Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
“Before, I never knew how far I would go. Now I believe I have the answer. I will go as far as there is to go. I will go way too far.”
— HOLLY BLACK, THE CRUEL PRINCE
W henever I snatched an hour from my busy schedule to sleep, I’d lie on the bed in my fancy trailer, thoughts bouncing all over, turned on and even more down and upset.
Why had I taken up with the sexy and capable Professor Maverick? Weren’t my previous experiences with Hollywood himbos educational?
Nope!
There was no getting around it. I’d invited him into my life. I’d let him get close. I’d developed feelings for him and my heart would never be the same. My new plan was to smother those feelings with an impossible workload, hence my acting, producing, promoting a show, developing a script for a new one, and signing a contract to do still more work for the Wolf Girl film. I was busy and tired—it should have been better than a sleeping spell for my sleep schedule, but nope. It wasn’t enough work to drown out Maverick in my brain.
Meanwhile, instead of unproductive sleeping, I got up and wrote scenes for Wolf Girl .
Losing myself in the character was enough to momentarily blot out the existence of my professor’s rough, rumbly voice. The way he quietly and competently looked after me.
“I don’t need a man to look after me,” I said out loud as I hit Send on an email to Elena.
Take that, to-do list!
I was independent and hardworking. I handled my own shit, made my own money, and directed my own life.
Professor Maverick could keep his cozy small-town life, his students, and the family who loved him. I had no need of his charming smile and the warm presence that made everyone in this gosh darn small town like him and invite him over for Sunday brunches, porch-fixing parties, and whatever else it was people did in small towns.
I wasn’t entirely clear on that because I was always working.
No, you do NOT get to charm your way inside my head!
My phone buzzed ninety seconds later, and I took the call from Elena.
Elena was also a workaholic; she appreciated my breakup-inspired productivity even if she didn’t actually know the cause. I hadn’t told her about the fiasco of a date or Maverick’s decision that he would not be joining me in my celebrity fishbowl. These did not pertain to my professional life as a writer and were on a need-to-know basis.
Elena was thrilled that I’d got so much done.
I may have preened.
“This is amazing. Did you try that 2,000 to 10,000 writing book? Are you taking a motivational class?” I heard the tapping of her nails on the keyboard as she started to go through the draft I’d sent her. “I need to know your secret!”
I meant to keep a stiff upper lip, but some of the truth leaked out.
“I can’t sleep.”
“ Conejita , why not? What’s wrong?” Her concern was like slipping into a warm bath. She loved my writing skills and my acting skills—but she loved me , too.
“Anxiety,” I said. Which was true. And also: not the full story.
“Okay.” I could practically hear her thinking. Elena was a fixer, and my insomnia demanded a fix-it plan, pronto. “Have you tried Mami’s sleep charm? CBT? I can find you an online therapist or”—I nearly passed out at her next words—“we could scale your schedule back? Move some deadlines?”
It was official. The world had come to an end.
“A vacation ?”
“With a snorkel.” She sounded pained, but affectionate. “Would that help?”
I frowned. Honestly, the answer was no.
There was only one cure for my ills: Maverick Boone. I was addicted and I hated it.
In the two weeks since my disastrous first—and last—date with Maverick, I’d been glued to my laptop all hours of the day. The pain in my back and my hips from writing slouched over in the trailer’s bed almost, but not quite, drowned out the heartache. I played the Heartbroken playlist on Amazon Music in a loop, and I might have daydreamed, just once or twice, about the babies I would not be having with Maverick Boone.
Pups?
I didn’t know how werewolves reproduced, but our babies would have had his hazel eyes and my dimples. We would have made adorably green, fluffy, round balls of love that charmed everyone in Moonlight Valley. We could have picked out a puppy together too! Kittens! Built our dream house on the shores of Phantom Falls and hosted the family Thanksgiving dinner.
Wait. Back it up.
Darn it.
This was not me. Who was this sad, pathetic sack of a person? We’d gone on one date. This was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud.
One date, not a marriage. It was just a bad date too. Sealed with an amazing, movie-worthy kiss. You do not get to pick out names for so much as a truck together.
“I don’t need to cut back on my work schedule,” I said firmly. “I think I’ll feel better, the more I get under my belt?”
I was an excellent liar—my sister bought it.
“Eager to get going on Wolf Girl , huh?” She laughed as if I’d made a funny joke. My desperation to wrap up shooting for Smoky Spirits was because I had a bigger, better project and not because I had a broken heart. My having non-professional feelings would have surprised her.
Imagine if she knew that werewolves REALLY existed...
Honestly, she would have been thrilled. And then she would have pitched a three-book deal and a film option based on my discovery.
My turning into an antisocial, workaholic hermit who slept in two-hour snatches and at random intervals was a professional boon.
“The studio wasn’t expecting this until next month. They’ll be thrilled.”
“Woo-hoo,” I deadpanned and then winced. Elena didn’t deserve my bad attitude. She only wanted what was best for me.
I wanted what was best for me.
And that was not a tall, broad-shouldered, twinkly-eyed, bearded man.
It wasn’t.
“We haven’t finalized your plans for the London premiere.” Script received, productivity accolades distributed, Elena switched to the next item on our to-do list. She was getting through all the business.
“Right. The premiere.” The stupid premiere.
No. Stop it. That premiere was someone’s work baby. Their artistic dream. A huge financial investment. I did not get to whine about it. This was a no-negativity zone, and I wouldn’t throw my feelings around like moths dive-bombing a porch light. No moths would be harmed by my bad mood.
I took a deep breath and forced some cheerfulness into my voice. I was an actress. I had this! “So, about the premiere. What if I took Papi? Or our brother?”
“No. No, no, no. We’ve talked about this. Luke and Thom will be there, not to mention Vlad and Benjie. You need to bring someone hot. Hotly glamorous. People need to be talking about your boyfriend upgrade. There will be pictures, so we need someone who will stun on the red carpet. This is not a father-daughter dance. I could hit up the Fae court for a prince.”
“No thanks.” I was an amazing actress. I did not sound bitter or resentful at all .
“I can ask around, see who has a client in need of some buzz? Or we could do a love spell.” Elena’s power lunches with other female Hollywood types scared me. Those ladies were terrifyingly productive. They did not need to add magic to the mix—although some of them did.
“I’ll find someone,” I growled. “No spell necessary.”
She paused, clearly running through options. Was her head the agent equivalent of a dating app, but where the goal was publicity and orgasms were optional? What was she going to say to the ladies she lunched with? I tried to get her to go out with a prince, but she’s so fussy! She wants a bearded backwoods lumberjack!
“You could go with Luke as friends,” she suggested. “He’s very pretty. People will want to know if you’re back together.”
Oh no.
No, no, no, no, NO.
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly.
“Alright.” She sighed, as if I were a toddler who refused to take a nap. “But this is time sensitive. You need to find a date soon. And please talk to someone about your sleeping issues, okay? Promise me that you’ll do that.”
Someone knocked on the door of my trailer. Thank you, Universe! I straightened up from my slouch. Ow. “Listen, I have to go, but thank you! I’m glad you’ve got the draft.”
“Sure, sure. No problem,” Elena said. “I’ll touch base with you later. And reconsider writing that erotic serial for the phone app people.”
I bit my tongue because I wanted to end our call, not rehash why I was not writing reverse harem erotica about orcs. It was easier to just hang up.
Which I did. Ugh. I was a bad person with no boundaries.
“Wardrobe,” someone caroled through the door. Someone cheerful and far too happy. That was fine. If that someone worked in the TV industry for more than twenty minutes, they’d end up as disillusioned and bitter as me.
Positive thoughts! BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE!
Funny. Those cute little Instagram quotes were not as good at lifting my mood as chocolate was.
Ten minutes later, I stood on the step riser in the wardrobe trailer.
While Mabel barked commands to Turn! Lift your arm! Hop up and down! (the last one being Mabel’s weird sense of humor), I mentally rehearsed a few lines and then reprioritized my to-do list. An idea for a new Wolf Girl scene snuck into the back of my mind. It was business as usual. A few people wandered in and out.
My mind wandered.
Boom! I fell straight into thinking about Maverick. I might have issued a lovelorn sigh or two. Or not love . More like lusty appreciation and liking?
“What’s up? Why the gusty exhaling?” Mabel frowned at me, loosening her tape measure around my boobs.
“Nothing.” I beamed at her. Charm time!
She looked unconvinced. We weren’t exactly friends, but we were friendly colleagues. We worked together, which made genuine friendship tricky, although we tried.
“Mmmhmmm.” She retrieved her tape measure. “Something’s up. You’re stress eating. And sighing. You’re distracted. OMG. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No! No! Of course not.”
Mabel shrugged. “Babies are lovely. Although it would be none of my business if you were, but it would be good to know. Strictly for wardrobe purposes.”
She winked and patted my arm. A fuzzy wolf pup popped into my head. He had hazel eyes and magical powers.
No! I swallowed.
My head and my heart were Maverick-free zones. Mostly. I mean, he sort of came and went in there, wreaking havoc with my internal organs. Head, heart, and reproductive parts. I was in a wolfish, Maverick-induced funk, and I did not feel like de-funking. I fully intended to wallow for just a little longer. Possibly, forever.
“Tell me what’s up, or I’m taking the waist in. I’ll give you a twenty-four-inch waist. You’ll have to wear a Victorian corset.”
Mabel would do it too.
“Okay. Fine, fine. You win.” I needed a brownie for courage. Or that box of See’s chocolates that I’d stashed in my trailer. “I met?—”
“A guy,” she finished. “It’s always a guy. Or a gal. Sometimes a couple of them for you energetic types. Tell me all about it.”
So, I did. It was better than confessing to a priest in a confessional. I summarized. And then I elaborated a bit. There might have been some blow-by-blow recounting of our disastrous date night (although I omitted the wolfish and the magical bits). While telling her mostly all about it, I realized that Maverick and I had had shockingly little on-screen time together. We certainly hadn’t spent enough time together to explain the emotions I felt.
“So, he broke up with you after he discovered you were a worldwide celebrity and a big deal? Do you think he was scared off by your accomplishments, or was it because you kicked everything off with a lie?” Mabel’s observations were as sharp as her sewing scissors.
“It wasn’t exactly a lie?”
Mabel snorted. “Girl, he called you Suzette for more than a week.”
Okay. I had lied. That wasn’t okay, and Maverick was right to be upset by it. But there was no walking back what I’d done now, and I tried to own it. “I don’t think it was the wrong-name thing. I think it was being the center of all that attention. He got a glimpse of what life would be like if he dated me for real, and it scared his cute beard off, and he’s not wrong. He wouldn’t be able to go buy tampons and toilet paper at the Piggly Wiggly without it being front-page news somewhere, and he wasn’t choosing that life. I wasn’t worth that kind of effort. The end.”
Mabel pursed her lips, staring off into space like all the answers were hanging around in the air above our heads, and she could just reach up and pluck out a good one. “Nah. That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“Maybe he’s a dickhead. Maybe he can’t handle his woman making more money than him and being more successful in the eyes of some people. He’d have to be stupid to conclude that you’re not worth making an effort, and he doesn’t sound like he’s stupid at all.”
I stomped around the trailer, collecting my clothes. She was right, though. Maverick was not stupid, not one little bit.
“Ask him,” she suggested.
“What?”
“Ask him why he rejected you. You’re good with words. Find out what went wrong.”
My brain not-helpfully staged a little scene where I asked Maverick what was wrong with me, and he explained. In detail. Then I moved the scene to Jennie Dean’s coffee shop and winced. No, thank you. I did not need to add public humiliation to my life.
Plus, it would just end up on the internet, and then I’d have global, worldwide humiliation, just for funsies.
“He’s not interested in me anymore.”
“You deserve to know the full reason why he’s passing on your awesomeness. You deserve that respect from him. Plus, you sure are interested in him.” Mabel held up her hand when I attempted to interrupt. “It’s written all over your face.”
She was right. I had so much interest. I had cornered the global market on Maverick interest.
“It hurts,” I confessed. ?Cágate! Were those tears ? I only angry cried. I didn’t vulnerable cry. Not anymore.
“Oh, girl.” Mabel threw her arms around me and squeezed. Somehow, in the last five minutes, we’d hurtled past the friendly-colleagues stage in our relationship and now we were friends. There was a silver lining, I guessed, to the Maverick cloud. “You were falling in love with him. You were starting to have feelings.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder. “It was too soon for a broken heart. We hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other below the surface. We were still at the outer layers, the cuticles of our mushroom feelings. We hadn’t got past that mushroom skin and down to the fruit body.”
Mabel shook her head. “I have no idea what you just said. But one thing’s perfectly clear. You like him. Present tense, not past.”
“I like his outsides,” I argued. “I like the idea of him, of having someone to lean on who is actually capable of taking care of me rather than vice versa.” There had been a whole lot of vice versa in my previous relationships with my Hollywood harem. “I’d heard good things about how he’d overcome his bad part, and he was such a grown-up, so strong and steady. He did what he said he was going to do. And he’s hot.” This last bit was not the most important item in my Maverick list, but it made Mabel grin. I mean, who didn’t enjoy some thoughtful, well-made wrapping paper on her birthday gift?
“Strong and steady, huh?” She winked at me. “Does he have any older brothers?”
“Five younger ones. I’ll introduce you.”
She snickered. “Okay. So, your guy is a college professor. He’s gorgeous and stable and he doesn’t care about your fame.”
“He does care. That’s why he broke up with me.”
That, and possibly my magic.
“You don’t know that.” She stepped away and started rummaging through the racks of clothing. “You can’t be sure that your celebrity is a dealbreaker UNTIL YOU HAVE AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION WITH HIM. He sounds perfect, and he’s burrowed through your mushroom skin and now he’s in you.” We both thought about that for a second. It was not a successful metaphor. At all. “Whatever. Go ask him, using actual words, what happened.”
“I’ve never felt like that before.”
She started pulling garments off the rack. “And you’re worried that you’ll never feel like that again.”
I nodded.
“Okay, girl. I get that. But it’s like when you go on vacation to a new place, right? How can anywhere else ever measure up? I went to the Maldives, and it was magical . White-sand beaches, blue water, all those fish. But there are other amazing beaches out there. I promise you that. You’re talented, and you’re amazing too. Anyone would find you magical.”
She had no idea.
“So, I’m an amazing beach vacation?”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “And this professor of yours, if he’s half as smart as you say, will build himself a cabana on your beach, and the two of you will get busy in it. And if he’s actually stupid, then you’ll invite some else to share the beach with you.”
“It’s so much work meeting people,” I groaned. “Simone Biles used a dating app, but she’s fearless. She does somersaults on a two-inch piece of wood in a leotard.”
“It’s okay to want to be in a relationship. It’s not okay to accept just any old relationship because of that want.” She handed me a stack of clothes. “Take these. Wear some of that sparkly eyeshadow you love. Armor up! And maybe it’s not just any old relationship you want. Maybe it’s just your Professor Maverick.”
It was wet when I woke up the next morning. The weather app on my phone promised more rain, plus fog. Our set was gray and gloomy like my mood. Where was Elena with her weather magic when you needed her?
I’d spent the night on set, shooting scenes until well after midnight only to collapse onto the bed in my trailer. I often catnapped or wrote on it, but it was not great for overnights as the trailer got cold. I needed coffee to lubricate my joints—and my brain—but I was out of pods for my Keurig.
Opening the door to my trailer, I peered out, finding Eric leaning against the side. He was wide awake and cradling a cup of hot coffee in one hand.
His other hand held a giant, gooey cinnamon roll.
My stomach growled. There was breakfast! He had a secret coffee source and had been holding out on me! I needed to get me some of that.
“Hey, Eric the Viking.”
He tipped his head at me, grinning. “If it’s not my fair Viking maiden.”
“Where’d you get the bounty?”
“Your guy brought it. The professor.”
The air whooshed out of my lungs like a sad, defective whoopee cushion. I ignored it. Who needed oxygen?
“Maverick?” Look at me, naming the elephant in the room. It felt weird, like I was working one of those spells where you visualized the person you were at odds with and then started fixing your broken shit in the spiritual realm.
Of course, after you’d done the astral work, you were supposed to go and talk to the person.
Kind of like Mabel had suggested.
Ugh. Good advice sucked.
“Yeah. He came by with his brother.”
“Ranger?”
“They’re good people.” Eric happily inhaled his coffee. I, on the other hand, was coffee-less. And unhappy. Was Maverick still on set somewhere? Was he just the Santa Claus of coffee? Had he dropped off coffee at midnight and then magically vanished? I wasn’t ready to see him. I needed to practice my lines, maybe dress up in some of the awesome outfits Mabel had loaned me.
“Why were they, uh, here? Maverick and Ranger?”
“They were on set last night and saw how late we were working, so they brought coffee this morning.”
I straightened up. What? I hadn’t noticed Maverick being on set. I wished I had. Partly because he was so big and sexy, and partly because I wanted to show off for him. I could admit that to myself. I was damned good at what I did, so there. Did he think about me? Did he imagine me playing sexy love scenes?
“They do the animal stuff,” Eric continued. “Bat relocations, spider rehoming, bears. Birds, raccoons, a whole mess of four-legged stuff. Ranger runs that animal services company that we contracted with. He’s here every day. You didn’t notice?”
“No.” My heart thudded foolishly. Had Maverick noticed me? Was I just oblivious? “Ranger’s here all the time? Is Maverick?”
Was I freaking out over nothing?
“Sure,” Eric said. “He’s our snake expert, yeah?”
“We have snakes?” My voice squeaked.
“You bet. It’s baby snake season, so he’s on the look out for that.”
“Baby snakes?” Maybe I could deal with small snakes. I didn’t have to hold them on camera or anything after all.
“Yep. Copperhead season. Momma snake can have twenty-one babies.” These words, delivered from somewhere behind me, made my heart bang and my spine stiffen. What the heck? Who discussed copperheads before coffee?
Did we really need venomous snakes on set?
I turned around, finding Maverick and Ranger standing a few feet away. Ranger held a basket of colorful socks, and Maverick carried two cups of what I guessed was coffee. One was a paper to-go cup, and the other was my kraken mug.
As it had been two weeks since I’d seen or talked to Maverick, I excused myself for eating him up with my eyes. He was in a flannel shirt, of course. He wore it open over a T-shirt that read Stay positive—be like a proton! There was a muscle competition going on underneath his clothing, his flannel and his T-shirt competing to see which could stretch the most. The green cotton brought out the green in his hazel eyes, and his beard was as thick and attractive as ever. He was like a pin-up poster for a sexy biologist lumberjack.
He didn’t seem bothered by my inspection, standing there with legs braced and booted feet planted on the damp, wet ground. Rain probably rolled off him. When I lifted my eyes, his green-and-gold gaze locked with mine. He was still smiling amiably, but there was something different about him. He seemed more wolfish and predatory, less friendly and laidback. He looked hungry, and I liked it.
“Sonnet,” he said, tipping his head at me.
“Hi.” Did he feel it too? Had he missed this crackling sense of connection? Yes, yes, I thought he had. He was hyperfocused on me, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me.
Look away, Professor Maverick. See what you’ve been missing out on.
“You have delivered some mighty impressive scenes this week, Ms. Ruiz.” Ranger strolled over and handed me the basket of socks. I’d been the recipient of roses, bath products, and homemade banana bread (from the fans who paid attention to my likes and dislikes), but socks were a first. “These are for you. Maverick thought you might be wet.”
“We thought you might need dry socks,” Maverick corrected hastily. He shot his brother a look.
“He’s been thinking about ways you might get wet.”
Wisely, Maverick ignored Ranger. “We were planning on dropping these off with Eric,” he said, as if he felt the need to explain or excuse away his unexpected appearance at my workplace. “Didn’t intend to mess up your schedule or get in your way.”
“Well now, I thought you wanted to get in her. You sure did two weeks ago.” Ranger beamed at me, then at Maverick. Eric snort-laughed, while I felt my face turn scarlet.
Maverick frowned, his eyes shooting murderous laser beams of you-shut-up-now at his brother. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice hard. He raised the hand holding my kraken mug and said, voice softening, “You just tell me where to put this.”
“Inside is good,” I said, on autopilot.
He hesitated, not moving from his spot. You’d have thought his work boots had put down roots of their own.
I frowned. Was I contagious? That awful that he couldn’t risk coming any closer? Would I need to walk around holding a giant Hula-Hoop around my middle to stop myself from inadvertently crossing his borders?
But then Ranger clapped a hand on Maverick’s flannel-covered shoulder and gave him a friendly shove. “You heard the lady. She’s holding the socks, so you be a gentleman and take that coffee inside for her.” Then he turned to me and offered, “You go on in there and make sure he puts that coffee exactly where you want it.”
Ranger jogged over, pushed the trailer door open, and scooted me inside. I had no idea how he’d accomplished it, but two seconds later, Maverick was deposited inside. He looked around the trailer, his gaze skipping over the signs of my insomnia and internal chaos (which was to say: my trailer was in desperate need of tidying). He should be setting down the cup and leaving, but he didn’t.
He focused on me.