Chapter 10
AMY
I’m staring at the plane tickets to LA again as I walk from the train station to the studio, my fingers gripping my phone a little too tight.
The November air bites at my skin, seeping through the wool of my coat, and I pull it tighter around me. Winter is definitely settling in.
I haven’t told Eli yet.
Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how he’ll take it.
He talks about meeting all the time, in that teasing, effortless way of his, but neither of us has actually made a move.
Not a real one. And lately, with his schedule ramping up, we barely get to talk the way we used to.
The time difference is a bitch, and between his work and my flare-ups, our conversations are getting shorter and less frequent.
And I miss him.
Maya, of course, is all for it. She keeps pushing me to “climb the hot nerd” every chance she gets.
I snort at the memory, shaking my head.
But there’s still that little voice in the back of my mind, the one whispering caution.
Because realistically? This is how people end up as a case on Crimewatch (if it still aired) or as the “she never saw it coming” voiceover on Dateline, while some C-list actor plays me in a cringeworthy reenactment.
I glance up at the dreary gray sky and sigh. A break from all this gloom would be nice. And a week in California, basking in the sun and Eli’s company, sounds like exactly what I need.
As usual, I’m the second to arrive at the office. Maggie always beats me in, but she leaves earlier, a system we’ve both quietly accepted. We exchange our usual hellos before I settle at my desk, preparing for a day of getting lost in the dullness of numbers.
I pull on my compression gloves with a resigned sigh.
I hate these things. They make my hands feel suffocated and restricted, like I’m wrapped in layers of cotton.
But the pain in my fingers and wrists hasn’t eased, and ignoring it will only make things worse.
The gloves are necessary, even if they serve as an unwelcome reminder of my limitations.
It’s enough to make an already dull day feel downright miserable.
But then, at exactly 10:00 a.m., Jolene comes bouncing back from her usual tea round—without any tea—shaking with excitement.
“Will Winters.” She squeals his name like she’s just won the lottery.
I look up, immediately wary. If she tells me that Hollywood’s favorite bad boy has been cast in The Chronicles of Persefia, I swear to God, I will jump out this window.
Jen beats me to it, barely looking up from her monitor. “What about him?”
Jolene practically vibrates in place. “He’s here.”
I frown. “Here as in…?”
“As in here,” she hisses, pointing toward the window. “Like, in the building.”
Maggie and I exchange a look before Genna removes her glasses. “Are you sure?”
Jolene shakes her head so fast her curls bounce. “Yes! That’s the thing! I asked the security guy—”
I arch a brow. “Of course you did.”
She ignores me completely. “—and he said Will is here as a guest! Just casually hanging around, chatting with people like it’s totally normal.” She clutches her empty mug to her chest like a heroine in a period drama. “This is my chance.”
Genna smirks, playing along. “Isn’t he, like… thirty-five?”
Jolene glares. “So? I can totally go for a mature man.”
I snort. Mature? The same Will Winters who was once caught smearing chocolate on his dick at an after-Oscars party? That mature man?
“He’s really here?” Genna asks, her skepticism wavering.
Jolene jumps in place. “Yes! Come on, let’s go find him!”
Genna pushes back from her desk. “That, I need to see. My sister will die.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You girls go.” Then I glance at Jen, who’s been listening with mild amusement. “You too. Get an autograph for your daughter.”
She hesitates, but the intrigue is clear on her face.
“I’ll hold down the fort,” I assure them, waving them off with a grin. “Good hunting.”
As soon as they disappear, I turn back to my spreadsheet, diving into reconciling numbers until my eyes start to blur.
A sharp knock against the desk beside mine snaps me out of my trance. I blink, momentarily caught off guard.
Will Winters is standing in front of me.
And—because the universe is a cruel and chaotic force—he looks even more infuriatingly handsome in real life than he does on-screen.
Dark-blond hair, blue eyes, golden stubble, and that million-dollar smirk—perfect teeth and all.
He leans slightly on the edge of Jolene’s desk, radiating the easy confidence of a man who’s never once had to second-guess himself.
“Well, hello there,” he drawls, that deep American twang as effortlessly charming as it is deliberate.
I glance around, taking in the very empty desks of my gossip-loving colleagues. Traitors.
The head of PR, who I suspect is the reason he’s here, gives me an apologetic, questioning look.
I clear my throat, straightening in my chair. “My colleagues are in a meeting.”
Will’s smirk deepens like he knows exactly where they are. “Sure they are.” He leans casually against the desk beside mine, utterly unfazed. “And you? Not part of that very important meeting?”
I arch a brow. “Clearly not.”
His grin doesn’t waver. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I’m Amelia,” I say flatly. “And I’m far from being a sweetheart.”
Something flickers in his gaze, something almost imperceptible. Then he grins, back to full Hollywood charm.
One blond eyebrow arches. “Oh, look who’s flirting now.”
I open my mouth to tell him he’s delusional, but he keeps going, glancing around the office with an exaggerated air of curiosity. “So, what do you guys actually do here? Besides, you know, abandon desks at the first sign of a Hollywood star?”
I cross my arms. “Numbers.”
He nods like that explains everything. “Right. So, like… accountant things.”
“Very much accountant things.”
“Sounds… thrilling.”
I exhale sharply. “Absolutely exhilarating.”
His grin widens. “I like you. You’re sarcastic.”
I level him with a flat look. “You say that like it’s a rare trait.”
“Ah, but sarcasm is an art, darling,” he says, placing a hand over his heart as if he’s making some grand, dramatic declaration. “And I happen to have a keen appreciation for it.”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you?”
“Very much so.” His grin turns downright wolfish. “Which is why I’m about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
I don’t like where this is going. “I feel like I absolutely can.”
Will ignores me completely, straightening with a confident clap of his hands. “So, what do you say about being my plus-one to The Last Soldier premiere tomorrow night?”
I blink. “Lord, no.”
The PR rep makes a barely concealed sound of horror, shooting me a look that screams, Are you out of your mind?
Will, to his credit, looks more amused than offended. “Wow, didn’t even hesitate,” he muses. “That was almost impressive.”
I shrug. “I have a very strict no being seen with Hollywood actors policy.”
He laughs, genuinely delighted. “Oh, the irony. I love it.”
I frown. “What irony?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Come on, Amy the Number Lover. Unbreak my heart.”
Now I’m the one laughing. “Oh, I’m sure you’re on the verge of tears.” I shake my head. “I have no doubt you’ll find another willing victim somewhere.”
He snaps his fingers. “Ah, so we’re negotiating now?”
The PR rep clears her throat, visibly panicking. “Perhaps we should—”
But then salvation.
Over Will’s shoulder, I spot Jolene and Genna peeking through the doorway, wide-eyed and vibrating with excitement.
Oh, this is too good.
I smile sweetly. “You know, Will, I so appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to rob someone else of the opportunity.”
Will raises a brow. “Oh?”
I nod solemnly, then glance behind him, locking eyes with Jolene. “Jolene!” I call out. “Come here for a second!”
Her eyes go huge. She looks at Genna, who nods so enthusiastically that I’m mildly concerned she’ll give herself whiplash.
Will, sensing a setup, frowns slightly as Jolene approaches, looking like she might actually pass out from excitement.
I turn back to him, all faux sympathy. “You see, Jolene adores you. It would be selfish of me to take this opportunity when she would appreciate it so much more.”
Jolene makes an unintelligible noise of pure delight, and Will gives me a look. A look that says, You little shit.
I grin.
He sighs, long and suffering, then turns to Jolene, flashing that megawatt smile. “Well, sweetheart,” he says, “looks like you’re my plus-one.”
Jolene squeals, and I bask in my victory.
Will turns back to the PR rep, all business now. “I’ll arrange everything with…” He pauses, glancing at her expectantly. “Your name?”
She blushes, visibly flustered, and I feel unexpected irritation for her.
Penis.
I roll my eyes. “Her name is Patricia, Winters.”
Will’s lips curve into a knowing half smile as he meets my gaze. “I can’t wait to see you again, Amy the Accountant.” His voice is smooth and playful—but there’s something else there. Something almost ominous, like he knows something I don’t.
Will turns, striding out of the office with Jolene and Genna practically bouncing after him, no doubt eager to bask in his Hollywood glow a little longer. I don’t even need to see it to know exactly what’s happening—photos, autographs, maybe a flirty quip or two.
And by lunchtime, half the office will have a story about their close encounter with Will Winters.
I barely have time to sit before Maya levels me with an incredulous stare, her fork frozen halfway to her mouth.
“You said no to a date with Will Winters?”
I sigh, setting my tray down. “I see Jolene got to you.”
Maya scoffs. “Obviously, Jolene got to me. She got to everyone! I heard it from Maria, who heard it from James, who heard it from Jolene.” She narrows her eyes. “And you didn’t think to mention this, why?”
I uncap my bottle of water, taking a slow sip. “Because it wasn’t a big deal.”