“You have to go,” Kennedy says as she leans back in her seat, twirling a stray lock of her black hair.

Rosenthal looms near the doorway while Edwards helps himself to some sugar cookies from her pantry.

I sigh. “I know. I wasn’t really planning on ditching it. It’s just…”

“Scary?” asks Kennedy.

I realize she must think I don’t want to go to the red carpet event because I’m worried about being exposed in public and giving an open invitation to anyone who wants to hurt me. I shake my head, not wanting to keep my best friend in the dark. “I’m trying really hard to be over Jesse, but I just--” I laugh a little, shaking my head. “It’s stupid. I was worried I might run into him there, you know. These knuckleheads won’t tell me who he was reassigned to, but if he’s protecting a celebrity, chances are good he’ll be there. Screw it though. I need to get over it and just go.”

Kennedy gives me a sympathetic look but smiles. “You know, if you really want to move on, you should consider seeing someone else. Not that you were seeing Jesse, of course,” she adds with a mischievous little smile.

“Why do I have a feeling you have someone in mind?”

“Because you’re my bestie and you know me better than anyone,” Kennedy singsongs.

Rosenthal actually grimaces to be subjected to so much girl talk. Edwards doesn’t seem to notice. He’s found a small bag of candy and is making his way through it with enthusiasm.

“So,” Kennedy starts. “I’m taking Patrick Lockheart.” She pauses, waiting for me to react.

I realize I’m supposed to recognize the name so I raise my eyebrows and do my best impressed gasp.

Kennedy doesn’t fall for it. “Seriously? You don’t know who he is?” She clicks her manicured fingers on her phone a few times and waits, turning the screen to show me a picture of a guy who looks a little too young, but is undeniably attractive. He has sandy blond hair with a strong, stubble-covered jaw, and bedroom eyes. “He plays the lead for the Men of Mayhem? Not ringing any bells?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Well, he’s going with me and he is really bummed that his cousin couldn’t find someone to go with. You could take him. He’s really cute, and if Jesse happens to be there, I’m sure it would drive him nuts to see you hanging on some hunk’s arm. You can borrow my Jean Bernice dress... It’s a little slutty, but God you would look killer in it!”

Rosenthal clears his throat, suddenly looking very interested in the rug at his feet.

I smile a little. “I don’t even have any idea if he’ll be there, Kennedy. And even if he is, I don’t need to make him jealous. That would just prove I’m still thinking about him. Which I’m not.”

She gives me a skeptical look, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you just say--”

“Shut up,” I say, smirking.

I step onto the red carpet with Hunter Smith, Patrick Lockheart’s cousin. I’m wearing Kennedy’s Jean Bernice dress and fighting the urge to pull at the fabric to cover more of my scandalously exposed breasts. It’s tight in all the right places and way more revealing than anything I would normally wear. I totally didn’t wear it because I want to make Jesse jealous. It was just easier than going through the trouble of getting my own dress and less embarrassing than sending one of my bodyguards to go rummage through my closet at my apartment to find one, since they still insist on keeping me at the safehouse. At least that’s what I keep telling myself to avoid feeling like the silly little girl I’m being.

Cameras snap and bulbs flash, making my eyes burn with red afterimages. The sound of the reporters’ chatter reaches a fever pitch as they realize it’s me. The cameras click like automatic machine guns, capturing so many pictures I wonder what anyone could possibly do with them. As much as I try to resist, I reach down and tug at the fabric of the dress, trying to pull it over my breasts a little more.

I’m stopped several times, asked to twirl, strike a pose, or tell someone “who I’m wearing.” It’s all part of the job, but it’s never been the part of the job I craved. I live for the moments when I’m completely absorbed by the character I’m playing, when Makayla Pierson fades into some distant place and I become someone else.

After what feels like an age, we reach the inside of the venue. It’s an old-style theater they are using to screen the finalé of Stalked a day before it airs on television. A few select members of the press and influential critics will be allowed to watch, but it’s more about showing off the cast before the screening. The building is old, but classic, with crown molding everywhere, romanesque support pillars, and gold accents giving everything an expensive sheen. I spot most of the cast milling around the lobby, where the number of press allowed in is severely limited. Everyone is more relaxed, and the few press allowed in are tactful enough to be discreet about the pictures they take. I see Jason talking to three beautiful women, narrowing his eyes in the silly way he thinks is seductive.

I want to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it until I remember who I’m walking beside. The date I shamefully brought along on the off chance that Jesse would be here to see and get jealous. I don’t know how I let Kennedy talk me into this. Hunter is handsome, but he’s way, way too aware of how handsome he is. He wears a constant, smug little smirk that rubs me the wrong way. I’m glad when we find Kennedy and Patrick, because it gives me a breather while Hunter and Patrick make me nauseous with their overly-macho greeting. They slap hands together with a loud pop, pull each other in to bang shoulders, and then pop each other on the back like their performing the heimlich. As if that’s not enough, Patrick punches Hunter on the shoulder after they break up their little greeting ritual. They laugh too loud, smile too wide, and never stop darting their eyes around the room to see who’s noticing them.

I move to Kennedy’s side and we watch the like a zoo exhibit. I lower my voice, leaning toward her ear.

“When do you think they will get out the clubs and start grunting?” I ask Kennedy.

She taps her chin thoughtfully. “I think that comes after the next chest bump.”

I sigh, grinning. “Don’t let me forget how much you owe me for this.”

“Sure. But it looks like it’s working,” she says, moving her eyes past the two men toward the other end of the room.

My heart jumps in my chest. Jesse. He’s standing like a statue in an art museum, so perfectly crafted that I could walk slow circles around him, admiring every detail down to the smallest curve. When I find his eyes though, I feel my admiration melt into fear. He looks like he might actually pull the gun he hides under his suit and kill Patrick and Hunter at any moment.

When I look to Hunter and see the silly way he’s still preening and grinning like a self-impressed idiot, I decide Jesse might be doing the world a favor if he did shoot him. Very well then. Game on.

I slink over to Hunter, putting my hand on his back and letting my fingers splay as I slide it down his spine and move around his hip. I smile up at him like he’s the funniest man in the world. I have about three seconds to wonder what Jesse will do before I feel a presence behind me. We’re facing Patrick, who has been joined by Kennedy, and both their eyes drift over our shoulders.

I turn to see Jesse looming over us. His eyes are like hot coals, boring into me, dropping to where my hand touches Hunter’s side. I feel an irresistible urge to pull my hand away, like I’ve been caught misbehaving, but I force myself to keep it there. Jesse doesn’t get to leave twice and still expect me to wait for him.

“You are?” Jesse asks Hunter.

“I don’t have to answer to you, asshole.” He says, smirking and slapping Patrick’s chest with the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” says Patrick. “Our girls aren’t signing autographs, so you can get lost, buddy.”

Jesse ignores them, turning toward me. There’s a question in his eye and I try not to speak to him, to give him the cold shoulder he deserves, but the words tumble out of me. “Why did you leave?”

“Who is this asshole?” asks Hunter. “Is he an ex?”

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” says Jesse at the exact same time.

We glare at each other, paying no attention to Hunter’s baffled expression.

“Where the hell are Edwards and Rosenthal?” asks Jesse.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” I snap. I realize at some point I took my hand off Hunter’s hip to plant both fists on my sides, giving Jesse my full attention. “You left. Again. No call. No letter. Nothing.”

“To keep you safe,” he growls. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

Hunter takes a step toward him, reaching to push Jesse’s shoulder. Everything happens so fast it’s over before I realize it began. Jesse’s hands are a blur as he slaps Hunter’s arm aside and gives a single, hard shove that sends Hunter to the ground.

I blink in surprise, looking at Hunter sprawled on the ground and Jesse standing casually, as if nothing just happened. Hunter glares, clutching his shoulder where Jesse pushed him, taking Patrick’s offered hand and letting himself be pulled back to his feet.

I cover my face in embarrassment, noticing the way several heads have turned our direction and are now watching intently, probably hoping for more drama.

I put my hand on Hunter’s back, glaring at Jesse. “No. I don’t think I want to go anywhere private with you again.”

Hunter’s eyebrows draw down in confusion as he likely follows my implication. “Come on,” I say gesturing to everyone but Jesse to walk with me into the seating area where the pre-showing dinner will be held.

I expect Jesse to protest, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction. He only watches us calmly as we walk away, and looks sinfully sexy while he does. If there was any justice in the universe, Jesse would be hideous and frail, but that would make this too easy. Instead, he has to be the physical embodiment of every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. He has to be fucking perfect, and I hate him for it.

I squeeze Hunter’s arm tighter, leading him to our table near the edge of the room. People are starting to trickle from the lobby to the dining area, but we’re one of the first to sit down. The table is decked out in a white tablecloth and everything looks ridiculously expensive. The wine glasses are polished to a glimmering sheen and the cutlery is gold gilded. There’s already a basket of warm bread in the center of the table, so I reach into the basket and grab two rolls, gnawing off a huge mouthful from one. Kennedy covers an amused smile while Patrick and Hunter openly stare at me.

“What?” I ask angrily through a mouthful of bread. “Here. Take one.” I shove a roll at Hunter, who smiles nervously, taking it and nodding his appreciation.

“I need to use the ladies room,” Kennedy says.

“Go ahead,” I say, still jawing away at the bread.

She clears her throat and bulges her eyes slightly at me. I sigh, setting the bread down on the table and standing. “Fine. I have to pee too, I guess.”

Hunter gives Patrick a strange look and nods. “We’ll be here,” he says.

I follow Kennedy to the ladies room, which is thankfully empty. We get inside and she turns immediately, putting soft hands on my shoulders. “Hey. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I can’t meet her eyes, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”

“Can we skip the part where you pretend something’s not going on? I’m your best friend, Makayla. I know when you have to fart before you do.”

I laugh despite the roiling emotions in my chest. “I don’t fart…” I say.

“Yeah, you can tell the world that, but you and I both remember the road trip. Carlos Carnitas was it? Yeah. Enclosed space, poor ventilation--”

I roll my eyes. “I get it. I maybe have had a few indiscretionary moments once or twice in my life. I still don’t see your point.”

“My point is that I know you too well.” She lowers her voice in her best Jack Carpenter impression. “You can’t hide from me, bitch.”

I laugh, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay, I’m not as over Jesse as I claimed to be. Happy?”

“That’s all? I figured as much when you wore this,” she says, looking down and prodding some of my scandalously exposed cleavage.

I slap her hand away, grinning. “Hey!” I laugh.

“Good. I knew a fart joke and some light fondling would cheer you up.”

“Yeah,” I say sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

“Seriously though. I think maybe you need to just tell Jesse how you feel. Tell him he’s had too many chances and it’s over. And then give him my number.”

I glare at her.

“Okay. Too soon. You’re right. Juuust kidding,” she clears her throat. “Mostly.”

“The reason I’m so pissed is that I want to give him another chance. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve let myself fall for him twice now, and both times he’s cut me loose without so much as a goodbye. Why should I think the third time would be any different, or even the fifth?”

Kennedy leans back against the sink, chewing her thumbnail and looking down. “Well, what if you’re not seeing the whole picture?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just think of the way he looks at you. It’s obvious he’s still completely obsessed with you. I would kill for a guy to look at me the way Jesse looks at you, like he’d move a fucking mountain just to make me happy. Why would a guy who feels like that break things off with you?”

“Because he thinks he’s protecting me…” The words come out of me slowly and I realize with every syllable how true they are. Of course he is. Everything he’s ever done has been his version of protecting me. He’s always protected me. Why would now be any different? “I need to talk to him.” I turn to leave without a backward glance.

“Good talk!” Kennedy yells after me.

I’m surprised by how much the dining room has filled since I stepped into the bathroom with Kennedy. I scan the room as I slowly make my way back to the table where Hunter and Patrick are laughing over something. Hunter notices me and watches me approach hungrily. Seeing his eyes fall down my neckline makes me want to cover up and slap him at the same time.

I’m forced to sit back down in my seat in front of the crumbs left by the poor bread roll I was taking my anger out on. I don’t see Jesse anywhere. I realize Hunter is looking at me expectantly, waiting for a response. Did he say something?

I smile, nodding, hoping he doesn’t realize I have no idea what he said. He’s talking again, but I immediately lose focus when I see who just walked into the dining room.

Becca Fawnette.

I’ve never been the fan-girl type, especially since I’ve seen first-hand how obnoxious it can be to be on the receiving end of obsessed fans, but Becca Fawnette? I feel my heart thudding in my chest. Not only is she probably the most beautiful woman alive, she’s also one of the most talented actresses I’ve ever seen. She sashays into the room, hips smoothly rocking with each movement of her long, toned legs. She embodies everything that makes a movie star. Her hair is done in classic golden ringlets, bobbing energetically around her heart-shaped face.

And just a few steps behind her is a man who commands just as much attention, though no one has ever seen him on a movie or TV screen. Jesse Slade.

He looms behind her, practically dripping with danger and sexuality as he stalks through the room, intense eyes taking in every last detail and likely committing it to memory. Becca turns to him and places her perfect fingers on his shoulder and leans close to his chest, having to tilt her head up to whisper something to him. I see Jesse’s lips move in response and she throws her head back, laughing and letting her fucking hand slide down his chest like it’s accidental.

I’m not a violent person by nature, but right now I’m suddenly ready to throw down with my childhood idol. I bet that lipstick wouldn’t look so flawless with a fistprint in the middle of it…

I take a deep breath and laugh at myself a little, realizing how ridiculous I’m being. Becca is just a toucher. She’s touching everybody she passes, caressing forearms and shoulders, air-kissing cheeks, and flashing those perfectly white teeth to anyone who looks her way.

Jesse is protecting her now. I had almost convinced myself the only reason he would leave was to protect me, but I somehow forgot the other obvious possibility. He can’t keep his dick in his pants and he left because he already got what he wanted from me. He still looks at me like he wants me because he’s a player, not because he wants to keep me safe. I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

With difficulty, I tear my gaze away from the two of them and look to Hunter, who I realize has been watching Becca and is still watching her even when I clear my throat. He finally realizes I’m looking at him, jumping a little and smiling.

“So,” he says quickly. “Do we order food or is this one of those things where they just bring something out?”

Kennedy returns to the table, giving me a curious look. “You take what they give you,” she says distractedly.

She and I have a silent exchange via eye contact. Judging by her bulged eyes and twitchy head movements, she wants me to go talk to him, and I try my best to signal back with pursed lips and lowered eyebrows that it’s not happening. Patrick and Hunter watch both of us, probably just beginning to regret their chosen dates when I finally stand, unable to take Kennedy’s prodding anymore.

Fine. I’ll go talk to the big idiot.