Why?
Why did this woman affect him so much? Why was it so easy to be around her?
Was it the show they were putting on? The fact that he was playing a role? Or was there truly a deeper connection between them?
He didn't know. All he was certain of was that somehow Sugar had snuck in around the edges. He might not know how she managed to do it, but he couldn't deny that she had. And that simple fact scared the shit out of him.
Didn't he know better than anyone that connections meant pain and loss? Hadn't he seen that his whole life? His mother? Jenny?
Which meant that he didn't get involved. He just didn't. It was too messy. Too complicated. Trying to build a relationship at the same time he built a career was a recipe for failure on both counts.
All he wanted--all he needed--was to keep his career on track. Last night, Sugar had helped serve that purpose. But she wasn't really his girlfriend--they both knew that.
And he shouldn't feel any guilt at all for leaving this morning. The job was done, after all. Clean. Simple. Time to move on.
At least that's what he told himself.
But as he went into the kitchen to write her a note, he couldn't deny the lump in his stomach. And as he got in his car, he had to actually take a moment to hold onto the steering wheel and do nothing but breathe as a storm of emotion roiled inside him. Loss and guilt, longing and shame.
He was a goddamned asshole.
Yeah, well, maybe he was. But as he started the car and pulled out onto the street, he also knew that he had no choice. Not if he wanted to keep his life sane and his career on track.
Not if he wanted to keep his all his secrets.
* * *
Usually, Lyle hated organized media events, especially when they ate into his weekend. Today, however, he was happy for anything that took his mind off of Laine. Even a series of costume screen tests to which the media had been invited.
Even if that meant that he had to wear tights.
Lyle had already had his turn in the iconic M. Sterious costume as well as the tux he'd wear to an action-filled party scene. Now, he was just waiting for the wrap-up so that he and the other cast members could field questions and pose for a few additional shots.
That should be soon, thank God. At the moment, Frannie was preening in front of the camera in a black skin suit with neon blue accents. A cluster of reporters and social media influencers were gathered around, snapping pics and shouting questions between shots.
Most of them he'd seen before. The tall, thin guy who ran a particularly snarky blog. The bubbly woman who worked for one of the glossy entertainment magazines. A leggy blonde who hosted one of the local morning shows. And then there was the athletic guy in jeans and a denim jacket who was sporting a goatee and a baseball cap worn low over his eyes. Lyle couldn't get a good look at him, but something about him seemed so damn familiar.
It didn't matter, of course, but the question tugged at his mind anyway.
"Time to quit daydreaming," Evelyn said, taking his elbow and steering him to a corner. "The contracts for the next installments came in. I've got the legal team looking over them, but the bottom line is what we talked about. They want you for three more Blue Zenith movies after this one, with an option for another."
"And the pay?"
"Step increases with every film, plus significant back-end. One of the best deals I've ever negotiated, if I do say so myself. And I think you'd be a fool to take it."
He exhaled, frustrated. "Dammit, Evelyn."
"Yeah, yeah. You want to make it big, I know. A huge splash in the giant cesspool that's Hollywood. Trust me, I get it. Because believe me, that's a story I've heard before. And I'm all for fame and fortune, but in your case, I don't see this making you happy, Iowa. Being a superhero isn't your jam, and we both know it."
"I'm not signing on for Arizona Spring. An indie film with no upfront payday and very little chance of making it on the back-end? Is that really the direction you think I should go?"
"I think if you sign on for the franchise it's going to be like wearing golden chains. And I think Spring is one of the best scripts I've ever read. You did amazing work in the sitcom, and you'll be great as M. But if your goal is for the world to see your acting chops, you need to do a drama. Not comedy. Not comic book. Drama."
"Fine," he said sharply, because he just wanted to end this conversation. "I'll think about it." Except there was no thinking to be done. He and Jenny had come to Hollywood so that she could explode onto the silver screen. And while he may have destroyed Jenny, he hadn't destroyed the dream. And so long as he was able, he intended to see that dream become reality. That was his goal.
It had to be.
He started to walk toward the reporters, because even that was better than going another round with his agent, but she called to him with a sharp, "Hang on there, Iowa. One more thing."