Chapter 7 Sadie
SEVEN
SADIE
Sadie rolled her eyes. Of course they gave the A-lister the royal treatment. Next, they’d probably have a butler answering his door and offering her a complimentary beverage.
With a sigh, she knocked. Lightly at first, then a little harder. By the third knock, the door swung open, and there was Quentin, grinning like he was genuinely happy to see her.
She barely resisted another eye roll. He’d spent the entire day hovering around the makeup table like a jittery production assistant, popping up between takes.
“Just checking, you’re still coming to help me run lines, right?”
“Yes, Quentin.”
“Like, today-today? Not metaphorically?”
“Yes, Quentin.”
“You mean tonight, right? After filming? Not in a dream sequence I hallucinated?”
If he had said “just checking” one more time, she would’ve jammed a contour brush directly into his eye socket.
She needed better boundaries. She couldn’t help herself, she loved an underdog. First it was Avery and her terrifying cowboy-themed party. Now it was Quentin, with his sad eyes and full-blown stage-five clinger energy.
And yet, here she was. Despite every rational voice in her head screaming “Red flag! Turn around! Save yourself!” She’d shown up. With marker highlighters in her purse like some kind of enabling theater mom.
She wasn’t sure if it was the desperation in his eyes or the sheer, delicious power of knowing she could hold this over him forever but she was in now.
“Good evening, Sadie,” Quentin said, smooth as a ma?tre d’, like he was greeting her at a private dining club instead of standing barefoot in a cabin that smelled faintly of coffee and pine.
She brushed past him without acknowledging it, eyes immediately scanning the room.
It was… normal. Disarmingly so. A baseball cap slung over the arm of the couch.
An orange peel abandoned on the counter.
An empty mug in the sink, like he was just some guy who forgot to rinse his dishes instead of a professionally adored heartthrob.
“Why are you staying in the cabins? I’m pretty sure the studio would’ve put you up in some five-star hotel with a pillow menu and a gold-plated espresso machine.”
Quentin shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “I like the cabin better. Much more homey.”
Sadie snorted. “You think this is homey? The water pressure alone could strip paint off a car.”
Quentin just smirked. “I like a little character.”
Sadie gave him a skeptical look before flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Don’t you have, like, three houses?”
“Well… yeah,” Quentin said, rubbing the back of his neck like a man who just realized how punchable he sounded. “One for work, one for relaxing, and one for family.”
He walked over to the couch and sat down next to her.
“Okay, Goldilocks. I’ve got three kinds of underwear,” she continued. “One for sleeping, one for everyday, and one for when I’m feeling dangerous. You don’t see me monologuing about it.”
That should have gotten a laugh. A groan. A smug jab about how predictable she was.
No, he just looked at her. The kind of look that melted the air a little.
It made it violently clear that he was now picturing her underwear.
She felt it in the way his breath stilled.
The way his gaze snagged on the waistband of her jeans, then snapped back to her eyes like it burned to look too long.
“What kind are you wearing right now?” he asked, voice low and rough.
Oh no. The fact that her breath hitched? Betrayal. The warm flush creeping down her neck? Treason. Her nipples had the audacity to tighten under her shirt, which felt like a hostile act. But she would not let him win.
She lifted her chin, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to calm the storm inside her. “Guess.”
That one word landed like a slap and she knew it. Quentin’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he tilted his head and took his time, eyes dragging over her in a way that felt like a caress and a challenge all at once.
“It’s not nighttime yet,” he murmured, leaning into her space. “And those don’t look like your everyday jeans.” His eyes dipped low, heat simmering in them. “And you’re alone in my cabin. So maybe you wanted to show me something.”
His breath skimmed her cheek. Her pulse skittered wildly. That cologne, spiced and expensive, clouded her judgment for one dangerous second.
Sadie let her eyes drop to his mouth, then dragged them back up. She leaned in until they were nearly touching just enough to make him stop breathing.
“Hmm. Maybe you should…” she drawled, watching him lean in, hungry for the promise. The look on his face made her grin sharp. “Buy a fourth house,” she continued, her voice sweet with an edge, “and go flirt with someone who won’t notice you’re just all hot air.”
He stared, as if the words took a second to land. Then his mouth curved, slow and smug.
“I’d rather flirt here,” he said, tone dripping with sarcasm, “Since you’re such a joy to be around.”
She hated him. She did. She just needed a minute to remind her hormones of that. Repeatedly with a spray bottle. Because making him want her like that felt so damn good.
Thud.
The script slid off the couch and hit the floor with an aggressively loud slap. Sadie jerked back like she’d just been electrocuted.
The spell was broken. Thank God. No need to acknowledge whatever the hell that was. Because nothing happened. Nothing at all.
Quentin cleared his throat as he bent down to pick up the fallen script. Sadie snatched the extra script from the coffee table, flipping it open to the scene scheduled for tomorrow.
“So, uh… I guess we could start with tomorrow’s scene between Regina and Augustus,” he said, attempting casual, but his voice was just a little too tight.
But the fire that had almost flared between them hadn’t fully gone out.
She could feel it smoldering beneath the surface, turning the air thick and heavy.
And from the way Quentin suddenly stood up, too fast, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and moved to lean against the wall, it was obvious he felt it too. Like he needed distance.
“Okay, let’s get into it.”
Quentin nodded, his voice dropping low. “Right.”
Sadie glanced down at the script and straightened her back, reading Regina’s lines. “You can’t just leave, Augustus! Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Quentin pushed off the wall, stepping toward her, and their eyes locked.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something low and gravelly. “And why should I stay, Regina? You’ve made it clear you don’t need me.”
Oh, excellent. He was doing the low, tortured voice. The kind that made it sound like he exclusively drank whiskey and brooded in dimly lit rooms.
“I do need you!” Sadie shot back, her voice rising. “I can’t imagine life without you.”
She tilted her chin up, matching his stare coolly, but her stomach had other ideas. Specifically, somersaults.
Quentin’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer. “What if I leave and never come back? Will you still feel the same when the dust settles?”
Sadie read the lines and hesitated, pulse hammering, before she whispered, “If you walk away now, you’ll regret it.”
She leaned in just a fraction. “Kiss me, Augustus,” she breathed. “Just once. Show me what it would be like if you stayed.”
For one breathless, terrifying second, it seemed like he might actually do it.
It seemed like he might actually do it. His eyes flicked to her mouth, and her entire existence tilted off its axis.
Then, abruptly, he pulled back. Like someone had just dumped ice water over his head.
He exhaled hard, shaking his head slightly before blinking at her.
“Wow, you missed your calling,” he said slowly, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety tone that sent a shiver down her spine.
The words were simple enough, but the way he said them, with that half-smile playing on his lips, tightened her chest like a vice.
She had absolutely no idea why this was happening. Why her brain, despite every red flag, was floating off into fantasyland over someone she had once described as a smug IKEA bookshelf in a fitted T-shirt. Sure, he was handsome, but so were a lot of mistakes.
And yet here she was. Battling the very real, very stupid urge to throw all logic out the window and kiss him. To just ruin everything for the sake of one reckless, intoxicating moment.
“What can I say?” she replied, with a smile that was teetering dangerously on the edge of unhinged. “I’ve always had a flair for the melodramatic. Almost majored in it.”
The silence stretched. She needed to stick to roles with zero romantic tension and preferably prosthetic warts.
“Next scene?” he offered, voice back to normal, thankfully. She nodded quickly, already scanning the script for something safe.
Please let there be a part for a toothless barmaid. Or a haunted cactus. Or literally anyone whose entire romantic arc ends with a restraining order and a restraining odor.