“I’m sorry, Rayna,” Dylan said. “I didn’t think it would—”
“Were there cameras present, flashing in your face?”
Dylan sighed. “Yes.”
“Then you knew it would.” Rayna cleared her throat, and Dylan could hear the clacking of a keyboard, which meant Dylan was on speakerphone, most likely getting berated in front of at least two assistants and paying Rayna an exorbitant hourly fee for the experience.
“However,” Rayna said—click, click, click—“this particular fuckup benefits you, so we’ll call it square. Though next time you see a camera within fifty feet of you, I better hear about it. I don’t care if the wielder is a four-year-old in pigtails playing with Mommy’s phone.”
“Wait, wait—benefits me?” Dylan asked.
“That’s what I said.”
“How does it—”
“Date her.”
Dylan froze. “What?”
“Date. Her.” Rayna was still clicking and clacking away.
“Her…”
Rayna released a belabored sigh. “The woman whose hand you were holding not twenty-four hours ago?”
“I wasn’t—”
“I don’t care. Gia’s been on the phone with Laurel every day since filming started, and when Laurel is upset, I hear about it, and I don’t like hearing about it, so—”
“Hang on, what?” Dylan said.
“Latching yourself publicly to an actual small-town girl can only help you at this point, particularly with the news of Jocelyn and Ruby’s engagement breaking this week. I’ve already gotten dozens of phone calls for comment.”
“Wait,what?”
Dylan felt dizzy, too many things flying at her at once. Jocelyn wasengaged? Gia was calling Laurel? And…dateher?Ramona?
She shook her head, wandered over to the fireplace mantel, her eyes scanning pictures of Ramona and Olive at various ages. There was one of Ramona holding a baby Olive on the couch…a very familiar-looking Ramona, all gangly and awkward, a half smile on her face, her eyes sad, dark circles underneath.
She was wearing a cherry-print T-shirt.
Dylan’s breath caught, her heart climbing her throat. She turned to see now Ramona, still sitting at the table and laughing with April, who was talking a mile a minute, though Dylan couldn’t make out about what.
Ramona’s eyes met hers.
Dylan’s stomach plunged to her feet, and she moved away from the mantel and the photograph, trying to focus on what the hell her publicist was saying.
“Okay, Rayna, just slow down a sec,” she said, then sat on theedge of the squashy plaid couch, rested her head in one hand. “Why is Gia calling Laurel?”
There was silence for a beat, which was never a good sign with Rayna. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t come right out and say.
“You can ask Laurel about that,” she finally said. “I’m in charge of image, not talent.”
“Talent?” Dylan said, her chest tightening. “But the last scene we shot went really well, and—”
“Again, image,” Rayna said. “So go ahead and hold what’s-her-name’s hand. Kiss her on the sidewalk. Invite her to the set so she can moon over your…talent.”
Dylan’s heart was going to break out of her chest. It really and truly was. Rayna definitely paused dramatically before saying the wordtalentthere, and what the fuck was going on here?
