CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
THEY SWEPT INTO THE SPRAWLING, OVER-AIR-CONDITIONED MEETING room, nabbing blessedly cold water bottles from a sideboard dotted with fruit bowls and mini candy bars. Ness’s hand hovered briefly over a tiny Twix but retracted before making contact. She jammed her fingers into the insubstantial pockets of her shorts, trying to look casual as she took in the room.
Tables had been set up in a large U shape, with chairs for today’s audience—primarily crew and network stakeholders—arranged in front. Giant windows presented a view of a packed beach, perfect blue skies, and pretty waves rolling gently onto the sand far below.
“We’ll get started in a couple of minutes, folks!” a cheery voice boomed. Morris Wagner, producer, former model, and, if the rumors were true, all-around nice guy, standing on a chair, beaming down at everyone. “Just waiting on a couple of stragglers, but if you can start making your way to your seats, we’ll be underway soon!”
Around Ness, executives and harried-looking staff were alternately chatting, frenetically texting, or shaking hands with enough prolonged force to cause lasting damage. She eyed the table, trying to pick out her seat, wondering how long it would take for the rest of the cast to notice her. Or had they banded together in collective snubbing? That would be, um, neat.
As promised, Bradley (never, ever Brad—at least, not to his face) and Libby were nose to nose, having what appeared to be quite a passionate conversation. Ness winced as Libby repeatedly stabbed a long fingernail into his chest for emphasis. Edging closer to the murder end of the scale than table sex, it seemed.
She wondered how many hours a day Bradley was spending in the gym to maintain his Thor-esque muscle tone. It couldn’t be easy looking fifty in the eye and still making your pecs dance.
Suddenly, as one terrifying unit, they turned toward Ness across the table. Libby’s eyes narrowed. Her plump lips curved into an expression of disapproving scorn. Ness couldn’t figure out where to direct her eyes or what to do with her hands. She’d been expecting a confrontation with Libby but had really, really been hoping to put it off for a day or twenty. One didn’t ghost one’s (presumably now former) best friend for a couple of decades without expecting some kind of comeuppance, but she could try to avoid it as long as possible.
Bradley, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents literally right under his nose, ran a hand through his shoulder-length, perfectly tousled curls and flexed his triceps in what could be loosely interpreted as either a neutral greeting or an oddly specific threat.
Without thinking, Ness pulled a quick Hulk Hogan double-arm flex before wincing at her own awkwardness and rotating away from the danger zone toward potentially more friendly territory. Libby wouldn’t attack her while her back was turned. Right?
It was hard to believe she was actually here. Coco wasn’t wrong—it did feel like a high school reunion. Awkward, exciting, and like everyone had something to prove. Ness tried to project confident professionalism and not stare like a wide-eyed newbie.
It had been impossible, of course, to fully avoid any mention of her former colleagues since she’d left L.A. She’d hear radio spots talking about their current projects, or see one of them (usually Bradley or Coco) on the cover of a fitness or fashion magazine at the grocery store checkout. Ian had been riding the fame wave after his bestselling memoir, Just One Bump, had rocketed to number one only a few months earlier. Ness couldn’t walk past a bookstore without seeing the cover—a close-up shot of his gray-blue eyes, emphasizing the fine lines snaking out from the corners.
And, of course, every year or two she’d be driving somewhere innocuous only to be faced with a fifteen-foot image of Hayes’s face on a billboard.
She’d grown up with these people. And then, when her dad-slash-manager had peaced out with her life savings and left her to fend for herself, he’d taken her dignity and capacity to trust with him. Ness had felt like an idiot. How had she not seen what he was doing? Libby had been telling her to get more involved in her finances for years.
“You’re an adult now,” Libby had said over more than one Sunday brunch, in the know-it-all tone usually reserved for people other than her bestie. “Don’t you want to know where your money is going?” But it had felt like a tomorrow problem, and besides, it was her dad. Surely, if anyone had her back, it was him.
Well, that turned out to be laughably incorrect.
Ness had tried to ignore the pitying looks, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was not only the world’s dumbest human, but also that she must be deeply and utterly flawed for her own parent to turn his back so easily. She’d suddenly found herself deep in debt and entirely incapable of digging herself out. It was humiliating. After a few months she couldn’t take it anymore. The collection agencies, the whispers behind her back, the lowball offers for roles she previously would never have considered.
Navigating the minefield of showbiz and media attention without the guidance of the person who’d shielded her for so long was beyond shocking. Sure, she’d wanted some freedom, but being thrown directly into the lion’s den without even a year’s worth of savings to protect her? Disaster.
Slowly at first, and then with concerning frequency, people had started pulling away. She’d given the rest a hefty shove.
Ness left and didn’t look back. She wanted a fresh start far, far away from every single person who served as a reminder of what her life had been. It was ridiculous, looking back. Even completely destitute, if she’d been able to work past the humiliation she could have found doors to open and a way forward that didn’t involve abandoning her life’s work and the only thing she’d ever been truly passionate about.
Over the following years, it had become increasingly clear to Ness that what she was lacking, in addition to her purloined millions and self-confidence, was closure on that chapter of her life. Sprinting north had seemed like the only option then, but now, with the benefit of time to (mostly) heal and the perspective a little age brings, Ness wanted the chance to tie those loose ends into what might end up being a sloppy but emotionally fulfilling bow. She wanted to stop asking herself “what if” on repeat. She’d never know what her life could have been if she’d chosen a different path all those years ago, but she could forge a new one now. A path she could look back on and be proud of.
Seeing her Ocean Views co-stars online or in print had always made her heart stutter and her stomach flip. She’d spend the rest of the day replaying scenes from her past in her head and imagining scenarios in which they were reunited, sometimes in a sprinkling of happy tears, but usually . . . not that.
And now, here they were. All of them. Well, almost all. Ness wasn’t sure she could make it through a face-to-face with Hayes emotionally unscathed. His inability to participate in the reboot had been the final sign she’d needed that this was an opportunity she had to take.
She took a deep breath and visualized a light switch (her therapist was really into visualizations). Then, with a quick prayer to the gods of fortune, she flipped the switch from Agnes Larkin, mediocre landlord and unblocker of sinks, to Ness Larkin, self-assured woman of the world and Extremely Prepared Actress.
When someone launched themselves onto her back, enveloping her in a bear hug to rival the attack of an actual, mid-size, largely hairless bear, she barely stifled her screech of terror.
“Nessinator! You made it!” Strong arms spun her around and she found herself face to face with a still stunning Ian James.
Ness’s heart stuttered as long-buried Ian-tinged regrets danced through her mind, but she shoved them aside. If he was going to act normal, so could she. She felt her lips spread into a wide smile. “Hoooolyyyy smokes. It’s good to see you.”
Ian slung an arm across her shoulders, the cool silk of his pineapple-print shirt brushing against the back of her neck.
“Can you even believe this? The whole crew together again! This is going to be a blast.” He steered her toward their table, head swiveling as he looked across the room. “I need to talk to Stella about the coconut water sitch, but for real, Ness, I’m pumped you came back.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before bopping across the room.
Ness pushed away the burn of emotion that felt uncomfortably like happy tears and went to find her space at the table.
Coco had plopped into her seat, two folding chairs to the left of center, and was flipping through the script, smirking as she made notes in the margins.
Ness scanned the name cards propped in front of each spot. Daisy Payne. Bradley Isaksson. Coco. Ian James. Morris Wagner. Libby Kim. Ness Larkin. Ah. She headed toward her spot, wondering who’d had to dig deep into the archives to figure out how they’d been seated during the original Ocean Views readings. It was a nice touch.
Traditionally, Hayes would have been next to her. Curious, her eyes darted to the next seat down. Hayes Beaumont. Her heart pounded. Her stomach performed nausea-inducing acrobatics. Ah, she thought after a moment of panic. It’s a gesture. An homage. She pulled out her chair and slid in, shaking her head at her overreaction.
Morris was glad-handing a sixty-something exec in rumpled khakis and a Hard Rock Café golf shirt, but he took a moment to smile warmly at her. “Ness! Welcome!” Was that relief on his face? She wasn’t that late. She smiled back, letting some of her excitement show.
Hard Rock slapped Morris on the shoulder, making him wince, and meandered over to the coffee station. A gangly, pale man in khakis and a mint-green collared shirt that did nothing good for his complexion sidled into the now vacant space, clipboard in hand. He gave Ness an inquisitive glance, then trained his eyes on Morris, like an attentive puppy waiting for a command.
“Oh, hey, Tyler. Did you get the—”
In a practiced movement, the man freed a stack of paper from his clipboard and placed it gently in Morris’s hand.
“Awesome, thanks.” Morris rolled the paper into a tube and slid it into his back pocket. He focused on Ness. “This is going to be a great day.” He seemed to really mean it. “You have the updated schedule for tomorrow? It’s going to be a bit frantic, but it’s important to take advantage of these early press opportunities, right?” His smile tightened. “And then we’re off to paradise! Small change there.” His eyes darted sideways. “Core cast will be going to Eclipse Island by boat once we land on Grand Exuma.” He gave an apologetic half shrug, like, What can you do? “I think we tried to send the details to your assistant but. . .” He trailed off. “Anyway”—he nodded, scanning the room—“it’s going to be epic.” He drifted away from her to continue glad-handing.
Episode one had the Ocean Views gang reuniting for the funeral of Theo Osgoode, teen bad boy turned tech billionaire, played by Hayes Beaumont. Word on the proverbial street was that Hayes had a conflicting big-budget movie shoot and couldn’t make the scheduling work. Or didn’t want to. It was to be a closed casket event.
Someone on the other side of the room laughed loudly. Outside, the sun shone between scattered puffy white clouds onto the glittering water below. Ness jolted as the air conditioning kicked on, dumping cold air through the vent above her. She shivered and wondered if she should get up and try to go make conversation with someone. Her eyes drifted from face to face, but she stayed put.
She looked at the script in front of her. Running a hand over the first page, she realized this felt right. She was, despite everything, happy to be here. This was as close to time travel as she was going to get. Her very own Sliding Doors moment.
As Ness twisted the cap off her water bottle and got ready to read as much of the script as she could cram in before they started, someone stopped on the opposite side of the table.
“Ms. Larkin?”
Ness’s gaze skimmed up the woman’s toned body, clad in a cropped emerald shirt over loose boyfriend jeans that rested on her hips. Red curls were piled on top of her head. A couple of stray strands fell alluringly around her face.
“Oh my goodness, it’s so great to finally meet you!” Daisy Payne gushed, smiling widely. Ness was reminded of a young Julia Roberts and, for an instant, understood Coco’s displeasure with the new addition. Then she remembered she was supposed to play this woman’s mother. It was a fresh punch to the gut.
She pulled her face into a welcoming grin, reminding herself she was an actress. She may as well practice.
“Daisy!” She stood, and the two embraced lightly and awkwardly across the table. Luckily, Daisy was nearly six feet tall in her sneakers and easily closed the gap that Ness’s short body left. She was about to launch into what would probably have been a so-so “Welcome to the team” speech when she heard a collective intake of breath from the gaggle of PAs gathered nearby. A heartbeat of complete silence followed. Ness’s eyes followed the trail of open-mouthed stares to their target.
“Hey, everyone! So sorry I’m late,” said Hayes.
Ness tried to play it cool. She was a cucumber. Ice. Jack in the frigid water when Rose was hogging the door-raft. But when Hayes took his seat beside her and rocked gently, so his shoulder connected softly with hers? When he cocked his head and looked at her through lowered lashes and said “Hi,” with an uncertain smile dancing across his recently exfoliated lips? She was a puddle. A confused, distraught, butterflies-in-the-stomach-and-other-parts mess. Luckily, as stated, she was an actress—some might even say a good one—so she was pretty sure her return smile and casual “Hi” were, at a minimum, passable. She could do this.
* * *
“You told me he was dead!” Ness whisper-shrieked into her phone.As soon as Morris had called an end to the read, she’d fled the room, taking refuge behind a stand of potted palms in the farthest possible corner of the hotel’s eighteenth floor. The spiky foliage poked at her face every time she moved, but at least she was out of sight.
“I meant in the show, Agnes.” She could practically hear Audrey’s eyes rolling. Audrey Wilson, her agent for the past seven months, had been recommended by a friend of a friend as a strong representative for Mature Women when the Good Things Network had reached out about the reboot. Ness couldn’t decide whether Audrey thought she was an idiot, or if this was her standard demeanor. Maybe she thought everyone was an idiot? That kind of made Ness feel better.
“Yes, thank you. I did understand that part.” She took a breath, attempting to regulate her tone. She batted a palm frond away from her eye. “Maybe I misunderstood, but I thought you said you’d spoken to the production team and confirmed that Hayes wasn’t participating. Because his character is dead. So he doesn’t need to be here.” She could feel her voice creeping toward shrill.
“Yes, well, obviously something has changed.”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Listen, Ness. He’s doing one episode. You’ve got what, three, four days with the guy? Nine, max. Maybe a couple more if there are reshoots. Whatever. You had a thing. So what? It happened eons ago. Film a few flashbacks together and otherwise keep your distance. Then he’ll be off in lord knows where for that space cowboy movie. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve rented out Mars.”
“I just—”
Audrey talked right over her, taking a bite of something with the crunch of a baby carrot, but wetter. A pickle? Ness tried to ignore it but could feel her molars starting to grind.
“Put on your big-girl pants and get to work. Heck, jump in the sack with an NDA-abiding pool boy if it makes you feel better. Then Mr. Beaumont will be flitting off to make his millions fighting alien squids, and you’ll be lounging in the Bahamas. Well, working. Probably long hours. But maybe some of your scenes will involve a reclined position.” She paused, chewing. “Make sure you suck in your stomach while in repose. Save them some effort in post.”
Ness’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Audrey didn’t get it. She couldn’t. She wasn’t the one who had spent the past two hours desperately trying (and actually mostly succeeding) to ignore his freshly-washed-male scent and invasive pheromones in order to focus on the script and deliver her lines smoothly. You know, like she’d read them in advance. Maybe even practiced a little.
She’d managed to suggest some tweaks she was pretty happy with, which balanced out the sting of Hayes chatting with Coco during the breaks while being contrastingly distant with Ness. How could a shoulder go so abruptly from sweetly welcoming to frigid?! It was confusing! Hurtful! And why was he even there?
Audrey was droning on. Something about camouflaging upper-arm jiggle.
“Thanks for that, Audrey. I need to run. Talk soon!” She hung up and sagged against the wall, inhaling the scent of moist potting soil and her own despair.
She was fucked. Not literally, unfortunately, but definitely emotionally. She had assumed she’d be over Hayes. It had been decades. She’d figured there was a good chance he was awful now, having stewed in celebrity juices far too long. But no. No, he wasn’t. The years had been more than kind to him. He’d transformed from a handsome young man to dear-god-take-me-now levels of sexy.
His sandy hair was brushed with silver. A soft green T-shirt hugged his shoulders. Worn jeans hung perfectly on his hips and showcased those long, long legs. Dark-rimmed glasses finished off a World’s Hottest Professor look.And he was nice. Even while treating her like a complete stranger, he was so goddamn annoyingly kind and supportive and . . . ugh. Like she’d said. Fucked.
She was trying to convince her body to move toward Coco’s room when Morris rounded the corner at the end of the hall, mid phone call. Tyler, his faithful lackey, trotted two respectful steps behind, clipboard dangling from a lanyard around his neck. It thunked gently against his stomach as he moved, occasionally clipping the edge of the phone on which he was speed-scrolling.
There was no casual way to exit her hiding spot. She’d either need to mosey on out, like it was totally normal to be lurking in a corner outside what was presumably Morris’s room, or hide. Easy choice. She dropped into a crouch, wrapping her arms around her knees and tucking her head into her arms. She channeled boulders. Woman-sized rock. Modern statuary.
She peeked through a crack between her thigh and upper arm.
Morris’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles bunching from ten feet away. His raspy baritone had lost its earlier friendliness. “But we agreed on a budget, Trisha. This isn’t it.” He stopped in front of a door and patted his pockets. “You wanted, and I quote, big beauty. Compete with White Lotus, you said. Do you know what their budget is?” He paused mid-stride, causing a near-collision as Tyler narrowly avoided mashing into his back.
“No? Neither do I, but I can almost guarantee we’re suddenly working with peanuts in comparison. I had to pull every string in my string bank to get us to the island without going into the red.” He held the phone away from his face, silently screaming at it before putting it back to his ear.
Tyler’s thin lips pursed in a moue of concern. He patted his pockets as if trying to find something to offer Morris to reduce the strain of the moment.
“Christ!” Morris continued down the hall, looking around to make sure no one was in the vicinity. He seemed vaguely startled to see Tyler so close to him. “Do they know what we’re dealing with here? The odds of half the cast falling apart completely or killing each other before we’re halfway through the season are astronomically high. It’s going to be like herding mildly talented rabid cats as it is. You’re—I mean, it’s bonkers.”
He pulled a key card from his wallet and shoved the door open. As it swung shut and clicked behind him, Ness thought she heard him say her name.The tone wasn’t encouraging. Tyler stood, unmoored, outside the closed door. For a moment, Ness worried he was going to park himself on the floor and wait for Morris to reemerge, but then a quiet buzz from his phone had him hotfooting it back the way he’d come.
Someone cleared their throat to Ness’s left, just outside her cluster of protective foliage. A security guard loomed, one hand on a walkie-talkie.
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t be here.”
Ness stood, ignoring the creaking of her joints. She sighed.
“Yeah, I know.”
* * *
Ness declined Coco’s kind offer to “get shit-faced and bathe in the tears of our enemies” and instead headed to the private gym on their floor. The thought of tomorrow’s flight on what was bound to be a teeny tiny island-hopper of a plane taking them from Miami to Great Exuma was making her antsy, and then there was the boat to Eclipse. The idea of being trapped in a confined space with Libby and Hayes? She suppressed a shudder and hoped a workout would exhaust her enough that she could get some sleep.
Lost in thought, she pushed through the door into the gym and wandered toward the cardio equipment. The black athletic mats were springy under her feet, and the vents seemed to be blowing temperate imitation sea breeze. The scent of salt and fresh rain permeated the space, which still maintained a chilly, workout-friendly temperature. Were they piping in the real deal from the beach, cooling it along the way?
Ness clambered onto a bike, paired the headphones she’d scored from the welcome basket in Coco’s room, and started scrolling through the thirty-minute virtual class options. She’d follow that with some weights, wrap up with a bit of yoga, and then retreat to one of Coco’s spare rooms for a night of personal reflection and regret paired with a side of self-flagellation. Perfect.
Someone slid into view in front of her bike. Ness’s gaze skimmed up the toned, dewy body wrapped in matching navy bike shorts and sports bra. Daisy’s hair looked just as good if not better than it had at the table read, shining healthfully with artistic tendrils skimming her neck. Her cheeks were gently flushed, as if she’d walked quickly across a small room, or felt a moment of moderate excitement.
“Drat! I just finished my run.” She dabbed at her face with a pristine white towel, eyeing the bike beside Ness. Her brow crinkled slightly. “But I only did five miles. Hmm. Would you mind if I joined you?” She started toward the neighboring bike but paused before mounting, waiting for Ness’s agreement.
Ness moved one side of her headphones aside, sure she’d misheard. “Did you say only five miles?”
“Yeah. It’s usually my warm-up, but I’m wiped from the travel so I was going to slack a bit.” She grimaced. There was an utterly charming gap between her top front teeth.
“My trainer has me on two-a-day workouts. I’m so lucky to be in a position to have that time, and access to places like this—did you hear the whale sounds earlier? I thought I was hallucinating—but I also miss. . . normal life? It seems irrational to work so hard for something and then complain about making it. God, I’m rambling. Sorry. Nervous habit. Kills me in interviews.”
“Don’t worry about it. Achieving your dreams is, well, not as simple as I wish it were.” Ness shot Daisy a tentative smile. “I was going to do the 2000s pop ride.”
“Perfect! I’ve been meaning to brush up on the music of that era, get into the zone, you know?”
“Daisy?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Please never refer to my prime years as a different era again.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. It’s just, I was, like, five when Views ended.”
Ness pointedly shifted her headphones back into place and turned her gaze to the bike’s screen.
“Okay, okay.” Daisy laughed. “But, you know, it’s perfectly normal for kids to talk about how their parents grew up in different times. In fact, if you want to tell me about, like, riding a moose to school in the snow or something before Canada had cars, I’m all ears.”
Ness flung the clean towel she’d hung on her handlebars across the aisle at Daisy, who was giggling uncontrollably.
“You’re grounded.”
Daisy snorted, scrolling to the right class. Her manicured finger hovered over the Start button.
“You know, I heard a lot of things about the cast.” She lowered her voice. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
“I’m sure you did.” Ness waited, trying not to look as exasperated as she felt.Would people never move on? It had been so long. She sighed. “Listen, can we save that for another day? Maybe struggle in silence for a while? Be one with the inevitable pain in our quads and/or souls?”
Daisy started the ride on her bike and the sound of “Mr. Brightside” drifted faintly into the air.
“You got it, Mom.”
“How dare you!” Ness started pedaling, wondering if she could generate enough momentum to propel a stationary bike through the wall, to freedom.