"You know that, right?" he adds.
I want to believe him. More than that, I want to believe in myself.
"Maybe," I say, forcing a small smile.
His fingers flex like he wants to reach for me but then thinks better of it. I let the moment stretch, let the possibility of it settle between us. Whatever this is, it's shifting, becoming something neither of us planned for, and that both excites and terrifies me.
twenty-two
. . .
Grant
It was probablycareless to invite her to this wrap party and risky for us to arrive together, but apparently, I don't care anymore. I want to spend all my time with her. As I watch her from across the room, I pretend I'm listening to whatever merger talk one of my colleagues is droning on about. Sophia's laugh carries over the noise of the party—the genuine one she rarely uses in public, not her press-ready chuckle. My fingers tighten around my glass of bourbon.
Blaze Winters, an up-and-coming hotshot actor from Everest Studios, has been hovering around her for the past twenty minutes. He's got that look I know too well, the one that says he thinks he's about to land his next big star. He's standing too close, touching her elbow too often. Sophia's being polite and professional, but I catch the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.
It's not your business, I remind myself. We may have given in to a moment, but we're not together. I have no claim on her, and vice versa.
"Don't you think, Grant?" someone says, breaking through my thoughts.
"Sorry. What was that?" I force my attention back to the man standing next to me, but my gaze keeps drifting to Blaze and Sophia with their heads bent together as he shows her something on his phone.
I shouldn't be jealous. I've seen Sophia act, and I've seen her when she's real, and every one of her reactions with Blaze right now is a performance. He touches the small of her back, and something inside me snaps.
"Excuse me," I say to the group I'm standing with, already moving across the room. I don't have a plan, but my feet carry me toward them anyway.
"Sophia," I say, my voice carrying that studio executive authority I've perfected over the years. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to discuss the reshoot schedule for next week. Blaze, I'm sure you understand. Time-sensitive matters."
Her eyes meet mine, and there's a flash of relief followed by amusement. And my heart is hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
"Of course," Blaze says smoothly, though his smile has an edge. "We'll catch up later, Sophia."
She nods graciously, but she's already turning toward me. "The reshoot schedule?" she asks once Blaze is out of earshot, one eyebrow raised.
"You looked uncomfortable. I was just trying to help." I try to keep my voice light and professional. Anyone watching would see a producer and his star talking shop. They wouldn't see how my hands itch to touch her, how I have to force myself to maintain this careful distance.
"Funny," she says, taking a sip of her champagne. "I didn't know I needed help."
"You don't." The admission comes out rougher than I intended.
Her eyes soften just a fraction, and I see the understanding there. It terrifies me. "Grant?—"
"It's fine, Sophia. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted."
“I’m glad you did. I’d rather be with you.”
The party continues around us, but for a moment, we're in our own bubble, teetering on the edge of something neither of us is ready to name. And God help me, but I'm thinking some things might be worth the risk after all.
"Let's go."
The city lights blur past the car window, but I'm not really seeing them. All I can think about is Sophia insinuating that she wants me. My hand grips the steering wheel in an effort to control myself when all I want to do is touch her, put my hand on her leg, run it up her thigh, and see what's waiting for me under that skirt.
I finally break the silence. "You're quiet."
"Just thinking," she says as she turns toward me. "Do you think Blaze bought the reshoot excuse?"
My jaw tightens. "Does it matter?"
