A Lucky Shot (Bluebird Sky #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

She wouldn’t be here if she’d just ignored his text.

She could be movie marathoning with Libby, wearing comfy pants, and indifferent to the frizz level of her hair.

Instead, Cassidy St. Claire was praying her back would forgive her for wearing shoes without arch support.

But ignoring him was her weakness. An Achilles heel swapped for some other body part, defenseless against his charms.

No. Not charms. Charms were … charming.

He had wiles.

She peeked over the top of her menu at the man smoldering beside her and a fresh shiver ran over her thighs. It wasn’t her fault a corner of his mouth ticked up in a way that turned any smile cheeky. Or that the man knew how to dress to show off his athletic body. Or how his faint accent rolled over her ears like auditory catnip.

Tonight, his dark eyes had cruised over every inch of her curves when he met her in the lobby of the exclusive restaurant, and his brilliant grin sent a flutter straight to the silky seam of her black underwear.

“Hey, gorgeous. You ready for some fun tonight?” His whisper in her ear sent a cascade of goosebumps down her neck. Catnip.

Fine. She had a lot of weaknesses where Nick was concerned. Including remembering that approximately half the women in a two-kilometer radius were susceptible to the same wiles she was.

He’d flirted with the coat check girl, who batted her lashes at him. He’d left the hostess giggling like a schoolgirl chatting up her crush. Even the server, whose job was to act interested in the hopes of a good tip, lingered at their table longer than necessary.

Cass felt like a fifth wheel on her own double date.

The couple across from her were all doe-eyed and distracted glances, fingertips trailing over each other through the night. Cass picked at the edges of her salad and glanced at her date’s hands all the way over on his side of the table. Hands that had explored her entire body, but fingers that never interlaced with hers. She swallowed her envy along with a ripened tomato and stared out the picture windows, letting in the last of the sunset.

“The tarte tatin looks delicious.” Jill bit her lip and flicked her eyes between dessert options. “But so does the lemon cheesecake.”

“Get them both and I’ll eat what you don’t,” Alex said, and whatever Jill whispered into his ear shook his shoulders.

Nick blinded the server with his thousand-watt smile. “What’s the most delicious thing I could eat here?”

“Oh, um, everything you see would be delicious,” she flustered out, then pointed at the menu and added in a low voice, “but this will melt in your mouth.” She turned an awkward glance at Cass. “What would you like, miss?”

To be wrapped up in the tablecloth and defenestrated? Forty floors to the pavement below would give her enough time to rethink every one of her life choices that led to opening his text that night. Cass folded the menu. “I’d like what she’s having, please.”

The gilded bathroom looked like it should have its own cover charge, and Cass stepped up to the rows of deep copper sinks. The ridiculous riot of curls she’d spent an hour trying to tame refused to behave. She adjusted a willful strand into order and applied a fresh layer of her signature Ruby Woo. Bold lipstick equalled big confidence. She needed it.

“You two are just the cutest,” Cass said. “I’ve never met Alex before, but Nick talks about him all the time. I don’t know what he was so worried about.”

Jill stilled and didn’t meet Cass’s eyes through the mirror. “Oh?”

“I just mean,” Cass continued as she tried to extract her foot from her mouth, “he gets a little twitchy where Alex is concerned. They’ve been friends a long time. But I think he warmed up to you quickly.”

“Right.” Jill made a doubtful noise in her throat, washing her hands and keeping her eyes trained on the shiny faucet. “So, you and Nick have been together for a while?”

Did a year of an on-again, off-again situationship count? Cass managed what she hoped was a genuine smile and shrugged a shoulder. “We can’t seem to figure each other out.”

That was one way of putting it.

Jill’s fair brows drew together. It didn’t take an empath to pick out the concern in the storm of emotion that crossed her face. “Well, I hope you figure out what’s best for you.”

All that time not-exactly together, it seemed more unlikely by the minute.

Jill fiddled with her lip gloss a moment and added, “That textiles exhibit you mentioned sounds fun. Maybe I could tag along?”

The exhibit Cass had raved about while Nick ignored her to snag Alex’s focus away from his date. Jill had listened with rapt attention.

A genuine bubble of excitement inflated Cass’s chest for the first time in hours. “Absolutely, but it’s only here for a few days, and it’s selling out fast, and be warned I’ll talk your ear off, and there’s a whole bondage section that I need to check out for an upcoming erotic Shakespeare production I’m working on!” Cass stopped to draw breath and lowered her waving hands. “I’ll send you a text, if you’re still interested?”

“Erotic Shakespeare production?” Jill choked on a laugh. “I can’t wait.”

Her new friend floated across the restaurant to her boyfriend, leaving Cass to find her date for round two of their night.

Dancing. Which used to be her favourite. He wouldn’t try to merengue with her. Or maybe he would. It was highly unlikely he planned to bring her to the type of place where it would be on the playlist anyway. It should be fine.

Cass hitched up the corners of her mouth and slid beside her maybe-dancing partner at the restaurant’s front. His eyes scanned from Alex, to Jill, and back to Alex, watching as his friend wrapped his new girlfriend in an embrace.

“I’ve never seen him hand over his balls so fast.”

Something tilted under Cass’s ribs. Is that what he called open affection? The hope of getting similar attention vanished with the last of her energy. “I think they look really happy.”

Nick grunted in response, then turned on the smile that usually made Cass giggle like she’d downed a glass of champagne. The smile was directed at the tittering attendant, who nearly prostrated herself over the counter.

Nick’s a flirty guy. He’s like this with everyone . Cass pretended she didn’t see the attendant slip something in his pocket.

The club bounced with bodies and heat. It was the last thing she’d have chosen to do. The music pulsed, the crowd vibed, and her feet protested after a long day on set, even with the painkiller she took before dinner. Cass dug her thumbs into the small of her back as she waited for the bartender to pour the vodka and sodas.

This was still a date, and that was something. Dinner, dancing, a chance to dress up. The hour she’d agonized in front of her closet hadn’t been for nothing. The plunging neckline of her French navy-blue jumpsuit earned an appreciative double take from the bartender, and although she couldn’t wear the heels she’d bought to go with it anymore, the gold Mary Janes looked gorgeous.

Not as gorgeous as the woman currently trailing her fingers up Nick’s arm as he reclined against the bar. She was tall and blonde and everything Cass wasn’t. And she looked like she was about to crawl into his pants.

The condensation from the drinks dripped over her fingers as she held her breath, waiting for Nick’s response. Would he brush her hand away? Or would he lean in and whisper in the woman’s ear, like he’d done with Cass only hours ago?

Why would she wait to find out something that shouldn't be a guess.

She tipped one vodka and soda into her mouth, chased it with the second, and escaped without a backwards glance.

At 12:37 a.m. on a Saturday morning in the back of an Uber, Cassidy St. Claire decided she’d had enough of Nicholas Martin. For good this time.

Probably.

Meanwhile, down a back alley in Vancouver’s West End

God, he hated night shoots.

Josh Graham pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck in a futile attempt to ward off the unseasonable chill and glowered at the crew like they had ordered the rain to personally piss him off. He raked the dark strands out of his bloodshot eyes. Any effort into styling his hair sixteen hours ago was long undone by now.

The black night ejected tepid sheets of rain over the set, seeping through the tents and permeating every layer he wore. Water smoked off the lights, glare reflecting off every surface and, even from up here, he could see the actors squinting into the downpour when they should be wide-eyed in awe. How the director could see the blocking through the downpour was a mystery. Even if he could see it, the shot was a loss. Unsalvageable, even in post. Not like they had a budget to fix anything.

Of course it was raining. The entire week had called for clear skies and balmy temperatures. Then this. The shoot should have ended hours ago. If they didn’t call it a night soon, they’d be on the hook for union breaks, too. Not like anyone would want to eat right now. The stench of garbage from the back alley coated the inside of his nose in an oily sheen. Breathing through his mouth didn’t help.

Still.

They had finally nailed the tracking shots. Got the B-roll for the exteriors. And he’d convinced the director to go ahead with the shoots, using the rain instead of the golden hour glow they’d planned on. The lead actress’s close ups, her teeth bared to the sky and mascara artfully streaking down her cheeks in inky rivers with the light spangling through the rain behind her? It would be the money shot in every trailer.

Come to think of it, it had been a pretty good fucking day. No number of soaked toes or botched takes or repositioning of lights could hinder the fact that they made magic.

Plus, he had promised Isabella he’d text her if they wrapped the shoot by midnight. If his feet were soaked, at least his dick could get wet tonight, too.

Fucking call it already .

As predicted, after another fizzled take, the director gave the crew the long-overdue permission to wrap for the night to a round of weak cheers.

Half past midnight. Isabella would forgive him.

Josh whipped out his phone to scroll through his contacts, but Emily’s name popped up before Isabella.

Emily (Hanson or Harris idk) blonde, 5’7”, 8/10 head, spanking . Not his preferred kink, but as long as she didn’t want to escalate, he could play.

He twisted his lips in thought. Isabella had a killer ass, but Emily was a professional cheerleader.

hey beautiful. wyd?

You, hopefully 3

Excellent.