Chapter 18
MICAH
Irolled over, expecting to find the other side of the bed empty. It wasn’t.
Grace was still there, curled up on her side, blonde hair fanned across my pillow. Her breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. Like something I’d conjured from a dream and somehow managed to drag into reality.
I propped myself up on one elbow and just watched her for a moment.
Part of me had expected her to bolt in the middle of the night, leaving me with nothing but rumpled sheets and the memory of her taste on my lips.
That was what a smart person would have done. What we both probably should have done.
But she’d stayed.
The events of last night came flooding back. The way she’d felt in my arms. The sounds she’d made when I was inside her. Round two. Round three. At some point we’d raided the kitchen for water and leftover pizza before tumbling back into bed for round four.
My body stirred at the memories. A few muscles protested one of the positions, but I’d heal. My brain was already throwing up red flags.
What the hell had I been thinking?
Grace Stone was my lead actress. My employee, technically. It was a minefield. If anyone found out, it could tank the entire production. The studio would have a field day. The press would turn our movie into a punchline.
And yet, looking at her lying there in my bed, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
She was incredible. Not just in bed, though she was definitely incredible in bed, but as a person. I was impressed with the fact that she’d chosen to be Grace Stone instead of coasting on her father’s name. I understood that choice better than anyone.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a second she looked confused. Then her gaze found mine, and a slow smile spread across her face.
“Morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep.
“Morning.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Can you blame me? I woke up to a fallen angel in my bed. I’m gobsmacked.”
She laughed, stretching like a cat. The sheet slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder, and I had to physically restrain myself from reaching for her again.
“What time is it?” she asked.
I checked my phone. “Almost nine. Call time’s not until noon, remember?”
She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Her hair was a disaster. Her makeup was smeared. She’d never looked more beautiful. “I should probably get going.”
“Stay for breakfast first.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I make a mean omelet.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Breakfast.”
I threw on a pair of sweats and headed to the kitchen, leaving her to get dressed. By the time she emerged, I had eggs cracking into a bowl and coffee brewing.
She hopped up onto one of the bar stools, watching me work. I slid a cup of coffee in front of her.
“So,” she said. “About last night.”
“What about it?”
“We probably need to talk about it.”
I flipped the omelet, buying myself a few seconds. “Yeah. We probably do.”
“I don’t regret it,” she said quickly.
“Neither do I.”
“But we need to be smart about this.” She traced a pattern on the countertop with her finger. “The last thing either of us needs is for our first big movie to get overshadowed by relationship drama. If word gets out that the director is sleeping with the lead actress, we’ll be all over TMZ.”
I slid the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of her. “So we keep it quiet. No one finds out.”
“Can we do that?” She picked up her fork, meeting my eyes. “I mean, we’re going to be on set together every day. Working closely. People notice things.”
“We’ve been working closely and no one’s noticed anything.”
“We weren’t sleeping together for those weeks.”
“True.” I sat down next to her. “But I think we can manage. We’re both professionals. On set, we keep it strictly business. Whatever this is, it stays off the clock.”
“Agreed.”
She took a bite of the omelet, chewing thoughtfully. “This is really good.”
I called her an Uber while she gathered her things after breakfast. At the door, she paused, turning back to face me. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek.
“See you on set,” she said.
“Later.”
I showered, dressed, and tried to get my head back in the game. We had a full day of shooting ahead. I needed to focus on the work, not on the way Grace had felt in my arms or the sound of my name on her lips.
Professional. Strictly professional.
The soundstage was already buzzing with activity when I arrived. I’d barely made it through the door when Toby came sprinting toward me, his face pale as a ghost.
“Micah!” He was practically shouting. “Micah, you need to see this.”
He shoved his phone into my hands. My stomach dropped through the floor.
The headline screamed in bold red letters: Sex scandal on Breathless!
No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. We’d been so careful. It had only been a few hours. How had they caught us already? Had someone seen us in the car? Had there been a photographer lurking outside my house?
My mind raced through every possibility, each one worse than the last. This was going to destroy everything. The movie. Grace’s career. My reputation. All of it, gone in the span of one reckless night.
“Scroll down,” Toby said, his voice strained. “Look at the pictures.”
My fingers were numb as I swiped down the screen. And then I saw them.
Pictures of Jack Montana kissing a woman in a parking lot. The woman was blonde, wearing a distinctive top. The woman’s face was obscured, but the implication was clear.
And next to that photo was a picture of Grace in the exact same outfit, making it look like she was the one locked in a passionate embrace with Jack Montana.
I stared at the screen, my brain slowly catching up with what I was seeing.
That wasn’t Grace.
The blonde in the parking lot photos was Chantilly. Still wearing the wig and wardrobe from the shot. I knew damn well Grace would never be caught dead kissing Jack Montana. She couldn’t stand the guy.
I shrugged. “Not a big deal,” I said. “We’ll set the record straight. Let’s just hope Chantilly hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Oh, she’s seen it,” Chantilly said.
I inwardly cringed at the sound of her voice.
I turned toward the voice and nearly choked on my own spit.
Chantilly stood in the doorway of the soundstage like she’d just stepped off a runway designed by someone who’d never actually seen a human woman before.
She was wearing a frilly mini skirt in electric pink that barely grazed the top of her thighs, paired with knee-high socks striped in neon yellow and black.
Her pumps were at least six inches tall, covered in what looked like actual crystals.
The designer bag dangling from her elbow was encrusted with so many diamonds it probably blinded pilots flying ten-thousand feet above.
Her earrings were the size of dessert plates.
She looked like a disco ball with legs.
“You won’t be setting any records straight,” she announced, strutting toward us with the confidence of someone who genuinely believed the universe had been created for her personal entertainment.
I wondered how she and Jack ever fit in the same room with the size of their egos.
I held up my hands, trying to defuse whatever bomb was about to detonate.
“Listen, Chantilly, I understand you’re upset.
But we can fix this easily. We’ll just explain that you were Grace’s stand-in for a scene.
It’s a silly misunderstanding. The press will move on by tomorrow. There’s no there there.”
She stopped in front of me, tilting her head so those ridiculous earrings swung like pendulums. A slow smile spread across her face. I was suddenly deeply uncomfortable.
“No, you don’t understand.” She pulled out her phone, the case bedazzled to match her bag.
She thrust the screen in my face. “Look at this. My Instagram has gained fifty thousand followers since this story broke. Fifty thousand! My engagement is through the roof. People are making TikToks about me.”
I blinked at her. “You’re happy about this? People believe another woman was kissing your husband.”
“Happy?” She laughed, a high-pitched sound that echoed off the soundstage walls.
“I’m thrilled! This is the best thing that’s happened to my brand in months.
Do you know how hard it is to stay relevant when your husband is the famous one?
This is my moment, Micah. I’m not letting you ruin it with some boring clarification statement. ”
“Chantilly, this is insane. I’m not going to let people think my lead actor is cheating on his wife with my lead actress. That’s not the kind of publicity any of us need.”
She waved a dismissive hand, her bag swinging and nearly taking out Toby, who moved just in time.
“Your movie is getting a ton of free publicity too, you know. Everyone is talking about Breathless.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Which is an awful title, by the way. Sounds like an asthma medication commercial.”
“You’re not mad about this?” I couldn’t wrap my head around it. “People think your husband is cheating on you.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes so dramatically I was surprised they didn’t pop out of her skull.
“Everyone knows Jack would never cheat on me. He’s too scared of what I’d do to him.
” She smiled sweetly and I found myself taking a step back.
How in the hell did Callum end up on a date with this woman?
“Besides, we’ll clear up the confusion eventually,” she said.
“But for now, it’s great buzz for all of us.
If we let it keep going viral, everyone will be talking about this for weeks.
Remember that couple that got busted cheating at the Coldplay concert?
The whole world knows about them now. That’s the kind of exposure you can’t buy. ”
“Good PR or not, I’m not letting people drag Grace’s name through the mud for something she didn’t do.”
There was something calculating in her expression that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Jack’s manager already talked to the studio people about it.
They agree. We say nothing for now. Then, in a few days, we release some footage of me in the outfit kissing Jack, and your precious Grace will come out smelling like roses.
The whole thing becomes a cute behind-the-scenes story instead of a scandal. Everyone wins.”
I stared at her, my jaw tight. “The studio agreed to this?”
“Call them yourself if you don’t believe me.” She inspected her manicure, clearly bored with my resistance. “Carol was very enthusiastic about the engagement numbers.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed Carol, the studio executive who’d greenlit Breathless.
“Micah! I was just about to call you. Have you seen the numbers? We’re trending on Twitter. Entertainment Tonight is doing a segment tonight. This is incredible! We didn’t have any budge for pre-release press and turns out, we don’t need it!”
“Carol, we can’t let this continue. Grace didn’t do anything wrong. She’s going to be crucified online.”
“She’ll be fine,” Carol said breezily. “A few days of speculation, then we drop the truth and she looks like a saint. Meanwhile, everyone and their grandmother is talking about our movie. Do you know how much we’d have to spend on marketing to get this kind of attention?
This is a gift, Micah. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. ”
“This is my lead actress’s reputation we’re talking about.”
“And she’ll come out of this with more name recognition than a dozen magazine covers could buy her. Trust me. This is how the game is played.”
I ended the call and shoved the phone back in my pocket, my stomach churning with disgust.
Chantilly was watching me with a satisfied smirk. “Told you.”
I hated this. I hated every single thing about it. The manipulation, the callousness, the way everyone was treating Grace’s reputation like a commodity to be traded for clicks and engagement.
But apparently, I was outvoted.