Chapter 2 Monika
MONIKA
The stranger steps inside, his gaze flicking from me to the now-empty room. The raccoon gang has scampered back into the walls, leaving me on my own to face Oregon-coast Ken on my own—cowards.
I draw in a deep breath and try to look like I wasn’t about to pee my pants as we study each other. His dark hair needs a cut, and that strong jawline boasts at least two days of stubble. His eyes seem to flash in the harsh light of the bare bulbs lighting the space.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The edge in his tone matches mine.
“I own this house,” I say, like that explains everything. “I’m---”
“I know who you are,” he snaps.
Most people who recognize me are star-struck. This guy sounds personally affronted by my presence. Almost as irritated as the raccoons.
“Then you have the advantage,” I answer, tipping up my chin and offering what could pass as a smile. “You are...?”
“Griffin Meyer.” He says the name like it’s supposed to mean something to me, and those whisky-hued eyes go cold when it doesn’t. “I’m the guy in charge of this project. The one you screwed over when you stopped paying the bills.”
A new rock bottom moment. How special. “My ex was supposed to be overseeing the renovation,” I admit. Humiliation flares in my stomach, burning up all the silly pep talks I gave myself on the drive here like a wildfire racing through rotting timber. “I thought he was taking care of everything.”
I wasn’t exactly looking for sympathy but still feel a wave of surprise ripple down my spine when Griffin’s expression shifts from chilly to downright arctic. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”
His implied judgment causes my spine to stiffen. I’ve spent endless hours blasting myself for being stupid, so I can do without a pile-on from this dude.
“How would I know? I was on location in Europe for months. Daniel said the renovations were done, the place furnished, and...” I shake my head, then tuck a stray lock of hair behind one ear with trembling fingers. “I only recently discovered that every word of his mouth is complete bullshit.”
“Right.” Griffin’s laugh holds no humor. “Let me guess. You’re far too busy and important to check on a seven-figure renovation project? Pretty sure I saw a snap of you at some fancy party on the cover of a tabloid the last time I was in the grocery store check-out line.”
The condescension in his tone hits like a physical blow. To him, I’m a stupid, careless celebrity throwing money at my problems and expecting other people to handle the details. He’s not exactly wrong, but something about being dismissed so easily makes my temper flare.
“It wasn’t a recent pic because I’ve been working sixteen-hour days on set, but thanks for assuming the worst.” I cross my arms over my chest, acutely aware that the gesture makes me look defensive.
“For your information, I’ve also been wading through the details of all the ways Daniel screwed me over like it’s my full-time job.
Because it’s been his for years. I didn’t realize this house was part of it until I got here. ”
As excuses go, it’s lame. I’m thirty-six and have been making my way in Hollywood for over fifteen years, so I hate sounding so naive.
“That sucks.” Griffin’s voice is flat. “Not quite as much as three months without a payment before your boyfriend—sorry, ex-boyfriend—ghosted me entirely. I had to eat the cost of materials, pay my guys what I could, and then watch them walk off the job.”
“Why didn’t you contact me directly?”
“What was I supposed to do—slide into your DMs?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but I shake my head anyway. “I get it, and I’m sorry. So sorry. I trusted Daniel to—” I cut myself off before I can say something even more pathetic.
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the sound of the wind, which has picked up steam outside the open front door.
Griffin studies me with those burnt honey eyes, and I have the uncomfortable feeling he sees far too much.
The expensive clothes and expert highlights in my caramel-colored hair can’t hide the exhaustion, or the way I keep having to swallow back the emotions bubbling up in my throat.
He’s bigger than he seemed in the doorway and as solid as one of the redwoods in the forests I drove through on my way up the coast. He could have been cast as any number of alpha-type space heroes in the blockbuster Revstar franchise I was a part of for several years.
Until they recast my part with a younger actress.
In some ways, he reminds me of Ian Barlowe, my ex and Riva’s father, who spent years as a quarterback in the NFL.
Ian and I tried to make it work after our daughter was born, but we were both too dedicated to our careers to commit to each other.
We’re amicable, but after that breakup, I swore off guys who look like they can swing an axe just as competently as a golf club.
I go for men in sharp suits and with sharper ambitions. What a damn fool and who am I kidding trying to rationalize my part in this fiasco?
Griffin has every right to judge me. Let him do his worst. To be honest, the idea of not having to project some pretend perfect image feels freeing. It’s both terrifying and liberating to just be me. I barely remember who I am without all the trappings of success, but I’m curious to meet her again.
My pulse quickens when he steps closer, but then he moves past me to examine the electrical work. I don’t appreciate the way my stomach flutters when he runs a hand through his dark hair, making it stick up in a way that should look messy but manages to be downright appealing.
I really don’t like noticing any of this while standing in the ruins of my life.
“You can’t stay here.” His voice is gentler than it’s been. “It’s not safe. Half the electrical isn’t properly wired yet, and God knows what those raccoons have done.” He shakes his head. “I should have been checking in, but I’ve been slammed trying to catch up from...”
From the hole Daniel put him. That I put him in.
“What made you stop tonight?” I ask.
“I live about a half mile down the road. I was driving by and saw a light. Figured it was local kids breaking in to party.” He glances around the room again, and I swear it’s pain that flashes in those mesmerizing eyes. “This house doesn’t deserve that.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure why that tiny bit of protectiveness, which isn’t even aimed at me, makes my heart do a stupid pitter-patter thing, but there you are.
Admittedly, I should have made time to come here before now. But that doesn’t change the fact that the house is my grandmother’s dream home and a symbol of taking back my own life. Even if Griffin doesn’t think much of me, I appreciate that he cares about this place.
“There’s a decent motel in town,” he says gruffly, like he’s having to force the words out. “The Wild Rose Point Inn. It’s late, but I know the owner. She’ll set you up with a room even at this hour.”
I shake my head and pull my arms tighter around myself. “I can’t do a hotel right now.”
“Why not?”
How do I explain that I won’t risk being recognized when I’m barely holding it together here? That I might be one paparazzi photo away from a complete breakdown splashed across every tabloid in America. “I need time away, and there’s always someone with a camera phone.”
“You don’t know the people in this town.”
“But I know how people react when they see me.” I hold up a hand before he can respond. “I’m not saying I believe the fame makes me special.” Those words might be the understatement of the century, yet the soft laugh I offer sounds pitiful even to my ears. “But it complicates things.”
His expression softens ever so slightly, like maybe he’s starting to see that I’m not the villain he wanted me to be.
Just pitiful and pathetic. I’m not sure which is worse “I get that you want privacy, but there’s no heat here, no furniture, and your raccoon roommates seem pretty territorial.
” He gestures around the gutted space. “You seriously can’t stay in this mess. ”
I lift my chin. “I’ll sleep in my car.”
“Your car,” he repeats.
“It’s a Mercedes GLS. Fully loaded. It has seats that recline nearly flat, climate control, and heated everything.” I’m warming to the idea now, which probably makes me sound even more unhinged. “It’s basically a luxury hotel room on wheels. I’ve definitely stayed in worse.”
A sound escapes him that could be laughter or maybe a disbelieving snort. “You’re going to sleep in your car? In December on the Oregon coast.”
“It’s one night.” I square my shoulders, trying to look like I know what I’m doing, when it’s clear we both know I don’t. “And first thing tomorrow, I’m calling my new accounting firm because I’m going to pay you every penny you’re owed, with interest.”
For a long moment, Griffin just studies me. I try not to fidget under his steady gaze as he tries to figure out if I’m serious or if this is more celebrity bullshit.
“Daniel screwed us both over,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “I’m going to make it right.”
He gives the barest hint of a nod as his thick brows draw together. “You’re really going to sleep in your car?”
“I’m really going to sleep in my car.”
He shakes his head, mutters a few f-bombs under his breath and possibly the word “stubborn”, which I don’t think he means as a compliment.
He looks around the room one more time, then at me standing there like a literal fish out of water with my determination to make the best of a disaster. And I see the exact moment he makes a decision he’s probably going to regret.
“You can stay at my place,” he says, focusing his gaze on a spot over my shoulder. “It isn’t luxury accommodations, but there’s plumbing, heat and a wildlife-free space.”
The offer hangs in the suddenly charged air between us, landing deep inside me and eliciting unexpected emotions that I can’t begin to sort through. In my experience, people don’t do things for celebrities like me, not without wanting something in return.
“Why would you do that?”
He’s quiet as he considers the question, and when he speaks, his voice is careful.
“Because sleeping in your car is a terrible plan, even if it is a Mercedes. Because you’ve had a shit day and it’s going to get a million times worse if you spend the night fighting raccoons.
And because...” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair again.
“Because whatever else happens, you didn’t deserve to be screwed over any more than I did. ”
The understanding in his voice makes my throat tight even as I feel my cheeks heat. “I don’t want your pity.”
“I’m not offering pity.” His mouth quirks at one corner, the first inkling of a smile I’ve seen from him.
“I’ve got a couch and a pot of strong coffee in the morning.
Take it or leave it, but decide fast. It’s cold, I’m tired, and if we stand here much longer, your raccoon friends might come back for round two. ”
As if on cue, a scurrying sound comes from somewhere above us.
Griffin Meyer is ruggedly handsome, irritatingly judgmental, and almost reluctantly decent. Something shifts inside my chest as I watch him watching me.
I wouldn’t call the feeling trust. I’m too smart for that—or at least too recently burned. It’s more like a flicker that could become trust if I gave it enough time, which I don’t plan to do.
Maybe I should play the girl in a horror movie because I’m about to ignore every piece of stranger danger advice I’ve ever received or drilled into my own daughter’s head.
I have no reason to trust my instincts on anything, let alone about Griffin being decent and his offer simple kindness. But still…
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Just for tonight.”
“One night,” he agrees, but I think we both know this is more complicated than a simple overnight arrangement.
Whatever else happens, this is the first step toward figuring out who I am—who I want to be—when I’m not performing for the world.