The afternoon session is even more painful than the morning. Miles spends the entire time coaching us on “how to seduce the camera.” Halfway through, Flynn and I decided we should start a little drinking game—where every time Miles says the word “intimate,” we’d drink. I stopped counting at sixteen, figuring I’d have alcohol poisoning by then anyway.

Toward the end of the day, Miles announces we will be having one more group date before we leave for Barbados the day after tomorrow. We’re all going to the Film Critics Awards Banquet. Flynn and the four contestants are going to announce the nominees and winner for best supporting actor.

Flynn and I are the last ones to leave. Outside, the parking lot is nearly empty, and he insists on waiting with me for Sadie, who, of course, is late picking me up. We kill the time laughing as he entertains me by singing a rhyme he made up to mock Miles’s coaching advice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for making a waste-of-time day totally bearable,” I say to Flynn as Sadie finally pulls up.

“No problem. Anytime I can put a smile on that beautiful face isn’t a waste of time for me.” Flynn leans down to kiss my lips and it takes me a minute to realize what’s about to happen. Shit. We haven’t even been put in a private romantic situation yet. I panic, feeling silly for doing so when the kiss feels almost innocent, but I turn my head just in time as Flynn’s lips come down to find mine. Flynn catches the corner of my mouth. I, on the other hand, turn my head and catch the glare of Cooper Montgomery.

Chapter thirty-two

Kate

I’m sorry. I shot off a text as soon as I buckled into Sadie’s car. I wasn’t surprised Cooper didn’t respond right away. But it’s hours later now and he’s still silent. I visualize the moment over and over in my head. The almost-kiss on the lips, turning my head to find Cooper standing right there—eyes tempered with hurt. His curt nod and rapid departure leave me feeling unsettled.

Anxiously, I check my phone every five minutes until the minutes turn into hours and it becomes painfully obvious I won’t be getting a response. I attempt to clear my head with a rare trip to the gym, followed by two glasses of wine. But all it does is blur my thoughts and leave me wondering if everything I was so sure would work out when we were in Barbados was even real.

Maybe if there would have been a scene I’d be able to sleep, but the unknown is killing me. I stare at the television, waiting for something to take my mind off what his lack of response means. It doesn’t work. Around one in the morning, my lack of self-control wins out and I shoot off another text. Can’t sleep. The bed is empty without you next to me.

My phone rings ten seconds later.

“Hey,” I answer, uncertain as to what to expect.

“It’s intolerable,” he says with a breath of frustration.

“Sleeping alone?”

“Seeing him touch you.”

A few seconds of silence pass as I internally debate how to respond.

“I’m sorry.”

“You looked happy.”

There’s an ache in my chest. “I am happy. You make me happy.”

“Then I should be the one on the receiving end of your smile.”

“You are.”

“I wasn’t this afternoon.”

There’s no way to get through this conversation without a few bumps and bruises. “He’s a nice guy. I like him … as a friend. Even if we weren’t in this situation, I have guy friends—ones I’d occasionally share a smile with.”

“Maybe. But I’d be able to wrap my arm around your waist and pull you close to me when I’m near you and see you sharing that smile with another man. I wouldn’t have to walk away like you didn’t belong to me.”

“I’m sorry.” And we’re back to where we started. I have no idea how to make him feel better. “I really only think of him as a friend.”

“That’s not how he thinks of you.”

How do I argue with what I suspect to be the truth? “I’m sorry.” I’m starting to sound like a broken record.

“I can’t wait until this is over.”

“Soon.”

“There’ll be no mistaking who you belong to when this charade is over,” he says with an edge to his voice that wakens my libido.

“I look forward to it,” I say while sporting the first smile I’ve felt since this afternoon.

“Stay with me tomorrow night. I’ll be at a work event until late. But I want you in my bed when I get home.”

“Okay. But Miles added another event shoot to the schedule and we’re going to some awards ceremony tomorrow night. So I might be late.”

“What awards ceremony?”

“The Film Critics Awards Banquet.”

“Great. More watching Dickhead paw you and not being able to do anything about it.”

“You promised not to watch the dailies anymore.”

“I won’t have to watch the dailies. Miles’s table is next to mine.”

Miles catches my eyes as they linger on the empty seat at the next table for what must be the tenth time in the last hour. He forces a smile and I watch his eyes dart to the table I’m fixated on and back to me. No doubt he thinks I’m star struck looking at Tatiana Laroix or Benjamin Parker. I’m pretty sure the whole place is staring at one of the two of them.

There’s no denying that Tatiana Laroix is a beautiful woman. But tonight she’s beyond stunning—men and women both can’t stop staring. Her hair is done in that Roaring Twenties-era finger wave that is feminine and dramatic, yet somehow still appears slightly understated. The exact opposite of her dress. The daring cleavage-baring nude gown is cut to her navel, leaving the men in the room fixated on the effectiveness of double-sided tape. Knowing the empty seat is where Cooper will eventually sit, I find myself jealous even though he hasn’t stepped foot in the room yet.