Chapter 19
GRACE
Iarrived at the soundstage a little before noon, still floating on the high of last night.
My body ached in the best possible way. Every muscle remembered Micah’s touch.
Thank God Becky made me do yoga at least once a week.
Micah bent me like he thought I was Gumby.
I had to actively work to keep the dopey grin off my face.
But the second I stepped through the door, something felt off.
People were looking at me. Not the normal glances you get when you’re the lead actress on a production. These were loaded looks. Whispers that stopped abruptly when I walked past. A grip I’d chatted with yesterday suddenly found his shoes fascinating.
What the hell?
I did a quick mental inventory. Was there something in my teeth? I ran my tongue over them. Clean. Did the back of my pants rip? I reached back casually, pretending to adjust my shirt. Nope, all intact. Did I sit in something? I twisted, trying to check my ass without being obvious about it.
Nothing.
There was no way they knew where I’d spent the night, right?
“Grace.”
Micah appeared at my elbow, his hand closing around my arm. His expression said something was very wrong.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly. “Your trailer. Now.”
My heart did a little flip. Part of me thought, Hell yeah, he can’t resist me. But then I caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes kept scanning the room like he was looking for threats.
This wasn’t a booty call.
I followed him, acutely aware of every pair of eyes tracking our movement. The whispers started up again the second we passed. My stomach began to sink. Micah held the trailer door open for me, then climbed in behind me and shut it firmly. The click of the lock made my pulse spike.
“Okay, you’re freaking me out,” I said. “What’s going on? Why is everyone looking at me like I murdered someone?”
He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “You need to see this.”
I looked down at the screen and felt the blood drain from my face.
Sex scandal on Breathless!
The headline screamed at me in angry red letters. Below it were photos—grainy parking lot shots of me in a passionate kiss with Jack Montana. And next to those photos, another picture of me wearing the exact same clothes.
It took me a second to realize I wasn’t the one kissing Jack. Duh.
“What the fuck,” I breathed.
I scrolled through the article, my stomach churning with each new paragraph. The comments section was a cesspool. People calling me a homewrecker. A gold digger. Worse.
“This is insane,” I said. “We have to fix this. We have to tell people the truth.”
Micah’s jaw tightened. “That’s the thing. Chantilly doesn’t want us to.”
“What?”
He explained the whole twisted situation. Chantilly’s Instagram followers. The studio’s enthusiasm. Carol’s blessing. The plan to let it ride for a few days before dropping the “cute behind-the-scenes story” that would make everyone look good.
I stared at him, trying to process the sheer audacity of it all.
“So they want me to just let people think I’m sleeping with Jack Montana?”
“I’m not on board with this,” Micah said firmly. “I think it’s bullshit. Your reputation shouldn’t be collateral damage for Chantilly’s follower count.”
I appreciated that. I really did. But my brain was already spinning in a different direction.
“Let me call my agent,” I said. “See what she thinks.”
I dug my phone out of my bag and winced when I saw the screen. Seventeen missed calls. And a slew of text messages.
“Oops,” I muttered.
I’d silenced my phone last night on set. A ringing phone during filming made you the most hated person in the room. I’d completely forgotten to turn it back on.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Micah said, moving toward the door. “But Grace—whatever you decide, I’ve got your back. Okay?”
I nodded, my throat tight. “Thank you. For telling me.”
He left my trailer and I immediately hit Loretta’s number.
She answered on the first ring. “Grace! Where the hell have you been? What the hell is going on!”
“I know, I know. I had my phone silenced. I just found out.”
“Honey, you’re trending on Twitter. TMZ has photographers camped outside your apartment building.”
“It’s not true,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t me in those photos. It was Jack’s wife in a wig, standing in for a scene.”
There was a pause. “Come again?”
I explained everything. Chantilly insisting on doing the kiss herself. The photos that made it look like something it absolutely wasn’t. The studio’s plan to let it ride.
When I finished, Loretta was quiet for a long moment.
“Loretta? You still there?”
“I’m thinking.” Another pause. “Okay, this isn’t terrible.”
“Excuse me?”
“Think about it, Grace. Two weeks ago, nobody knew who you were. Now? Everyone’s talking about you. Your name is everywhere. Debut actresses would kill for this kind of exposure.”
“They’re calling me a homewrecker!”
“And in a few days, the truth will come out.”
I sank onto the trailer couch, my head spinning. “So you think I should go along with this?”
“I think you’d be a fool not to. We’re not lying to anyone.
We’re not misleading the press. We’re just not correcting their assumptions.
In the meantime, every single person who clicks on those articles is learning your name.
By the end of the day, Grace Stone will be a household name. That’s the kind of PR money can’t buy.”
“Fine,” I said finally. “We don’t say anything. For now.”
“That’s my girl.” Loretta’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement. “Now, let me handle the press inquiries. You focus on the work. And, Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to enjoy this. I know it feels like chaos right now but trust me—this is the beginning of something big.”
I ended the call and sat there for a moment taking it all in. It was my fifteen minutes of fame. It’s what I wanted, right? I just had to ride the wave and not fuck it up.
I took a deep breath and opened the trailer door.
Micah stood about ten feet away, deep in conversation with Toby.
Something about camera angles, from what I could catch.
But the moment the door creaked, his head snapped up.
Our eyes met across the distance. I almost smiled.
He’d been loitering, waiting for me. I watched him say something quick to Toby before walking toward me.
He climbed the steps and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She thinks I should go along with it.” I leaned against the counter. “Said it’s the kind of exposure money can’t buy.”
Micah’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair.
That familiar gesture I was starting to recognize as his tell for frustration.
And I loved how it mussed up his hair and gave him that just-rolled-out-of-bed look.
And I knew from personal experience that was exactly what he looked like after a night of hot sex.
“I hate this,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
He rubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the low ceiling. “I really hate this, Grace. The idea that people out there think you’re someone you’re not. They’re going to look at you and see some homewrecker instead of who you actually are.”
I smiled softly. “And who am I, exactly?”
He stopped, turning to face me. His blue eyes were intense, searching my face for any sign I wasn’t on board.
“You’re kind,” he said. “Genuine. Talented as hell.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “Soft. Beautiful.”
My breath caught.
He shook his head, like he was trying to physically dislodge the thoughts. “Get it together, man,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “It was one hookup.”
“Was it?”
The question hung in the air between us. He looked at me, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes. The same war I was fighting. I’d left his house a couple of hours ago telling myself it was a hookup and wouldn’t happen again anytime soon.
“Grace.”
Dammit. When he does that husky thing, it just strips away any hesitation.
I closed the distance between us. Just two steps, but it felt like crossing an ocean. I reached up and touched his jaw.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered.
He didn’t.
Instead, his hands found my waist, pulling me against him. His mouth crashed into mine with a desperation that made my knees weak. I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
His tongue swept against mine, leaving me moaning once again. His hands slid down to my hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. I didn’t care. I wanted his marks on me. He ground his pelvis against mine, letting me feel his desire.
He lifted me onto the counter, stepping between my legs. I wrapped them around him, pulling him flush against me. My body responded to his hardness instantly, heat pooling low in my belly.
“Micah,” I breathed against his lips.
He groaned, his mouth trailing down my neck, teeth grazing that sensitive spot below my ear. I arched into him, my fingers clawing at his back.
And then he stopped.
He pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.
“We can’t,” he said, his voice ragged.
“What?”
“We can’t do this.” He stepped back, putting distance between us. “Not here. Not now.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“Everyone is watching you now. The entire world thinks you’re having an affair with Jack Montana.
Every single person on this set is going to be scrutinizing your every move, dying to get more evidence of his infidelity.
If we get caught, it’s going to make you look bad. You know how this business works.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I got carried away.”
“We can’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you so badly it’s physically painful to walk away right now.”
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes.
He pressed one last kiss to my forehead. Then he stepped back, his expression shifting back to professional.
“I need to get in there,” he said. “We’re behind schedule.”
“Go. I’ll be there in five.”
He nodded, his hand on the door handle. He paused, looking back at me. Just a look. Then he was gone, the trailer door clicking shut behind him.
I sat there for a moment, my lips still tingling from his kiss, my body still humming with unfulfilled want. This was going to be the longest few weeks of my life.
But he was right. We had to be smart. We had to be careful.
I checked my reflection in the mirror, smoothing down my hair, and left my trailer. I needed to get to hair and makeup.
I was Grace Stone. Professional. Focused.
Ready to face whatever the world wanted to throw at me.