Take Two

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ I ’m running late.”

I say the words, a desperate smile on my lips as I beg the barista to move the two iced Einsp?nners to the top of her to-brew list.

The look she casts me is as bleak as my chances of making it to work on time.

I’m two-and-a-half blocks away from my bosses’ multi-million dollar residence. That’s fifteen minutes in this traffic. I only have five to spare.

Sure, on paper, my workday starts at nine o’clock sharp. But any good assistant knows to be at her desk well before her bosses walk through the office door. And my office is located on the first floor of a three-story estate my bosses eat, sleep, and create out of.

In other words, arriving at nine o’clock sharp makes me thirty minutes late.

I fish a crumpled ten-dollar bill out of my pocket, giving the barista a pleading look. She sighs but slips my tip into her apron. I let out a breath of relief when she reaches for the premium coffee beans my bosses insist on, despite the extra six dollars they add to their order.

My sneakers smell of burning rubber as I vault through the parking lot, a drink tray clutched in one hand, my car keys poised in the other. The rattle of my racing heartbeat blares over the radio, my fingers tapping like broken drumsticks atop my steering wheel.

There’s a screech of tires as I skid to stop outside my bosses’ wrought iron fence. I push in the entry code, not waiting for the gate to slide fully open before I squeeze my way through.

A fleeting glance at my watch tells me I’m impossibly, nearly perfectly on time. If luck is on my side, I might be able to place my bosses’ drinks in their fridge before they stumble downstairs.

A triumphant smile is already pulling at my eager lips as I swerve into their kitchen, the aluminum doors of my salvation in sight. I reach out a hand, twitching fingers grasping onto a cool handle and—

“Late again are we, Montes?”

My smile slips sideways, morphing into the shadow of a scowl. I turn, eyes locking on the one face that could sour my morning.

It’s a beautiful one. Crafted with an artist’s eye. A strong jaw lifts into hollowed cheeks, where a straight nose rests above Cupid’s bow lips. Eyes two shades lighter than my own narrow as Taylor Hedlund studies my face with the same scrutiny I paid his.

Any good assistant knows to be at her desk before her bosses walk through the front door.

A better assistant knows to be at her desk before her competition even wakes.

And my competition is wearing my stolen grin, made all the more exultant on his perfect, arrogant face.

“Hedlund.” I dip my chin a fraction of an inch, flashing my teeth. He mirrors my wolfish expression, taking even that from me. Just like the job he’s deliberately and methodically endeavored to thieve since he started working as my bosses’ second assistant nine months ago.

“You look well,” he says, meaning the opposite. A strand of golden-brown hair falls onto his forehead, not that he needed any extra help looking the part of an old Hollywood star.

I’m in my unofficial uniform—a pressed blouse and pleated trousers. An ensemble I adopted during my first month working for Adoria and Victor Haven. The screenwriting duo turned producer powerhouses are as erratic with their requests as the heroes in their critically acclaimed melodramas. I’m as likely to spend a morning driving around town on the hunt for a one-of-a-kind vintage side table as I am to attend a meeting with the cast of their next feature film. My uniform helps me blend in, no matter the day’s itinerary.

Taylor is dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans. Despite that face and his staggering height, or maybe because of them, he fits into whatever room he enters. I’ve watched him do it—chameleon himself with that arsenal of good-natured charm he’s never shown me.

I tuck a strand of dark hair behind my ear, surreptitiously patting down whatever came loose in my rush to get here. “And you look like you haven’t showered.” I sniff, wrinkling my nose. “Smell like it, too.”

“Pretty sure that’s your breath.”

“How juvenile, Hedlund—sorry, was that too many syllables? It means you’re being childish.”

Taylor takes a menacing step forward, lips curling with a new insult when he stops in his tracks. Like magic, his expression transforms. An easy smile overtakes the unpleasantness that lurked there before. Even before turning around, I know our bosses have entered the room.

“Oh, you brought coffee! Darling, you are my hero.”

Adoria’s sing-song voice has me erecting a mask of my own before I whirl around. I open my mouth to say, “You’re welcome,” before I realize she isn’t looking at me.

“With an extra shot of espresso, just how you like it,” a deep voice drawls from over my shoulder.

I watch Taylor’s muscled arm curve around me as he holds out a tray of iced Einsp?nners. Not my iced Einsp?nners—better ones. Frothier ones. Ones that look a hell of a lot tastier than the pair sitting forgotten beside the fridge. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, attempting to stifle a scream.

Adoria rolls her blue eyes skyward, like her first sip of caffeine is heaven-sent. She’s statuesque, the kind of beauty that might have once peered out at you from the society pages in the 1920s. Short hair, big eyes, and thinly plucked brows that make her appear perpetually surprised. Victor stumbles in after her, accepting Taylor’s offered coffee with murmured thanks. He stands several inches shorter than his wife, dyed-black hair as dark as his manicured goatee.

I can count the number of sentences I’ve exchanged with Victor in my two-and-a-half year employment on a single hand. I swear I’ve heard him laughing with Taylor, exchanging easy jokes…only to promptly fall silent when I entered the room.

“And I couldn’t forget you…”

I turn with the sound of Taylor’s voice, and not for the first time in his presence, my heart fails to beat. Taller than I am by at least a foot, he has lowered his head so our eyes can meet. He slips a drink into my unsuspecting hands, backing away before I can refuse. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, full of a kindness he normally reserves for everyone else.

And I…freeze. Despite myself, my body momentarily forgets who he is. That his attention comes with strings attached. For a fleeting moment, he’s just a handsome man who’s gone out of his way to make me feel seen.

And then that moment is ripped in half.

I look down at the cup in my hands right as Adoria calls, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman! We’re lucky to have you, Taylor.”

I swear I hear a record scratch.

This is my move. That should have been my praise. Every other week I bring to work some kind of treat. Homemade cookies or fresh fruit or coffee—something extra to coax a smile onto my bosses’ faces. And now Taylor is trying to commandeer my calculated kindness, pass it off as his own. While my iced coffees are becoming watered-down bean juice, he’s reaping the benefits of my bootlicking playbook.

But the final straw rests in the cardboard cup still nestled in my hands.

The strangely weightless cup.

The one he covered with a plastic lid so no one but I would know the truth.

That it’s empty.

Taylor’s eyes find mine as our bosses shuffle out of the room. He cocks his head, daring me to cause a scene. But that’s not what a great assistant does. Like most of the heavyweights in Hollywood, the Havens can’t really fathom what it takes to work on their team. As far as they’re concerned, their assistants’ lives begin and end when we pass through their doors. Speaking up about our petty little squabbles would do more harm than good. And I can’t afford to be a nuisance.

So I pretend to take a long sip, sighing as the phantom syrup hits my tongue. “Tastes good, Hedlund,” I murmur. I step toward him, invading his space until he’s forced to move out of my way. “But you know what tastes even better?” I lift onto tip-toes, my hair tickling his ear as I whisper, “Knowing I don’t have to copy someone else to be valued here. My talent speaks for itself. Shame you don’t have any of your own.”

I flash him a smile before I follow the Havens into the living room. He doesn’t return it.

Then again, he hasn’t returned any of my smiles. Not since the first day the Havens introduced him as their new assistant. Or, as I know it, the last day Taylor Hedlund saw me as anything other than an enemy.