Method

“Oh, don’t I know it.” The melodic rumble of his laugh sounds over the line. “What if I promise to put in the work?”

I hold my tongue making him wait for it.

“You there?”

“Give me half an hour for the car?”

Satisfaction coats his reply. “My driver, Paul, is already there. Come out when you’re ready.”

I head to my living room, peeking through my blinds as a blacked-out sedan comes into view. This scenario leaves me a little unimpressed. “So very Hollywood, Mr. Walker.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

Walking back into my bathroom, I hit the speaker and start to undress.

“And what if I had plans tonight?”

“You just told me you didn’t.”

“What if I did?”

“Well, then I would hope you would break them. I know it’s a little presumptuous, but you’re coming, so it’s settled.”

“I can change my mind.”

“Don’t. And Mila?”

The sound of my name on his lips coats my insides.

“Yes?” It

’s there, the anticipation, the adrenaline spike.

“I’ve missed you.”

He sounds so sincere that I’m stunned silent. My heart starts beating in a beautiful rhythm as I kick my panties aside. It’s a good thing I’m speechless because his silence tells me he’s ended the call.

“Could’ve fooled me, Hollywood,” I mutter drawing the shower curtain.

“I heard that,” he says with a chuckle. “See you soon.” And then he does hang up.

Palming my face, I can’t help but free the growing smile underneath.

Nearly an hour later, I’m chauffeured into the studio parking lot, thankful I’m not overdressed. Clad in dark jeans, black ankle boots, and an off-the-shoulder shirt, it’s just casual enough. My dark hair is down in waves that end just past my shoulders. I’ve smoked out my eyes to match their color and thoroughly glossed my lips. I never thought to ask where I was going. Excitement spikes when I take in the darkened lot, though it’s hardly deserted. Someone is bustling around every corner. In a way, it’s what I expected. A series of buildings that hold executive offices and stages scattered along the lot. We glide past streets full of production warehouses when the car comes to a stop to one of the same. A building marked Stage 7. A woman who seems to be around my age and is all smiles waits for me at the curb. As I take the driver’s hand in a guided exit from the car, she’s sputtering off niceties when she greets me. She’s dressed casually in short shorts, a collared tee, and has her dark blonde hair tightly braided, a walkie-talkie in one hand and a clipboard in the other. “Hi, Mila. I’m Nova, Lucas’s assistant.”

“Hi,” I parrot back shouldering my purse and thanking the driver, Paul, who’d spoken only two sentences since he’d picked me up. Surveying the lot, I look back to Nova. “I’m weirded out,” I tell her honestly.

“I can imagine. I was too the first time. Unfortunately, it’s rather depressing when you actually see the process. I think it ruins the magic. He’s doing you an injustice by bringing you here. It’s a lot of lights, sound, and position, and that’s on a good day.”

I eye the building behind her and the ones connected. “And on a bad day?”

“Wardrobe malfunction, pyrotechnic disasters, a clusterfuck of attitude, too much noise, and a pathetic spread from Craft service.”

I smile, and she smiles back. We’re going to get along just fine.

“Still, it’s pretty epic to watch it all come together. Come on, I know he’s been waiting for you. He hasn’t shut up about you all day.” She looks back at me in the hope I perceive her comment as supportive, and it does. I like her.

“That’s good to hear, thanks.”