Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CASS
A railroad spike had lodged itself behind her eyes. Right through the middle of her skull to cleave her brain in two. Someone had replaced her insides with poison, each heartbeat sending corrosive blood to erode her thinky bits. A faint, rancid odour seeped into her nostrils, and she vaguely became aware that it was her breath causing the offence. And the noise. The silence was so loud she almost heard her will to live wither away.
There was only one explanation: she was dying.
Her darkened room tilted as she tried to open her eyes, and she decided that was a terrible idea.
I’m staying in bed for the rest of my life.
No, she wasn’t.
Cass made it in time to disgorge the remaining contents of her stomach neatly into her toilet. She wiped her mouth and rested her forehead on the closed lid, the cold porcelain transferring a faint bit of relief to her pounding brain. Her whimpering breath echoed in the room, and she was glad that her pristine bathroom was her one exception to her aversion to cleaning.
She was never drinking again.
Cass groped in the dark for her toothpaste and knocked a few bottles to the floor in a clatter. She winced at the noise scraping her ears and gave a silent prayer of thanks that nothing broke. The bright mint chased the rancour from her nose, and she willed herself not to gag as she scrubbed the demons from her mouth. Her shower gaped at her, but the thought of standing any longer sent a fresh wave of nausea through her guts.
Okay, stomach , she thought, hands propped up on her sink. Let’s go back to bed until the room stops spinning.
She shuffled across the short hall and eased herself back into her bed, where a glass of water and two ibuprofen sat on her nightstand.
“How many drinks did you have?”
If she wasn’t so wrecked, she would have yelped. Josh leaned against her dresser, arms crossed and dimples on full display.
Cass tried to think back, but the poison flooding her system hijacked any possibility of calculating the total. Besides, the exact number didn’t matter. The answer was too many. Way too many. She winced. “I don’t know. Three?”
“That was you on three drinks?”
“Shh, you’re breathing too loud,” she moaned. “I just had my glass of wine, then drank the rest of what’s-his-face’s drink, then a girl beside me said I looked like I needed a shot of whiskey.”
It was the whiskey’s fault. Or maybe the gin she’d ordered after. Her dad always said gin was the drink for when you wanted to be tough. Or maybe it was the Merlot she’d ordered after the gin because it turned out she didn’t want to be tough, after all. She swallowed a heave. “Maybe it was more than three drinks.”
Cass palmed the pills and took a delicate sip of water. Oh, ambrosia. She took another sip and leaned back against her headboard.If she lived, she was having a serious discussion with Past Cassie about her choices.
“If you get plastered like that on the reg, you should really have Gatorade on hand. ”
“This,” she said between sips, “is not a regular practice of mine.”
Josh pushed off the dresser and took the empty glass from her hands, returning a moment later with the glass refilled. He sat on the edge of her bed, leaning back against the footboard with one hand behind his head. The gentle dip sent a recoil through her belly, and she groaned.
“Thank you, that’s really … wait.” The night had blurred together after the bartender had set the fifth drink in front of her. She remembered texting Josh, sometime between the whiskey and before the gin. She also remembered saying she wanted to be alone. Drunk Cass wasn’t usually Frisky Cass, but sometimes, when she was with someone she was attracted to, her lax filters would let more embarrassments through as her drink count increased. And try as she might to keep her attraction for Josh under control, he was a pro at ruffling the edges she’d tried so hard to pin down.
Now he was sitting on her bed. In the dark. At an unknown time of day or night. With those dimples out in full force, like he knew a secret he wouldn’t tell her quite yet.
She swallowed. “Why are you in my apartment?”
“I brought you home.”
“Um, thank you.”
“You were very drunk,” he said, smiling. “And very cute.”
“Oh, no.”
“You told me I smelled really good.”
“Ah …”
“Then you told me to stay out of your room until you hid your vibrator.”
“Oh my god.”
His teeth looked lethal behind his lips pulled wide. If she was sober, she would have had a hard time deciding if she wanted to kiss or smack those dimples right off his face. “Josh, we didn’t, did we?”
Josh pressed a hand to his chest. “You don’t remember? ”
If the floor didn’t open up, she was ripping up the carpet and burrowing under it until spring. “Josh …”
“We did not.”
Thank god . “I, um … I didn’t get handsy, did I?” Cass blessed the darkness that hid her flaming cheeks. It didn’t matter. Josh knew her well enough that he’d know she was blushing, anyway. “I can get a little touchy when I’m drunk, and I’m really sorry if I did?—”
“Charms,” he cut in, “you didn’t do anything that made me uncomfortable.”
She nodded carefully, her hangover grinding like gravel between her ears. At least she’d held onto one last shred of dignity last night. Until she spammed Josh in a pathetic texts.
And he still came to her.
She squinted at him through the gloom. His thick hair was purposefully mussed, as usual, and his tee shirt snugged across his biceps, a different shirt than she’d seen him wearing on set that day. Yesterday? Cass took another sip of water. “What time is it?” she rasped out.
“Late. You’ve been passed out for a few hours. I was just sticking around to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit or anything.”
A wave of mortification washed over her. On the rare times she had too much to drink, she always said something she regretted later. Any lingering attraction he might have had likely evaporated with whatever foolish things she’d said last night. Not like that was a factor.
He’d picked her up, made sure she got home safely, and made sure she stayed that way. He was just being nice.
And tomorrow was a huge day. No, today would be huge. For which they both needed sleep.
She wiped at the smudge of mascara that likely sat under her eyes. She hadn’t even washed her face last night. She was still wearing her … no, she wasn’t. The sweater she’d worn yesterday—the ones she’d chosen for the way its emerald tones brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes—hung over the back of her slipper chair. Her pants haphazardly kicked to the corner of her room. Now all she had on was a cheeky pair of sleep shorts, no bra, and a strappy tank top that displayed the clear outline of her nipples.
“Can you do me a favour?” she asked, pulling her covers up over her chest. “When I ask how I got changed last night, would you please tell me I did it all by myself?”
Her bed rustled with his repressed laughter. “For the most part. Although you did ask me to help.”
“Oh.”
“You were quite adamant,” he said, his teeth gleaming in the dark. “You very nearly persuaded me.”
If her hangover didn’t kill her, embarrassment would.
“I declined, although I’ve never been so interested in a team project before.”
Thank god he was making a joke of it. Yes, he’d seen her naked before. No, that didn’t mean he wanted to see her naked again. It didn’t matter what Libby thought. Josh had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t interested. No distractions with her, or anyone else, as far as she could tell. Cass couldn’t blame him. She tried to remember if he’d been seen with or talked about anyone since coming to Calgary, but her mind buzzed too hard for coherent thought to form. Plus, thinking about him with other people turned her stomach in a completely different way than the hangover she would deal with tomorrow.
He rocked to his feet and the bed’s recoil sent a combination of dizziness and regret swirling through her. “Now that I know you aren’t going to asphyxiate in your sleep, I’m going home. Think you’ll need a wake-up call tomorrow?”
“No, my shame will wake me at regular intervals in the night,” she muttered. “Besides, I’m pretty sure my phone is dead.”
“Nope. Full charge. Plugged it in for you when we got home. ”
“Oh. Thanks.” She entered an alarm that would give her just enough time to shower, caffeinate, and slink onto set on time. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He stopped in the doorway. “I wanted to.”
Even through her current state, she felt better.
As long as she didn’t move.
Nobody asked questions when she rolled onto set, with a whole six minutes to spare, wearing her biggest, darkest sunglasses and a toque to hide the noise-reducing ear plugs she had popped in. Cass had slept most of the night, waking once for more water and to put on socks. Now when she moved her head too quickly, she felt like she was only near the brink of death, rather than right on it. To make up for the agony everywhere else in her body, she donned her favourite slouchy cashmere sweater she’d thrifted when she’d filmed on site in Dublin, and the wool paper bag pants that draped like a dream. Warm, comfortable, and it didn’t look like she was dragging her tush out of bed hungover after being jilted by a douchey architect.
Or whatever.
Ten years ago, she’d have cartwheeled into work after a binge like last night and gone out again the following night. Now, she had to remember to pack extra meds and electrolytes to make it to lunch.
Being north of thirty sucked.
Libby stormed across the sound stage, hand flexing around a pair of clamps sticking out of her cargo pocket. “Do I need to kill that asshole from last night? I’ll do it. No questions asked. Won’t even ask you to help me bury the body.” She squeezed the clamps menacingly for effect once more.
Cass managed a grim chuckle, then took a swig of her ginger tea. “Have I told you yet today how much I love you? I’ll fill you in later, but right now I’d like to wallow in mortification. ”
“I had plans to go out with Stephen tonight, but I can bail on him, and we can eat chocolate and watch reruns of Gossip Girl.”
“Maybe, but don’t cancel on him yet. You’ll need more details to fill me in on Stibby 2.0 later.”
Libby looked nauseated, but that could have been the last of the alcohol seeping out of Cass’s pores just as much as the offensive moniker. “We are not calling us that.”
Cass hugged Libby’s waist gently enough not to jostle the contents of her own sensitive stomach. “Would you prefer Elizephen? Didn’t think so.”
“Seriously, though,” Libby said, “last night? Getting blitzed on your own? That’s not like you. Why didn’t you call me when that fuckwit didn’t show up?”
Because you were with Stephen and I don’t want you to have to choose who you’ll spend time with. Libby’s priorities would shift. She had a second chance at the love of her life. Cass wouldn’t get between Libby and Stephen making up for lost time.
If it meant dealing with the fallout of a humiliating brush-off alone, so be it.
The guy last night was callous, insensitive, and not worth anymore of her energy. In fact, none of these guys were. She’d been on weird dates, dull dates, and dates that had gone way too long. Dates that made her want to run for the hills, dates that had her wondering if she could play games on her phone under the table, and dates that were better suited for her friends.
Cass faked a smile. “I’m alive, and we’ll catch up soon, but for now I need to check Brynne’s suit fit.”
With one stop on the way.
Brynne and Josh stood in their usual huddle, and a discordant pang of jealousy picked at her. Brynne’s head popped up at Cass’s approach and she did a little twirl.
Every seam, every pleat, laid exactly as planned. Functional, but futuristic. And it even had a hidden bathroom zip. Brynne had cried in relief when she saw that there was no more being sewn into he r suit for fourteen hours at a time and going into dehydration mode.
A furtive beat of pride flowed through her. She’d worked on the design for weeks, landing on Brynne’s final outfit first, then modelling Dawson’s male version after. It was what finally convinced Melanie and the studio to go with Cass’s more restrained vision for wardrobe.
“It’s perfect, as usual,” Brynne said, and Josh nodded appreciatively at the suit’s fit. At least, she hoped it was the fit he was appreciating and not Brynne’s lithe body.
Cass closed her eyes behind her sunglasses.
“Yeah, um, great. Can I have a minute with Josh?”
Brynne jumped to her feet, her perfect waves floating like gauze around her. Cass smothered a rogue spike of jealousy. Not like she needed to be standing beside a literal freaking movie star to feel any worse than her hangover already made her feel.
“No problem,” she said breezily. “I’ll be in my trailer.”
Josh didn’t watch her leave, and gloated down at Cass, trying to keep his dimples under wraps. It almost worked, only the tiniest of divots showing.
“The dead awaken.”
Cass rubbed her eyes. “Dead is right. Awakened, unclear. I expect a recovery sometime in the next two to three business days. At least I’ll have an excuse not to go on any dates for a bit.”
The shadow of the dimples melted away as his face darkened. “About that?—”
“I think I could use some time off. From the dating blitz.”
She’d thought about it as soon as the ibuprofen and first sips of caffeine cleared the worst of her fog that morning. Libby was right. Cass had wasted her time on guys that didn’t care for her, and for what? It was hard to say if it worked or not. Sure, she’d met a bunch of jerks, and a few who just weren’t right for her, but here she was, a handful of months later, and she’d sure spotted the same lines coming from a few different mouths. They must have st udied the same “How to Gaslight Women into Sleeping with You” bible.
But this time, Cass had seen it coming, swallowing a shout of Aha! like an old-timey detective and filing it away for evidence of their habits. And darn if a lot of those one-liners didn’t sound a lot like Nick.
Honestly, she’d heard a few of those lines coming from Josh’s mouth that first day they met, but she wouldn’t let herself feel foolish for falling for it then. She’d wanted him so much and she had nearly chipped an incisor tugging his zipper down with her teeth as soon as they’d gotten to his place.
So much for keeping their perfect night as a pristine memory.
Nick’s text had sent her into a panic. Full fluttering hands, scampering in a circle of panic. It seemed so stupid now. But really, had she felt the usual tightening in her chest at seeing his name? Or thought maybe this was the time he declared he wanted her for real? Or thought about how good in bed they’d used to be?
Cass pulled up with a start. She was thinking in the past tense. How good they used to be; not how good they were . And no. The usual flutters of excitement and hope hadn’t clouded her judgement, her fear that his text might stir those feelings had sent her into a frenzy yesterday.
Did the No Second Dates fiasco actually work?
“Nick texted. I answered, but I didn’t sleep with him. That’s a win, right?”
A fleeting look crossed his features that Cass couldn’t identify. “I’d say that’s a win.”
“Who knows, maybe I didn’t need thirty dates to get over him after all. I got it done in twenty.”
“Aren’t you an overachiever?” he said with a wry grin.
Sure, that was her. Aiming for the stars. She had nothing near a full smile in her, and rolling her eyes might make her nauseated again, so she just quirked her lips at him. Let him interpret that as he liked .
“Then project No Second Dates is over. Congratulations. You’re over fuckboys.” His arms flexed as he tightened them across his chest, and asked, “This isn’t because you found someone that you want to start seeing regularly, is it?”
“The opposite, actually. I’m thinking I can’t really be trusted to make good decisions about men right now.” Or ever. Or at least until filming was over. The one person she couldn’t stop thinking about, right in front of her, had no interest. She wasn’t going to subject herself to any more agony if she could help it. Besides, there was that whole inconvenience of a province separating them. Cass would have snorted if it wouldn’t have upset her delicate stomach.
“I think I asked a guy to write me sonnets last night, and that is not an embarrassment I’ll forget anytime soon.”
“Oof, so no memory loss?”
“No, I remember everything.” Every single cutting remark from the jerk who had seen her photo and thought her interesting enough to spend a couple of hours with. Who had known what she looked like, and still decided to show up and insult her. Every embarrassing gaff she’d uttered to Josh, who had to deal with a drunken, horny mess and fend off her advances. Humiliating. Cass shrugged her shoulders. “And if I did ask you to write me Shakespearean poetry, you’re off the hook.”
“That guy was a dick,” Josh said softly. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
And you do, but that’s not enough . Cass squeezed her eyes shut. “On that note, since Brynne is good, I’m going to check on Dawson and make sure he hasn’t picked his suit apart yet.” She almost hoped he had, to give her something to do with her hands and focus her concentration. “This is a win for you, too. No more homework, no more swiping for me. One less distraction.”
“Right. No more distractions.” Josh nodded, his expression giving no hint of what was going on behind his eyes.
Libby was too good at her job. The set’s lights were amped so brightly for the day’s scenes that Cass was tempted to put her sunglasses back on. Terry and Stephen criss-crossed the set, scattering PAs and grips in their wake. Brynne hadn’t gone back to her trailer after all. She was planted in a chair with one leg thrown over the wooden arm, her arms wrapped tightly around her elbows and head tipped back pursing her mouth at whatever Dawson was saying. Dawson looked up at Cass’s arrival and broke out into a grin, dropping his hands from where he had been fussing with his suit. Again.
Brynne shot him a look and got up. “Suit check.”
Cass tracked Brynne’s exit, heading in the opposite direction of where her trailer lay, and turned her focus back to Dawson. For once, the suit check wasn’t needed. Dawson’s fitting last week took care of the slight mislay of a couple seams, and the matte fabric held up to even his incessant fiddling.
“You’re good, Big D,” Cass said, flattening out a few non-existent creases, more out of habit than necessity. She patted down his expansive chest and smiled up at him. “Looking forward to getting home for Christmas?”
The big man rolled his head from side to side. “It’s not as warm as LA, but Tennessee won’t be colder than a—” he cut himself off with a chagrined shrug. “It’ll be good to see my folks, see my horses, but there’s a few people I’ll miss here,” he finished with a small smile.
“I know what you mean,” she agreed absently. Josh would be heading back to Vancouver in days. Tomorrow, if they could wrap on time. Barring a snowpocalypse and with Stephen and Terry on the case, they’d wrap. Then it would be two weeks before the crew reconvened to film the scene everyone was nervously waiting for.
The death of Dr. Donovan Rykoff.
Dawson, because he needed to sell Brynne’s propulsion into the final act; Brynne, because she would carry the film for its final arc; and Josh, because he would bear the brunt of fandom’s ire if the adaptation flopped.
Box office history had shown audiences were far more forgiving of a mediocre male-led film than a female-led one. Brynne had pull, but any female star lower than A+ had fame that came with a target on their back rather than a coat of Teflon. The closer they got to filming the scene, the closer everyone got to the edge.
Cass’s eyes landed on Josh in the sea of people. Brynne had found her way back to him, the two of them looking like they were holding back laughter. Cass was familiar enough with the feeling she didn’t need to guess what stabbed through her. She rubbed her elbows, arms wrapping over her stomach.
“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” Dawson asked.
“Probably heading to Canmore for a few days, where my family will try to cram seven adults and two children into a cottage.” The overstuffed two-bedroom had nearly burst at the seams, even growing up with the five of them; her parents squished into one room and her siblings in the other. Now with her sister’s husband and kids stuffed into the nooks and crannies, and her brother’s girlfriend joining them, there was a second nearby rental for the overflow, with everyone congregating for presents, pyjamas, and meals. Cass wiped her hands down her wool pants and fidgeted with the waist-tie. “I just need to get there early enough that I don’t get relegated to sleeping in the living room with the kids again.”
“That sounds right cozy.”
“It’s the one time a year I don’t mind when things close before dinner. All we have is thirty-year-old board games, a fireplace, and a stack of ancient DVDs for entertainment.”
He shifted to his other foot. “Speaking of dinner, I’ll be getting back in town a few days early. There’s this great restaurant in Kensington Bex suggested. Maybe?—”
“Dawson?” The PA materialized at his shoulder like her name had conjured her. “Stephen needs you in position.”
“One of these days …” he trailed off with a grin. “Catch you later, Cassidy. ”
Cass stood silently as Dawson loped into position for blocking. That couldn’t have been what it sounded like it was going to be. Could it have been?
Libby had said she was picking up cues, but Cass had brushed her off as ridiculous. Half the people on set—the continent, really—would fizz with excitement at the thought.
That sweet, handsome, about-to-be-famous Dawson James, had been about to ask her out.