Chapter 36
MICAH
Iscanned the cabin for the third time as people settled into their seats, my eyes tracking every face, every head of hair.
Cast and crew spread out across the rows, some already pulling out laptops or settling in for sleep.
The energy was different from the flight out—tired but satisfied.
Most were also suffering hangovers. People were laughing, rehashing their favorite moments from the shoot and the party last night.
The usual end-of-shoot stuff with people exchanging phone numbers and making promises to stay in touch that some would keep and most wouldn’t.
But no Grace.
I checked my watch. We were fifteen minutes from departure. Maybe she was running late. I had assumed she was on one of the other transport vans, but maybe she’d gotten held up at the hotel, or stuck in traffic. What if she was scrambling to get a taxi to the airport?
I scanned the faces again and spotted Patty.
“Have you seen Grace?” I realized I sounded just a little frantic. “Did she get on a van or should I send a car for her?”
Patty’s expression shifted to something that might have been sympathy. “She’s not coming.”
“What do you mean she’s not coming?”
“She texted me last night. Said she’d booked another flight back. Left before the party ended, I think.”
My stomach dropped. “Did she say why?”
Patty shook her head slowly. “No. Just that she needed to get home. I figured…” She trailed off, glancing around at the other passengers. “I figured you’d know more than I would.”
I didn’t know anything. That was the problem.
“Thanks, Patty.”
She nodded and moved down the aisle to find her seat. I stood there like an idiot, blocking the walkway, trying to process what she’d just told me.
Grace had left. Without saying goodbye. Without telling me.
I found my seat and dropped into it, staring out the window at the tarmac. The Hawaiian sun was already brutal, even this early in the morning. Ground crew moved around the plane, going through their pre-flight routines.
I’d missed her at the wrap party. I’d kept scanning the crowd all night, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
I assumed she was leaning into the leading lady role and would show up fashionably late.
I would have had to keep my distance but at least I would have seen her.
At least I would have known she was okay.
Instead, she’d been at the airport. Booking a flight. Running away.
From me.
The flight attendant made an announcement about preparing for takeoff.
I barely heard it. My mind was stuck on Grace.
She missed the wrap party that was about more than just getting drunk and celebrating a successful shoot.
In a way, they provided closure. Something almost magical happened when a production wrapped.
Feuds that had simmered for months suddenly evaporated over shared drinks.
People who’d butted heads found common ground in their mutual exhaustion.
Friendships that might have fizzled got solidified into something that would last beyond the bubble of the shoot.
It was all about making connections. If you worked well together on one production, you tapped into that when you had a new project. Every production was like a job interview. If you did well and connected to the right people, you were a shoo-in for the next movie.
Last night I’d watched crew members who’d been at each other’s throats hugging it out near the pig roast. I’d seen Jack actually apologize to one of the camera operators he’d been a dick to during week two.
The whole production came together in a moment of collective pride and accomplishment unlike anything else I’d ever felt.
And Grace had missed all of it.
The plane started taxiing. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, but all I could see was her face. My girl.
The thought stopped me cold.
When had I started thinking of her as my girl?
She’d become mine without me even noticing it happening. Shit. I was in deep. Way deeper than I’d let myself admit.
The plane lifted off, and I watched Hawaii shrink beneath us. We’d gotten everything we needed. The footage was going to be incredible. This movie was going to launch careers—mine, Grace’s, maybe even some of the crew who’d gone above and beyond.
Instead, I felt hollow.
I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her.
Not because it was wrong—it wasn’t. What we had was real, and I didn’t regret a single moment of it.
But she was the one paying the price. She was the one whose name was being dragged through the mud.
She had to flee a wrap party like a criminal because she couldn’t face the whispers.
I’d been so focused on protecting her from the scandal that I’d become the source of it. Some protector I turned out to be.
The flight home felt endless. Five hours of staring at the clouds, replaying every moment with Grace.
All of it. The good, the bad, and the hot.
I didn’t hang around to talk with Toby or anyone else.
I grabbed my bags and headed straight for my car, ignoring the cluster of crew members making plans to grab drinks.
Normally I would have joined them, but I wasn’t in the mood for company.
I’d texted Grace twice during the flight. Once when we took off, just a simple “Are you okay?” And again via WhatsApp.
She’d responded to the second one and pretty much destroyed my heart.
I need some time. Let things die down. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.
I couldn’t blame her. Not really. The scandal had hit her harder than it had hit me. I was the director—people expected directors to be difficult, complicated and maybe a little inappropriate. But she was the actress. The newcomer. The woman who’d supposedly slept her way into the role.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
But fair didn’t matter in Hollywood. Perception was everything, and right now, the perception was that Grace Stone was either a homewrecker or a gold digger, depending on which tabloid you believed.
Because that was something new the tabloids spit out.
They didn’t believe the video. They decided Chantilly was lying to save face.
There were people dissecting the video of Chantilly in the makeup chair and had concluded she was not the one kissing Jack.
People really needed to get a life.
I pulled into my garage and dragged myself inside, dropping my bags in the entryway without bothering to unpack. I wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing appealed to me. I closed it again and leaned against the counter, pulling out my phone.
Her last message stared back at me. I’ll reach out when I’m ready.
When would that be? A week? A month? After the movie premiered and the scandal had faded into the background noise of Hollywood gossip?
I wanted to call her and suggest a united front was the best way to handle this. But she’d asked for space, and I had to respect that. Even if it was killing me. I needed to stay busy or I would make myself crazy.
I grabbed a can of coke and headed into my home office. I watched the dailies from Hawaii. Grace’s face filled my monitor, take after take of her pouring everything she had into Elena. She was magnificent. Every frame proved she’d earned this role on talent alone.
Not that anyone would believe it now.
I paused on a shot of her walking along the beach. We’d filmed it the day after the scandal broke. She managed to channel all that pain into her performance. She’d given me everything. And I’d repaid her by turning her life into a tabloid headline.
The gate alarm buzzed. I checked the time and frowned. It was after eight. I grabbed my phone to check my security camera. Beau.
I pushed the button to open the gate and made my way to the front door. He parked his car and climbed out.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He held up a rolled-up movie poster.
“You look like shit,” he said by way of greeting.
“Thanks. Love you too.”
“Why are you here?”
He pushed past me into the house. “I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
He unrolled the poster with a flourish, revealing the glossy image of Jack Montana in full action-hero mode, muscles bulging, jaw clenched, explosions erupting behind him. It was from one of his earlier films. Not his best work, but it had made a fortune at the box office.
I stared at it, then at my brother. “I didn’t know you were such a Jack Montana fan. You planning to hang this in your bedroom? Give the women you take to your bed something to look at?”
Beau scowled. “It’s not for me, jackass. It’s for Cleo.”
“Cleo wants a signed Jack Montana poster?”
“She’s out of town scouting locations for Blackwell Occasions.” He rolled the poster back up carefully. “She asked me to get it signed while she was gone. Apparently she’s been a fan since she was a teenager. Wants to frame it and hang it in her home office.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed at the image of Cleo fangirling over Jack Montana. She’d grown up in Hollywood and she decided he was the guy to drool over?
“I’ll do it,” I said, still chuckling. “Next time I see him, I’ll get it signed.”
“What the hell is going on with you?” he asked. “You are quite the star these days.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“You really do look like hell,” he said. “Is this about the actress?”
I didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
Beau sighed and leaned against the counter. “She’s pretty. Are you guys a thing or was that just another publicity stunt?”
“It wasn’t a publicity stunt. The shit with her kissing Jack was the stunt. We are real. Were real. I don’t know. She asked for space. I’m giving her space.”
“And that’s driving you crazy.”
“A little bit. Yeah.”
My brother waited for me to talk. We weren’t the type to have heart-to-hearts. Our family communicated through sarcasm, not emotional vulnerability. But he got serious.
“You really like this girl, huh?”
“I really do.” I walked to the fridge and grabbed us a couple of beers.
It was going to be one of those conversations.
“I don’t know what to do, Beau. I can’t fix this.
I can’t make the tabloids disappear or undo what happened.
All I can do is wait for her to be ready, and she might never be ready.
She might decide I’m not worth the hassle. ”
“Would you blame her?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I wouldn’t blame her at all. Which is the worst part.”
He shrugged. “You know what you need? A rebound.”
I blinked at him. “A rebound.”
“Yeah. Get back out there. Date someone new. Take your mind off things.” He snapped his fingers like he’d just had a brilliant idea. “What about Scarlett Johansson? Is she single?”
I stared at him blankly.
“She’s hot, she’s successful, she’s probably used to dating complicated Hollywood types.”
“For one, she’s married. And no. Fuck it. Never mind. I’m not talking to you about this.”
“I’m just trying to help!”
“You’re terrible at it.”
Beau grinned, completely unrepentant. “The single life is the only life for me right now, brother. I can’t relate to your romantic woes. But I can listen, and I can suggest wildly inappropriate solutions. That’s what family is for.”
Despite everything, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. “You’re an idiot.”
“A charming idiot.” He pushed off the counter and headed for the door. “Get the poster signed. And for God’s sake, eat something. You look like shit.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Anytime.”
He left me with the stupid poster. The man who’d inadvertently started this whole mess by not being able to keep his mouth shut during a simple interview. I should be furious with him. Part of me was. But mostly I just felt tired.
I wasn’t giving up. She could have all the time and space she needed. I’d wait. I’d be patient. And when she was ready, I’d be there.
Some things were worth waiting for. Grace Stone was definitely one of them.