CHAPTER 1

March, 2013

When I woke up I had no idea what time it was. Rolling over to my side of the bed, I reached down to the mess of clothes next to the frameless box spring and mattress that my boyfriend Liam called a bed and rifled through them with bleary eyes. Finally, through the dirty t-shirts and underwear, my hand settled onto the familiar shape of my phone. Pulling it out, I turned it on, my eyes going wide when I saw the time.

It was one in the afternoon.

"Fuck!" I shouted out, my voice echoing through the small space of Liam's bedroom.

"Wh…what?" came the voice from the other side of the bed.

I was still naked, the air of the bedroom cool against my bare breasts. I pulled the blankets up, covering my body as though I could hide from the world.

"It's one o'clock!" I said, wanting to cry.

"So what?" said Liam, not turning over from where he was laying.

"'So what'?" I asked, crossing my arms, offended that he'd even ask such a question. "That means I've slept through all my classes. Again!"

Liam finally seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and rolled around. As my eyes locked onto his face, my heart jumped like it always did when I saw him.

Liam was a little on the lazy side, but man-oh-man was he gorgeous as hell. Lying on his side, he propped his face on his open hand as he looked at me with his striking, bright blue eyes, his sensual mouth curled into a slight smile.

"That a problem?" he asked, not jostled in the slightest by my little outburst.

"Are you serious?" I replied. "It's a major problem! It's Wednesday and I haven't been to a single class all week!"

"Might as well just take the rest of the week off, then," he said, his straw-blonde hair falling around his perfectly-sculpted cheekbones.

Sometimes I hated how gorgeous he was; it meant he could say the most unsympathetic crap and get away with it because I let myself get sucked into those baby blues.

"You don't get it," I said. "If my grades get too low then I'm gonna lose my scholarship. Then I'll get booted out of school, then I'll have to go back home to Nebraska, then I'll have to marry some dude who works at a gas station, then…then…"

"Chill, little lady," said Liam, his voice as steady and calm as ever. "Not gonna do you any good to get all worked up about it."

One important little detail I should mention about Liam: he's a townie. For those not in the know, a townie is someone who lives in a college town but isn't a student or an employee of the school. I met him at a "welcome to campus party" at the beginning of the semester, and our little…thing, whatever this is, that we've had going on since then has taken up about all the effort and attention that I should have been giving to my education.

I tossed the phone back into the pile of clothes and sulked. Looking around the room, my eyes went from the empty beer bottles to the row of empty liquor bottles that every college-aged guy seemed to find necessary to put on his window sill. My stomach tightened up into a hard little knot, and I wanted to cry. The hangover that was making my head throb didn't help matters much either.

"No sense in stressing about it; what's done is done," said Liam, sitting up in bed and wrapping his massive, muscular arms around my shoulders. "Might as well spend the rest of the day chilling out."

"I've chilled out enough for a lifetime," I said, thinking about all the assignments I'd missed so far this year.

I wracked my brain trying to think of excuses I could use to get my professors to cut me a break. I thought hard, trying to remember if any of my family members hadn't yet "died" so far this semester.

"This is awful," I said. "I don't know what I'm gonna do."

But even as I whined, my eyes drifted down Liam's bare torso, paying special attention to his amazingly-sculpted pecs. Against my wishes, I felt a pulse of arousal in my, ah, lady regions.

Damn him and his perfect, um, well, everything, I thought.

And what's more, he didn't seem to be bothered in the slightest by any of this. I didn't expect him to be freaking out right along with me, but I would've liked a little bit of a hint that he understood that this as all a very big freaking deal. But no, instead, he stayed his usual cool-as-a-cucumber self.

Then, just as I was about to blow my top at him, he moved me over until I was sitting right in front of him. He placed a hand on each shoulder, and with the hands of a master, began rubbing my muscles.

"Oh-em-gee," I said, letting my head roll backwards as he worked.

"Damn, always with the tension in the shoulders," he said, kneading my muscles in a fashion that made me feel as though I very well might melt into a puddle any moment.

"It's because I have a ton going on….ahhhh," I said, barely able to form the words. "I have to graduate, I have to get perfect grades, and I have to get out of the Midwest once and for all."

"And do what?" he asked, moving his touch down my back. "What's wrong with just staying here in Missouri? Rent's cheap, weather's halfway decent, and the company…"

He made his point by moving his hands down along to the upper curves of my hips.

"…the company's just right."

"Mmm," I moaned, the sound leaving my mouth like honey. "No…I can't just stay here. That might be good enough for you, but I'm gonna…ahh….do big things."

That's the one real gripe I had about the stud currently giving me the massage of a lifetime- he just didn't seem to have any ambition. Working part-time at one of the local college bars, he made just enough to pay for his necessities, keep his motorcycle up and running, and have a little left over for fun. He didn't have a dime in savings, and if he thought about anything beyond the next party, I certainly didn't know about it.

"Cold beer and a good woman, that's all I need," he said, pulling me backwards against his chest.

His skin was warm against mine, and I'd be damned if, despite it all, I didn't want anything more than the feeling of him against me. The feeling seemed mutual; as I lay there, my head resting on his chest, I felt his gaze as his hand moved slowly from my shoulder, down to the curve of my hip, coming to a rest on my ass.

A little smile crossed my face. I knew what this meant he was in the mood for.

"We can't," I said, placing my hand on his, as if keeping it from moving.

"Oh, really?" he asked. "And why's that?"

"Because…I don't know."

Really, it was because having sex right now, after I'd missed my classes and slept the better part of the day away, felt like a reward that I didn't earn.

"Not good enough," he said, his hand moving out from under mind and stopping at my thigh.

He did have a way of talking me into things…

"I need to get out of bed," I said. "I need to see if I can make up the work I missed today, maybe see if I can get the notes copied from someone…"

Liam let out a little chuckle, that sexy laugh that I knew by this point meant he was up to no good.

"What's so funny?" I asked, a little indignation slipping into my voice.

"Nothing. Just that your mouth is saying one thing, but your body's saying something else."

My eyes went wide and I looked down. Sure enough, my legs had opened slightly, allowing Liam to slip his hand between them, his fingers tantalizingly close to right where I wanted them.

"You're such a little fucker," I said, giving him a playful slap that landed on his granite-hard chest.

As soon as my palm touched his skin, my eyes flicked down- my hand didn't want to move. This guy…he had me under some kind of spell. I knew he was wrong for me; I knew that I should be with some junior in student government who was already applying to grad school and not some townie with a motorcycle and a smile that froze me in my tracks. But just how my mouth was saying one thing and my body another, if a good boy was really what I wanted, then why was I here with Liam?

As his fingers moved closer and closer to my sex, I realized exactly why.

Part of me still wanted to protest, but more of me wanted to let him keep going. So, that's exactly what I did. His fingers teased me, moving closer and closer to my pussy. Just as he touched me right where I wanted to be touched, he moved his head in close and kissed me. His kiss was irresistible; it was like taking a long, slow sip some kind of sweet, intoxicating drink, one that I couldn't get enough of. And as his lips pressed against mine, I took in a long, slow draw of his scent, letting his smell of pure masculinity play on my senses.

I pulled my mouth away from his just for a moment, just long enough to make a quick sweep of his body with my eyes, taking in the sight of his cock –now firm and stiff-, his muscles, and finally settling on his breathtaking face.

Goddamn, he was sexy. I didn't have a chance.

Just then, he slipped his fingers inside me, and I took in a sharp breath as he did.

"Damn," he said, his voice now a low purr. "Speaking of your body sending messages…"

He was right; I was beyond turned on. We'd been seeing each other for months and still, all it took from him was just a touch in the way he knew how and I was ready to go. As he fingered me, the pleasure starting as something like a tickle and moving into something more intense, I wrapped my fingers around his thick cock and began to stroke him.

"Mmm," he moaned, the deep sound resonating through his body.

I teased him a little, my fingertips dancing around the sensitive skin of his head before dragging along his length. He grew harder and harder in my hand, and it took all the restraint I had to not simply jump onto his cock right at that second.

We touched each other for a little longer, moans slipping out my mouth as he worked his fingers in and out of me. Soon, the need for his cock was too much, and I couldn't hold back any longer.

"I need you to fuck me," I said, the words coming out like a command laced with sex.

He smirked, knowing that he'd been able to win me over yet again.

Like I said, I didn't stand a chance against him.

He slipped his fingers out of me and rolled over, his body now on top of mine. His ropy arms bulged as they supported the weight of him over top of me, and the wide span of the rounded muscles of his shoulders invited my gaze.

I spread my legs, and Liam knew right away what I wanted. Reaching down and taking his cock by the base, he slid himself into me in a slow, smooth motion, my legs quivering as he did. I took a moment to acclimate myself to the feeling of him inside of me; as unbelievably pleasurable as it was, he was still huge, and each time we fucked I needed just a moment to accommodate his size.

Soon, I was more than adjusted, and he began thrusting, driving deep into me, feeling my pussy over and over again with his perfect prick.

"Goddamn, you feel so fucking good," I said through my heaving breaths.

He responded with another one of his sensual smirks before lowering his head and placing his lips of my nipples, licking and sucking them as he fucked me. The feeling of his warm mouth on this most sensitive skin was heavenly; he knew just how to use that tongue of his.

His pace quickened and his face tightened with the tight concentration of ecstasy. He plunged into me over and over, and I felt as though I was being split in half time and time again, the carnal intensity building and building in my pussy. I knew that I was going to cum soon, and I placed my hands on his firm, round ass, guiding him right where I wanted him. He always seemed to know just how to fuck me; it was like he was born with the gift of knowing just how to please women.

His pounding became steadier, the tempo of his thrusts allowing me to slip into that otherworldly trance-like state that always proceeded my orgasms.

"Cum for me, baby," he said, his striking blue eyes staring down at me with a gaze of primal intensity.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm gonna…"

And just like that, as though he was able to command my body with just a word, I came, and I came hard. My body shook, my legs quivered, and the moans leaving my mouth were so intense that I'm sure it sounded as though I was in pain. The pleasure rocked my body, and I dug my nails into Liam's back as though I were holding on for dear life.

Liam's orgasm was next, and with a grunt and a heave, he came, draining himself into me, filling me up in the way that only knew could. The idea of him shooting his cum into me was so arousing, so satisfying, that it always managed to push my orgasm just a little bit further. His face tightened and released as he came, and soon both of our orgasms had faded. Liam pulled his cock out of me, and fell at my side.

Spent and satisfied, I rolled over onto him, placing my face on his solid chest and allowing myself to drift off into another long sleep.

***

When I woke up, Liam was gone, likely at a shift at the bar where he worked, and the sun was already going down. Alone in Liam's room, it struck me just how dirty and depressing it was, and I quickly dressed and head out, taking care not to attract the attention of his roommates.

Right as I stepped out the door into the cool, early evening air, the orange and red leaves the autumn-turning trees falling gently from above, my phone buzzed twice, meaning that I'd gotten two texts at the same time. I slipped out my phone as I walked towards my car and checked the messages. The first was from Liam, and said nothing more than "Alderman's tonight, party after."

Alderman's was one of the local bars where we hung out, and he'd already had a line on tonight's party. It was Thursday, which meant the weekend's parties were already getting started. Against my own better instincts, I was ready to go out and get crazy again; Liam just brought that out of me.

Going back to my messages, I checked my other text. It was from Lauren, my dorm mate and friend. Well, dormmate and kind-of friend. We got along for the most part, but she was a little too much of a goody-two-shoes for my tastes.

I opened the text, not really sure what to expect.

My stomach sank when I read it.

"Where tf were you? Midterm!!!!"

My blood ran cold when I realized what she was referring to. I didn't just miss any class today; I missed the midterm to my Intro to Western Civ course. I was fucked.

I called up Lauren, my heart pounding.

"What the hell, Mia?" she asked. "Where were you?"

"With Liam…" I said sheepishly.

The sigh she let out alerted me that she knew right away what that meant.

"That guy…" she said. "Listen, I know he's totally hot, but Mia! You keep hanging out with him and you're gonna flunk out!"

"I know, I know," I said, not in the mood to be lectured to.

"But you're lucky," she said. "I told Professor Steele that you'd come down with something major last night and had been totally out of it. She seemed skeptical, but seemed like she'd at least be kind of open to a make-up. You're welcome."

My feeling of defeat was replaced by one of joy.

"Oh-my-God," I said. "Lauren, thank you so much."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Thank me by not skipping any more classes because of mister beautiful townie. And call Professor Steele; I think she's having her office hours now."

I said my goodbyes and pulled up Professor Steele, getting her number from the syllabus. I "confirmed' Lauren's story, letting her know that it must've been some food poisoning and that I was feeling a little better now. She said if I wanted to make-up the midterm, I needed to come to her office right now. I happily agreed.

The drive to campus was beyond stressful; I spent the entire trip going back and forth between my anxiety about my midterm and the influence of Liam on my life. Lauren was a goody-goody and a little bit of a busybody, but I'd be lying if I said she wasn't about Liam's influence on me.

I rushed onto campus after parking, and soon was in Professor Steele's office. She was a trim, well-dressed woman with dark blonde hair of which a single strand was never out of place. She was youngish, but seemed to be all business; I don't think I'd once seen a smile cross her face. Soon, I was seated at the table that she'd cleared off in her office, the midterm in front of me. I blew through it; academics were never much a challenge for me. After about a half-hour, I handed in the midterm to Professor Steele.

"You know," she said, taking my test from me. "When I was your age, I was dating this guy on campus. Total stud, you know? Name was Drake."

A faraway look crossed Professor's Steele's face as she spoke. Was she really telling me this?

"Worked at a local music shop part-time. Played the drums. The townie-type."

She shook her head, as though picturing the guy as she spoke.

"We dated for a year, and we spent so much time together that my grades started to go down the tubes. Eventually, I realized that it was going to be him or my future. So, I broke it off. It was hard, but I knew it needed to be done. Sure enough, my grades went back up, and I graduated with honors. And where do you think Drake is now?"

"Um, I don't know," I said, still a little shocked that Professor Steele was opening up to me like this.

"Same town, same job. Same Drake, but with less hair and more weight."

She let the words hang in the air before speaking again.

"Just a little something to think about. Have a good evening, Ms. Hunter."

With that, she turned her attention back to the stack of tests she'd been grading. I backed out of the office, thanking her profusely as I left. But as soon as the anxiety left me, I realized what, exactly, she'd said.

She knew. Somehow, she knew. I don't know if Lauren told her, or what, but she knew that the food poisoning excuse was BS, and that the real reason I missed the exam was because I was hanging out with some slacker townie. As I stepped into my car, I'd fully grasped the gravity of the situation, the fact that the only reason that I wasn't currently looking at a scholarship-sinking F was that Professor Steele just happened to be able to empathize with what I was going through, and took pity on me.

I drove back to my dorm feeling like I'd just had a near-death experience. Something had to change; this was a wake-up call from the universe. As I entered my tiny dorm room, a space where I hadn't slept for weeks, I knew that Professor Steele was right: it was my future or Liam. Stepping into the shower and preparing for my night out, I thought long and hard about my life, and by the time I got out, the sweat and grime washed clean from my body, I resolved to put my life on the right path.

I needed to break up with Liam, and I needed to do it tonight.

Driving through the streets of downtown, I saw that the Thursday night partying was already well underway. Drunk coeds were stumbling from bar to bar, the girls screaming and wooing, the guys yelling and carrying on. I scanned the faces of the dozens of students, wondering just how many of them wouldn't be here next semester, wondering just how any of them had, whether consciously or not, decided that partying, drinking, and screwing was more important than their future.

I wasn't going to be one of them.

I parked and made my way down the cozy streets of downtown until I arrived at Alderman's. Alderman's was your standard college bar with neon lights, pool tables, and college rock playing on the speakers. Liam was there, sitting at a bar with a few guys and girls, some faces I recognized, some I didn't. The group was carrying on just like the rest of the students in the packed bar, shots lined up in front of them.

Liam's eyes flicked to mine as I walked in, and that same, sensual smile that had attracted me to him months ago was on full display. But I knew what had to be done, and I was going to stay strong.

"There's my girl," he said, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me tight.

There were a couple of girls in the group –very pretty girls- who all shot me the same dirty look as Liam planted a kiss on my cheek. They all wanted what I was getting ready to get rid of.

"Perfect timing," said Bryce, one of Liam's friends from work as he set a shot glass in front of me.

"Um, none for me," I said, pushing the glass of caramel-colored liquid a few inches away. "Taking it easy tonight."

Liam looked at me funny, knowing right away that something was up.

"Whatever," said Bryce, taking my shot. "More for me."

The group cheersed and woo'd, clinking their drinks together and downing them. Another round of beers was placed in front of us, and I ordered a small glass of club soda with a lime from the bar. Sitting back down at the table, I noticed that all the guys and girls in the group had heavy eyes, stupid looks on their faces, and were being loud and obnoxious. Was this how I always was, just that I was too drunk to notice it?

My resolve was steeled, and about a half hour into the evening, I knew that it was time to rip the Band-Aid off.

"Can we go outside for a minute?" I asked to Liam.

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment; he knew something was up. Liam was a party dude through and through, but he'd always been perceptive and sharp, which made his slacking off even more painful to watch.

"Sure," he said, walking with me to the patio outside.

And out there in the back, I did it. I explained everything, how I'd missed the midterm, how I needed to start thinking about my future, how this couldn't go on any longer.

"I'm just some loser townie, huh?" he said, a trace of anger in his voice.

"No, I mean, yes, I mean-"

"I get it," he said, his eyes cutting shards of blue. "You're a college girl, going off to do important shit; can't have some part-time bartender weighing you down."

I wanted to get defensive, even to go on the attack, but he had me dead-to-rights. All I could do was look down sheepishly.

"Then I'll make this easier for you. Have a nice life."

With that, he stormed back inside, leaving me feeling more alone than I'd ever felt in my life. I stood there for a little while, tears trickling down my face as I gathered the nerve to walk back into the bar. Finally, I took a deep breath and left the patio, rushing through the bar as fast as I could. But I couldn't help but look over at Liam and his friends. To my shock, Liam already had his arm around one of the girls at the table. Figures that a guy like him wouldn't think anything about replacing a girl.

I ran out the front door and into the chilly evening air, trying to hide my tears from the crowds of people who were packed on the downtown sidewalks. And a strange thing happened as I made my way back to my car. I felt a new sense of resolve and determination that I'd never known in my life. I knew that these next few weeks might be rough as I regained my footing, but I knew that it was nothing I couldn't handle.

I was ready for whatever was next.

CHAPTER 2

Six years later…

"Mia!"

The commanding voice of my boss cut into the daydream that I was right in the middle of. Which was too bad- it was a good one.

"Yes, Mr. Cohn!" I said, turning on my heels like a military recruit who happened to be wearing a pair of black Vans rather than combat boots.

I was greeted with the sight of one of my bosses, Henry Cohn, standing only inches away from my face, staring up at me from his diminutive height with his tiny brown eyes, his fleshy face tightened in anger. He was dressed in his usual oversized white t-shirt and jeans, the top of his bald head gleaming in the light and surrounded by a horseshoe of graying hair. Despite his non-threatening appearance, he was one of the biggest names in the game.

Right at that moment I was fully brought back into reality. I was at my job at Bronzeplate Productions where I'd been employed as the lowest of the low, a gopher, for the last two months. It was my first gig out of grad school, and though it wasn't the most glamorous gig in the world, it was a start in the film business, which is what I'd been praying for these last couple of years. Plus, it'd gotten me out of the Midwest and into New York, right where I wanted to be.

"There a reason why there's a meeting happening right now and no one has a cup of coffee in front of them?"

The office was a mad bustle behind Mr. Cohn, with girls and guys my age zipping here and there, fetching odds and ends for their own bosses, usually coffee, print-outs, or anything else the producers didn't feel like getting themselves.

"No, Mr. Cohn," I said sheepishly, knowing I'd been busted daydreaming again.

His expression softened.

"At least you're kind enough not to give me a bullshit excuse," he said, stepping back and looking me over. "Make it up to me by getting your ass in gear and getting our coffee order pronto."

With that, he scowled one last time and stormed off, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You really know how to brownnose," said a voice from behind me.

I let out a gasp and turned around, now face-to-face with Sophia McCarthy, one of the few girls I called a friend here at work. She stood before the window of the fiftieth-floor office where we worked, the island of Manhattan sprawling out before her, majestic and grand in the late morning sun. The view distracted me for just a moment- in the few months I'd been here I still hadn't really gotten used to the fact that I lived here in New York- the center of the freakin' universe.

"I can always spot you small-town transplants," she said, noticing what I was doing. "You look at the city like you can't believe it's real."

"I mean, can you blame me?" I said, putting my hands on the windowsill and looking out. "It's amazing!"

"Yeah, yeah; I know," said Sophia, smirking. "But when you act like this you might as well have a big sign on your back that says ‘look at me! I'm from Nebraska'!"

I blushed; she was right. I turned back to Sophia, who was looking the picture of professionalism as always in a perfectly-tailored outfit of dark jeans and a white blouse that outlined her trim body, her hair styled in a hip, trendy bob that framed her magazine-cover-worthy face. Sophia was a sweetheart, but she always had a way of making me feel small-town just by being the too-cool native New Yorker that she was.

"You better get a move-on," she said. "You know who Mr. Cohn's meeting with in there?"

"Who?" I asked, an excited smile forming on my face.

One of the perks of the job was that because I worked in the film biz, I got to see plenty of celebrities. And what was always weird is that because they were here to meet with producers and go over scripts, they were in casual mode, just making their way through the offices like any other employee. This led to some interesting celeb run-ins, like the time Tom Hardy walked into the break room while I had a mouth full of Chipotle, or the time a girl in the stall next to mine asked me for some toilet paper and she thanked me. As she stepped out of the stall while I was washing my hands, I saw that it was Amy Adams. I did my best to play it cool in situations like these, but it was hard not to be a little star struck.

"Jace Landau," said Sophia, letting out a little squeal as soon as the name passed her lips.

"You're kidding," I said, hardly able to speak.

Jace Landau was one of the hottest new actors on the scene. Six-feet-five-inches of pure Australian muscle, he made a huge splash with a string of indie hits and now was in the states ready to make the leap to the big time. Rumor has it that he was being considered for the lead in one of the upcoming superhero movies. With a bod like that, he was a shoe-in.

"What's he doing here?" I asked. "Shouldn't he be in LA talking with Disney or something?"

"I don't know," said Sophia. "I think he's wanting to do some more indie stuff. Stupid if you ask me- he could be a star."

"And he's meeting with Mr. Cohn now?" I asked.

"Yep," she said. "He's the one who is, right now, at this moment, waiting for the coffee that you're not getting him."

"Oh, fuck!" I shouted, covering my mouth with my hand a second later when I realized what I'd said.

"Don't be such a hayseed," said Sophia. "If anyone got in trouble for saying shit like that we'd be shut down by the end of the day. Now go!"

I started off, already nervous.

"And get his number for me!" called Sophia after me.

I smiled at this, but she wasn't crazy- Sophia was a total babe, and I'd heard rumors of her ducking into supply closets with actors and producers. But whatever she was up to, she kept it to herself. I hurried through the floor, making my way to Mr. Cohn's office. Reaching his door, I knocked gently.

No response.

I knocked again, a little more firm this time.

"Just come in!" shouted Mr. Cohn.

I opened the door and stepped into Mr. Cohn's large, well-appointed office. The large space was decorated with modern, chic furniture and paintings of nude women that just bordered on scandalous. The view was incredible, with the green rectangle of Central Park stretching out into the distance. The room was big enough to accommodate meeting table, and seated there was a handful of producers and agents that I didn't recognize, and, sure enough, Jace Landau. My eyes stuck onto him for a moment, paying special attention to his flawless shock of blonde hair and his chiseled features- those that weren't hidden behind his large, dark sunglasses, that is. He didn't seem real; it was like I was looked at a statue of a Greek god that'd been brought to life and dressed up in hip, tight-fitting clothing.

And whatever meeting these men were having, I had clearly interrupted. My face went a deep red, and I wanted to hide.

"You don't need to get someone to let you in, Maddie," said Mr. Cohn. "This isn't a damn dinner party. Just come in and see what everyone wants."

I felt so ashamed that I didn't even think of correcting my name. I made my way around the circle of important men, jotting down their orders and not making eye contact. When I got to Jace, I was so nervous that I could barely understand what he said as I scribbled his request down- something double-hot-half-whatever.

When I was done I ducked out of there as fast as possible and rushed to one of the open elevators. Once I was safely behind the doors, I rolled my eyes at the complicated orders I'd written down.

Isn't "black, two sugars" enough for these guys? I wondered, my eyes moving from drink to drink.

My eyes stopped on one of the orders, which I could barely make out. It looked like nothing more than a blurry mess of ink, and I struggled to remember whose order it was.

My heart stopped when I realized that it was Jace Landau's. I must've been so distracted by him that I wrote nothing but chicken scratch. I began pacing back and forth in the elevator nervously, trying to remember what he ordered. Going back to the office and getting a clarification wasn't even an option, so I wracked my brain hard.

Half-caf? I thought, almost feeling like I was going to cry. Half-caf skinny?

I went through all the possible combinations as the elevator doors opened and I stepped into the sleek, vast lobby. Soon I was on the bustling sidewalks of Sixth Avenue, weaving my way through the tight knots of pedestrians as I headed towards Starbucks. Before I knew it, I was in the cramped little coffee shop, the teenaged boy with nose rings and dyed-black hair behind the counter looking at me with an expression of annoyed impatience. I ran through the list of drinks in my shaking hand, and when I came to Jace's order, I closed my eyes and spoke.

"Half-caf venti, soy milk, a splash of cinnamon."

The words came out with such ease and clarity that I was sure they had to be right. Moments later the kid called out "Mary" and I wondered just how many times people were going to be getting my name wrong in this damn city.

Drinks in hand, I rushed back to the office and was soon at Mr. Cohn's door. The drinks balanced carefully in my hands, I walked in, having learned my lesson last time. No one even acknowledged me as I entered, and moving around the table, I placed a drink in front of each of the men at the table.

"Thanks, little lady," said Jace as I set his drink in front of him, my heart skipping a beat both at him saying something to me in that sexy accent of his and at the hope that I got his drink right.

The coffee delivered, I rushed back to the office door, eager to get out of that place. But right as I placed my hand on the door handle, I heard a disgusting sound, like a sputtering, followed by the calling out of a familiar voice.

"Just what the hell is this?"

It was Jace.

Turning around, I saw that there was now a white splash of foam on the table in front of Jace, a disgusting little mess that his assistant next to him was frantically blotting up with little balled-up napkins. And rather than the men at the table looking at Jace, all of their eyes were on me. They knew whatever had happened, it was surely my fault.

"Is this fucking soy milk?" he demanded, pointing to the cup in front of him as though it were rancid, maggot-covered piece of meat. "I specifically said ‘almond.' Almond! I can't drink this!"

"Mr. Landau is highly sensitive to soy," said his assistant, still blotting up the mess.

"I can speak for myself, Antoine," said Jace, turning his eyes to me. "I'm very sensitive to soy."

"I'm-I'm sorry!" I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

"Didn't you hear me when I told you?" asked Jace, still shocked at the misfortune that had befallen him. "Or was that head of yours totally blank?"

I wanted to cry; I'd never felt more humiliated in my life.

"I can get you another one!" I said.

"Forget it," said Jace, holding his palm up theatrically and shaking his head. "I don't feel in the mood for coffee any longer."

I opened my mouth to say "sorry" once again, but before I could even get a word out, Mr. Cohn cut me off.

"Mia, get out of here. Now!"

I was happy to comply. I turned on my heels and rushed out of the office, tears streaming down my face. Once I reached my sorry little cubicle, which was nothing more than a three-walled partition with enough space for a computer and little else, I let the tears flow. I felt like I was in over my head, like I couldn't do anything right. After all, if I couldn't even take a drink order right, how was I supposed to do anything else in this industry?

"What's up, M?" asked Sophia, standing at the entrance to my cubicle.

"I fucked up," I said.

"I heard," said Sophia.

"What?" I asked. "How did you hear already?"

"I was near enough to the door to the office to hear that little primadonna freak out over his coffee," she said, stepping into my space and sitting on the small desk of cheap plastic.

"Ugh," I said, now feeling somehow ever more embarrassed than I had been. "Nice to know that not only did I screw up, I did it in front of an audience."

"Don't sweat it," said Sophia. "We've all made little fuck-ups like that. I got yelled at by Paul Giamatti for getting his sandwich with Swiss cheese instead of provolone."

"Really? What happened?"

"Nothing, just like what's gonna happen with you. This is a high-pressure industry, and people are just looking for excuses to blow their tops and let off some steam. Sucks that it's usually us little people that they take it out on, but at least we don't have to take it personally."

I was already feeling a little better. Sophia was calm and cool in a way that I could never be; nothing seemed to bother her, but her attitude had a way of rubbing off.

"Just think of it this way: the more you get yelled at by these jerks, the faster you get used to it. And the faster you toughen up, the faster you move up. This line of work has a way of filtering out the delicate little flowers, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Sophia's little pep talk was just what I needed; I still felt silly, but less like I wanted to run out of the office crying like a little girl who'd just stepped barefoot on a Lego.

"I think you need some motivation," she said. "Let's go have some rose; I've got something to show you."

With a smile, she stepped out of my cubicle and headed down the hall. The idea of drinking during the middle of the day seemed like a bad idea, but man, did it sound nice. I checked my phone and saw that it was about time for lunch, so I figured a quick glass couldn't hurt. Gathering my things, I headed out and caught up with Sophia. Ten minutes later, we were down at some trendy wine bar on the same block as our office building, a glass of pink wine in front of us as we sat out on the back patio.

"OK, so what's this motivation?" I asked.

Sophia smirked and slipped her iPad out of her bag.

"I just got some of the latest headshots of guys who're gonna be in some of the movies we're producing in the next few months."

She swiped her iPad on, and a few more swipes later, had the image of an absolutely gorgeous man with a hard-angled chin, shaggy brown hair, and a killer smile up on her screen.

"This is, um, Ken Worth, I think. Fucking stud, right?"

"Oh my God," totally," I said.

And he was; total California surfer look. Not my usual style, but hot-as-hell is hot-as-hell.

She swiped through some more pictures. Most were black and white eight-by-ten standard headshots, but some were more candid pictures of them at the beach, holding dogs, shots taken on vacations, even a few with friends.

"It's like Tinder except every guy is unbelievably gorgeous," she said, swiping picture after picture.

"So, how is this motivation?" I asked, taking a sip of my wine, my eyes locked on the procession of hotties.

"Because if you can stick it out, these are the guys who'll be after you," she said, continuing to swipe.

I blushed. "Oh, come on," I said. "Guys like this won't have anything to do with someone like me."

"Are you kidding?" asked Sophia, taking her eyes off the screen long enough to shoot me a disbelieving look. Mia, you're a fucking babe. You should be chewing these guys up and spitting them out."

"Stop it," I said, blushing somehow even harder.

"I'm serious," she said. "And what's worse is that you're one of those girls who thinks she's, like, a five-and-half when she's actually a nine."

"A what?"

"Every guy rates girls on a ten-to-one scale- all of them. Ten is the hottest of the hot, five is average, one is…um, well, someone really ugly. And girls like you think that they're lower on the scale than they actually are."

My face stayed that same deep red; I was never very good at getting compliments.

"Thanks", I said, sheepishly.

"I mean, if I were I guy I'd do ya," she said with a smirk before turning her attention back to the iPad.

"Oh, look at this one," she said, pulling up the photos of some generic-looking, square-jawed type.

She swiped through the pictures, stopping on one briefly of him standing with another man…another man who looked strangely familiar. The two were in tuxedos, their arms around each other's shoulders in some kind of manly camaraderie pose. I couldn't look closer from Sophia holding the pad close to her face.

"Hey, lemme see," I said.

Sophia pulled the pad away and threw a playful smirk my way.

"Why, see something you like?"

I had to take another look at the picture, to try and figure out who this man was. But before I could, a "ding" sounded from the pad.

"Shit," said Sophia. "Mr. Cohn's calling a staff meeting; looks like break time's over."

We downed the rest of our win in quick swigs, paid out bills and headed out. And the whole walk back, the fleeting image of the other man in the picture lingered in my mind, haunting my thoughts like a ghost from the past.

CHAPTER 3

The morning breeze was pleasant and cool as I stood on the balcony of my West Village penthouse, my eyes on the stretch of city in front of me as I took a long sip of my coffee and considered the day ahead. A few meetings were here and there in my schedule, but nothing too pressing; my thoughts were on the projects that I had lined up in the next few months- a few more low-budget pictures that would result in a tidy profit if they performed as our market testing is indicating.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my mental planning. I slipped it out, seeing that it was an unknown number. I normally wouldn't answer a call that I didn't already have in my phone, but my curiosity got the better of me.

"Liam Thorne," I said, my brow furrowing as I walked down the long stretch of my balcony.

"Liam! Liam, this is you?" came the voice on the other end of the phone, an eager male voice.

"Speaking," I said, now even more curious.

"Liam, this is Murray Rothbard- you remember me?"

I winced, realizing now why this number wasn't saved in my phone; I should've had it blocked, actually. Murray Rothbard was an…enthusiastic man. I'd worked with him on a production back when I was first getting my company established. He was a real mover and shaker in the New York film world but could run you ragged if you weren't careful. After spending a few months around him, I was almost ready to pack it in and try my hand at finance.

"Murray- good to hear from you," I said, turning my attention my to the interior of my apartment to see if my guests had gotten up yet.

"I've been looking over the returns for your last couple of pictures; I'm blown away! I can't believe what you've been making off these flicks! How do you do it?"

"Just intuition and a little luck, I suppose."

The production company that I'd founded years ago since moving to the city –Throne Pictures- had built a considerable reputation of taking chances on small pictures by unknown directors and screenwriters who the other major studios here in the city, and in LA, might otherwise pass on. Many of these scripts were fantastic- all they needed was someone to pick them up and provide them with a little bit of necessary funding. More than a few had gone to make much, much more than their budgets, which, as I said, meant plenty of money in my pocket. And it wasn't just the money that motivated me; being able to produce films that weren't the standard superhero tentpoles that the big studios were putting out provided me with some measures of creative satisfaction.

"'Luck'?" asked Murray, incredulous. "It takes more than luck to win the Palme d'Or, my friend."

He was referred to The Gold Thief, one of the more recent pictures I'd put out. An indie made by a director from Winnipeg who hadn't produced anything of this scale, it ended up making quite a splash, even winning the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival. There was even a little Oscar buzz.

"I'm assuming that you didn't call me to tell me how wonderful I am."

"Oh, please," said Murray. "I'm sure you've got all the girls you need to tell you that."

A little smirk formed on my face, and my eyes flicked back into the apartment.

"So, what's up?"

"I got a lead on a new project," he said.

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yep. Might be a little more of a challenge than you're used to, though."

I narrowed my eyes at this. Murray had a way with people, and knew just what to say to get them interested. In my case, he knew that appealing to my love of working in situations in which the odds weren't in my favor was the key to catching my ear.

"I mean," he continued, "unless you have anything more pressing going on."

"No," I said. "We've actually just put the finishing touches on the projects I've been working on; I've actually got nothing but housekeeping and organizing press junkets for the next month- nothing I can't have my subordinates handle."

"Excellent," he said. "Then it was meant to be!"

I held the phone back as he spoke; his thin voice could reach some high registers when he wanted it to.

"You know Jace Landau?" he asked.

"The Australian actor?" I asked. "Vaguely. Only enough to know his star has the potential to rise."

"Oh, more than rise!" said Murray. "They're thinking he might be the next Tom Cruise! Or Will Smith! Or whoever else is that famous!"

"Go on," I said, keeping in mind Murray's tendency to over exaggerate.

"Anyway, they're in talks with him over at Bronzeplate to produce his next picture. But I'm thinking you can use a little of that nest egg you've been saving up to snatch him and the script they've got right out from under them!"

"What's Jace got to do with this? Can't we just buy the script?"

"No dice," said Murray. "The scriptwriter…er, writers, are a finicky pair. Couple of brothers out of Chicago, I think. Everyone wants this damn script, so they know they're quite the bargaining position. And they want Jace. No one but Jace; they think he's their muse or some cockamamie horseshit, the only actor who can bring their precious words to life. Goddamn artists!"

I smirked. Wrangling artists was part of the process and one that I felt I was more than skilled at. You see, once you get past their high-strung temperament, you find that what they want deep-down more than anything is a strong hand to guide their process.

"So, we outbid Bronzeplate, get Jace on board, and make the movie. You think this is worth the hassle?" I asked, draining the last dregs of my coffee. "I mean, there's no short supply of up-and-coming screenwriters who'll do anything to get their work on the screen."

"You're right, but you want to play in the little leagues forever? You want to make Thorne Pictures one of the biggest names in the business, or do you want to keep gambling on these indie pictures? I mean, don't get me wrong kid, you've had a hell of a string of hits, but it's only a matter of time before you roll a few losers. You need the kind of security that these big pictures and big names can bring."

I wasn't all that keen on playing the big budget game, but Murray was right; the money I could make from making bigger, more mainstream pictures could provide me the financial buffer that I needed to keep putting out the small movies that I'd built my company on.

"So," I said, "if I were interested, and that's still an ‘if,' what would be the next move?"

I heard Murray say "yes!" under his breath.

"I can send you over the script. Take a look over it; I think you'll love it. And if you want to move forward, I can get you in on the bidding that's going to be taking place soon."

"Sounds good," I said. "Go ahead and email it to me; I'll clear my schedule and read it today."

"Perfect," he said. "And when this project takes your company up into the stratosphere, don't forget about your old pal Murray, eh?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.

"Oh, and one more thing: you need to let me know by tonight. You wait too long, and this little opportunity is going to slip right through your fingers."

"Understood."

We said our goodbyes, and that was that.

I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my pocket. Walking over to the edge of my balcony, I rested my hands on the wooden railing and looked down over the sweep of the West village, the towers of the Financial District looming overhead. If this project was what Murray said it would be, then he was right- a high-profile picture with an up-and-coming star could greatly help in making Thorne Pictures even more than it already is. When I moved to the city to make my name, I wanted to have the biggest production company in the city by the time I turned forty. And here at thirty, things were already looking bright.

I stepped back into my apartment, poured myself another cup of coffee, and grabbed my laptop. But before I could head into my office to sit down with the script, a woman's voice spoke from behind me.

"There he is," she said.

Slightly surprised, I turned on my heels and was face-to-face with Emma Pacific, the…guest who I'd had over the previous night. Wearing nothing but my silk sheets wrapped around her lovely body, she gazed at me with a sly smile. Her red hair was tossed around her heart-shaped face in a very enticing manner, and it was clear that she wanted a repeat of the last night's…activities.

Emma was one of the latest ingénues on the scene here in New York. We'd met while working on her latest picture, The Crown Thief, and, well, we hit it off. My line of work brought me into plenty of young, beautiful women like her, and though I was in the business for other, more substantial reasons, I wouldn't pretend that my many nights with stars-in-the-making like her weren't a nice little perk of the job.

Unfortunately, there was too much work to be done. I'd need to spend the next few hours going over the script, and the rest of the day to really give it the consideration it likely needed. I had to have a decision made by tonight, and I couldn't afford any distractions.

"Good morning, Emma," I said, eager to get to work.

"Morning," she said, walking towards me with slinky strides and slipping her arm around my shoulders.

The smell of sweat and sex lingered on her body as she moved in close to me. I could tell what she wanted, and she wasn't being subtle in the slightest about it.

"Hell of a night last night," she said.

"Indeed it was," I responded.

I stepped out of her grasp and positioned my body towards the hallway leading to my office.

"Unfortunately, I have a busy day ahead."

A girlish pout formed on her startlingly attractive features.

"Oh, boo," she said. “I was thinking that you, me, and Alexa could just spend the day in, really get in some good R&R, if you know what I mean."

Alexa? I thought.

And before I could say a word, a figure stepped out from my bedroom door down the hall. Wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear, her long, shapely legs on full display, was Alexa Cooper, the other ingénue that I was lucky enough to spend the previous evening with.

"You manage to talk him into coming back to bed?" she asked, her blue eyes searching me up and down, her beautiful face framed by bright blonde hair draped onto her slim shoulders.

I'd completely forgotten that after our dinner on the town, Emma asked me if I might want a little more company when we arrived back at my place. I wasn't sure exactly what she had in mind, but I was more than pleased when I opened my front door and saw Alexa standing there. The events after that were beginning to come back, and the more primal part of me wanted nothing more than to take off my clothes and pass the afternoon with these two young beauties.

But there was just no time.

"Sorry, ladies," I said. "Just…no time."

I felt my will being sapped by the moment.

"Oh, that's too bad," said Emma. "If only there was something I could do to talk you into it."

With that, she let the blanket drop to the floor in a heap, her magnificent body now on full display. My eyes tracked across her body, moving from her full breasts to her flat, Pilates-toned stomach, to the small patch of red hair just above her sex. Alexa followed suit, pulling her t-shirt off and leaving her in nothing but a pair of very skimpy black panties.

"Come on," said Emma, gazing at me with sensual eyes. "Let's kill the afternoon."

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Very strongly tempted. But there was only so much lounging around I could take, even if it was in extremely pleasant company. Work called, and slacking off wasn't my style. Anymore, at least.

"Sorry, ladies," I said. "As enticing as the offer is, I'm going to have to pass."

My tone was sterner and both girls seemed to finally get the hint. Pouting expression formed on their faces, and both seemed to take on the bratty, sulking dispositions of little girls who'd just been told they can't have ice cream for dinner.

"Boring," said Emma, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Yeah," agreed Alexa.

"Get your things together; I'll have my chauffeur take you both home. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

"You know there's only one thing I want to help myself to," said Emma, tossing one last sultry glance my way as I headed down the hallway. Alexa mirrored her expression. I knew they couldn't stay mad long.

Finally, in my office, I shut the door and gave my chauffeur, a ring, letting him know that some guests needed a lift home.

"Guests?" he asked, emphasizing the plural.

"Mhmm," I said, taking a seat in my Eames chair by the window and opening my laptop.

"You dog," said Calvin.

He'd been working with me for long enough to know that I thoroughly enjoyed the company of the fairer, so he knew exactly what taking home two guests implied. I confirmed the pick-up, set my phone to the side, and opened my email. Sure enough, Murray had sent me the script.

The British Job, read the title, by Ian and Lucas McConnell. I hit print, the machine nearby whirring to life. I got up and watch the printer spit out the screenplay. Once it was done, I gathered the warm sheets, shuffled them into a stack, and stapled them together. Back in my chair, I flipped the cover open, ready to dive into the thing.

But before I could, my phone rang once again. I pulled it out of my pocket, ready to slam the "mute" button and toss the thing across the room. But once I saw who it was, I knew that I'd have no such option, as satisfying as it might be. It was Amy, my ex-wife.

"Good morning, Amy," I said, keeping my tone business-like.

"Morning," she said, doing the same.

"How can I help you?"

I hated having to talk to Amy, the woman I'd once loved and married, with such cold, impersonal tone, but I'd had enough screaming matches with her over the years to know that an explosion on her part was a wrong word away. That showed me for marrying a fun, party girl; they may be smiles and good times when things are going well, but as soon as her mood went in the other direction it felt like the emotional equivalent of storming Normandy Beach. So, keeping things calm was the way to go, treating her like any other client with whom I had to deal. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in another fight that only the promise of a little extra money on top of my usual alimony payment could mollify.

This client, however, had one major difference.

"I just wanted to call to make sure you didn't forget that you'd be having Olivia this next week."

The difference, of course, being that Amy was the mother of Olivia, my five-year-old daughter.

"Of course I remembered," I said, standing up and grabbing my coffee.

As busy as I was, I always looked forward to my time with Olivia. Amy had her most of the time, and our arrangement was that once every two months I'd take her for a full week, with occasional afternoons and dinners thrown in here and there. This allowed me to stay on top of my work, while still affording me the opportunity to spend quality time with my daughter.

"Good," she said, her voice icy. "I don't want a repeat of last month's incident, is all."

I winced at the reminder. Olivia's last visit with me had…slipped my mind. Work had been crazier than usual, and I only remembered that it was my week to take her when I looked from the set I'd ben supervising to see Olivia walking through the scene blithely, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. After making my apologies, I learned from Olivia that after Amy hadn't been able to get ahold of me, she decided to just drop the girl off at my work, figuring that I'd take care of things from there. It was a mistake I didn't care to repeat.

"That won't happen," I said.

"I mean, I know you're ‘mister big time producer' now, but hopefully you won't forget about little details like your daughter."

I took in a slow draw of air, noting right away that she was trying to goad me into a fight. I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

"Understood. Just bring her by my place tomorrow.

"Fine. See you then," she said, followed by her hanging up the phone.

I allowed myself a small smile as I put my phone on mute and set it on the desk where it wouldn't distract me. I'd just side-stepped what could've been a very taxing situation, and on top of that, I had a week with Olivia to look forward to. All that I needed to do was to dive into this script. Taking my seat, I opened the first page, eager to see if Murray's effusive praise was more than just talk.

It took only moments before I learned that it wasn't.

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