Page 50 of Unscripted with Mila

“I know,” I hummed, walking out to the balcony and looking outside. “Mom told me when I talked to her earlier. She said Dad was pumped about the project. She said he was thrilled about the thought of tackling all the work.”

“Of course he is. He loves working and building. Mom says he’s been dying for a project.”

“He loves to stay busy, and we have no new houses to build in the complex.”

“What about you?” she asked. “How is the infamous Nicholas Scott?”

Just then, I saw him, walking across the center courtyard. He stopped, looking up in my direction. We were hundreds of feet apart. Lots of people between us, but I swore I felt his gaze observing me, assessing me. Not seeing anyone else but me, just as my focus was zeroed in on him. He tilted his head, then touched his mouth briefly and kept walking. I swore I felt that touch on my own mouth.

A woman rushed up behind him, talking rapidly. He shook his head and walked faster. She hurried after him, obviously not pleased. I had seen enough pictures of her to know it was his agent, and neither of them looked happy. She was furious, and he looked anxious.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, realizing Sammy was trying to get my attention. “Oh, ah, Nick. He is great. Exactly what the role needs.”

“Nick?”

“Oh, ah, people call him that. I guess I picked up on it.”

“What is he like in real life?”

The word was out before I could prevent it. “Amazing. He is simply amazing. Last night—” I stopped talking abruptly.

“Last night?” Sammy questioned. “What about last night? Mila, is something going on?”

“No,” I replied too quickly. “Nothing.”

“You forget how well I know you, little sister. That is your ‘I am trying to cover something up’ voice.”

I sighed. “We had dinner together. Well, a picnic. He took me out to see the sunset to a place we could be private.”

“And why do you need to be in a private place with a drug-addict movie star?”

“He is not a drug addict.”

“Alcoholic, then. Mila, what are you doing?”

“Stop judging him. You don’t know him.”

“And you do? After a few days?”

The anger I had been tamping down for days exploded. “And what about you, Sammy? Sleeping with a client? You were on him a couple days after you met. Why is it okay for you and not for me?”

“Luke doesn’t have addiction problems,” she snapped. “And I have experience. I’m not acting on a secret crush I’ve harbored for years.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Don’t you dare hang up, Mila Morrison. I swear—”

I disconnected the call.

“She’s right, you know,” Andi said behind me. I whirled around to see her standing at the door to the balcony, a cup of coffee in hand. “I knocked and came in. You were on the phone.”

“Don’t start.” I walked past her to the table and poured a coffee, stirring the cream in too vigorously, splashing the coffee onto the white cloth.

“Dammit,” I muttered, mopping up the spill with the napkin I had been using.

Andi sat down, placing her hand on mine. “I’m not starting anything, kiddo. I’m just worried.”

My anger deflated, and I sat down. I met her worried gaze. “I like him, Andi. He likes me. We have some sort of weird connection.”