“Just part of the job.” I grab another water and offer her one. “You want to stick around and watch me crash a car?”
“I wish I could, but I've got another meeting back at the office in half an hour.” She checks her phone and winces. “I should probably go.”
“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the cart she left parked nearby. “I'll drive you over, and then I'll bring this back so you don't have to worry about it.”
Her shoulders drop with relief. “You're a lifesaver. These shoes weren't built for cross-lot treks.”
When I pull up to the garage, she hops out and leans on the edge of the cart for a beat.
“Thanks again. I had a blast watching you today.”
“Thanks for sticking around. And sunshine? Congrats again. You've worked your ass off, and you've earned every bit of this opportunity. I'm proud of you.”
Her grin softens, and for a second I swear she's about to say something else. Instead, she just nods.
“We're still on for tonight?” I ask. “I’ll grab food.”
“Yep, sounds good. See you tonight!”
She waves once more before heading inside, and I sit there a moment longer than I should, watching her disappear, before turning the cart back toward the lot. Stella's one of the good ones, the kind of friend who makes everything better just by showing up.
When I return to the soundstage, Tony appears with my helmet and the kind of grin that means I'm about to do something spectacular. “Time to make this car fly.”
Right now, I've got a job to do, and despite the growing voice of doubt in my head, I'm still pretty damn good at it.
The car sequence goes perfectly. I crash through two fake walls and flip the vehicle exactly where it's supposed to land, rolling out with the kind of precision that only comes from years of practice. The crew cheers, Tony looks relieved, and I feel thatfamiliar rush of satisfaction that comes from nailing a difficult stunt.
But when I'm changing out of my safety gear twenty minutes later, my shoulder protests just enough to remind me that perfect execution might not be enough to keep me in the game forever.
three
. . .
Stella
I hearthe unmistakable sound of Brandon's boots echoing on the pavement just as I'm pulling my bag from the backseat of my car.
“You stalking me, Rhodes?” he calls across the garage.
I roll my eyes as we fall into step, both heading toward the elevator. “Yes, Brandon. My entire schedule revolves around the hope that I'll catch you in your post-work glory, carrying…” I take a whiff of the bag he's holding and catch the delicious garlic scent. “Italian food, like a knight with a plastic fork.”
He holds up the bag. “Extra garlic knots, as requested. And I talked them into extra marinara. We're living large tonight.”
“It smells incredible,” I groan.
The elevator dings, and we step inside. It's just the two of us, and I shift my bag higher on my shoulder as he hits the button for our floor.
“You hear about Jess's interview with that actress fromSpiraling?” he asks, leaning casually against the wall.
Jess Lexington is a sharp-tongued entertainment reporter who built her career exposing powerful men in Hollywood. She and Brandon have been close friends for years—which is actuallyhow I met him in the first place. She accidentally married Lucas Carmichael, a studio PR man who used to be her favorite on-record target. They were rivals until they weren't, and when their fake marriage turned into something real, she gave up her apartment across from Brandon to move in with Lucas. I inherited her lease and her neighbor, which turned out to be the deal of a lifetime.
“Did I?” I grin. “That clip's been everywhere. Blair said the studio's doing damage control because of what the actress said about the director.”
“I mean…Jessdidbait her.”
“That's her job,” I say, amused. “She always asks the questions people want answers to.”
He nods. “You think she gets death threats?”
