Chapter Five
THE MOVIE STAR and the PA, take two.
“What the hell am I doing?” I mutter as I sink into the hot tub a few hours later. The shoot has wrapped for the night, the crew all gone home, and I’m about to be half-naked with one of the world’s biggest movie stars. Again. “This is nuts.”
It isn’t that he’s a movie star that bothers me. It’s the fact that nothing about Zachary Butler bothers me. Which is impossible. No one is that handsome, charming, and seemingly kind, while being ungodly rich and famous. I told the truth about not reading the tabloid fodder about his and Eva Dean’s disintegrating relationship, but I’ve heard plenty. She sounds like a toxic nightmare, but every story has two sides, right? Maybe tonight Zach will show his toxic side.
And then I’ll immediately want to sleep with him.
Sudden heat creeps up my face and it’s not the water. I’m on the verge of talking myself into leaving before whatever this is goes any further, when footsteps approach. Zachary rounds the corner, dressed in long shorts and a T-shirt. He’s got a towel tucked under one arm and a bottle of red wine in hand.
“An offering to the no-bullshit zone,” he says, holding up the wine with a grin.
Ugh, he’s too damn cute for his own good.
“What is it? An 1890 Chateau La Feet Something, from your personal cellar in France?”
He inspects the label. “More like, a 2023 Kendall Jackson from the nearest liquor store.”
Zach removes his T-shirt, and I pretend to become extremely involved in hunting in my bag for the wine-opener. I find it and let him do the honors.
“Shit,” he says, popping the cork. “I didn’t think to bring a second glass. Guess we’ll have to keep sharing.”
“Guess we will,” I say, wondering if he “forgot” the same way I “forgot” to swipe a plastic cup from catering on my way out here.
He pours a very full wine glass and offers it to me.
“Cheers,” I say and take a sip, then pass it over. He does the same and then nods his chin at the book I’d set beside my bag.
“What’s the book?”
“A collection of poems by Emily Dickinson.”
“Hmmm, dark. What’s it called, the poem you’re reading now?”
“ It was not Death, for I stood up .” His pointed look makes me laugh. “Okay, so she’s dark, but I love her.”
“Read me some.”
I blink. “Sorry?”
“I’ve never heard that poem,” he says. “I’d like to hear it.”
“Are you being serious?”
Zachary takes a sip of our wine. “Hard to believe I want to hear poetry because I’m a guy?”
There’s a lot about you that’s hard to believe.
I bite the thought back before I blurt it out. By the light of the ground lamps, I read a stanza from the poem.
“ The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine—
As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key…”
My throat grows tight. I shut the book and put it away. “Anyway.”
“Sounds sad,” Zach says. “Almost unbearable.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Sometimes that’s what it feels like.”
“What does?”
Life, I nearly say. Living after someone has stopped . I look up to see Zach watching me with soft eyes.
“That concludes Poetry Hour. And speaking of dark,” I say, taking the wine and changing the subject with an epic hairpin turn. “I’ve never felt sorrier for blood squibs in my life.”
“Hey, they knew what they were getting into when they took the gig,” he says lightly, letting me off the hook.
“That…makes no sense.”
“True, but here we are.”
Here we are…
We share a smile and silence falls.
Finally, I say, “So this is weird, right? A megastar and a nobody, hanging out in a hot tub.”
“Yeah, it’s a little weird,” Zach says. “But there’s no ‘nobody’ here. And if we can pretend for a second there’s no movie star either, that’d be great.”
“Just two regular joes…?”
“Trespassing on someone else’s property, chugging cheap wine, and reading poetry,” he finishes with a grin. “How did you find this oasis?”
“Luck.”
“I meant, what were you looking for in the first place?”
Okay, so that’s a deeper question than I’m prepared for. I reach for the wine to buy some time. What can I tell Zach that doesn’t make me sound like a lunatic? Not the truth—that I collect little places in the world where no one can see me. That this one is perfect because I can pretend any tears that come unannounced are just more water in a tubful.
“I found it while doing a perimeter check for Ted,” I say. “Someone forgot to shut off the heat and I didn’t feel it necessary to alert them to that fact.”
Zach nods and sinks in the water until it’s up to his chin. “I’m glad you didn’t. Thanks for letting me crash your sanctuary.”
“It’s not technically mine, so…”
Another silence. Zach’s eyes are closed. His angular features soften; the tension falling away. He looks so different from his character, Boyd Shelton. He looks different in all his roles. Even as Felix Fleming, the wise-cracking gangster-with-a-heart-of-gold he played in Crazy 8 that nabbed him a Best Supporting Oscar nomination for this year’s upcoming Academy Awards. They’d given him a little pencil mustache, slicked his hair, and he put on a perfect old-timey accent. But it was as if he changed his face somehow. Different faces for every role, and those are the faces the world sees.
But I see him as himself.
I take another pull of wine. The glass scrapes the cement as I set it down. Zach opens his eyes.
“So, this is our last night together,” he says, “and I’ve only just begun to get to know you.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Not good enough.” He moves closer to take a sip of our wine. “I’m relentlessly curious about people. For my job, of course.”
“Sounds like another way of saying you’re nosy as hell.”
He laughs. “Let’s ask each other questions. Rapid fire. No stopping to think up the answers. If it’s too personal, say pass and we move on. We’ll cram a lot of getting-to-know-you in a short time.”
“Who says I want to get to know you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he says. “I’m fucking delightful.”
“That’s debatable.”
“The basics first. Easy stuff. Like…what’s your favorite color?”
“Black,” I say.
“Is that why you wear the same black T-shirt and jeans to set every day?”
I nod. “That, and it’s just easier to have a kind of work uniform.”
“Like Steve Jobs and his turtlenecks.”
“I don’t think Steve Jobs ever had to help an actress stuff her boobs back into her corset, but sure.”
He laughs. “Your turn.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“It’s boring. Ryan. Yours?” He shakes his head. “Wait, I don’t even know your last name.”
“Walsh. Middle name, Emily.”
“That’s pretty.”
Zach’s smile is soft and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach feel weird. “What umm…what are you doing after Covet wraps?” I ask oh-so-casually.
“I have a few days off, and then I’m heading to Alaska for another shoot. A little indie.”
“Already?”
“I’m a glutton for punishment. What about you?”
“I’m going to take some time off at this cabin my dad left mein Wildwood.”
“Sounds nice. You sure like your hideaways, don’t you?”
I clear my throat. “You could say that.”
“Do you have another job after this?”
“No.”
He watches me over the rim of the glass. “Well, if you’re looking, I hear Alaska’s cold and miserable this time of year.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I say and cut him off before he can speak again. “But isn’t there a big award show coming up for which you are nominated in a major category?”
He looks away. “I suppose.”
“Well. Aren’t you—?”
“Pass. Next question.”
It strikes me as strange that being nominated for an Oscar is a touchy subject, but far be it for me to press someone about stuff they don’t want to talk about. I’m a professional in that department.
“Any phobias?” I ask.
“Being late for anything.”
“That’s not a real phobia.”
“You haven’t seen me get up at four a.m. for a ten a.m. flight.”
I laugh lightly. “Fair enough.”
Zach takes some wine, warm again. When he’s happy, his warmth is more potent than the water and I wonder what fool woman—Eva Dean—wouldn’t want to do her utmost to bask in that forever.
“Rowan?”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“Your phobias.”
“Insects,” I say. “Butterflies and ladybugs get a pass but that’s it.”
“Interesting.” He taps his chin. “Tell me more.”
“I just don’t understand why there has to be so many.”
“Balanced ecosystems? Pollination of our food?”
“You say that like it’s important.”
We’ve left our respective tub corners and are face to face in the middle. Better wine access, is all, though I’m not mad about being this close to his hazel eyes that are fixed on me intently, or the water beading on his chest, the steam rising up…
“Your turn, by the way,” Zach says.
“Don’t you get tired of being asked questions?” I arch a brow. “You aren’t interviewed enough?”
“I hate interviews. But I’m not getting tired of your questions.”
“What’s the difference?”
“This is real,” Zach says. “Probably the first real conversation I’ve had in a long time, ground rules and all.”
“Your friends don’t talk to you?”
“Is that your official question?”
I study his hesitancy. His willingness to trust me with private information. “It’s off the record,” I say, and he relaxes.
“I don’t have many real friends anymore. A few buddies back in St. Louis. But my circle seems to have dwindled with all the Eva drama. She didn’t like me going out and I got so fucking exhausted arguing about it. Poor rich boy problems, right?”
Zach lays his arms on the edge of the tub, then rests his chin on the back of his hands. I do the same.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’d imagine it’s hard to make friends, not knowing if they’re interested in you or just being near you.”
His brows rise, his expression appreciative. “Correct. It’s not all bad. I have my team and we’re close. I call them my California family.” He smiles ruefully. “A family I pay to stick around me. So yeah, I like your questions. And I’m pretty sure it’s my turn.”
“Mine were off the record.”
“This whole convo is off the record,” he says. “Unless you’re a spy for The Scandal Sheet .”
“You got me. Being a PA is just a cover.” I nudge his arm. “See? You don’t have to worry about my career after all.”
Zach grins. “Nice try, but you’re done stalling. It’s my turn. When was the last time you were scared shitless?”
Right now.
The thought pops into my head uninvited. And makes no sense anyway. What’s to be scared of? But I’m waging a constant battle against that aura of safety Zachary exudes. It tempts me to spill my guts to him because with him, it’d be okay…
I clear my throat. “Getting more personal, these questions.”
“We’re leveling up. But you can always pass,” he adds gently.
I think for a moment, shuffling through a catalogue of moments that left me breathless with terror. Most involve the night Josh was hit. His shoe in the road. The blood. His memorial and all the people crying—his mother, broken forever—because I’d been fucking cold. Or any number of long, dark nights where the grief lurked like a wolf, ready to tear me to shreds if I made eye contact…
“Um, the first morning my mom didn’t get out of bed after my dad died,” I tell Zachary, marveling that this is the easy memory. “I had to get ready for school on my own. I was thirteen and old enough to handle my own shit, but just eating breakfast alone in that quiet kitchen… Yeah, that was scary. Because I already knew in my bones that my mother wasn’t going to bounce back and that my childhood was officially over.”
Zach nods, his eyes even softer now. “I can see how that would be really scary.”
I take a long pull of wine. “Right. So. Your turn. Same question.”
He traces his finger in some water on the cement next to him. “Vancouver, three years ago. Eva and I had a fight—an epic one. The kind in which things were said that cannot be unsaid and where she…” He lets that sentence die. “That’s when I had the first real fear that we weren’t going to make it. That she wasn’t the same person I’d fallen in love with.” He sighs. “Cheesy, right?”
“No,” I say. “It’s sounds honest.”
“We had a whole life planned out, or so I thought,” Zach continues. “Hollywood was just one part of it. I thought we were going to build something real. Marriage, family, kids…something lasting.” He shakes his head, his eyes distant. “Watching that fall apart was hard.”
He’s hot, rich, and famous, but what he really wants is one woman to love forever.
I stare at this strange creature across from me. A hundred questions clog my brain, most of them some version of “Is Eva crazy?” But then, maybe family life isn’t what she wants. Hell, I can’t imagine it for myself. Maybe she can’t either.
Zach’s phone lights up with a text.
“Speak of the devil.” He sighs and silences it, then turns it face down. “She wants to talk. I don’t know what about. It’s supposed to be over, but I keep getting sucked back in.”
“Why?”
“Regret, I guess.” His eyes meet mine across the water. “I didn’t want to talk about the Oscars and the Crazy 8 nomination because it’s like another little knife in my side. Because I actually had fun making that movie. It was one of the best experiences I’ve had.”
“It showed.”
“Being nominated for that role is just icing on the cake, but Eva…” He shakes his head, his lips drawn down as he takes a pull of wine. “She says the last thing I need is an award to feed my ego. That I want people to like me too much.”
“I would’ve gone with ‘congrats’ but that’s just me.”
He smiles wanly. “She wasn’t always like this and that’s my biggest regret.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t fix it with her. On the TV show…” He stops, checks in with me. “She and I were on that show, Godsent ?”
I arch a brow. “That six-season pop culture phenomenon? Never heard of it.”
He nudges my elbow with his, then sighs. “The Godsent fame went to Eva’s head, and she changed. I didn’t see the signs quick enough or else I would’ve grabbed her and taken her to some hideaway too. To keep her safe.”
I want the next question in our little interview to be who’s keeping him safe, but I take a sip of wine instead.
Zachary runs a hand through his dark hair. “Jesus, listen to me. Your relaxing hot tub time has become my therapy session.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No?” He smiles. “Because you’re really easy to talk to. Or maybe it’s just that I’m talking at you and you’re too polite to tell me to shut up.”
“Impossible. I’m not remotely polite.”
He laughs. “Okay, but we need to even things up. Your turn. What’s your biggest regret?”
The water suddenly feels cold, and my chest too heavy. It’s too big, my answer. I should say pass and get out of the tub and stop talking to this man who makes me feel like it’s okay to let some of it out.
Zach’s easy smile fades as he takes in my reaction. “Oh hey. You don’t have to—”
“There was someone,” I say in a low tone. “Someone…important. And one of my biggest regrets is that…”
I helped kill him.
“I…didn’t say enough to him when I had the chance.”
“So he left?” Zach asks gently.
“Yeah,” I say thickly. “He left.”
He nods, his expression kind, and full of empathy, and it hurts to look at him. I move for the wine glass and take a long pull, pulling myself together at the same time.
“Anyway,” I say, when I can trust myself to speak. “It was a long time ago.”
“But the regret still lingers, doesn’t it? It’s an asshole that way.” Zach glances at his phone. “I think there comes a point where we just have to let go. Move on and try to learn from our mistakes and not keep punishing ourselves for them.”
“How do you do that?” I ask, trying not to sound desperate.
Zach smiles sadly. “When I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”
There’s a long moment of silence. The air between us, heated and steamy, has changed. We’ve changed, he and I, as if we leapfrogged a bunch of steps that took us from virtual strangers to…something else.
We can’t be anything else.
The thought feels automatic. Like a program that’s been running in the back of my mind for ten years. But before I can examine it, a flapping white-winged alien-monster divebombs me from out of the dark.
“Jesus Christ!” I shriek and jerk back to my end of the hot tub. The moth—a mutant, judging by its size—chases me. I let out a yelp and circle backward, toward Zach. “Dammit!”
“Don’t get it wet,” he says, laughing. “It won’t be able to fly.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” It’s still coming at me as I slosh around the hot tub like an idiot. “What is even happening right now?”
“Your fear is delicious to it.”
“You’re hilarious.” I cower behind Zach, gripping his shoulders and using him as a human shield as the white monstrosity ducks and weaves, as if the only place in all the world it wants to land is on my face. “How are you not freaking out?”
“One of us has to stay calm in a crisis.”
The moth flutters in front of Zach. He gently waves it away and it flies off—finally—to hover around one of the lights that line the path to the guest house.
I’m still gripping the bunched muscles of Zach’s bare shoulders that shake with his laughter.
“Not funny,” I say. “I’m going to be itchy for a week.”
Zach slowly turns. My hands fall away. My back is to his side of the tub; his tall, half-naked body inches from me. Luminous hazel eyes—alit with laughter—find mine and his gaze seems to sink inside me.
“That was fun,” he says.
“Says you,” I retort weakly.
My hands are floating between us, still wanting to touch him. His gaze drops to my mouth for a moment, then back up, and now my heart is pounding for different reasons. Shit, is he going to kiss me? Am I going to kiss him? Do I want to?
Yes…
My phone, on the other side of the cement, lights up.
“Excuse me,” I say thickly. “I’m just going to…”
I move away from the heat and presence of Zach and read the text.
Hey beautiful. Round three?
I should type yes. I should tell Clay I’ll be there in twenty and get the hell out of this tub with Zachary Butler and his beautiful eyes and charisma that makes it hard to think. I don’t get to be with good men; that ship has sailed. But suddenly, the thought of spending the night with Clay after being with Zach makes me sick to my stomach.
Slowly, I set the phone to silent and turn around. Zach’s gaze hasn’t changed its level of intensity, but he’s wearing a knowing grin that makes my insides twist in a good way.
I cross my arms and try to sarcasm my way out of this feeling. “Can I help you?”
“We had a moment just now. Didn’t we?”
Shit.
“No, we did not.” I reach for the wine glass but it’s empty, and I can’t trust my hand to refill it.
“I think we did,” Zach says.
“I think you’re imagining things.”
He cocks his head, his grin as brilliant as ever. “Are we? I don’t know, I’m pretty sure that was a little something.”
God, how easy it would be to glide back to him. To put my arms around him again, this time face to face, body pressed to body, and just let something happen. Something clean and good…
Is that something you deserve? After the way you let Josh down? There’s no coming back from that.
The reminder is a cold shower. “Look, you’ve still got a lot of shit going on with Eva, right? And I’m…sort of seeing someone, so maybe now isn’t the time for us to be having moments.”
Zach’s smile collapses, and I feel like I defaced a work of art. “You’re right. I know you’re right but…I don’t want to stop knowing you.”
The words whack me right in the chest and sink in.
Zach climbs out of the tub. He dries his hands, picks up his phone, and begins scrolling.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking up the crew contact list,” Zach says. “There you are.”
In another minute, my phone buzzes on vibrate and lights up with a text. A hand-waving emoji.
“That’s my number,” Zach says. “Not my publicist’s, not my agent’s. My personal number.”
“Great. I’ll sell it on eBay and retire.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“Then what am I supposed to do with it?”
What are we doing?
Zach dries himself off. “Well, I’m hoping you’ll use it. Maybe say hi now and then. If you want.”
Suddenly, he doesn’t resemble a movie star with twenty million Instagram followers but a guy—a good guy—just giving a girl his number.
I hesitate.
“Or not,” he says, his smile gentle. “No pressure. But it’s been nice, Rowan. Like…a break from a lot of noise and chaos. So, if it was just tonight, I’ll take it.”
He’s dressed now and gathering his stuff, and still, I can’t find a damn thing to say. Words stick in my throat because I’m scared they’re going to be words that tell him to stay.
Zach shoulders his bag. “Can you get home okay? Lots of moths out there.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
His answering smile is something I could get used to.
But it’s not for me. He deserves someone as good as he is.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
“Goodnight, Zach.”
He melts into the night and I’m alone. My phone buzzes again.
Yooooo. I’m at Gerry’s. Get your hot ass over here.
It occurs to me there is no better antidote to Zachary Butler than another roll in the hay with Clay Davis. That kind of degradation is something I understand. Not these unsettled feelings that are waking up in me, whispering that I should demand something better for myself.
“Not going to happen,” I mutter. “You don’t go from gas station sushi to Nobu. Not with my track record.”
My thumbs fly. But Zach must’ve broken something in me because instead of telling Clay I’ll be right over, I type: I’m moving to China. Thanks for the laughs. Have a nice life.
And before he can reply, I block his number.