28. Megan #3
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Every part of me is clenched, and I wonder how badly it would hurt me if I punched him straight on that perfectly chiseled jaw.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” His perfectly groomed eyebrows lower, and he appears genuinely perplexed.
I bet no one ever asked him that before.
“It was a kiss,” he says, and I can’t help staring at his lips. “We showed them how I want it to look onscreen.”
“Onscreen?”
My voice has abandoned me, leaving me to fight my own battles without it, like Ariel in The Little Mermaid, and I have a vision of the sea-witch cackling in the background like she’d planned this all along.
The director appears from somewhere behind me and claps the demi-god on the back on his way to speak to Nikki and Arthur. “Okay, guys, let’s roll again.” He makes a circular motion with his hand.
I catch Nikki’s eye briefly before the director yells, “Focus!”
My anger subsides and is quickly replaced by guilt. This is Nikki’s moment, and I feel like I barged in and stole her thunder through no fault of my own. How dare this man think that just because he’s arrogantly handsome he can get away with this.
“Look, I’m sorry.” His voice penetrates my thoughts; he has a slight accent, Mediterranean perhaps. “I didn’t think you’d object. You can use the scene as part of your portfolio if it’ll help.”
My portfolio?
I have no idea what he’s talking about until I glance up at the screen behind the director and watch our kiss being replayed.
“It was being filmed?”
I’m thinking out loud. The cameramen and crew are focused on Nikki and Arthur again, but I can see that Nikki is watching my reaction to seeing myself on TV wrapped in the arms of the hottest man to ever walk the planet.
“No.” I shake my head and walk away. “No. No. No.”
I need to find Amber and get away from here. Away from the film studio. Away from LA. My mind is already on fast-forward to what will happen when I get back to the UK. Where will we go? What if he’s waiting for us at the airport?
But the demi-god grabs my arm and swings me back around to face him. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s not like it’s going to make the big screen. It was just a kiss.”
I square up to him, so close that our noses are almost touching. I’m beyond caring what this man thinks. All I care about is Amber.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
He studies my face closely, his eyelids flickering, his expression suddenly serious. “Why don’t you tell me? Whatever it is, I’ll sort it out. I promise.”
“Ha!” The sound escapes my lips before I can stop it. “Is everything just a game to you? You hurt someone and then you promise to make it better?”
“Did I hurt you?”
Is that a glimmer of fear I see in his eyes? Is he worried I’ll slap a sexual assault charge against him? It’s no less than he deserves, but I don’t have time to think about it.
“You’ve already done enough. Please just leave me alone.”
I turn around and make my way back to Amber. Perhaps he heard the warning in my tone, although I’d bet that men like him don’t pay much attention to warnings if it prevents them from getting what they want. But he doesn’t follow me.
“Who is that man?” Amber asks when I take her hand and lead her towards the exit.
“He’s an actor.” I’m guessing. He didn’t exactly introduce himself before he stuck his tongue down my throat. “Don’t worry, we won’t be seeing him again.”
Outside, the brilliant sunshine makes me squint after the artificial lighting inside the studio.
We hand over our passes to security and step through the gates.
My pulse hasn’t slowed.
It’s still racing from the kiss.
From the cameras.
From the look in his eyes when I told him he had no idea what he’d done.
We climb into the first taxi we see.
“Back to the motel,” I tell the driver, forcing my voice steady.
The door slams shut. The car pulls into traffic.
I finally exhale.
“It was just a kiss,” Amber says softly. “You’re acting like he started a war.”
My throat tightens.
“You don’t understand.”
I glance into the side mirror—
And my blood runs cold.
He’s outside the studio gates.
Not standing there.
Not watching.
Walking.
Fast.
Toward us.
Amber sees it too. “Oh my God. Is that—”
“Yes.”
The taxi turns the corner.
For a second, I think we’ve lost him.
Then Amber grips my arm hard enough to hurt.
“He’s running.”
I twist around in my seat.
And there he is—
In the middle of Sunset Boulevard.
Dodging cars.
Chasing us.
Like he’s not finished.
Like he’s not letting me disappear.
The last thing I see before traffic swallows him is his expression—
Determined.
I face forward.
Heart hammering.
Amber's fingers still digging into my arm.
We ride in silence for exactly forty-three seconds.
Then the cab lurches to a stop so hard we both fly forward.
"What the—" the driver starts.
I look up. And there he is.
Giovanni Sabatelli.
Sprawled across the hood of our cab like he owns it.
Suit soaked through.
Chest heaving.
Eyes locked straight on mine through the windshield.
Not angry.
Not apologetic.
Possessive.
Want to know what happens next?