"Uh huh." I pinched at the fabric of the zombie costume’s micro-mini latex skirt. "And what artistic statement is this making, exactly?"

"Darling, it’s all about the nature of fame."

"Fame?" Under different circumstances, I might have told him off about the "sweetheart" and "darling" treatment, but I didn’t want to piss off The Hitchcocks' director right before he shot their video.

"When a band like The Hitchcocks gets big, their fame locks them inside themselves," he said, suddenly much more animated, talking a mile a minute. It was like I’d turned his dial up to eleven. "They’ll start in straitjackets, each band member in a different cell, but even when they escape their cells, the zombies try to keep them from succeeding. You know, the critics, the fame leeches . . ."

Just what I want Jax to think of me as, I thought. A fame leech and a nurse with a face like a rotted corpse coming after him with a giant syringe.

I was trying to think of how to exit gracefully when I heard my name being called, somewhere behind me. "Riley?" I looked around, but couldn’t see the source of the voice. Louder, this time: "Riley, hey, is that you?"

I looked through the crowd of extras and saw a figure pushing through them. Tall, fair-skinned . . .

My stomach dropped to the floor.

No. It can’t be him. Not here. Not like this, not right now.

"Riley? It really is you, holy shit!" He came closer, running a hand through his auburn hair. "How have you been? What are you doing in L.A.?" I caught a flash of gleaming white teeth hiding between his lips as he drew them into a fake smile.

"Connor." The name came out flatly in spite of my shock, and I felt my arms pull up against my chest numbly. "Why are you here?"

He smiled wider."Here as in Los Angeles, or here as in this studio?"

I want to know if you’re following me around, I thought, but I kept my voice under control. "Either. Both."

He laughed. "You know, I could ask you the same thing."

I narrowed my eyes. "You first."

"Well, let’s start with the city. I moved here for work." He spoke with the slick syllables of Southern California, any trace of his old New York accent long since gone. "As to your second question, I’m here shooting a commercial for my firm on the next soundstage over. I saw your hair and wondered if it was you."

At least he’s not following me. I looked back over to the set and realized Jax and the band were setting up on the soundstage. The last thing I needed was for Jax to meet Connor. Jax may have had his secrets, but this was one part of my past that I wasn’t ready share with him, which meant I needed to finish our conversation without starting a scene. Forcing my voice into politeness, I said, "It’s been a while. Are you still in law?"

"You got it. McDonald & Ritter. Entertainment law. Mostly films, a little music too. So are you acting now?"

"Accounting."

Connor was trying to make conversation, but I didn’t want to engage.

"You mean you stuck with accounting even after we broke up?" His tone, subtly arrogant, made me feel about three inches tall. I gritted my teeth. "I thought you were only in that major so we could take classes together."

"My parents were both accountants. I didn’t do it because of you." I didn’t want to let him get to me, but I couldn’t let that one go. "And now it’s what I’m going to get back to doing. Have a nice life."

Connor’s face clouded over. "Hey, Rye, don’t be like that," he said. "Look, I know things didn’t end well between us. And I’m sorry for that. I just—I saw you over here and I couldn’t let things stand the way they’d been. It’s been a long time, Rye-Rye."

I looked at him, unwilling to believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I’d ever heard him make what sounded like a sincere apology. "Yeah. It has," I said, my voice softer than before.

"What have you been up to, anyway?"

I let myself relax a little. If Connor wanted to make small talk and pretend we didn’t have a past, fine. "Working. Mostly in New York," I said, letting pride inflect my sentences. "I have a great job in the financial district, but this week I’m out here on business."

"New York." Connor’s eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head. "I was happy to get out of that rat race. Hell, even L.A. is relaxed by comparison. At my first internship in New York, three of us woke up at four-thirty every morning to see who could get coffee to the senior partners soonest."

I couldn’t help feeling a little secret delight—I’d been able to stay in the city that had been too much for him. "I guess some people just can’t hack it in Manhattan," I said, smiling smugly.

I expected him to be pissed off, but he just laughed. "There’s that Riley smile I like to see," he said. "And the attitude. I missed that."

"It’s been missing for a reason."

"I know." He stepped toward me, his voice soft. "It’s just, you know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately."

"No. Not interested." I took a step backwards, looking down to make sure I wouldn’t trip on any of the cords around the soundstage. Jax and the rest of the band were in straitjackets, and the director filmed them as they writhed on set—I was just glad Jax wasn’t looking in my direction.

"There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I’ve been working on, and you deserve to know about it."

I crossed my arms tighter. "Look, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. It was nice seeing you, Connor."

"I found out after we broke up that I’m a sex addict," he blurted, loud enough that I looked around to make sure no one had heard.

A sex addict? What the hell does that have to do with anything? "No, you’re not, Connor," I said, my voice rising angrily. "You’re a self-centered, manipulative liar."

He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, no, I deserve that." He paused, then said, "I just wanted you to know I got in a program. I’m on Step Nine."

I rolled my eyes—hard. "Please stop talking."

"Wow, Riley, I expected better from you." His tone was derisive.

He wants to talk about expecting better from me? I looked at him, dumbfounded. "What?!"

"Be pissed off at me if you want," he said, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue. "But the Riley I know would at least let me tell her I’m sorry. Do you even know what Step Nine is?"

I stared at the set, looking away from Connor. "No."

"Step Nine means I have to atone, whenever possible, for the hurt I caused other people." He stepped in front of my line of sight, with a frown that made him look like a sad puppy. "Rye, I hurt you. I know I did."

I lowered my voice, hoping he’d do the same. "Connor, you don’t have to do this."

I didn’t care if he wanted to apologize. I didn’t want to forgive him. I still shook every time I thought about how our relationship had ended.

On the set, the director was shouting to the bandmates: "Okay, now burst through the doors!" All at once, the cells sprang open, and each band member came out, carrying an instrument and leaving their straitjackets behind. The zombies started giving chase right away. I watched pointedly, looking anywhere but toward Connor.