35. Graham
GRAHAM
NOW
My gritty eyes feel like sandpaper against my eyelids.
I need sleep, but all the minor tasks piling up these past few weeks demand my attention: budget adjustments, vendor invoices, inventory checks.
Kristen has everything handled, but she’s not responsible for the production.
If anything slips through the cracks, the blame falls on me.
And if I can’t make a serious dent in this to-do list, I may not be able to visit Miguel this coming weekend.
“What the fuck, G?” Maisy’s voice startles me. She’s been lying on the sofa in my trailer, keeping me company while I work at the table.
I look up from my laptop and blink. “What? What have I done?”
“You haven’t done anything.”
She wrestles the earbuds from her ears and sits across from me, shoving her phone in my face. Her finger jabs the screen to start a video of Angie from The Starlight Show interviewing my former co-star, Phoebe Lewis.
I’ve been a guest on Angie’s show enough times to know the red pantsuit, matching lipstick, and brown hair in a severe bun is her power look. Despite the casual way she has her legs crossed, and the warm smile on her face, she’s planning a silent attack.
“When we last talked, you mentioned that you and Graham were close as co-stars. Everyone felt the chemistry you had with him on screen. It certainly raised eyebrows because he was engaged to Makenzie at the time. And in September, you and Graham were seen getting cozy at the Bayside Film Festival. Have the two of you remained close?”
Phoebe shrugs, quick and coy, looking innocent in a floral dress with ruffled sleeves. “I guess you could say we’ve always had a strong”—she pauses, as though she’s searching for the most enticing word—“connection.”
Baffled, I shake my head. “We ran into each other at the festival, and I gave her a hug. Asked her what she’s been up to because I don’t follow her career.”
“Keep watching,” Maisy says.
“…had Graham on the show last month, and he hinted at a possible change to his single status. Then he rushed to San Antonio for Makenzie. What are your thoughts on Hollywood’s sweethearts getting back together? The world is rooting for them. Are you?”
Angie is a ruthless interviewer, which is why her show tops the ratings. She exposes lies with swift precision. The only reason she never spotted mine is because I really do love Tatum, as a best friend.
The smile on Phoebe’s mouth tightens. Whatever game she’s playing, she already lost. “They have a long history, but they’re just friends. And I hope her fans will support Graham’s decision to move on. He’s the best person I know. Doesn’t he also deserve to finally be happy?”
“Finally?” I ask. My mind is reeling as I look to Maisy for answers. “Why is she doing this? I haven’t talked to her in months.”
I can’t wrap my head around why someone would tell bogus lies and risk invoking the wrath of Tatum a.k.a.
Makenzie’s fanbase. Her fans don’t play when it comes to defending her.
For Phoebe to imply we had some sort of affair—that I cheated on Makenzie—she’ll drive her reputation into the gutter and take mine along with it.
“She’s riding the gossip wave to stay relevant. Fucking grifter,” Maisy mumbles as she ends the video.
I’ve seen enough anyway. Wiggling my mouse, I wake up the now sleeping laptop because this situation warrants a video call. Jonathan’s room is dark when he answers, dressed in pajamas. I’ve made a habit of catching him at inconvenient times these days.
“Graham, I’m already on it,” he says.
“What the hell is happening, Jonathan?”
“Phoebe went rogue, decided to generate buzz for herself. Her agent isn’t happy. He asked for our help, but I told him to let the chatter play out. No one’s buying it. The story will be ashes in a few days.”
“She’s damaging her credibility.”
Pot, meet kettle, I think to myself. When Miguel and I reveal our relationship, I’ll be the one trying to save face after lying to the entire film industry. Hell, the entire world.
Jonathan lets out an exasperated sigh. “My guess is she took a play from your playbook without knowing the rules.”
The rules are simple. Two parties and their reps agree to a publicity stunt. That’s how it works. Phoebe’s star was slow to rise before our movie was released, but she’s been acting for years. She knows the deal.
I rake a hand through my hair to brush it out of my eyes. “Do I need to make a statement?”
“No.” His stern tone leaves no room for argument. “Keep quiet and stay offline. It’s nasty out there.”
He disconnects the call, but my ears are ringing.
In fact, all my senses are setting off warning bells.
I look at Maisy again. Her tightly pursed lips match her pinched scowl.
She understands the ramifications of Phoebe’s lies and what’s at stake for me.
Also, she hates when people mess with her friends.
“When did that interview air?” I ask.
“An hour ago.”
I’m on my feet, rushing for the backpack I tossed in a swivel chair. My impatience and frustration skyrocket as I empty all the pockets. “Where’s my fucking phone?”
“It’s next to your laptop.”
I’ll apologize later for glaring at Maisy like she’s to blame for my absent mind and poor organizational skills. I bring the phone to my ear and wait. At least it rings before going to voicemail. There’s some relief in knowing Miguel hasn’t blocked me again.
Me
You saw the interview.
My Darling
Yes.
Me
That wasn’t planned. I would’ve told you if I knew it was coming.
My Darling
I believe you.
Me
Then why won’t you answer the phone?
The dots appear and disappear, and my heart cannot take the suspense. It already knows what’s coming. Those hesitant dots signify deep thought, intention. They also represent a grim outlook for me.
My Darling
Everything’s been moving fast, and I need time to think.
Me
Don’t do this again. Please.
My Darling
Give me a few days to sort out my thoughts. We’ll talk this weekend.
I stare blankly at the device in my hand. “He said he needs time to think. What is there to think about?”
“Graham.” Maisy’s voice sounds distant as the trailer shrinks.
An unwelcome feeling stirs within me. The air turns stifling, and my throat tightens. I tug at my collar and process the finality in his last message. He left no opening for me to walk through. No grey area where I could bend the rules and get away with it. He slammed the door in my face.
“Fuck!” The phone flies across the room. It bounces off the sofa and hits the floor with a thud. “I was close to getting him back. So fucking close. How could he let one interview of lies ruin everything?”
Maisy’s beside me in a flash, gripping my arm and speaking with urgency. “It’s not over, G. Miggy loves you. If the interview scared him enough to slam the brakes, there must be a good reason. He does nothing on impulse.”
That’s not true. He made an impulsive decision the night he left me. The difference this time is my clear innocence. If he believes I had nothing to with Phoebe’s schemes, I don’t understand why he’s punishing me, unless…
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Doesn’t what?” Maisy asks.
“Love me. I could’ve been imagining it all along, living in the land of make-believe. It’s what I’m best at, right? Lying. Pretending. Making up shit that’s not real.”
Phoebe’s interview could be the excuse Miguel needed to bow out for good. He never wanted to get back together. If he had, he would’ve come to me first. I pushed this on him. For all I know, he’s been playing along to ease his guilt after breaking my heart.
Maisy groans as she drops onto the sofa and grabs my sleeve. “Sit your overthinking ass down, and I’ll prove you’re not imagining things.”
I drop down beside her with my elbows on my bouncing knees. She angles her phone to show me her text history with Miguel, scrolling through a year’s worth of messages. I clutch my necklace and rub the stone while reading the highlights.
He asked about me. About the movie, my headaches, if I was eating well and sleeping enough. Maisy sent the same reply to every message: “Call him.” He never called, but he also never stopped checking on me or trying to manage my well-being from afar.
My heart nearly bursts, never mind my overflowing eyes and drippy nose. Wiping my cheeks, I laugh. “It probably drove him nuts when you refused to give him answers. He worries.”
“As you can see, he demoted me from an angel to a witch to a member Satan’s family. ‘Beelzebub’s wretched niece’ might be my favorite nickname so far. That one always makes me smile.”
“The two of you share a weird sense of humor.”
She shrugs. “Some people click. Miguel and I are a lot alike, so trust me when I tell you to respect his wishes and give him the time he needs. And think through your next move before you act. You can’t mess this up.”
I already know my next move, but I’ll wait until he reaches out before acting on it. Miguel matters to me more than anything, including my lifelong dream. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him happy. Because my heart won’t survive if he breaks it a second time.