The theater lights come on right as I stifle my second yawn. I glance over at Charlotte; a huge smile dons her face as she pounds her hands together, adding her congratulations to the hundreds around us. I add mine a few seconds later.

I sit back in my chair and sweep my eyes around the high-domed theater. Charlotte and I are at the screening of the newest romantic thriller that’ll hit audiences in another week. I was offered the role before Gyllenhaal but turned it down for the romance I’m wrapping up now. I kinda wish I hadn’t, now that I’ve seen the movie. It wasn’t bad—I could actually stand the plot and characters—but it wasn’t the next Titanic either.

I snap back as the director and executive producers take the stage. “Thank you!” the director, Melanie Herbst cries, taking the microphone from the stand. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce the minds behind Found Love. I’m thrilled to introduce the executive producers, Tom Eversmith and…”

My thoughts drift as the director moderates the discussion between the actors and producers, going over the same old questions I’ve heard a thousand times. “What was your inspiration?” Or “What was it like working with so-and-so actor or actress?” And the inevitable “Will there be a sequel?”

I’ll be doing something just like this in a few months once the editing on my own movie wraps up. There’s always a gauntlet of interviews and screenings I have to attend to promote it, especially as the lead role. Got to put in the face time to make it a hit.

I frown. This film better be a hit. I have way too much riding on this gig—as in my whole career. It took a call to New York for me to finally face the music. I got zero bites on the feelers I put out on Broadway. No one was interested in booking present-day Tate Gunner. Me three years ago? Absolutely. But the directors made it clear that they weren’t interested in hiring my current reputation.

So basically, I’m screwed unless this fake relationship works out.

I steal a look at my date. Charlotte’s perched on the edge of her seat as she soaks in every word from onstage. This is the second event we’ve attended like this, and she still gets ridiculously excited each time. I find it kinda cute, actually. I was like her when I first started attending these gigs. Now it’s just old news—old, boring, and stale.

I study the side of Charlotte’s face, raking my eyes over her delicate nose, graceful chin, and slender neck. Francesco dressed both of us tonight, but she stole the show in her off-the-shoulder, midnight-blue gown. Her hair’s swept back and to the side so her soft waves cascade over her bare shoulder, softly resting on her creamy white skin. She’s breathtaking and off limits.

Yeah. It’s as fun as it sounds.

I turn back to the stage and try to pay attention, but my mind wanders. Charlotte and I are strangers again since my explosion on-set. I had mumbled an apology when I got home that evening, but instead of the fight I expected, Charlotte merely nodded and walked away. Ever since then, she’s been distant, withdrawn, and absent—even when we’re out on a “date.”

Gone is the spunky, fiery tease that I discovered at that club. Gone is the bossy, stubborn woman who told me she’d jump out of a moving vehicle if I didn’t slow down. What blows more than anything is that I miss the old Charlotte. My house feels empty without her around to bump into. She’s boring again, and I know I’m the reason why.

Whatever. I can’t do anything about it. Charlotte’s a big girl. She’ll get over it.

I lean over and tap her shoulder. Charlotte flinches and jerks her head to me. Oh right, we’re also back to awkward physical touching.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I whisper.

“Whatever you get is fine,” she answers in a flat voice, her eyes already gliding back to the discussion onstage. I clench my teeth. This is exactly what I’m talking about. She never has an opinion anymore.

I get to my feet, inching by a few other guests on my way to the aisle. I head for the back doors, returning a few waves and nods from fellow actors, before exiting into the lobby.

The bartender puts down his glass and bar towel as I approach. “Evening. What can I get for you?”

“Top shelf bourbon, on the rocks. Oh—and a vodka cranberry with lime,” I add, remembering Charlotte. We’ve been an item for three weeks, but I already know she’s a clear liquor girl.

I lean against the bar and sweep my eyes around the lobby. It’s pretty empty, most guests are in the auditorium, but there are a few people milling around. Some are agents, others up-and-coming B-listers, and even a few reporters.

“Sir?” I turn and find two glasses sitting on the bar behind me.

“Thanks.” I throw a twenty down and pick up the tumblers. I’m heading back toward the double doors when a pretty little blonde in tight black pants, and an even tighter white shirt, catches my eye.

Nice.

She notices my attention and turns, putting down her tray. She shifts her weight on one hip, tilts her head down, and cocks an eyebrow at me.

Very nice.

I glance down at the two glasses in my hands and start walking. One for me and one for the curvaceous caterer—

Wait, what am I doing?

I stop with a frown. I’m at a high-profile event with my girlfriend, surrounded by reporters and gossips. This is a bad idea…

I’m turning around when I catch her eye again. Damn, that is one sexy look. Sure, I’m famous and I get this lot, but I haven’t had this attention since shacking up with Charlotte. The only looks I get from her lately are slightly annoyed and bored.

I shrug away my reservations. I’ll chat for five minutes and then get back inside to Charlotte. What’s the harm in that?

* * *

Charlotte

My phone vibrates in my lap, drawing my attention away from the stage. My spike of annoyance gives way to relief—at least I remembered to put it on silent this time.

I reach down and discreetly pull it out of my clutch. I’ll just check it quickly and then get back to listening to what it was like to direct such a versatile actor like Jake.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the screen. Not again…

My surprise is quickly replaced with fury. Char? Call me? Who the hell does he think he is contacting me like this out of the blue after two months of nothing? Even if I do agree to meet with him, I can’t begin to picture how that would go—not after what he did.

I shove my phone back in my purse and slap it down on my lap. I wrench my eyes back to the stage and try to focus. Two questions and five minutes later, I still have no idea what’s been said.

I sit back and rub my forehead. I’m not falling for Jay’s sudden show of contrition—I know why he’s suddenly so persistent. I’m dating Tate Gunner now, and I bet he can’t believe I landed a movie star after being dumped by him. Quite the upgrade.

Speaking of Tate…

I glance around, looking for the handsome figure of my boyfriend. It drives me crazy that he stands out even in a beautiful crowd like this. I lean back in my seat, slightly relieved that he left to get us drinks.

It’s taken all of my self-control and willpower to be pleasant around him. Ever since that blow-up on-set, I’ve been walking on eggshells around him. I’ve tried to stay in my room and out of the way when he’s home, which isn’t very hard since he’s never home. I can only assume he’s on-set because he never tells me about his day or invites me anywhere. If it wasn’t for Marcus’s impromptu invitation that day, I wouldn’t have even seen him act.

I cringe at the memory. It’d been four days, but the wound is still fresh and raw. It doesn’t help that I just shrugged it off instead of telling Tate exactly how much he’d embarrassed and hurt me that day. I kept remembering Kevin’s words: “you can be replaced.” That, and that alone, kept me from biting off my boyfriend’s head like he deserved.

Seriously, though, where is Tate?

I turn my head and discreetly scan the crowd. I don’t see him standing near the back or chatting with another guest like he had been most of the night. I’ve been dragged around and introduced to a million people. Normally, that would be my dream, but I was so consumed with playing my girlfriend role that I barely remember anyone I met.

I turn back to the stage and force myself to focus. I give up after a minute. It’s no use. Tate’s on my brain. I stand up and edge out of my row. I know he said he was heading to the bar, so I’ll start there.

An usher holds open the door and I walk into the lobby. The lights dazzle my eyes after the darkly lit theater, and I pause for a moment to adjust before glancing around. I don’t see Tate at first because of the pillar. I’m halfway across the room when he finally comes into view. One arm is propped up on the pillar and he’s leaning toward something…or someone.

I slow to a halt. He’s talking to someone, and whoever it is, is much shorter than him.

I start toward him, knowing what I’m going to find. I know because I’ve been down this road before. I’ve been in this exact same situation only two months ago.

A muffled laugh…

A woman’s blouse tossed over the armchair…

The sight, smell, and sounds that hit me as I ease open the bedroom door…

The sound of a high-pitched giggle forces me back to the scene unfolding in front of me. Tate and a young blonde caterer talking behind the pillar…in the middle of the lobby…in front of EVERYONE. And by the way she’s simpering at him, they’re not discussing the weather.

I watch with horrified eyes as Tate leans down and murmurs something into her ear. It must’ve been hilarious, because she throws her head back and squeals with laughter.

No way. No way is this happening to me again! Not after everything I’ve sacrificed—my pride, my independence, my identity, my apartment—not to mention the hundred thousand dollars that’s on the line.

The voices around me fade, and I see pure red. I march over to them and grab Tate’s arm. He jerks around, almost dropping his glass in surprise.

“Charlotte!” He glances guiltily back at the blonde. “Uh, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Can I talk to you?” I glare at the woman gaping behind him before turning back to him. “Alone?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I tighten my grip on his sleeve and drag him away from his little plaything.

“That’s not what it looked like,” he begins. “Let me explain—”

“Shut up!” I hiss, glancing around for a private place to talk. I see a propped open door and stop to peer inside. Empty. Perfect.

“In here.” I shove him in before me. I secure the door behind me, take a deep breath, and turn to face my wayward boyfriend.

“Charlotte—”

“What don’t you understand about shut up?” I snarl, my chest heaving as I stare at the man that I signed a contract with—a contract that only moments ago, I was worried about breaking by losing my temper.

“Calm down,” Tate says slowly.

I scoff. “Oh no, we’re way past ‘calm down.’ That Charlotte is gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been walking on eggshells around you, Tate! I’ve been pushed around, walked on, and snapped at by you for weeks. Well, that ends right now.”

I take a step forward, and Tate takes one back.

“I’ve tried to be understanding of your demanding work schedule and the pressure you’re under, but…to find you flirting with a caterer?” I shake my head at him. “What a frickin’ cliché. So what’s next, Tate? A nanny?”

“Charlotte—”

I hold up a hand. “You embarrassed me at the set and you’ve embarrassed me now.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“And this is such a public place,” I plow on. “Are you an idiot?”

“I-I wasn’t thinking.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll say. This is your image. I mean, what am I even here for?”

Tate gapes at me. “I…”

“My only purpose is to boost your likability, and yet what do I catch you doing? Flirting with another woman!”

I can tell by his shell-shocked face that the reality of what he’s done is finally sinking in. Well, too bad. I’m not done with him yet.

“I can stand being pushed around and yelled at for no damn reason—” I jab a finger at him “— but one thing I’ll never stand for is being cheated on—even by my fake boyfriend. No amount of money or the chance at an acting career will ever change that.”

Tate’s eyes go wide. “What are you saying?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m done. I’m done with you and I’m done putting up with your crap.”

I spin around and stalk toward the door. “Find someone else to walk all over.”

“No!” Tate reaches out a hand after me. “Please wait—”

“Bye, famous guy,” I say, wrenching open the door. “By the way…” I pause and turn to meet his desperate eyes. “I’ll take an Uber home just in case you wanted to flirt a little longer.”

I smile sweetly and then walk out. I’ve already called a car by the time I’ve reached the lobby. I push out the double doors, skip down the theater steps, and step onto the smooth sidewalk. I look up at the orange glow of the night sky and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Tonight, I’m getting the first good night’s sleep in weeks. Because tomorrow, I’m outta here.

Goodbye, Tate Gunner. Good luck with the single life.