I slammed my car door and jogged toward the beach, gulping down the calming scent of salt spray as I tried to figure out how to explain my tardiness to my department head. She would have noticed my absence by now.

Sea birds called overhead; today, my fantasy of turning into a bird and flying far, far away was more appealing than ever. If I were a bird, I could catch a ride on an updraft and soar away from all of this. I wouldn't have to worry about my sister, or my job, or even what I was going to make for dinner that night. I'd be free. Totally and completely free.

“Can I get some help over here?” Hank, the set supervisor, squawked at me.

I sighed. Back to reality.

I'd been heading for the refreshment tent to grab some coffee, but detoured to help Hank carry a piece of staging equipment across the sand to the area that had been cleared for filming.

On my way back over to the refreshments table, Allison fell in step beside me. “Good morning!” she chimed.

“Good morning.” My returned greeting was markedly less excited, and Allison noticed.

“You seem glum this morning.”

“Just stressed.” I grabbed a disposable cup and filled it with the strongest coffee option available, leaving no room for milk or sugar. I preferred it black and bitter, something that had always perplexed Chelsea. Suddenly, the differences in our personalities were more poignant than ever.

“What's on your mind?” Allison grabbed a bagel and leaned against the side of the table as she munched.

I shrugged off her question and tried to change the topic. “It's nothing, really. How's your morning going so far?”

“Oh, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “Hawthorne wasn't happy with his foundation. He said it didn't have enough color. I didn't know how to tell him that he already looks completely orange. Have you seen the man in a white shirt? He’s like a cheese puff in a napkin.”

I chuckled. I was glad that Allison accepted my change of topic, and amused at the male lead's diva-esque antics. It seemed like Allison had something new to complain about every morning, and she was always excited for me to get there so she had someone to complain to.

“Megan! I need you over here!” Hank called.

I chugged down a mouthful of the hot coffee and gave Allison a friendly wave as I walked out from under the shade of the tent.

As I went through my jobs for the day, I couldn't help but wonder how I was supposed to focus on anything in light of my sister's recent dabbling in thievery. Everything else seemed so meaningless. Who cared if the scene looked exactly how the director imagined it? My sister could go away to prison for—God knows—months, years? Either that, or she would disappear, never to be seen again. That was the happiest scenario I could think of. But how could losing contact with my sister for years, possibly forever, be the best-case scenario in this situation? How was that fair?

I was wandering around between takes, trying to walk off some of my nerves, when an idea struck me.

Well, the idea didn't so much as strike me as I struck it. Or him.

I'd been walking between two trailers, my mind elsewhere, when Dr. Lockhart stepped into my path. Or, I suppose, I stepped into his path. Whatever the case, I ran face-first into the man's muscular, impossibly solid chest. He stood several inches taller than I did; so I doubt the impact hurt him at all. My nose, on the other hand, was not so lucky.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, bouncing back a few steps. I put my hands up to cup my nose, knowing it wasn't broken, but worrying all the same, as my eyes began to water.

“Are you okay?”

A comforting pair of hands dropped onto my shoulders, and I looked up into the most dazzling pair of green eyes I'd ever seen.

Dr. Joel Lockhart was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He was clean-shaven in all of the headshots I’d seen of him, but when working on set, he always had the most delicious five o'clock shadow. His eyes were almost surreal in their brightness, offset by long, thick lashes. I'd never seen a mouth curve so sensually without its owner even trying, just like I'd never seen such facial symmetry that screamed perfection in a natural-looking way.

I'd developed a crush on the doctor from our first day on set, and I wasn’t alone—he was a gorgeous specimen, and he had admirers of both genders among the crew. Now, I'd gone and embarrassed myself in front of him, in one of the worst ways possible. I was never this clumsy, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

I dragged my eyes away from his and dropped my hands, scrunching my nose a little to make sure everything was still working correctly.

“It's fine,” I said. “I'm fine. Sorry.”

He smiled, and my insides melted like butter on a hot summer's day. His white, straight teeth gleamed, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners, adding a touch of honesty to the polite gesture.

“You should watch where you're going,” he replied, straightening. “You have such a pretty face. It would be a shame to damage it.”

He sauntered off with a wink, and I disintegrated into a puddle on the floor. He thought I was pretty? Oh dear, this day was full of extremes. First, I'd found out that my sister was a criminal, and the FBI would probably soon be knocking down my door to find her. Now, the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on had just genuinely complimented me. Although my encounter with the doctor didn’t fix anything regarding the situation with Chelsea, at least it got my mind off the matter for a few minutes. I was happy to allow myself to daydream about Dr. Lockhart, if it meant I wasn’t ruminating over the fact that I could be arrested any minute.

I went back to my work mechanically, thoughts occupied by my sister and the doctor's words.

One second I'd be giddy, the next, anxious and depressed. It was as wild a rollercoaster as any I'd ever been on, and I desperately wanted off. More specifically, I wanted the problem with my sister to go away, without her disappearing or ending up behind bars.

But what could I do? It wasn't as though I had a magic wand I could wave that would give her a new face and identity so she could escape.

Or did I?

It was a crazy idea, but wasn't this a crazy situation? And crazy situations called for crazy solutions, right?

At our next break, I took another walk, but this one actually had a purpose. I found Dr. Lockhart inside the director's tent, and waited outside for them to finish their conversation.

Joel Lockhart was a plastic surgeon, and a good one at that. He even had a clinic here in the Bahamas, so he'd be the prime candidate to make my sister into someone else. She had a bunch of money now, and if she had to spend some of it on plastic surgery to make sure she wasn't caught, that was tough.

Hell, I'd probably have to get work done too, now that I thought about it. Especially since I was technically involved—or, at least, my face was. I wasn't just involved by proxy, either; talking to Dr. Lockhart would officially make me a willing member of my sister's new criminal organization. Membership: two.

Dr. Lockhart's eyes settled on mine the moment he stepped out of the tent. His lips curved into a smile of recognition.

“Hi, Dr. Lockhart,” I said, feeling blood rush to my face. The heat was already almost too much to bear, and now I had a blush to worsen the redness of my flush. Great. “I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment?”

“Of course. Megan, right?” He replied in a silky-smooth tone. I nodded. “Please, call me Joel. I hate dealing with formalities. It's why I spend so much time on tropical islands—much less pomp and circumstance.”

I wrung my hands nervously and started to walk, gesturing for him to follow me. We'd spoken before, but never about anything personal. It was usually just me passing along a quick message. He'd certainly never told me to call him Joel before.

Once we were down by the waves, out of earshot of the crew, I stopped and turned to him. The sunlight played with his hair, bringing out little threads of gold amidst the otherwise dark locks. He waited patiently for me to speak, which was good, because I needed the time.

“I have a bit of an embarrassing request,” I confessed. “And I think you might be the man for the job.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You'd be surprised how much it takes to shock me, these days.”

I pictured telling him that I wanted him to give my sister and me new faces, so we could start new lives, since she'd stolen a bunch of money from her employer and was now on the run from the law. I doubted even he had heard that one before.

Instead, I told a variation of the truth. Heavy on the variation.

“I was wondering if I could come in for a consultation sometime,” I said. “At your practice.”

Joel's other eyebrow raised to join the first. “A consultation? For surgery?”

I nodded.

“Why would you want to do that?” His honeyed tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

I shifted nervously under his all-encompassing gaze. “I'm trying to get more into acting, but I think if I'm ever going to make it big-time, my face could use a little tweaking, you know?”

“No,” he said, brow furrowing. “I don't know. I think your face is perfect the way it is.”

My legs jellified and threatened to give out from under me. He thought my face was perfect the way it was. What did that mean? It was such a strong, definite statement to make about somebody he barely knew. Why would he say that unless there was some reason he didn't want to work on me?

“Wouldn't it be against your professional interests to turn down a potential client?” I asked.

The corner of Joel's mouth crooked into a charming half-smile. “I never said I wouldn't do it. I can certainly book you in for a consultation. I suppose I just don't understand why someone as naturally beautiful as you would want to alter their face in any way.”

There it was again, like a blow to the head. He thought I was beautiful.

I'd always been aware that I had a pretty face. How could I not be, when I grew up alongside a mirror of myself? It was always easier to see beauty in other people, and finding Chelsea beautiful was the same thing as finding myself beautiful. There was little I would actually want to change about my face, except maybe a few less freckles spattered across my cheeks. All the same, knowing I was pretty, and hearing it from a gorgeous man whose job it was to make people beautiful, were two very different things.

“Great.” I smiled. “So how do we do this? Do I call your clinic and make an appointment? Is there some sort of deposit?”

Joel folded his arms over his chest, making his biceps strain against the fabric of his bright blue dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in the heat, revealing long stretches of tanned and toned forearm, and the addition of the bicep eye-candy was almost more than I could handle. Perhaps I should have found a doctor that wasn't quite so...distracting.

“I have some time tomorrow, actually. No need to call. Let's say nine for your appointment?”

I nodded happily. “Nine sounds great.”

It was the weekend, so I had all the time in the world for the next two days. I would need it.

“Your clinic is on Andros Island, right?” I asked.

“It is.”

Everything I'd heard about Andros told me that the island was the ultimate tropical paradise. Lush rainforests, white sand beaches, and enough seclusion to make the place your own personal heaven. I just never thought I'd end up on it, since I was so busy with work.

“I'm not really sure how to get there,” I said. “Is there some sort of ferry?”

Joel's eyes twinkled, as if I'd said something amusing. I couldn't for the life of me think what that could be. I licked my lips, and noticed his eyes tracking the movement before he gave me a cheeky, almost mischievous look.

“Meet me at the dock just before nine,” he said.

With that, Joel turned on his heel and headed back towards the set. I watched him go, his hands thrust casually in the pockets of his tan slacks. Everyone else was baking in this heat, but Joel bore it effortlessly. I supposed that must have been one of the benefits of living between Miami and the Bahamas all year round. Acclimatization. Then again, he seemed to do everything effortlessly. I watched him trod back across the sand, gliding over it as easily if it was asphalt.

I went back to my own work, feeling a little less stressed about the days ahead. Even if the appointment I'd made to see about getting my face—and Chelsea’s, which I’d tell him later—changed felt more like a date than anything else.