“Holy shit,” I say, the words slipping out under my breath. I barely hear them myself. My palms are sweaty as I swallow thickly and then wipe them on my plum pencil skirt. A gust of wind blowing along East 55^th Street causes my loose cream blouse to billow and sends a chill down my heated skin.

I barely feel it though, as I stand here feeling like a fraud.

I've always been a normal girl with a normal life. Everything happened so quickly and I just kept nodding my head in disbelief. And now I’m here. Standing outside of the St. Gerard hotel. It’s a sleek and modern building of black glass and shiny steel. It’s full of the hustle and bustle that echoes the busy streets of New York but with an edge and sophistication that doesn’t allow for outsiders. It’s high-end and only meant for the who’s who of New York City.

And I’m expected to walk through those doors. Just a girl from the suburbs who always dreamed of getting an inch closer to the city.

My heart races thinking about holding my head up high and squaring my shoulders, pretending like I belong here. There’s only so much a person can fake and right now, I can’t even pretend to have confidence. Fake it till you make it. I say the motto over and over. It’s worked for me so far.

“I know, right?” Lydia says with a different air. Not quite disbelief, more like the sound of accomplishment. The voice someone uses when they know they’ve made it and they’re damn proud.

Sometimes, I wonder at what point she went from being my first client at the agency to a friend. Since day one, only months ago, the air between us has been easy and she’s only shown me a sweet side that’s made it easy to confide in her. Today, of all days, I need someone to lean on and to ground me. I couldn’t have lucked out more.

“Like, ho-ly shit,” I say each syllable separately, thankful that she’s hell-bent on keeping me from making an utter fool of myself.

This is my first real time on set, even though I’ve been interning with one of the top talent agent’s in Manhattan for months. This is my first time at a real shoot. Well, maybe not today, but sometime in the next few weeks. Not that I wanted this. I never asked for it and a happy accident led me here. It’s Lydia’s fault. The bitch set me up. A smile slips onto my face at the thought.

Lydia was made to be a star. High cheekbones and straight black hair that doesn’t even need a keratin blowout. She’s going to kill it in there and earn her place in this industry. She’s supposed to be here.

“We got this,” she says as she maneuvers the Louis Vuitton bag onto her shoulder and smacks her lips together, the stain doesn’t budge on her lips.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I say softly, my eyes traveling along the etched glass sign above the doorway. My gaze follows the glass elevator as it moves seamlessly up the one hundred and fifty story building until my eyes can’t focus on it anymore. The glare of the sun forces me to slip my sunglasses back into place. I feel sick to my stomach.

Lydia just smiles, her bright, red lips thinning as her pearly-whites flash back at me. “You know those aren’t your lines, right?” she asks and then glides the tip of her tongue across her teeth and steps forward, ignoring the dozens of people hurrying to move around us as if we don’t even exist. She’s not intimidated by the building, by the people, or by the expectations we’re about to walk into.

Ever since high school, almost ten years now, I’ve thought about what it would be like to be an actress. I didn’t dare to really dream of it though. I thought I could do screenings or learn to be an agent. Something in the industry, but I never hoped to actually participate. My first summer out of college as an intern has proven that this industry moves fast and that I need to be prepared for anything.

“Four weeks of this,” Lydia says as a woman in a chic pink Chanel tweed dress and a thin black patent-leather belt around her waist walks past us. It’s hard not to notice her. Her hot pink pumps click loudly on the sidewalk, even with the traffic and other people moving about, she stands out as a force that refuses to blend in. She walks right ahead of us, a large Dooney and Bourke purse in the crook of her arm and the doors open without hesitation, allowing her entry.

My heart flips once, then twice, as my legs turn to Jell-O and she disappears beyond the black glass. Lydia mumbles something incoherently, gripping my arm and making me nearly topple over. “That was Julie Rays! Julie!” she squeals.

I stare back at her bewildered. I should know that name. I should know everyone on set. It was my job to know who is who in this industry. But for the life of me, my mind is blank. I force a smile and nod my head as Lydia gathers her composure. Her smile is infectious, her confidence, her everything.

Julie Rays I say her name in my head over and over. “Oh, shit. Julie Rays.” It finally clicks and my eyes widen and I search beyond the glass for her figure, but she’s gone. Julie’s up and coming. The star of not one, but two, new top-rated series on television last year. I should have recognized her in a heartbeat. She’s the who’s who of actresses right now and she just walked past me only a few feet away.

“Oh, my God, do you think she’s on the same set?” I ask Lydia who lets a sly smile slip onto her face. We don’t know a single thing about the stars of the show. NDAs are standard before shooting begins to control publicity.

“Don’t leave me,” I tell Lydia as she starts to move toward the building. The request comes out in a single breath and more like a desperate question than anything else.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go anywhere without me,” she says with a wink and pulls me towards the doors. Lydia doesn’t even break stride as the doorman pulls the all-glass door wide open and tips his head to greet her.

My feet move in unison with Lydia’s stride as I take in the expansive lobby. The high ceilings make the click of heels and the soft sounds of silverware echo from the right side of the large room. It’s an open restaurant and I only take a quick glance. There are high-end shops on my left and an enormous fountain in the very center. Just beyond, there is a large mahogany desk that spans the length of the open lobby. The reception desk. Right where we’re headed.

One of the four women behind the desk looks up at us with a smile, her platinum blonde hair pulled back tightly into a high bun. Everyone in here oozes wealth and sophistication.

“You’re fine,” Lydia whispers to me and her voice makes me turn to her. “If you could stop gripping me like you’re about to float away, I’d appreciate it,” she says.

I instantly let go of her arm.

It’s just that… I’m intimidated. There’s no other way to put it. I’m terrified I’m going to fail. That I’ll ruin this once in a life time opportunity.

“You’re seriously going to do fine,” Lydia says, practically reading my mind, as we come to a stop in front of the desk.

Before I can even utter a response, she’s already moved on and is giving our names to the receptionist, Alexis, or so her name says on the shiny silver tag above her shirt pocket.

“And how can I help you, Miss Parker?”

“We’re here for filming with Mr. Stevens,” Lydia says and adds, “The fifteenth floor I believe.” Her soft smile and elegance speak of confidence and certainty. Sure enough, the receptionist nods and reveals key cards, swiping them in something I can’t see next to her computer.

I swallow the lump in my throat and look around the large lobby, watching as the men and women, each dressed in varying degrees of wealth, move across the marble tiled lobby. The ceiling is domed and so high I have to crane my neck to see the etched designs along the wallpapered ceiling.

I wonder if they can tell I’m a girl from outside the city. One of the ones who stare out of her window at night and memorize each building that’s lit up off in the distance. No one special and destined to stay in the same town I grew up.

My mother insisted that a college degree wasn’t necessary. She loved having me work with her in the corner shop selling second-hand antiques and collectibles. I did it for years, but going to school was a chance to get closer to the bright lights of the city. Every year, inching ever closer but knowing within four short years I’d be right back in the suburbs, working at my mom’s shop and making her proud.

One day, I’m just a marketing student. The next, I’m taking an internship under Nancy Welsh, a well-known agent.

I shouldn’t have applied; all it did was upset my mother, who didn’t understand, and pulled me closer to a life I didn’t think I was supposed to lead.

Within two weeks, I’m practicing line readings with a client and up-and-coming actress, Lydia Parker, sweet and seemingly unassuming. But Lydia is cunning and she knows the ways of this industry. It wasn’t an accident that we were practicing lines in the coffee shop that the director, Stevens, frequented. What Lydia wants, Lydia gets.

I guess him catching sight of me makes me a casualty of sorts. I’m just a side character, but still, it’s more than I ever thought I’d be.

I almost turn my head, tearing my eyes away from the abstract stone sculptures on either side of the elevator when I hear Lydia thank the receptionist. I almost carry on, allowing myself to move through the motions of something I only dared to imagine.

But my eyes catch sight of a man as he enters an elevator. His thin, brown, worn leather jacket is pulled tightly across his broad shoulders as he walks.

My heart stops beating. The chatter and faint sounds turn to white noise. It can’t be him. I tell myself over and over. My lips part and I nearly take a step forward, mostly from disbelief. My hand instantly reaches behind me for Lydia, but I’m not aware if it’s even her. I just need something to grab onto in order to stay grounded.

I recognize him by the way he moves. The way his hand slips into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans and pulls out the necessary card. I know it’s him before he even turns around. The sharp jawline is new, accompanying an older version of the boy I used to know. But his eyes I would know anywhere. The darkness that swirls, the chill in his gaze, yet the heat it brings me. They hold me captive, make me weak, make me crave the way things were before I lost him.

Nathan Hart.

There’s a secret, a dark past between us. Something I’ve tried to ignore and pretend never happened. It’s what tore us apart and even though I’ve accepted what happened and my part in it, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.

Time is a bitch. It slows and seems to stay still, refusing to move or to let me respond with anything but disbelief. I wish I hadn’t been looking toward the elevator doors as they start to close, taking him away from me. But I am and as they slowly close, his eyes drift to mine. I’m caught in the stare. Unmoving and trapped by fate as his eyes widen slightly with recognition.

Then time continues, sure that I’ve seen him and he’s seen me, certain that it’s destroyed me in this moment. And I’m released, turning from the doors as quickly as I can.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

But I know I saw him and he saw me.

And that changes everything.