazy

about doing media these days.” James’s stomach did a sick roll. He shouldn’t have said that. He should be doing anything he could to promote the show. That was the job. “Oooh. We could give an exclusive, maybe…” Wait, what? “That’s a possibility?” “Oh, yeah. Given the way you’ve been blowing up, it might be a great strategy? I have to run it past my boss, though.” “Yeah. Do that. I’ll talk to my agent. I know she’ll have ideas about publicists.” And how. Melissa’s s were legendary. “Super! Okay. We’ll be in touch.” Finally. Three whole sentences and not one question mark.

Michael’s applause reverberated in the empty theater. “Great work, folks. I have a few notes, but you guys are making me nervous. We’re supposed to have a bad dress rehearsal for a good opening night.” The cast laughed, even though it had to be one of the oldest jokes in the book, and gathered downstage for notes. Freddie wondered what James was doing. If he was doing anything with someone else. Hearing her name snapped her attention to the present moment. “Thanks, Freddie. I know we’re all tired, but I need your head in the game here. Can you change the light cue on the lead-in to the dance break in ‘Alone at Last’ to one bar earlier? Susan’s not getting lit appropriately when she crosses to stage left.” Damn. “Sure, Michael.” Flipping to the right page in her script, Freddie erased the note for the lighting cue and kept her head down after she made the notation for the change. She could feel Susan’s eyes boring into the top of her head. Managing, with a concerted effort, to stay focused until the end of Michael’s notes, Freddie grabbed her script and jammed it into her backpack as soon as he released the cast. She was in no shape to deal with Susan if the actress decided to go nuclear. Zipping up her bag, she turned and grabbed her jacket off of the back of the chair she had been sitting in, ready to make a break for it. “Trouble in paradise?” Susan’s low voice stabbed into her ears like an ice pick. Inhaling deeply and turning back, she saw Susan was sitting on the edge of the stage, unbuckling her tap shoes. Her eyes didn’t have the usual glint she sported when she saw a chance to take somebody down. Cautious, Freddie asked, “What do you mean?” Susan dropped the shoes with a clatter to the stage beside her. The rest of the cast had gone, headed off to the dressing rooms to change out of their costumes. Michael had also left, probably to retreat to his office. Freddie was, she realized, alone with Susan Vernon for the first time in her life. The thought made her spine prickle.

“I saw the photographs from the premiere last week.” Susan grimaced and Freddie tensed. “James with everyone but you. Is he seeing Grace West now? They looked pretty cute on the red carpet.” Freddie blinked, confused. “What do you mean? The Super Kids premiere?” And why is she so stalker-y about James? This is just weird. Susan pouted slightly and Freddie recognized her purported sympathy for what it was. A hidden blade. Blood in the water. Her shoulders ached with tension. She should have pretended she didn’t hear Susan. Maybe then she would have escaped without having this conversation. “Yes,” the actress said. “Saw that you weren’t on his arm.” Freddie sucked her teeth. “Well, then you were looking in the wrong place. I was at that premiere.” Susan looked baffled. “But there were no press photos of you.” “There were probably no press photos of Alexander Fox’s wife, either. But she was there. She was talking to me during the photo call. Some of us don’t actually like having our pictures taken.” Susan’s jaw tightened. “Right. Well. If my sympathy isn’t needed I guess I won’t offer it.” Right. That’s what this is. Sympathy. Freddie didn’t believe for a minute that Susan had any sympathy to give anyone but herself. “Um. Okay.” “So I guess I’ll see James at the cast party on opening night.” Oof. Before Freddie could think of a response, Susan swung her legs up onto the stage, grabbed her shoes and walked off to the dressing rooms.

“Why the long face?” Alexander asked as James left his trailer. The older actor looked like he was ready to knock off for the day as well, dressed in street clothes and carrying a gym bag. James grimaced. “Is it that obvious?” “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, so yeah.” “Just more publicity stuff. I’m about to be in the market for a publicist, of all things.” Alexander nodded, rubbing his chin. “Probably past time for it, to be honest.” “This…it’s all happening so fast.” “How’s Freddie with it?” James rubbed his gritty eyes. “Freddie pretty much freaked the night of the premiere.” Alexander winced. “Ouch. Sorry to hear that. Ella was worried that might happen.” “Your wife is very wise.” “Don’t I know it. But she also pointed out that she met me when that sort of scene was already a part of my life. She knew what she was getting into. Freddie, on the other hand…” James sighed, trying to ignore the pang that arrowed through his chest at the thought of Freddie. “Yeah. Neither of us was really prepared for it, but Freddie was even less prepared than I was.” “So how does she feel now? Hiring a publicist will mean you’ll have a professional running interference—at least part of the time. Not much anybody can do about the street paparazzi and the fans with phones, but a competent publicist will at least weed out the good outlets from the time wasters, help prep you to handle any difficult questions, and let the press know what topics are off

limits. Help you keep Freddie out of the public eye if that’s what she wants.” James closed his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers. “Freddie and I are on a break. Or completely broken up. Not sure which just yet.” Alexander’s hand landed with a thump on James’s shoulder. “Oh, man, I’m sorry.” Dropping his hand away from his face, James shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I guess things just don’t work out sometimes.” “You seriously that blasé about this?” Alexander’s eyebrows crimped together. James shook his head. “To be honest, no. It sucks. But Freddie can’t deal with the publicity thing. Like, at all. And I can’t make it go away for her. And I can’t quit my job.” “Maybe she’ll change her mind.” “Not Freddie. Once she’s set on a thing, she’s set. The woman puts the ‘stub’ in stubborn.” Alexander’s blue eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. “That makes no sense, you know that?” Not much does make sense right now. “Well, I know Freddie. She’s not fickle.” “I don’t know her well at all, having only met her once, but I can say she seemed pretty devoted to you. She was willing to do something she obviously didn’t want to because it was important to you. She chucked that away so easily?” James’s face grew hot. “She wasn’t technically the one to chuck it. I guess I was.” “Ah. Because she insisted you stop acting?” “She didn’t do that. She just wanted the paps out of her life. I can’t give her that without quitting.” Alexander’s brows rose. “So that’s it. You quit her.”

“I’m not sure what else I could have done. We kept circling around that one point. It seemed like we were just going to keep having the same argument over and over and never get anywhere. Relationship as Groundhog Day.” Alexander folded his arms across his chest and lifted one eyebrow. “So, after one frustrating argument you bailed.” “One frustrating argument that I couldn’t see my way out of.” “Huh.” “What do you mean by that?” Alexander looked at James for what felt like a half hour. “You’re a persistent guy. You’ve got to be. You don’t get anywhere in this business without it. But if you’re not bringing that quality to bear in your relationship, I guess it must not be a priority.” Ouch. Gut punch. “It’s not like I’ve heard from her since. Maybe she’s relieved.” “You broke it off and expect her to fix it? That’s hardly fair.” He’s right. James hated to it it, but Alexander had a point. “Yeah, well. Like I said, we have a pretty fundamental obstacle here.” Alexander cocked his head and shrugged. “Well, if that’s it, then that’s it then.” Perversely, the older man’s statement made James want to prove him wrong.

Freddie dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment. She hadn’t been looking forward to the opening night cast party as it was. Now she actively dreaded it. James wouldn’t be there, Susan would draw the all-too-correct conclusion, and her bruised heart would end up skewered and broiled for good measure. Unlocking her door, she was surprised to find Miranda waiting for her on the doormat instead of greeting her with a sleepy yawn from the sofa. The cat looked at her, then past her into the hallway. Seeing nobody there, she stood and walked back into the apartment. “Great. You might miss him even more than I do, you beast. You’re supposed to be on my side here.” Miranda walked over to her food dish and pointedly sat beside it, lifting one paw to wash her face. “Fine.” Freddie dumped her bag on the floor and went to the fridge to get the half-can of Fancy Feast left over from the morning. “You’re turning me into the crazy lady who talks to her cat, Randa. So here’s your dinner.” Putting the cat’s food in front of her and scooping kibble into a bowl, Freddie wondered what she had in the fridge. A quick look revealed not much. “Takeout again, I guess.” Opening the drawer with her delivery menus, her breath caught in her throat when she saw the one from Lin’s. “Fuck. Even takeout makes me sad these days.” Her throat thick with misery, she shuffled the menu from Lin’s to the bottom of the pile and picked at random. “Pizza. Whatever.” Placing the order, she looked again in the fridge, as if it would magically contain something to eat. Well, there was a half-bottle of white wine. So be it. Pouring herself a glass, she went into the living room and opened her laptop. What she really needed now was a British baking show or something similarly soothing. But her fingers typed out a search of their own volition. The red carpet photos from the premiere filled her screen. James’s image wasn’t as prominent as she had thought it would be, which made sense now that she thought about it.

After all, it wasn’t his movie. Scrolling through the images, her heart twisted. There he was. Without her. Smiling, looking so impossibly handsome Freddie had a hard time breathing for a few seconds. Inexplicably, she now wished she had been standing next to him. She bit her lip and opened another tab. In for a penny in for a pound. Or, come for the minor flesh wound, stay for the sucking chest wound. Pulling up the James-obsessed tumblr site, she scrolled down past news pieces about his show and a couple of older photos that had been re-posted. A few copies of the same photos she had just looked at from the premiere. Then, there she was, smiling up at James on the subway. Misery squeezed her gut, but it wasn’t the same misery of seeing her image when she hadn’t been expecting it. It was, purely and simply, just that she missed James more than she hated seeing photos of herself out in the world. The thought made her breath catch. Could she live that life? Could she grow a thick skin, not care about what strangers on the internet thought about her, ignore long lenses and people calling James’ name? Freddie focused on keeping her breaths long and even, resisted the urge to sprint across the room, grab her phone and text James immediately. She had to think carefully about this instead of rushing ahead and spoiling everything. She didn’t know how deeply James felt for her, but she knew she couldn’t go through another hopeful coming together only to have everything fall apart again. Especially not right now. She had the show to think about, opening night to get through. She had to be at the top of her game at work and it wasn’t the time to go diluting her focus on the job with more heartache.

Chapter 15

Freddie rolled her shoulders and took off her headset, breathing a sigh of relief. The first show was behind her, with only minor errors that wouldn’t have been noticed by an audience. The standing ovation from the full house had been thunderous, so there was probably hope for a nice batch of good reviews tomorrow. Thanking the light board operator, Freddie picked up her bag and her coat and made her way to the dressing rooms. She found her assistant stage managers excitedly mingling with the cast and thanked them for their hard work, encouraging them to head for the cast party. “Try to keep people moving. We don’t want Michael to be lonely.” Laughing, they agreed and turned to shoo a couple of dancers who had already changed into street clothes toward the stage door. Freddie suppressed a sigh at their eager enthusiasm and headed to the lobby. For what felt like the hundredth time, she pushed down sick dread about the cast party that would start shortly, a few blocks away at a local bar. Susan’s remarks about seeing James there still rolled around in her brain. Well, if Susan wanted to stick pins in her, Freddie could just walk away. She clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to scan the dwindling crowd in the lobby for James’ familiar face. He wasn’t there. Wouldn’t be there. This wasn’t some sort of magical fairy tale. He wasn’t going to appear just because she wanted him to. She had to just let it go for now, no matter how much it hurt. Making her way slowly through the lobby, she had the craven urge to just hit the subway, head home, put on sweats and eat a pint of ice cream next to Miranda on the couch. Instead, she trudged the two blocks to the bar where large windows facing the street showed her the cast party was filling up nicely.

Pulling the door open, she slid through the crowd and wedged herself into a place at the edge of the bar. Finally catching the attention of one of the bartenders, she ordered a gin and tonic. Receiving the drink with thanks, she turned to look at the crowd as she sipped. The cool tanginess of the drink zipped across her palate and she closed her eyes, savoring. “Where’s James?” Freddie’s eyes snapped open. She already knew the source of those mocking tones. “I don’t know, Susan. Why do you ask?” Freddie stared straight ahead, keeping her eyes from the woman at her side. “Shouldn’t he be here? Or is he too important for an off-Broadway opening night?” Freddie took a deep breath. Swallowed another sip of her drink. Turned to look at Susan. And then she really looked at Susan. Fine lines fanned out from the other woman’s eyes. The actress’s formerly defined jawline was softer, blurrier. Freddie blinked in confusion. Susan was aging and she wasn’t doing it as gracefully as anyone would have predicted years earlier. Freddie realized Susan must be scared. And then she realized she was feeling sympathy. For Susan Vernon. Where is my reality and how can I get it back again? “I don’t know where he is,” Freddie said, sipping her drink, attempting to project a cool she wasn’t feeling. “Misplaced him? Did you look under the weight bench at the nearest gym?” Freddie’s pulse sped up and her face burned. She was suddenly angry at James for not being there. Which wasn’t rational or fair, but she was tired and miserable and didn’t care. Turning, she pushed her way through the crowd without bothering to respond to Susan. She would have the one drink,

congratulate Michael, and go home. Nobody could ask more of her right now. But finding Michael was going to be a challenge. The bar had gotten crowded in what seemed to be no time at all. She had no idea where Michael was and no way to find him except blindly wandering around. She tried to sidestep someone in her path, managed to nearly run into someone else, and almost dropped her drink. “Easy there, Fred. You’re about to wear that.” Her head snapped up. Her eyes widened and her heart stuttered. “James?”

James suppressed a grin. Freddie’s voice was barely a squeak. He had surprised her, but he reminded himself that he didn’t yet know if the surprise was a good one or a bad one. “What…why are you here?” Her dark eyes were guarded. “Well, I did have a ticket for the show, but I had to do a last-minute night shoot, so I missed it. I wanted to at least come to the cast party to you.” “Why? You walked out on me.” Now her eyes weren’t just guarded, they showed pain. A sharp twist of anger at himself shot through James. He shouldn’t have let go so easily. Freddie was hurt and there was nobody to blame but himself. “I did. And I’m sorry. I should have fought harder for us. Or given you more space to breathe. Or something. Anything but what I did do.” “Okay…” Freddie was eyeing him with a dubious expression. It ripped him apart to see her so closed off. “So you’ve found him, I see.” Susan Vernon’s snide tones slithered into their conversation with a dreary inevitability. Freddie’s glance flicked to the actress and back to James. “Yes, I did.” James wished he could take comfort in her affirmation. He didn’t dare look at Susan because his loathing might overwhelm him. “Can we go somewhere else? Talk, maybe?” Freddie bit her lip. “I need to find Michael. And I’m too damn short to see anyone in this crowd.” “You’re in luck.” James scanned the crowd and located the director a few yards away. Offering his hand to Freddie, his heart stopped for a moment while she looked at him. Finally, she took it. “Let me take you to your leader.” Mutually ignoring Susan’s audible muttering of “Rude,” James steered them through the crowded bar to the director.

“Congratulations,” Freddie said when they reached him. “Congratulations yourself,” Michael said, clapping Freddie on the shoulder. “A great opening night. Couldn’t have done it without you.” James extended a hand with his own congratulations. “You’re getting two ticket sales from me instead of one. I had to give up my seat for a shoot tonight, but I’ll get another.” Michael shot an amused glance at Freddie. “I think we can comp you a ticket, James. Don’t you, Freddie?” Freddie blushed. “Um. Yeah. Of course.” Interesting. James put Susan’s comment and Michael’s together to form a coherent picture. Freddie hasn’t told anyone we broke up. The knowledge made a sudden, fierce hope well up in him, creating a physical pressure in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Settle down, dude. It might have just been her pride that made her not say anything. Or her privacy. “Anyway, have a great night, you two.” Michael winked as he turned to greet yet another well-wisher. “Want to get out of here?” James asked. Freddie looked at him with the wariness back in her eyes and James swallowed hard. He was steeling himself for her to tell him to go fuck himself when she nodded. “Yeah. Let’s see if we can find someplace quieter.”

Here we go again, Freddie reflected as she practically trotted beside James, looking for a bar or restaurant that would be quiet enough for them to have a conversation without screaming. “Slow down, dude.” She rolled her eyes at James when he glanced down at her, grimacing in apology. “You should know better by now.” “I know. Sorry. How about this place? We can get some dessert.” James stopped in front of the glass door of a French bakery. “Fine.” Going inside, James settled her at a table. “I’ll get something we can share.” He strode to the counter, examining the choices. Freddie’s chest ached just looking at him. There was a slight but noticeable lessening of his usual dynamic presence. If Freddie had to choose one word to describe James, it would probably be confident. But his shoulders didn’t have their usual squareness. His normally straight spine had the barest softness to it. He rubbed his fingers across his mouth and his eyes darted restlessly, looking at his options through the glass case. He looked miserable. Freddie’s heart twisted outright at that. He may have walked out, but he obviously wasn’t happy with that decision. Neither was she. James received a plate with a slice of what looked like a dense chocolate cake on it, paid, and returned to the table, handing Freddie a fork. “Okay,” he said, sitting across from her and stabbing into the cake at the same time as she did. His deep brown eyes locked on her. “I’m not going to bullshit you. Cards on the table. I hate life without you. I don’t like who I am. I’m grumpy. I suck at my job. Most of all, I miss you.” His gaze dropped to the forkful of cake and he put it in his mouth, seeming to concentrate totally on the task of transferring calories into his body.

Freddie almost couldn’t breathe. She looked at the morsel of cake on her own fork and slowly put it in her mouth. Bittersweet chocolate spread across her tongue and she chewed, her eyes unfocused. “Did I fuck it up permanently?” James’ voice was soft, hesitant. She hated the hesitancy. She swallowed hard, clearing her mouth. Focused on him, his anxious face robbing her of breath. Cards on the table, huh? She could do that now that she knew what was at stake. “No. I don’t think you could ever fuck everything up permanently. I love you too much for that.”

James paused, stunned. Did she really just say what he thought she said? A deep flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. “I mean… I…” “I heard what you said. Did you mean it?” Freddie put her fork down, swallowed. James’ pulse raced. He wasn’t sure he could stand it if she said no. “Before you answer, I feel the same,” he blurted. Her eyes lifted to his and her face got even redder. “You do?” He nodded, not breaking eye . “Yeah. I do. You drive me crazy, Fred. You’re stubborn and proud and smart and funny and sexy as hell and I don’t want to live without you.” Freddie’s huge eyes seemed to grow even bigger as tears welled in them. One spilled over and ran down her cheek, but she just looked at James without saying anything. “Hey.” James reached out a fingertip and wiped the droplet away. “Are you good crying or bad crying? What’s going on?” Freddie choked. “Good crying. Because I was miserable and distracted at work and don’t want to live without you either.” She bit her lip. “Besides, Miranda misses you.” “Well.” James wrapped his hand around hers. “If the cat misses me, the only thing to do is to get back together and do our damnedest to work it out. Can’t have her pining.” Sniffing, Freddie wiped her eyes with her free hand. “I should have known that it would be Miranda’s adoring you that sealed the deal.” “True. Your adoring is the icing on the cake. But I happen to like icing better than cake, so…” James picked up his fork and used the side to cut off a bite, offering it to Freddie, who took it, closing her eyes as she chewed. Her hectic

flush was fading but her cheeks were still appealingly pink. He cut a bite for himself and ate it, watching her eyes finally flutter open and settle on him. “What’s next?” “You mean how do we bridge the mess and fix stuff?” “Yeah. I mean…” “You still hate the publicity. I still have it as a factor in my life.” “Yes.” Her chin jutted slightly. “But there was a lot more going on the night of the premiere. I might have been…overwhelmed. Overreacting.” James fought to keep his face from showing his shock. “Okay. So you’re not so freaked by the cameras?” Freddie shook her head. “No, I still don’t like it. But I think I can handle it. Or handle it better than I did.” “Is that so?” Her eyes flicked to the side, then down to the plate as she cut another bite. “Yeah. You’re worth it.” Rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb as warmth bloomed in his chest, James said, “I also took a step to try to keep things under control. I hired a publicist a few days ago. She’s going to help me strategize. If you want, you can be part of those conversations.” “How can I help with that? I don’t know the first thing about publicity or anything like that.” “You can let me know how much of us you want me to talk about to the media. They’re apparently interested in whether or not I’m seeing anybody.” “You’re seeing somebody and the world can know that.” Freddie’s voice went low and her eyes narrowed. James laughed, mirth and relief mingling and fizzing in his bloodstream. His

shoulders felt lighter than they had for what felt like forever. “I’ll alert the media.”

Walking out of the cafe, James didn’t just take her hand as they walked down the sidewalk. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, their steps slowing to a very un-Manhattan amble. Freddie let herself be pulled to his side and slid her arm around his waist, leaning her cheek against the cool smoothness of his leather jacket. “How you doing?” he asked. “You mean am I worried about cameras?” “Not specifically, but I suppose that factors into it. I just want to know how you are.” “If I saw a camera right now I’d probably flip it the bird, but other than that, I’m feeling pretty good.” She squeezed James’s waist and his arm tightened around her shoulders in response. “Not the family-friendly reaction the network would want, but… between us? Totally fair.” She felt, rather than heard his chuckle. “Okay. I’ll keep the flock of birds caged. For you.” “In private, you can let your freak bird fly.” Freddie leaned out, considering James’s profile through narrowed eyes. “Is that a Lynrd Skynrd joke?” His jaw tightened, repressing a smile. “Maybe.” “It’s terrible.” Freddie settled back against his side. “You’re still here.” “You have other redeeming qualities.” He stroked her arm. “Care to go back to my apartment and discuss those redeeming qualities?” “I thought you’d never ask.”

“What about my other girlfriend, Miss Miranda?” “She has kibble and water and a clean litter box. She’ll be fine.” “Heartless woman.” Freddie snorted, reflecting how full her heart felt. “Hardly.”

Chapter 16

James unlocked his apartment door and let it swing open, looking at Freddie as she walked in. Her jaw dropped. “Holy cow, James. What… How did you get all this done?” He tried to the chaos of cardboard and the random placement of furniture that she must be thinking of. The last time she was here, everything had looked like his house had been ransacked. Scanning the now-tidy room, James smiled a bit ruefully and grasped Freddie’s shoulders, turning her toward him. “I had a lot of time on my hands. I wasn’t sleeping very well. My downstairs neighbors probably hate me, because I was shoving furniture across the floor at three in the morning. I really did miss you, Fred.” Her eyes were looking shiny again and James dipped his head, softly kissing her. Her lips were soft and warm against his and he tasted the salt of tears. Drawing back, he saw that she was crying in earnest. “Hey. You don’t have to cry.” “Yes, I kind of do.” Freddie drew in a deep, sobbing breath, wiping her eyes. “I was so hating the photographs, the attention. I thought I couldn’t live with it. But I was more miserable without you.” She wiped frantically at the tears, dropping her hands in frustration at her sides when they continued to flow. James swiped his thumbs across her wet cheeks. “You thought you couldn’t live with having people peering and prying into your life. But I’ll do my best to keep them away, keep them at a distance. Hey, maybe when the fans see how crazy we are about each other they’ll give up.” “Not likely,” she said, but her tears had eased and the corners of her mouth went up the tiniest bit. “Wanna give me the grand tour?” “I don’t know about grand, but sure.”

“It’s grander than my place, which could fit in your bedroom.” Her words made him imagine her here. Not just coming over but staying, living here. Taking his books off the shelves and curling up in the corner of the couch. Heck, mingling her volumes with his on the shelf. Her clothes in his closet. He almost laughed out loud as he imagined Miranda curled up not on her bed, but his. Theirs. Too soon. But maybe not all that far away, either. He led her into the big living space, which had reclaimed its open, airy feel with everything arranged neatly. A large, unframed minimalist painting hung over his couch, showing a snowy landscape, bare branches of three trees reaching toward the sky and a snow-packed road stretching into the distance. She paused in front of it, taking in the scene. “This is gorgeous.” “Thanks. I bought it when I first got here, and they only delivered it yesterday.” She turned, taking in the uncluttered coffee table, the unobtrusive television, and the simple curtains framing the large windows. The corner of her mouth kicked up when her gaze swept the bookshelves. He ed her shelving them, all unconsciously sexy in his shirt. “Bedroom?” Her large, dark eyes swept up to his face. “Bathroom first, I think.” “Need the facilities?” She shook her head. “No, it’s been a really long day and I need a shower.” “I think I can accommodate you.”

Gratified with the heat and intensity that sharpened James’ gaze, Freddie dropped her bag on the couch and stripped off her coat. “Let me hang that up for you.” James’s voice was low and gravelly. He took the jacket from her and took it to the little closet in the entryway. Freddie stood where she was, rooted to the spot until he returned. When he did, he extended his hand and she clasped it. He walked backward toward the bathroom, drawing her along with him. Flicking on the light, he pulled her into his arms, brushing feather-light kisses across her eyebrows, then her eyelids, which had fluttered closed. She sighed and relaxed against him, her arms winding around his waist. More light kisses across her cheekbones, down the angles of her jaw, the stubborn point of her chin. She was almost laughing now, her mouth stretched in a languorous smile. He pressed his lips against hers, and her tight smile instantly went soft, returning his gentle, thorough kiss. Angling his head, he opened his mouth, and she moved with him as if they had choreographed this dance of lips and tongues. He shivered as she tugged his shirt free of his tros. Freddie pulled back and looked up at him. “Ticklish?” “Maybe a little.” James’s eyes were heavy lidded and lit with amusement. Smiling, she slid her hands underneath the shirt, relishing his warm, smooth skin. Pulling him to her, she felt the play of the hard muscles of his back as he bent to kiss her again. The low hum of excitement and anticipation that had begun in his living room built in her as they kissed, and she could feel his corresponding arousal as they pressed against one another. He drew the hem of her blouse up until they had to separate again, her hands rising to allow him to strip the garment off of her. Free of the blouse, she went to work on the buttons of his shirt, freeing them as fast as her fingers could move and pushing it off of his shoulders. Their hands collided as each reached for the others’ tro buttons and they started to laugh. Joy rushed through Freddie like a fresh breeze and she toed off her shoes and stripped off her own tros and underwear, James following suit.

He fished his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out a condom as she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor with the rest of their clothes. James opened the glass shower door and turned the water on. Freddie moved behind him, fitting her body against his, skin to skin, and running her hands over his belly, then down to lightly clasp his length. He inhaled when she squeezed gently, and she pressed a kiss to his spine, skimming light, teasing fingers over the silky hardness of him. Turning, he took her hands and pulled her into the shower, into the warm rush of water and steam that felt almost as good as he did. He dropped the condom packet onto a small ledge and pulled her to him again, his kisses and the warmth of his body practically drugging her as the water slid over them. Kissing his way over to her ear, he murmured, “Do you want to get clean first and dirty later?” “Dirty now. Clean later.” “Excellent choice.” He grabbed the condom packet and ripped it open, rolling it on, then turning her so her back was to the marble wall of the shower. Grasping her waist, he lifted her with apparent ease, letting her sink down onto him slowly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Freddie gasped as he stepped forward, pressing her back against the cool marble. The various sensations were delicious and overwhelming. The coolness against her back, the warmth of the water, the feel of his warm hardness entering her, stretching her, filling her as she sank down fully onto him. He stayed still for a moment, nuzzling her neck, then began to move, slowly at first, his thrusts careful and controlled. He slid a hand between them, his fingers seeking her clit, circling it in time with his slow pumping. Her legs circling his hips started to shake and she clasped his neck as her orgasm ripped through her with sudden, unexpected force.

The control James had held onto was obliterated when Freddie came, writhing and moaning. Abandoning the slow, careful approach, James gripped her hips and began to drive into her faster. Freddie hung on to his neck, her hips rocking to meet him, allowing him to get even deeper. When release came, it was all he could do to stay on his feet as he pressed his hips to hers and moaned into her wet hair. When the world came back into focus, Freddie was looking up at him, an odd expression on her face. “You ok?” he asked. She nodded, her legs sliding from his hips. He let her down, disposing of the condom and reing her in the shower, where she was rinsing her hair. “No shampoo,” she said wryly and he rubbed his shaved head. “Nope. But I’ll get some for you. Conditioner too.” He turned her toward him, massaging her scalp with careful fingers. She closed her eyes and groaned. “That feels really good.” “This is what feels good?” She laughed. “It all feels good. Feels right.” “Yes. Yes it does.” Grabbing a bar of soap, he washed her body, working his way from her shoulders to the soles of her feet, omitting nothing in between. When he was done, she held out her hands. “Your turn.” “No. Later. Tonight I want everything to be about you.” She gave him a muzzy smile, her face tired. “You’re too sweet to me.” “Nope. Go on, get dry. I’ll be right behind you.” She was toweling her hair by the time he got himself cleaned up and turned off the water. “Good thing I have a brush in my bag. Otherwise I might have to cut

the snarls right out of my hair.” She wound the towel around herself. He watched her go, all tousled, damp curls and terry cloth and his throat thickened. He had almost lost her for good. He couldn’t let it happen ever again. When she came back, already de-snarling her hair, she gave him a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. Everything’s very right. But I was thinking how it almost was wrong.” She paused and looked at him, her eyes solemn. “Yeah. That was pretty awful.” “Let’s not do it ever again. Be apart.” “What are you saying?” “I don’t know yet. One thing at a time, you know?” “Okay.” “Let me do that.” He held out his hand and she put the brush in it, standing patiently while he worked through each strand. When her hair was free of tangles, he tugged off the towel she was wearing and hung it up. “Let’s go to bed. You look exhausted.” “That bad?” “No. Beautiful. Just tired. I want to fall asleep with you.” In the bedroom, he drew the covers over them both and curled his body around her. She felt warm and soft, and the smell of her was familiar and comforting. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he was gratified to feel her sigh as her body relaxed into sleep.

Epilogue

James clasped his hands between his knees, leaned his elbows on his thighs and gazed at Freddie. Weak spring light from the window next to her illuminated her downturned face as she looked at the tiny bundle in her arms. It was a scene so close to the one he had imagined all those months ago, it was a little eerie. Freddie lifted her head and looked at him, her face one big, glowing smile. “Isn’t she perfect?” “She was perfectly unwilling to come into the world after waiting a full two weeks after her due date,” Cath said from the hospital bed, her face pale and wan. She had gone a full twenty-four hours of labor only to have an emergency C-section when her temperature spiked. “She’s here now. You’re still here.” Paul looked pasty and his normally wild hair looked positively feral. Dark hollows ringed his eyes, but he kissed his wife’s forehead, his gaze moving from her face to the pink cheeks of his daughter in Freddie’s arms. Cath patted his hand resting on her shoulder. “We’re all here. We’re all fine. You didn’t die of worry and Beatrice is…” “Perfect.” Freddie said. She looked at James, her eyes shining. “You want to hold her?” When they had first arrived to visit Paul, Cath, and the newly arrived Beatrice, James thought there was nothing he would want to do less than take responsibility for the impossibly fragile newborn. But Freddie’s glowing face made him hold out his arms without another thought. “Make sure her head is ed,” Freddie said, relinquishing the tiny bundle to him. He cupped Beatrice’s skull in his palm, wondering at the slight weight of

the infant. “She’s so small,” he said, looking at Cath and Paul. Cath snorted. “Didn’t feel so small when she was trying to come into the world.” Paul’s fingers tightened on his wife’s shoulder. “And she didn’t feel small when I was terrified I was going to lose you both.” Shooting him a weary, exasperated smile, Cath said, “We’re all here. All fine. You can stop worrying now.” “I can start worrying now, you mean.” His gaze returned to his daughter, his expression a strange mix of pride and bewilderment. “College alone…I can’t imagine.” He shook his head. “We have eighteen years to sort that one out. How about we take one thing at a time?” Cath leaned her cheek against Paul’s arm, her wry smile taking the astringency out of her pointed words. James looked down at the round, red face of the infant in his arms. Beatrice’s tiny, rosebud mouth worked and her cloudy blue eyes sought something. One arm escaped her swaddling and waved in the air. Her face crumpled and an earsplitting wail erupted from her squared-off mouth. “I think she hates me,” he said, alarm surging in him, his head swiveling, seeking the most responsible adult to take charge of the tiny human klaxon. “She’s hungry. Again. Already,” Cath said as Paul relieved James of the tiny, yet staggering, weight of the newborn. “We should probably get going,” James said, reaching for Freddie’s hand as Cath untied the tapes of her hospital gown, getting ready to bare a breast for Beatrice. He was pro breast feeding on principle, but he drew the line at witnessing his former boss’s wife actually doing it. Paul looked up after settling the baby in Cath’s arms. “Thanks for coming by.” “Absolutely.”

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Freddie said, squeezing James’s hand as if she was aware of his discomfort. “Diapers, rash cream, ear plugs, we’re just a text away.”

Freddie nearly laughed out loud as they rode the elevator down. “Are you really that afraid of Cath’s nipple?” James shifted next to her. “It just seems disrespectful.” “Feeding a baby is disrespectful?” “Watching someone take off their clothes is disrespectful. Or someone I’m not sleeping with, or…I don’t know. It just felt wrong.” “You’re adorable.” Freddie jabbed an elbow into James’ side and he swooped in for a kiss that turned a little too lingering. The elevator stopped to let someone on and James straightened, schooling his features to a neutral expression. Freddie leaned into James’ side as the elevator continued its descent. She closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of his body. He squeezed her hand and tugged her out as the elevator reached the ground floor. “What do you want for dinner?” he asked as they stepped outside and walked toward the taxi stand. Taking cars instead of the subway was one of the publicist’s suggestions to avoid attention. Freddie wasn’t crazy about restricting the way she got around the city, but it was true that there were fewer photos when she didn’t take the subway with James. Of course, when she took it by herself, nothing happened. No pictures, no publicity. The familiarity of anonymity was soothing. Navigating this new life was a challenge, to be sure. James’s public statements made it plain that he was in a relationship and it was not open for discussion. The online fandom continued to simmer with interest about her, but Freddie had finally disciplined herself and stopped taking “just one more look” at the tumblr blogs and the Twitter feeds. “Hmm.” Freddie looked at James speculatively. James skewered her with a look. “If you’re wondering if I’m up for Lin’s three times in one week, no. You’re going to turn into a pot sticker at this rate.”

Freddie shrugged. “Don’t much care, then. You choose.” James held the taxi door and she got in, leaning against him when he slid in beside her and gave the driver the address. An ad for his show began playing on the little video screen and he groaned, leaning forward to kill the sound and covering his eyes. “Tell me when it’s over.” “Big baby.” Freddie poked him in the ribs and looked at the silent figures on the screen. There was James, leaning his hip on a desk, having some sort of Very Serious Conversation with Alexander. “I can’t wait to see it. It looks really fun.” “Is it over yet?” he said, hand still firmly clamped over his eyes. “No. Must be a long one they cut for the internet.” “Spare me.” “You’re the one with your hand over your eyes. Okay. It’s done.” James peeked through his fingers first, as if he didn’t believe her. “Phew.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. It does pay the bills.” “You love it, you big faker.” “I love the job. I don’t love looking at myself.” Freddie tilted her head, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. “For real.” His fingers flexed, squeezing her shoulder. “Hm. Okay.” When the taxi dropped them off, James grabbed her hand, greeting the doorman as they entered and riding up in the elevator in comfortable silence. Opening the door, a sleepily blinking, furry face met them in the entryway. “There’s my second best girl.” James lifted Miranda and nuzzled her fur with his nose. Freddie rolled her eyes and took off her jacket, scratching behind Miranda’s ear as she ed them to go into the living room. She still thought of

it as James’ apartment, even though she and Miranda had lived there for over a month. But that was her paperback on the coffee table, and her clothes hung next to his in the big closet. Her laptop rested on the dining table. James followed her into the room, Miranda cradled in his arm like a blissed-out baby. Freddie was reminded of Beatrice: her soft skin, tiny fingers, and rosebud mouth. “Developed any opinions on dinner?” he asked. “No,” she said, tickling the cat’s chin with her finger. “Ever think about having one?” “What?” Freddie stepped back. “An opinion on dinner?” “No.” James’ voice was soft, hesitant. His eyes were shining with naked sincerity. “A baby.” Freddie’s face flooded with heat. Was he reading her mind? “Um. Maybe someday?” “Good.” James bent to kiss her, letting Miranda drop gently to the floor. Freddie stepped into his arms, her hands finding the back of his neck, her lips meeting his. “Miranda, don’t even think about it,” Freddie said, seeing the cat starting to rear up on her haunches out of the corner of her eyes. James stepped back and looked at Miranda, who was eyeing him speculatively. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand and leading Freddie to the bedroom, quietly shutting Miranda out. “You’re learning.” Freddie suppressed a laugh. James leaned in to kiss her again. “Always.”

Enjoyed Acting Lessons?

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Chapter 1 of Fast Acting

Want to get a sneak peek of Book 4 in the Center Stage series? Check out this preview of Kathleen and Russell’s first meeting at Colin and Alicia’s (of Method Acting)’s destination wedding. Kathleen hoisted her suitcase out of the trunk of her little car with a grunt and dropped it to the parking lot with a crackle of gravel. Alicia lifted a blond eyebrow as she shut her car door and looked from the suitcase to Kathleen and back at the suitcase. “How much stuff do you need for a long weekend, anyway?” Huffing a laugh, Kathleen leveled a finger at her friend. “I had to have options. You’re only getting married once. At least, you’d better, because Colin is too perfect.” Eyeing the distance between the parking lot and the hotel, Kathleen nearly groaned. The wheels on her bag would be useless on the endless gravel. She’d have to haul it. Her arms were going to fall off. “I don’t suppose this castle has strapping footmen to haul luggage?” Kathleen asked hopefully, pulling her tote out and settling it on her shoulder. It felt nearly as heavy as her wheelie bag. Alicia, ever the light packer, pulled out a considerably smaller suitcase and a garment bag. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, milady. We carry our own stuff now.” “Fine.” She would have to take the luggage in stages. The tote was already dragging her shoulder down. There was no way she’d manage both it and the suitcase in one trip. “I’ll just leave this here for the time being. It’s not like

anyone is going to make off with it.” Kathleen gestured at the grounds, which were empty. Alicia’s fiancé had reserved all the rooms in the boutique hotel on the Chesapeake Bay for the wedding weekend. And it wasn’t like anyone was interested in stealing the wardrobe of an itinerant actress. Before she could start for the wide portico of the old Maryland mansion, a large, black BMW sedan swooped into the drive and pulled up next to her shabby little Kia. The driver’s door opened and Alicia’s fiancé jumped out. “You got away early,” Alicia said, her big brown eyes alight as Colin rounded the car and pulled her to him for a long, lingering kiss. Kathleen knew she should look away, but she ogled the pair shamelessly. “Get a room. Oh, I forgot. You got all the rooms,” said a deep voice. Startled, Kathleen ripped her attention away from the lovers to seek the source of the voice. Another man was getting out of the car, and Kathleen found a pair of dark, humorous eyes fixed on her. A bolt of immediate attraction ripped through her. Big, brown eyes were set in a face with deep brown skin that had an appealing softness, speaking of sympathy and understanding. And when his smile deepened. Dear lord, a dimple. Did someone take my personal order? Because this guy is…adorable. “Sorry, mate.” Colin’s deep baritone sounded anything but apologetic as he pulled back to look at Alicia. She leaned back against the circle of his arm, her short, silvery blond hair falling back off her forehead as she regarded her future husband. The two were wrapped up in their own little bubble. Hermetically sealed. Kathleen snuck another look at the guy who had accompanied Colin. He was looking straight at her. The look warmed her right through. That’s just the heat of embarrassment. Sure. While Colin and Alicia mutually appreciated their gorgeousness, the adorable guy rounded the rental car and grinned at Kathleen’s suitcase. “Need some help?” He turned that lethal grin on her and Kathleen willed her knees not to buckle.

“Yeah. I may have overpacked a trifle.” Kathleen bit her lip and looked at her suitcase. It looked enormous in comparison to the modest weekend bag he was carrying over one shoulder. A garment bag dangled from his fingers. Another light packer. “Allow me, my lady.” The man gave a short bow and hefted her suitcase without apparent strain, heading for the portico of the hotel. “Can I at least get my white knight’s name?” she asked, trotting after him, shifting her tote to keep it from sliding off her shoulder. He winked at her over his shoulder. “Russell. Russell King.” # “And may I get the name of the fair lady I am aiding?” Russell strove to make his handling of her suitcase seem effortless, but it was a struggle. What does she have in this thing? A house? “Kathleen Fitzgerald.” She hurried to walk side by side with him and he looked her over appreciatively. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on where he might have met her before. “That fits,” he said. Her long, wavy hair was deep brown, the spring sunshine revealing copper tones. Auburn, he guessed it would be called. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. He forced his eyes to stay on her face, but he had already ed the curvy figure under the soft blouse and tight jeans. Bless skinny jeans. “Yeah. Irish as Guinness, Jameson’s, and corned beef and cabbage.” Her voice had a soft lilt as she said the words and Russell stopped in his tracks. “Wait. You really are Irish, then?” She laughed, a deep, unselfconscious sound, and continued to walk toward the portico of the hotel. “Irish-American. But you know actresses.” She waved a hand back at Alicia who was still enjoying a moment with Colin. “We’re like flypaper for accents.”

“You’re an actress too?” Russell racked his brain as he crunched across the gravel drive with her. Where had he seen this woman before? He turned and squinted at her. “Wait—were you in Romeo and Juliet a year or so ago?” Kathleen nodded. “Yeah, it’s how Alicia and I met. We’ve been friends ever since. I can’t believe you that. Lady Capulet’s not exactly the biggest role in the play.” “Well, it was my first Shakespeare play,” he said, grunting slightly as he heaved her planetary-sized bag up the short flight of stairs to the hotel’s broad portico. Reaching the top, he set the bag down and pulled up the handle. His arm ached. “Thanks, I can get that now.” Kathleen reached for the handle, but Russell shook his head. “No way. I got it this far. Even in my enfeebled state, I think I can roll it to the front desk.” “I owe you one. My hero.” She winked at him, looping her arm through his, and they strode into the lobby. It was a large, airy room with a huge rug with delicate patterns like an old tapestry that covered the parquet floor. At one end, a young woman sat at a desk, a computer monitor angled in front of her. “Here for the St. Cyr/Johnson wedding?” the woman asked. Russell nodded as he approached the desk, trailing Kathleen’s suitcase behind him. He gave his name, setting down the bags to dig out his credit card. Kathleen loosed his arm and wandered off to examine a severe oil portrait of a disapproving-looking man hanging over the fireplace. The receptionist pulled up the reservation, taking his card and murmured to a bellman who approached, loaded the bags onto a cart, and walked away. “Two keys for you and Mrs. King?” Russell’s first thought was to look around for his mother before he realized that the young woman was looking at Kathleen, who’d returned to his side. “Oh!” they said simultaneously. “I’m not—”

“We’re not—” “Different reservation,” Kathleen said, her face bright pink. “Oh. I am so sorry,” the young woman said. Handing Russell a cardboard folder with his card key, the receptionist pointed him to his room. “Ground floor, end of the East corridor.” “Thanks,” he said. Turning back to Kathleen, he saw her high color had ebbed a bit. Awkward, he mouthed at her and her eyes crinkled with silent laughter. “I’ll see you around.” “We can hardly miss each other.” Her eyes were twinkling now. “Thanks for the help with my bag.” “Any time. It means I can skip arm day.” He winked and flexed his bicep before walking down the hall the receptionist had indicated, letting himself into the room and musing that he needed to go back out to Colin’s car to get his guitar… Only to have all thoughts of anything else vanish from his brain at the sight of Kathleen’s monster suitcase sitting at the foot of his bed. # Sunlight streamed through the windows of Kathleen’s room. Dumping her tote on the four-poster bed, she drifted over to look at the view, hoisting the sash high and breathing in the salt smell of the bay. A green lawn stretched wide and level out toward the water. Kathleen gave a happy sigh, thinking about the wedding tomorrow. Alicia had initially balked at the idea of a ceremony at all, telling Kathleen she had informed Colin she would be just as happy with a courthouse wedding. According to Alicia, Colin hadn’t pushed, but made it clear that he would prefer at least a slightly more traditional approach. “And…I’ve learned to compromise,” Alicia told Kathleen during a girl’s night in with a pile of wedding magazines and a bottle of champagne. “Though I never saw myself as the veiland-big-white-dress gal, something small might be nice. And his family’s coming from England.” So here they were. A hotel with twenty-five rooms, something shy of forty

guests, and a weekend away from reality. A knock pulled her attention from the view, and Kathleen strode to answer, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Swinging the door open, her jaw dropped when she saw Russell. “Wow. Um.” Her brain raced with possibilities for why he could be here and her pulse picked up. Sure, they had shared some flirty banter and the misunderstanding about being married, but having him just show up at her room was a little creepy. Assume much? “You might want this.” Reaching back, Russell drew her wheelie bag around to sit in front of him. “I imagine it might possibly contain everything you own, given its relative size and weight…” Kathleen’s hand flew to her mouth, embarrassment flooding through her. “Oh, gosh. How did…?” “The bellman must have overheard only the first part of the married couple misunderstanding and took it to my room.” Searching his face for signs of annoyance, Kathleen was relieved to see a twinkle of amusement in his eyes instead. “Well,” she said, reaching for the handle, “thank you for returning it to me. I hope it behaved itself under your watch.” Russell rubbed his chin. “Moderately. It was a bit unruly as I wrestled it up the stairs. It might have gained mass somehow with every step.” Kathleen closed her eyes, mortified. “I can’t believe you hauled this heavy thing up stairs. Why didn’t you take an elevator? Or call me? Or call the bellhop?” “No elevator, ma’am. And why would I call a bellhop when I could see you again?” Russell’s voice was soft and Kathleen’s eyes snapped open again, searching his face. His expression remained amused, but there was something else there. Uncertainty? Hope? “You’re going to see me all weekend,” Kathleen said, reaching out to squeeze the hard plastic handle of her luggage and draw it to her.

Russell nodded. “Okay then. I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner tonight.” He started to turn away and regret flooded through her. “Wait. Can I buy you a drink? To thank you for returning Penelope to me?” His eyes crinkled with sudden humor. “You named your suitcase?” She looked down at the navy behemoth and back to his warm brown eyes. “Just now. It was an impulse naming. Drink?” “Does this hotel even have a bar?” Kathleen let her voice slide into the County Kerry lilt of her grandfather. “Darlin’ you’re with an Irishwoman now. Care to be comin’ in?” # Amused, Russell followed Kathleen into her room, wondering what she had up her sleeve. She parked the huge wheelie in a corner and turned to the bed, rummaging in her almost equally big tote. “Aha.” Straightening, she flourished a flask. Russell almost laughed. “Irish whiskey?” Cocking an eyebrow, she walked to the chest of drawers. The usual hotel coffee maker was absent, but the equally usual ice bucket and glasses were present. “Do you need rocks, or…” “Up is fine with me if it’s fine with you.” Russell’s chest constricted. He hadn’t meant the double entendre. Well, not consciously, anyway. Kathleen’s hazel eyes flicked to meet his and he deepened his breath with an effort. Be cool. Kathleen poured two fingers into each glass and handed him one, clinking the one she retained against his and lifting it high. “‘Up the English’ as my Irish grandfather would say.” Russell choked. “I think our host might have something to say about that.” Kathleen smiled and sipped her whiskey. “He gets a . He makes my friend

happy.” “Ah.” Russell took a drink, the smooth liquid tasting of vanilla and heat as it slid down his throat. “Nice whiskey, by the way.” “Thank you.” She canted her glass at him, then set it down so she could shrug out of her jacket. Russell moved forward, abandoning his own glass on the chest of drawers in favor of helping her. She looked at him over her shoulder, eyes sweeping up to meet his as she smiled, letting the jacket trail down her arms. He kept his hands away from those bare arms, resisting the urge to trace his fingertips across smooth skin, freckled lightly like her nose. Instead, he took the jacket and draped it on the bed next to her tote bag. Damn, this woman is sexy. He retrieved his glass at the same time as she did, tongue-tied as a teenager. “So —” “What—” she said at the same time. They both laughed, nervousness clogging the air in the room. “You first,” he said, gesturing with his free hand and stepping back a pace. “I was just going to ask you what you did when you weren’t at weddings. How you knew Colin.” Russell chuckled, resigned. Here it goes. Any idea of glamour that she might have about me will now be gone. “I’m a professor.” Kathleen’s eyes narrowed and the index finger of the hand that held her glass pointed towards him. “Wait. Professor…Law professor?” Startled, Russell huffed a laugh. “How did you know?” A feline smile spread across Kathleen’s face. “I have my methods.”

Acknowledgments

As always, thank you to all of my friends, no matter if we’ve gotten together online or off. I get so much and love from my writing community and I appreciate all of it. Harper Miller: thank you for your frank and incisive sensitivity read of this book. Any errors in representation are entirely my own. Thank you to Beverly Jenkins for your friendship and for saying “yes” when I asked if it was okay that I had written a scene about your books.

About the Author

When not writing, Adele is a librarian at a Washington, D.C. law school. Prior to that, she had a short stint as an index editor and over a dozen years in corporate communications and executive relationship management. Even prior to that, she was an actress and stage manager. She holds a theatre degree from Syracuse University and graduate degrees from the University of Maine School of Law and the University of Maryland's iSchool. A New Hampshire native, Adele has lived in the D.C. area for over 20 years with her fantastic husband and the requisite number of neurotic cats. Sign up for Adele’s newsletter on her website, adelebuck.com.