Chapter 22
MICAH
Iwas elbow-deep in shot lists, trying to figure out how to squeeze an extra setup into tomorrow’s beach sequence without blowing the budget and getting nowhere.
I should have asked for more time. I didn’t want to rush this production, but after paying Jack’s salary, things were slim.
It cut down on shooting time, which meant every minute had to count.
A knock on the door pulled me from my spiral. “Room service,” a voice called out.
I frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything. Toby. He was convinced I was going to work myself into an early grave. The kid meant well, even if his hovering drove me crazy.
“Coming,” I called, pushing back from the desk.
I looked around, found my wallet, and pulled out a twenty.
I opened the door, expecting a cart with a silver dome covering a basic cheeseburger.
But that’s not what I saw. It wasn’t room service.
Grace stood in the hallway, her hands full of takeout bags that smelled like heaven. Her smile hit me like a punch to the chest. I could see the nerves like she wasn’t sure if she’d made the right call showing up here.
She’d made the right call.
She wore a flowy skirt thing that moved when she breathed, paired with a top that stopped just short of her waistband. A strip of toned stomach peeked out, golden from the California sun. Her hair was down and she smelled like plumeria.
Heaven. This was what I imagined heaven’s gates to be like.
I stared, still trying to figure out why she was at my door.
“Hungry?” she asked, holding up the bags.
“Starving,” I admitted. “Get in here.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, then stuck my head into the hallway.
Empty. No witnesses. No one to start whispering about Grace Stone visiting the director’s suite.
I was already making excuses for her visit.
Discussing the shoot. Reworking some lines.
There were plenty of reasons a director would meet with his lead actress.
I shut the door and turned to find her already spreading containers across my coffee table, pushing aside the scripts and schedules I’d left scattered there.
“I hope you like Hawaiian food,” she said. “The concierge swore this place was the best on the island. Auntie Lani’s. Apparently she doesn’t usually deliver, but I have connections now.”
“Connections?”
“Kai at the front desk. We’re basically best friends after a five-minute conversation.”
I laughed, moving to help her unpack. The smell was incredible—garlic and ginger and something smoky that made my stomach growl loud enough for her to hear.
“When did you last eat?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’ve been busy. I had one of Hollis’s shakes… this morning? Last night?”
She shook her head, that disappointed-mom expression crossing her face. “Sit down. You’re eating. Now. We can’t have our fearless leader passing out on the beach tomorrow.”
I didn’t argue. Partly because she was right—I was running on fumes. Mostly because having her here, in my space, felt like the first good thing that had happened all day.
We settled onto the couch, containers spread between us like a feast. Grace started pointing at things, explaining what she’d ordered.
“Poke—you know what that is. Garlic shrimp, which Kai said was mandatory.” She held up a container of something that looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. “And this is loco moco.”
I peered at it. Rice, a hamburger patty, a fried egg, all drowning in brown gravy. “What the hell is that?”
“Comfort food, Hawaiian style.”
I cringed. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” She shoved a fork in my direction. “Also, Spam musubi. Hawaiians love Spam. It’s a whole thing.”
“Spam.” I stared at the rice-wrapped rectangle she was holding up. “Like, the canned meat?”
“Trust me.”
“I’ve heard about the Spam thing. Last time I was in Hawaii, I think I might have had it, but I’d also had a lot of cocktails. I don’t remember what I ate.”
She laughed. “I’ve had it before. It’s good. Not saying I’m gonna buy a can and cook it at home, but when in Hawaii…”
I took a bite. It was… actually good. Salty and savory, the rice sticky and perfect. Grace watched me with barely contained glee as my expression shifted from skepticism to appreciation.
“Told you,” she said smugly.
The room was silent as we stuffed our faces. Looked like she was just as hungry as I was. The poke was fresh and bright, the garlic shrimp lived up to the hype, and the loco moco was exactly as comforting as she’d promised. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I’d demolished half of everything.
“Thank you,” I said, setting down my fork. “For this. I would have worked straight through the night and wondered why I couldn’t open my eyes in the morning.”
“I know.” She smiled softly. “That’s why I came.”
She’d been thinking about me. Worrying about me. It shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did. But when was the last time someone cared enough to get me food and insist I eat? Besides my mother.
Maybe never.
Eventually, the food was mostly gone and we’d migrated to opposite ends of the couch, our legs stretched out in the middle, not quite touching. I was full, content, and finally relaxed.
“Can I tell you something?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “You’re going to tell me this was risky.”
I grinned. “You already know that.”
“I calculated risk versus reward. Saving our director from starvation was worth it.”
“My father called me. Before we left LA.” I hesitated. I’d been thinking about this conversation and debated whether to tell her at all. But she needed to know. “He found out who you really are. Gordon Sterling’s daughter.”
Her expression shifted, wariness creeping into her eyes. “And?”
“And he lost his mind.” I laughed humorlessly. “Told me I never should have hired you. That I couldn’t trust a Sterling.”
Grace’s face fell. “Micah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause problems with your family.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s ancient history. Stuff that happened before either of us were born.” I shifted, turning to face her more fully. “He told me the whole story. Or his version of it, anyway.”
“What did he say?”
I took a breath. “Apparently your father and my mother were attached to the same project, back when my parents were dating. Your dad tried to change the terms of her contract at the last minute. When she wouldn’t agree, she quit. Went to work on a film with my father instead.”
Grace was quiet, listening.
“After that, your father spread rumors about her. Said she was difficult, unprofessional. Worse.” My jaw clenched at the memory of my father’s voice, the anger that had been simmering for decades. “Then he tried to sue her for damages when his movie fell apart.”
“Oh God.” Grace pressed a hand to her forehead. “I had no idea it was that bad.”
“The lawsuits didn’t go anywhere. But the rumors did. My mom had to fight like hell to rebuild her reputation after that.” I shrugged. “Dad’s never forgiven him. He thinks your father tried to destroy her career out of spite. And tried to break my parents up.”
Grace looked stricken. “I’m so sorry. I knew there was bad blood, but my father never told me the details. Just said your family couldn’t be trusted.” She laughed bitterly. “Sounds like he was projecting.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he genuinely believes his version of events.” I reached out, touching her knee. “Either way, it’s not your fault. You’re not your father any more than I’m my father.”
She covered my hand with hers. “This makes things complicated, doesn’t it?”
“My father would be pretty upset if he knew I was here having dinner with you,” I admitted.
She smiled wryly. “My father would be too, I think. He’d probably see it as some kind of betrayal.”
We sat with that for a moment. Our family history alone was enough to squash whatever was happening between us. Add in the professional element, and this little dinner date was a terrible idea.
I thought about my father’s warning. The decades of bad blood still simmering between our families. The many ways this could blow up in both our faces.
“How wild that I’ve never heard about this big feud,” she murmured. “Hollywood feuds are the stuff of legends.”
“I’m guessing it was kept quiet on both sides because it makes them both look bad,” I said. “Both our fathers are successful. Neither of them suffered. And it sure as hell didn’t hold my mom back.”
She nodded. “True, but still. You would think that them keeping it quiet all these years meant it was over, but the second they hear we’re working together, they act like we’re kicking off the Cold War 2.0.”
I chuckled. “Maybe we’re half-siblings.”
She cringed. “What? Ew. Gross.”
“Your dad liked my mom. Timing is all wrong but maybe there was a wild night and hello me.”
She shook her head. “You’ve been immersed in Hollywood life for too long.”
“Maybe.”
“Have you seen your father? Your brothers? You guys are like little carbon copies. There is zero denying your DNA.”
I laughed. “That would make one hell of a story, right? Maybe I’ll find a script writer. I could totally spin that.”
She burst into laughter. “I will not be auditioning for that role.”
“Why not?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even want to think about getting hot and heavy with my brother.”
“That’d be the story,” I said. “That’s the drama. Hook up. Fall in love. Find out they might be siblings. And then whole push and pull.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Probably.”
“Would you ever want to work with me again?” she asked softly.
“Yep.”
“That was quick.”
“You’re a talented actress,” I said.
“Even with all the drama it would create within your family?”
“Fuck them,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Fuck them. Both of them.” I slid across the couch, my hand sliding up to cup her jaw. “Whatever happened between our parents, that’s their baggage. Not ours.”
Her eyes widened and then she smiled.
I kissed her. I wasn’t thinking about my dad or hers. Fuck all of them. I wanted this. We were grown adults and didn’t have to listen to our daddies’ bullshit.