The end of his sentence was swallowed by riotous cheers. Lilah could practically feel the annoyance radiating off Shane in waves. Hal continued, “Please welcome to the stage the stars ofIntangible: Shane McCarthy and Lilah Hunter!”
At least Hal had said Shane’s name first, she thought ruefully. That should pacify his ego a little.
Lilah slapped on a smile and angled herself out toward the blinding lights, walking a few steps behind Shane, both of them waving as the audience roared. Shane and Hal shook hands, and Lilah ducked down to kiss Hal on the cheek.
Shane turned toward the crowd and raised his microphone. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat, glancing over at Lilah. “I think I speak for both of us when I say that we’ve been so grateful for this entire journey, especially the fact that we get to finish it the way we started: together.”
He took a step toward her, and her stomach bottomed out. Before she knew what was happening, he’d reached down and taken her hand, drawing her closer—platonic, but undeniably intimate. All she could do was gape at him, and there it was: The Look, larger than life, his face inches from hers, without even giving her time to brace for impact. It was so fucking unfair that it still had this much of an effect on her after all these years, after everything they’d been through. Lilah struggled to regain her composure.
“Absolutely,” she finally managed, beaming at him before turning her face back to the crowd. “I—we—are so excited to have the opportunity to give Kate and Harrison the ending they deserve.”
“Thank you again for all the love you’ve shown them, and us, over the years. We wouldn’t be here without you.” Shane gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing her.
Numbly, she followed him offstage, unable to feel her legs,the cheers echoing in her ears. Another PA escorted them down to the stage door, where a long line of town cars was waiting outside to ferry them back to their hotel.
Lilah glanced at the tense set of Shane’s jaw, the hard line between his eyebrows. His face was already scrubbed clean of every last trace of the warmth and affection he’d oozed moments earlier. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing she was: their first time at upfronts, exactly eight years ago, right afterIntangiblehad been picked up.
The first time they’d slept together.
They’d closed down the hotel bar after UBS’s presentation, the attraction that had been simmering between them since before they’d shot the pilot coming to a boil at last. The pseudo-innocent touches—accidental knee brushes, lips murmuring against cheeks, hands pressed to forearms or lower backs—becoming more intentional, more heated, until she’d returned from the bathroom and he’d slid his arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap like it was inevitable. Like she’d been there the whole time.
Being back here with him now, all those firsts and lasts and never agains were as sharp and vivid as they’d ever been, forming a knot of unease in her chest that made it difficult to breathe.
It wasn’t until Shane met her eyes that she realized she was still staring at him. Lilah quickly redirected her gaze straight ahead.
“Would you like to ride together or separately?” the PA chirped.
“Separately,” they replied in unison.
2
There were forty-four Lilah Hunter–less days between the UBS upfronts and the first table read of the season, and Shane enjoyed every last one of them. He’d had only one close call—when he’d gone in to shoot the first promotional images for season nine—but, as they’d done it since the second season, the two of them were photographed in separate sessions and composited together afterward.
On day forty-three, Shane pulled his car up to the valet at The Vine, where he was meeting his agent for lunch. He was early, but Renata was earlier, already perched against the floral throw pillows as the hostess led Shane through the packed back patio.
The Vine wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he knew why Renata had picked it. One, it was the place to go when you wanted to be sure you’d be seen. And two, it was where he’d been, quote-unquote, “discovered.” Ironically, he’d been one of the only staff members who wasn’t actively trying to break into the business at the time—a fact that made him deeply unpopular once the news of his audition had gotten around. It was a good thing he’d gotten the part, since he probably would’ve had to find another job no matter what.
In a way, his career had started in reverse, his agent search only beginning after he had already booked the show. He’d signed with Renata because she was the only one who hadn’t promised to make him the next Ethan Atkins in five years or less. It also didn’t hurt that, with her loud ex-smoker rasp and shrewd eyes, she was a dead ringer for his favorite aunt, the one who’d been married five times (but to only three different husbands).
Eight years into their working relationship, he still had no idea whether he’d made the right call, since she’d never actually gotten him a single audition—but then, he hadn’t wanted any.Intangibleshot twelve to sixteen hours a day, nine months out of the year, and he preferred not to fill his time off with even more work. But now, for the first time in his career, he had choices to make.
It was still borderline surreal to him sometimes, the fact that he even had a career, that people thought of him as an actor at all. He knew Lilah didn’t, at least. To Ms. Classically Trained Juilliard MFA, he would always be a waiter who got lucky.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Renata rose to give him a hug, her perfume embracing him long before she did. They had barely settled into their seats before she started peppering him with questions.
“Are you an oyster guy? I can never remember who is and who isn’t. You wouldn’t be interested in splitting the cold seafood platter for two, would you? No? Well, never hurts to ask.”
As soon as the hostess left the table, Renata planted her chin on her hands and smiled warmly at him.
“So.Intangible’s finally kicking the bucket.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Her brow creased. “How are you feeling about everything?” He knew what she was really asking:How are you feeling about working with Lilah again?
The fucked-up thing was, when they’d first told him Lilah was coming back, for a split second, he’d actually been happy about it.
Thankfully, that feeling had passed almost immediately. Then he’d tried to do everything in his power to stop it from happening.
