Matt

I hadn’t washed dishes since . . . well I couldn’t remember ever doing the dishes. Even when I was in New York starting out, I ate takeout precisely so I didn’t have to. But I felt pretty good about the results as I folded the dish towel and placed it on the counter. It felt normal. Brian had tried to convince me to bring my assistant to Maine so they could fetch and carry for me. But I was enjoying having some time to myself. Back in Los Angeles, I worked most of the time. Even when I wasn’t on set, I read scripts, went to industry parties to network, or strategized with Brian and Sinclair.

Brian and Sinclair hadn’t wanted me to stay in Portland with the rest of the cast and crew. They thought it would be too much temptation. And I agreed to their suggestion of me renting somewhere on the coast. But for different reasons. I knew that I was on the right track and focused. There was no going back to my partying days. But I was looking forward to getting away from Los Angeles. It was good to finally get some downtime, to escape all the pressure that came with being in LA and that I put on myself.

The thunderstorm had passed and it was warming up again. Maine was hotter than I expected but there was a nice breeze trailing through the cottage now that I’d managed to get the kitchen window open. I was about to head out to do my daily push-up and crunch routine when my cell rang. I grabbed it from the console table.

“Hey, Audrey.” I hadn’t been expecting my so-called girlfriend to call.

“Hello, lover,” she replied.

I chuckled. “If only I’d been lucky enough to meet you before Peter did.”

“I still wouldn’t have touched you with a ten-foot pole,” she said. “You’re far too hot, and that always spells trouble.”

“Gee, thanks. Thank God you’re my girlfriend or I might be offended. What can I do for you?” Audrey and I rarely spoke on the phone. In the six months since we’d signed contracts and begun our “relationship,” we’d been out to dinner, attended award ceremonies and other red carpet events, but we didn’t hang out unless someone was watching. Like lots of Hollywood romances, there was nothing remotely sexual between us. Audrey had been dating her boyfriend, Peter, on and off since high school.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about our contract. My agent doesn’t know I’m calling you.”

That sounded serious.

“Can we just keep this between ourselves?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, opening the door and heading out onto the porch. This place had a swing and everything.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask how filming was going. What’s it called? The Perfect Murder?”

“The Perfect Wave.” I took a seat on the swing facing the ocean. “We start Monday, but Maine’s beautiful.”

“You staying in Portland?” she asked.

“No, the rest of the cast and crew are there, but I’m a little north, in a small town. It’s gorgeous but a little crazy. I saw a woman taking her cat for a walk this morning. She had it on a leash, if you can believe it.”

“Sounds like something you’d see on Venice Beach.”

I chuckled, stretching my legs out in front of me. “Yeah, maybe it’s not so far from LA. Anyway, enough stalling, what’s up?”

Audrey took a deep breath on the other end of the phone. “I know we have another eleven months to run on our contract, but I was wondering how you’d feel about ending things after the premiere.”

We’d shot a film together six months ago and it was due to be released just after filming ended on the movie I was about to start shooting.

“You’re dumping me?” I laughed. But it wasn’t funny. Things were going well for me, and now Anthony Scott was calling—I didn’t want to go backward.

“Oh God, please don’t tell my agent we’re having this conversation.”

“Hey, seriously, this is no big deal.” I didn’t want her to feel bad. She’d done me a favor. I’d definitely gotten more out of our arrangement than she had. I was getting closer and closer to my dream of a franchise. But her timing sucked. “You think your agent will have a problem?”

Audrey didn’t have a reputation to save, unlike me. Her team had said yes to me as my star was on the rise and would provide her with extra column inches. Publicity had been a secondary factor as far as I was concerned.

“Man, neither of our agents are going to like this,” she said. “I thought we could split after the premiere of our film, that way the studio will be okay. A breakup just after release might give the movie a little more publicity anyway.”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Yeah, now you can go back to your man-whoring ways.”

“I think Brian would prefer it if I were just castrated.”

“Or married,” she said.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” My parents were the epitome of a happy couple, but they had such a special relationship, there wasn’t even any point thinking that I could have something like that. It wasn’t who I was. I was all about work and getting to the top.

“I hope not, as that’s why I’m calling. Peter proposed, and I don’t care if it’s bad for my career. I’ve loved the man since I was sixteen. I’m sick of pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“Congratulations,” I said, staring out over the ocean. “I’m really so happy for you. I know how much he means to you.” I’d met Peter several times before we signed our contract to reassure him I wasn’t actually interested in Audrey. He’d seemed like a great guy.

“You’ve been the best fake boyfriend. I’m sure you’ll find yourself another fake girlfriend in no time. Especially as rumor has it Anthony Scott wants you in his next feature.”

“You heard about that?” Jesus, it had only been a couple of hours since Brian had called me about the opportunity.

“You’re hot stuff, hot stuff. Everyone is talking about you in this town. You know how Hollywood is.”

“I guess. Nothing’s official yet, though.” Until contracts were signed, I wasn’t cracking open the champagne. “So you want me to tell Brian that I can’t stand you a moment longer and I want to break our contract?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“It’s no big deal. I’m used to taking heat from my team. And you shouldn’t be punished for being in love.” Hollywood was a fucking shark tank. And women seemed to get it worse than men. If an actress had done half of what I’d done, her career would have been over.

“That’s really sweet of you, but no. I need to put my big-girl panties on and face this myself. Peter deserves that much from me.”

“Well if you change your mind, just yell. You’re thinking we split in about three months, right?” I knew that as soon as she told her team and they spoke to mine, my publicist would be on me to find someone new. Audrey had been great. Low maintenance and chilled out. But I’d heard of some Hollywood girlfriends causing real problems. An actor I knew had gotten his contracted girlfriend pregnant because he’d been stupid enough to fuck her.

“Yeah, three months sounds about right. And it should give you plenty of time to line up someone else.”

I’d need to find someone quickly. I couldn’t be single for too long.

“I think that’s the way I’ll go. I can’t imagine I’d get anyone better than you though.” I pushed my feet against the ground and began to rock back and forth on the swing.

“Stop, you’re making me blush.” She laughed. “You never know, Matt, you might get someone who turns into something more than a publicity stunt.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think so, but thanks.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you at the start of the junkets.”

“Sure. Say hi to Peter for me.” I hung up and slung my phone onto the seat next to me. How long would it take until Sinclair started to blow up the resumes of wannabes and starlets on the rise? I’d have to go through secret meetings, then an endless number of dinners.

I sighed and stood. Time for a few crunches. That would take my mind off things. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and hit the porch deck. I’d do whatever it took.

I wanted the career I knew was possible.

I wanted to prove I wasn’t another Hollywood fuckup, and I wanted to make my dad proud.

Lana

The rainstorm had cleared, the mugginess had returned, so I’d thrown all the doors and windows of my cottage open to catch any breeze passing through Worthington. I’d decided to work on the earrings of the Bastet collection outside.

I hadn’t expected to be so distracted by my temporary next-door neighbor who was also out on his porch.

Exercising in public with your shirt off if you’re a guy with a six pack, not that I was counting, really should be outlawed. I was pretty sure he didn’t realize he had an audience, or he wouldn’t be grunting like an animal.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and tried to reset my brain. I should step inside, turn on the TV, but I kinda liked the outdoor show accompanied by the crash of waves on the beach.

I stared at my pad, trying to keep my eyes on my work. Maybe Ruby had been right and it was time to unpack my tools and set up my workshop. I could remember a time when I’d get lost in my latest project and hours would fly by without me noticing. But since college, I couldn’t bear to be alone with my thoughts for long. I just ended up focusing on why I wasn’t making the high-end exclusive pieces, why I wasn’t in New York. And that was the last thing I wanted to be thinking about.

“Hey,” a man called from my left.

Shit. I knew I should have gone inside when I had the chance. I glanced across to find the sweaty, hard-bodied man I’d been trying to ignore coming toward me, waving. As he got closer, he looked kinda familiar, and as he swept his hand through his damp hair, recognition dawned. It was the crazy idiot from the bandstand.

“I thought that was you,” he said.

I dropped my feet from the side table I’d rested them on and stood. I hadn’t noticed how hot he was when I’d been shouting at him. Since he was as dumb as sand, I guessed it was only fair that he was handsome. I walked to the halfway step on my porch so I didn’t seem rude. “I’m glad you managed to survive the storm without being electrocuted,” I said, shielding my eyes from the hazy sun.

“I was hoping we’d run into each other again so I could thank you. I’m a masochist apparently,” he replied, flashing a bright white smile.

He clearly thought I was the crazy one. “Sorry for yelling at you earlier.” I wasn’t that sorry, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“I think I can forgive you.”

I shouldn’t care one way or another but for some reason I was pleased he wasn’t going to hold a grudge. I placed my palm against my chest. “I’m so relieved.”

He chuckled. “And for future reference, you don’t need to create such a dramatic excuse to hit on me.” He cocked his head as if he were waiting for my reaction.

I really hoped he was joking. As he held my gaze, his eyebrows pulsed upward, convincing me he was just teasing at the same time as making my stomach flip.

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Because swearing at guys is my favorite flirting technique.”

He chuckled. “You really think I was in danger?”

“You think I generally scream at strangers?”

“Good to know you singled me out for special attention.” His glance slid from my eyes to my mouth and back up.

“You seem pretty good at attracting the wrong sort of attention.” I folded my arms.

He shrugged. “I’ve clearly lived in LA too long and forgotten what real weather is.”

Ah, California sounded about right. He had the body and the face for it. He was probably “working on getting into the business,” which really meant he was working at getting drunk each night and sleeping all day. I’d dated a guy like that for a few weeks in New York. I really couldn’t trust my heart.

“So, you’re my neighbor,” he said.

“Apparently so. You here on vacation?”

He paused for a second and I couldn’t figure out whether it was because he didn’t want to tell me the truth, or because he wasn’t a sharer. “Business and pleasure.”

The twinkle in his eye told me everything I needed to know. This man was definitely not gay. Not the way he made my insides fizz and pop. His expression made it clear he was used to making girls swoon. I just nodded, praying I wasn’t blushing under his attention.

“You didn’t tell me your name earlier.” He swept his eyes up and down my body and then fixed me with his stare. The way he looked at me made everything he said seem so outrageously flirtatious, as if he were picturing me naked.

“Lana.” I tried to sound matter-of-fact, as if his presence wasn’t affecting me at all, as if I didn’t feel this pull toward him. I wanted to write him off as a pretty boy, but something about him made me want to get a little closer.

“As in Turner? Beautiful,” he said, his eyes dazzling. “It suits you.”

“Lana Kelly. But thanks.” I waited for him to tell me his name, all the while trying not to stare at his hard, golden brown chest.

“Oh,” he said when he realized I was waiting. “I’m Matt.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Matt. I co-own the cottage you’re staying in, so if you need anything, let me know.”

He jerked his head back to the house as if he were expecting it to have disappeared since he’d walked over. He turned back to me. “You left me the gummy bears?” he asked with a grin.

I leaned against the banister. “Yeah, sorry. I got mixed up and thought a family was staying.”

He smiled as though he was in on some secret he’d not told me about yet. “I don’t get the opportunity to eat shit like that very often, so thank you.” He stared at me so intensely that I glanced toward the ocean. “That’s two things I owe you for.”

“So you live here?” he asked, and I faced him again. His eyes fixed on me, pinning me to the spot. He seemed to take up more space than most people, as if he had command of the air around him. Maybe it was just because he seemed so sure of himself.

“Yeah. I’ve been in Worthington my entire life, but I’ve had this place a couple of years.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, broke eye contact with me then looked up at me from under his lashes with a stare that made my whole body shiver and my skin tighten.

This man was dangerous.

“Actually, there is something you could do for me.” His eyebrows pulsed upward and he gave me a half smile.

God knew what he was imagining I might do. I bet this man flirted with his own mother. “What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral. I couldn’t decide whether his outrageous self-confidence was annoying or justified. Maybe just annoyingly justified.

“I wanted to get the burner to light, but I couldn’t find any matches. Do you have any?”

Didn’t men like him normally have stoves magically ignite for them? “I’m sorry. They should have been provided.” I turned and climbed the steps back up to the deck. “I’ll just go and get them,” I called over my shoulder.

The screen door creaked and snapped shut behind me. Why was it when I met a man as handsome and almost-naked as Matt, I was wearing yoga pants and no makeup?

Not that it mattered. I wasn’t interested in impressing him anyway. In fact, just the opposite.

I found the matches and headed back out. Matt had made his way up onto the porch and was leaning on the railing, facing the door, his arms folded over his chest. Now that we were on the same level, it was clear just how tall he was. Way above six feet.

The fading light caught in his messy, dirty-blond hair, and I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stop fireworks igniting inside me. I stepped outside and held out my hand. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out to take the matches.

“Thanks.” He paused but it seemed like he had something more to say. “We should have a glass of wine one night,” he suggested. “It seems . . . neighborly.”

“Does it?” I asked, tilting my head to one side.

“In a town like this? I think so.” He pushed himself off the railing and suddenly he was too close for a stranger. “Bring a friend if you like. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever floats your boat.”

I shook my head. Men like him were incorrigible. They just assumed they could have everything they wanted without working for it. I couldn’t admit to being single. He’d take that as if I was returning his advances. Which I wasn’t.

“Thanks,” I said and he moved away, the breeze making me aware of the gap between us. He jogged down the stairs.

“I’m here alone.” He nodded. “And relaxing by myself all weekend if you want to drop by.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile.

I grabbed my tray of art supplies and watched as Matt strode back toward the cottage. Probably for a shower—not that I was imagining that or anything.

I sighed and awkwardly pulled the screen door open with my foot before heading inside. The light was fading and my bed was calling.

A little bit of TV before bed would keep my mind off my neighbor. It was nice to be flirted with. Flattering to be noticed by a man like Matt. It did not mean Mrs. Wells had been right. He’d just rented the cottage next door, and the storm tonight had passed.