Weather clear. Altitude just shy of thirty thousand feet. Plane on auto-pilot. I won't have to man the controls again until we're in California, on the home stretch to the studios around L.A.

It's good leaving Oregon behind. I just dropped my older brother, Hayden, outside Portland. He's there to kiss and make up with the redheaded honey he married on a whim. She left him in a huff over a big misunderstanding with another woman, just when things were getting real. I thought he'd lost his mind, until I saw how serious he was about the chase, bringing her back and making it right.

That's his problem now. Mine is making sure the biggest break of my life knocks down the doors I've been staring at ever since I got into the industry.

What would Miles Black be doing right about now? It's time to start thinking like him.

Heart throb. Player. Billionaire. Dark and broody as a vampire without the fangs and coffins. Book boyfriend to about a billion women – damn, does he get around – and now he'll be their fantasy on the silver screen.

Correction: I'll be their Casanova.

I've got the troubled billionaire act down, at least. I've wondered if it's talent landing me the role, or destiny, considering how many things I've got in common with this fictional man-whore.

I reach for the folder on the passenger seat. Everything my agent laid in front of me is there. It's as good a time as any to review the supporting cast before I touch down to sign off on the final details, and show up for the first shoot.

Opening the folder, I flick through the papers inside, looking up names on social media. There's Aaron Harkness cast as our villain, a two-timing Senator, a Hollywood legend if there ever was one. I'm two names down the list when my finger comes to a dead stop.

Robin Plomb, Allison Evers.

What the fuck? No.

It can't be. I hesitate, reaching for my phone, before I decide to stop screwing around with a snort.

It's a freak coincidence. Another actress with the same name. It takes the internet awhile to load up here in the sky. Her face materializes on my screen like one of those old porn pics from the nineties, loading several rows of pixels at a time.

Her mouth hasn't even shown up when I realize how utterly screwed I am.

“Fuck.” I mouth it silently, staring out the cockpit, into the pale blue wild over northern California.

It's her, all right. I'd know those pale blue eyes anywhere. They're almost grey now that she's older, more beautiful than before, glossed with a sheen of worldly sadness.

I'd never mistake Robbi for anyone else in a thousand years. How the fuck could I?

She's burned in my head, stamped into my grey matter, like the last time I saw her was just yesterday. Her features are there, and they're all the same, even if they've become a little more refined.

Blonde hair, cream skin, high cheekbones, and full lips. I'll never forget how they opened on our first and last night together, gushing pure pleasure, a melancholy warm up to tragedy.

These memories are cruel. I take a long, brutal pull of the plane's oxygen while the rest comes rushing back.

Me, standing in her parent's bungalow, that clueless fucking kid who watched his best laid plans crumbling to ash.

The hurt in Robbi's face when she found out I hid the worst. I couldn't give it to her then, couldn't break the awful news. She stormed out, her eyes wide open to my fatal mistake.

Watching her cheating bitch of a mother usher her away from me, sending the venom reserved for my old man into me. Running out the door when it was too fucking late, their car disappearing down the road leading out our gate in a huff of autumn leaves.

Crawling back to that house, defeated, still chasing a ghost romance in my mind. Helping her drunken, bawling father up from his mess in the closet. Keeping him from throwing fists in my face while I called an ambulance.

Hurling the ring in its box at the wall so hard it left a hole.

Limping home with my grief. Seeing my old man, drunk and already into Ericka's bubbly young replacement, fawning all over him.

Shaking my head because I could've stopped this fucking tragedy, I could've told Robbi the truth about her mother, and I didn't.

The last savage call I had with Robbi on the phone. Accepting scorched earth. Slamming my fist into my hideous old man's face for what he did.

Leaving the house for the final time, hearing his pathetic excuses through the blood running down his throat, the last words he ever said to me before I saw him on his deathbed just a few months ago.

I still don't want any part of the inheritance Hayden keeps working like a dog to save. It's tied up in our scheming step-mom's hands, Kayla, a woman dad met who was finally his match, more soulless and conniving than him.

I fly on, my heart sticking in my throat. Briefly, I think about what would happen if I walk away from this shit.

Just turn the plane around, land in Klamath Falls, and forget I ever accepted the male lead in what's bound to be a billion dollar hit.

Too bad Hollywood isn't forgiving. There are no second chances where agents and studios are concerned. I didn't pour my soul into supporting characters and low budget comedies over the last several years for nothing.

I can't walk away now. I won't submit to fear.

If I have to get up close and personal again with the woman who ruined love for me, so be it. I'll be sure to sink my teeth into her lip when it's time to stage the kiss.

* * *

Two days later, I'm on the set. Ready to face her. I don't give a damn how beautiful she is, or how much history is bound to ignite the atmosphere as soon as we're in the same room.

This opportunity isn't slipping away.

I half-expect Robbi herself will bow out. She never had the stomach for the hard things, like forgiveness.

I make the rounds, meeting the production crew, the makeup people, and the director, Pierce Rogan. I say a few words to Aaron Harkness, tell him how much of an honor it is to work with him.

Director Rogan's infamous work ethic is already showing. It's the first film I've worked on where there's hours to get our bearings, instead of days.

The man doesn't waste time. Fine by me. The sooner we're rolling, the better.

“You'll have to wait until this evening for introductions with Ms. Plomb,” an aide to the producer says. “I'm sorry for the delay. Some personal business kept her from arriving before the shoot.”

“Fine,” I tell the woman, taking my spot on the stage, practicing my kinky billionaire power pose.

Is it really? Fuck no.

Seeing Robbi for the first time in five years when the cameras are rolling is anything but fine and dandy.

I don't buy the line about personal business. It's more likely she's deciding if she can go through with this, face me again when there's so much on the line. Both our careers are in the hands of the same sick twist of fate.

I'm dressed in a ten thousand dollar tux, standing stiffer than a board, gazing down on my imaginary empire in the green screen. They'll fill in the Chicago cityscape later, after we've been there to shoot for real.

Let's do this, I tell myself, flexing my fist so hard the Rolex tightens against my wrist.

“Bare, scene two, take one. Action!”

I turn around slowly, placing my hands on the sleek marble desk in my office, meant to resemble a Fortune 100 CEO's. There's a screen built into it, my own private tablet connected to the cameras in the building. They'll fill in the details there on a green screen, too, but I do my best to imagine what the script says I'm supposed to see.

Allison Evers. Robbi. Coming up the elevator for her interview as my new secretary.

The stage crew simulates the elevator's ding a few seconds later. My cue to do a slow, sexy turn, allowing a smirk to crease my lips.

She's there. Adrenaline surges in my blood, and I can only imagine what's happening under her skin. I watch her walk toward me without the slightest hesitation in her step.

I step casually from behind my desk, pulling out a chair for her, and holding it. “Ms. Evers, I presume?”

“Guilty,” she says, taking her seat.

Robbi never takes her eyes off me. I hold her gaze, searching for the things I'm expecting.

The fear, the disbelief, the attraction it's taking every fiber of her being to suppress...there's fucking nothing.

I braced myself to see the pain I caused, the loss, maybe half a decade of disappointment since our puppy love days were abruptly cut short by our family shortcomings. The reality is a lot more simple, and it shocks me to hell and back.

There's an actress doing her job. Nothing more.

Okay, so she wants to keep this professional? I roll the next scene over in my mind, everything I've memorized.

The cameras pan over me, taking their time to catch a nice, long view of my suit hugging my body from the ass up. If it weren't for my old flame adding her gaze, I'd enjoy being eye candy for millions of lovely ladies.

“My resume, sir,” she says. Her eyes drift down to her purse as she digs through it, returning to meet mine when she's holding a slim cache of papers.

I snatch it out of her hand, give it a good shake, and snort. It makes it over my desk when I fling it over my shoulder. I listen for the crunch as it hits the floor.

“You don't think I read your bio before you came to talk turkey? I already know you look good on paper. Stand up.” I motion, putting my hands evenly at my sides, fondling the edges of the desk.

My make believe secretary rises. She does the slow, sensual turn written in the script. My eyes are glued to hers, searching for what's real, roaming her curves with a furious need to find out.

It's been too long. My fingers tingle, remembering what it was like to have her lush ass in my hands. The prickling sensation flows into my lips, tasting our bygone kisses, and then it slips into my ears. For a second, I re-live how she lit up every time my mouth found its way between her legs, or smothered her nipples. Those moans are like a ghost whisper now.

Hell, this whole encounter makes me feel haunted.

“Mr. Black. Sir?” She sounds scared, but I know it's just acting.

I stop in front of her, grabbing her chin. There's a spark. It's not just my imagination – it's fucking static.

Robbi flinches. I hold my hand on her face, looking into her eyes while they're trying to escape mine, giving my best broody billionaire smirk for the cameras. “Do you follow orders?”

“Orders? Why, of course, sir. I've served several chief executives since I started interning in tech. Read their recommendations. You'll see they use the word reliable a lot. That's me. If I'm fortunate to work for you, I'll never let you down.”

“I'm more interested in your appetite for risk, Ms. Evers.” I narrow my eyes.

“Please, sir. It's Allison. My friends call me 'Ali.'” She turns her lips up in a mousy smile.

Sweet fuck. I don't know what makes my cock jerk harder – hearing her call me sir over and over, or listening to the nervous, husky giggle that slips out her mouth.

If only it were real.

“Walk with me.” I grab her wrist, leading her out through the yawning glass doors at the back of the set. It's supposed to open onto a spacious city balcony, but as usual, we're left to imagine it until the boys in graphics work their magic on the green screens.

We'll be filming in Chicago soon. Why they can't find a place to stage Black Corp's headquarters there, I don't understand. Fortunately, it isn't my job.

We head for the very edge of the balcony. I stand behind her, arms around her waist, feeling how she tenses. I can't tell if it's because my hands are all over her for the first time in years, or because she's a damned good actress, pretending she's looking at the pavement a hundred stories down.

“If I told you to jump, would you?”

She turns around, her best shocked look on her face. My eyes go down to those rosy, full lips. It takes a lot to suppress something rough and primal rising up in my throat.

“Jump? Are you crazy? You're insane, sir, with all due respect.”

Her legs open, ever so slightly. Better for me to lean into her. I put my fist in her hair, tipping her gently against the glass banister, passion dripping from my eyes into hers. “Congratulations. You've passed the first test. I want an obedient secretary, not a stupid one.”

Remembering the script, I get closer.

Our lips are only inches apart when I pull away. I let go in a quick jerk, allowing her to stand. Taking several strides back toward the door, I wait for her voice before I stop near the entrance.

“Test? Um, I don't understand, sir. Forgive me, but...” She pauses, doing a slow blink before opening her eyes. “Are you really some kind of fucking maniac?”

“Yeah, that's how it is in this business,” I say, straightening my tie as I turn around. “And if you play your cards right, I'll be the best boss you've ever had.”

One more second. Our eyes stay connected across the ten foot gap between us like magnets. Their energy pulls and pulls, but never collides.

“Cut!” Pierce's booming voice rings out over the speakers. “Marvelous job, you two. Let's take a break before we get a few more angles.”

The cameras are off. I'm stuck waiting. I imagine she'll do a dozen things when she walks up and talks to me as Robbi, instead of Ali, for the first time in our five years apart.

Will she be cruel, or magnanimous? Excitement surges through my veins. I'm left wondering if I'll get her hot little hand crashing across my cheek, or just some muddled words about putting it all behind us breathed into my ear.

I listen to her tall black heels hit the floor. She isn't even looking at me as she stomps past, quick and deliberate.

What the fuck? Before I know what I'm doing, I've got my arm out, raised in a gesture meant to stop her.

But she's already gone, passing through the makeshift office, back through the cameras and the lights that will be our constant companions for the next few months.

Robin Plomb just snubbed me.

Forget Miles' line about playing her cards right. There are no rules here, and I don't even know what game she's playing.

If we're going to survive the next six to eight months together, I'd better learn fast.

* * *

“Seriously, Lucus, what the hell was that?” My motor mouthed agent, Jim Golder, looks like he's about to throw the cup of water he's holding in my face.

We're back stage, taking a breather, just like the director said. “What?” I say coolly, pretending I don't know.

“Uh, our Ali, Miles. I haven't seen passion like that since...ever. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been inside her last week.” He pauses, wiping sweat from his brow, knocking down his water in one gulp. “Come on, man. I've seen you in those low budget romantic comedies before. You never connected with any of the girls like her. What gives?”

“History,” I tell him, looking up as I dust off my sleeve. “Don't worry, it won't affect the role. Everybody thought we looked good today, didn't they?”

He hesitates. “Well, yeah. But damn, my man, if you keep looking at her like that, I think you two had better hash it out over a glass of wine or something. These things have a way of exploding and ruining everything. Only a matter of time before the tension makes things awkward on the set. They're going to want sex scenes soon!”

Shit. Like he has to remind me. My cock comes alive through my frustration, remembering its one night taste of the woman I wanted to marry in another lifetime.

“I'll handle it. You handle your business, Jim.”

He stops, pivots away from me in his polished shoes, and throws his hands up. “Touch-y! Okay, Casanova, I'll trust your better judgment. But I'm telling you, if I start seeing a wet blanket on the flame you're supposed to have on screen, we've got problems.”

He's out, leaving me alone. I have another half hour before the filming resumes. Just enough time to reach into the nearest drawer, pull out the bottle of scotch I've stashed inside for the tough moments, and take a big swig. I drink from the neck like it's a canteen.

No, I'm not like dad. I don't need it to medicate.

It's there to sand the edge off. I'm hoping it'll keep old emotions in check when the memories hit.

Today, they're merciless. The worst one comes just as the booze hits my stomach and melts into the fireball.

Our last phone call, five years ago, just days after she blew Chicagoland forever. I'd been dialing her furiously for days. It always went to voicemail, until one day I heard her frigid, hateful voice on the line.

“Stop calling or I'm going to figure out how to block your number.”

“Hello to you, too, beautiful.” Dead silence on the other end. No laughter, no derision, no reaction whatsoever. “Can we talk about this? I realize I fucked up, Robbi. I should've told you about our parents sooner. I took matters into my own hands, trying to protect you, and I'm sorry.”

“Drop the martyr act, Lucus. Mom told me what he did to her. Every fucking detail. She was weak, yeah, and maybe she should've went to the police. But he's a monster.”

“It's what he does,” I growl, frustration pulling my teeth into my cheek so hard I taste blood. “I can't help it. I can't control him. Dad's a reckless, womanizing, drunken piece of shit. He's always been the same, and it hasn't gotten any better with age. I can't apologize for his mistakes.”

“No? So, it's business-as-usual then? Wow. You're right about one thing: there's no apology for doing nothing while a vulnerable woman got blackmailed into sleeping with him.”

Vulnerable? Blackmailed? What the fuck is she getting at?

“I'm not following,” I say, leaning against the wall with one hand. “She wanted to be with him, Robbi. When I found out, I heard them laughing. Heard them all over each other. Whispering the nasty, lovey shit I don't even want to remember. My old man's an idiot who left his morals behind twenty years ago, but it takes two to tango.”

“Tango?” Her voice hisses over the line. “Mom told me he threatened her! Threatened her job and then swore he'd tell dad, too, if she didn't keep what they were doing under wraps. She said you'd side with him, as soon as I told you the truth.”

Rage tears through my head. I don't know what to believe.

What she's telling me is, it wasn't an ordinary affair. If it's true, there are only two possibilities. Either my old man's even more twisted than my brothers and I think, or her mother's a bigger liar than her drunken father insisted in his last screams, before the paramedics hauled him away.

“I'm on our side, babe. Nobody else's.”

“We don't have a side, Luke. Not anymore. I can't be with a man who dismisses what that freak did to my mother as 'tango.' You think she's lying to me. Covering up affairs she never had, at least not with her own free will.”

Whoa. Fuck.

“Robbi...slow down. I'm not ruling out anything when it comes to him. He's broken hearts before and stayed the fuck out of my life except when he wants to talk business. Still, you've got to admit, this doesn't add up.”

“What doesn't? Enlighten me!” She's breathing hard, on the verge of a full panic breakdown.

“Where's your dad in all this? He came crashing in that day everything went to hell. Screaming, drunk, crazy, but certain she'd screwed him over. If my old man did what you just said, don't you think she'd have told him?”

She's quiet while several heavy seconds tick by. “You can't trust a word he says. He's in rehab, for Christ's sake. Long road to recovery, if he ever gets there at all. He did it to himself, Luke. If he hadn't been so miserable and selfish, and ran from our family's problems to the bar, he would've realized what was happening sooner. He would've protected her.”

She's in denial. There's a hideous realization setting in, so deep and sad I feel it in my bones like creeping ice.

I'll never reach her, even if I can find out the truth, and prove it. Nothing will overturn her mother's lies.

Whatever my father did, it's blown a hole in her life so wide it might be mortal. It certainly will be if I stay with her, keep her boiling in this fucked up drama, taint her with neurotic bullshit that's synonymous with the name Shaw.

“I can't help you with this,” I say, my voice like a whisper. “Have a nice life.”

“Wait!” I'm about to hang up when I hear her voice, desperate and shrill. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Luke...that's it? You're telling me I'm wrong, and you're fucking giving up?”

Bingo.

This is how it has to be, I tell myself. Anything else is so damned complicated I don't know where to begin. I just know any more mistakes in the web of complexity will strangle her alive.

She deserves better than this. Better than my fucked up family. Better than me.

“You said it yourself – how can you trust me after this?”

“You're right. I can't.” I hear her sniffle. Half a choked off sob leaks out before she kills the call.

If the hangar wall I'm leaning on wasn't made with solid steel, I'd break my hand punching through it.

“Mr. Shaw? Fifteen minutes!” A production aide knocks on my door.

I'm back in the present, fresh salt rubbing old wounds raw.

“Be right out.” I sigh, standing up, fixing my suit.

It's the same kind of tacky penguin outfit Hayden and Grant love wearing all the time. It's never fit me. I feel naked without my jeans and bombardier jacket, but at least wearing this thing reminds me I'm supposed to be someone else.

On this set, I'm Miles Black. He's a very lucky billionaire bastard because he never loved and lost.

* * *

She's ice, but we sizzle. We do virtually the same scene from a few more angles, taking the entire afternoon. On our fourth take, Pierce calls it quits, walking onto the stage once the cameras are done.

“Hold up, love birds,” he says in his booming voice, before Robbi scatters from my embrace. “We have a very special guest with us this evening. I'd like to introduce –“

“My dears! You've brought my lovelies to life, and I'm so, so grateful.” A strange, short woman with frizzy red hair going everywhere walks up, throws her arms around me, and beams through thick spectacles.

Next thing I know, her lips are on my neck, pecking at my throat again and again. She drops me just as quick, walks over to Robbi, and does the same thing.

There's no mistaking her.

“Ms. Frieze, it's a pleasure,” I say, tucking my hands back into my pockets. A handshake won't really do after that introduction.

The author beams. “I'm delighted to meet you, too, Miles. You know I'll be calling you Miles from now on, okay?” She smiles like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I learned a long time ago to smile right back at creative insanity. “Whatever you'd like.”

Pierce clears his throat, steps between us, and puts his hand around the woman's shoulder. The genius behind Bare stares at us like a dieter spending their cheat day in a candy shop. “I hate to put you two out since it's only our first day, but I'd like you to head down the hallway for a quick promo shoot with marketing. The studio wants to get going on posters, teasers, and all that good stuff right away. We'd also like to give Ms. Frieze something to go home with since she's graced us with her presence today.”

“There's nothing more graceful than watching art come alive,” she says, never taking her eyes off me and Robbi.

Not at all creepy or crazy, I lie. Eccentric. That's what they always say about the artistic types, right?

“Of course,” Robbi says, dipping her head in a small bow. “How do you need us?”

“Standing next to the hot tub we've got set up down there,” Pierce says. “A lot more naked, if you don't mind. This one's hitting social media first, and it needs to be hot.”

My eyes flick to her. Finally, I see something I recognize. A slow, burning shade of red lights her cheeks, and it lingers, even as she smiles at the director and the world famous author.

“Let me go with you, Robbi,” I say, lifting my arm to take hers.

She pulls back, careful to catch herself before she creates an obvious scene. Her eyes leave no doubt about what she's trying to say. What the fuck are you doing? Back off.

“Thanks, but I have to powder my nose first. I'll meet you there.” She turns, walks past me, and never looks back.

Angry as I am, I can't help watch her ass bobbing as she moves down the hall, slipping into the restroom that's closest to the secondary set where we'll be doing our promo shoot.

I had that ass, once. How many times have I thought about owning it again over the years? Must number in the tens of thousands.

Part of me is going to enjoy this, having her plump cheeks in my palms again. Maybe a very big part of me. The other part wonders if I'll die of frustration first.

Only one way to find out.