I roll to a stop in my new driveway, cut the engine of my beat-up Camry, and step out. I immediately groan. My feet are throbbing from walking up and down Rodeo Drive all day with Francesco.

When Kevin had told me that the Francesco D’Loreno was going to be my personal stylist for the day, my jaw dropped to the floor. Francesco dressed the hottest stars—my new boyfriend included—for the red carpet. He had an iconic style that you could spot anywhere: clean lines, elegant cuts, and colors that flattered all skin tones.

And he had not disappointed today. I’d worried that I’d be squeezing into ill-fitting couture to dress the part of a movie star’s girlfriend, but Francesco put that idea to bed. My new wardrobe not only looked gorgeous, but it also gave me confidence. Every pant, skirt, shirt, and dress flattered my figure perfectly. I knew when it came time to make my debut with Tate, I would do it with my head held high.

I pop open the trunk and start unloading the myriad boxes and bags. Soon the ground is covered with Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Balenciaga, Fendi, and Tory Burch logos. And this is only half of it. Francesco is having the rest dropped off later this week once it’s tailored.

I gather up about half of the haul in my hands and make for the front door. I stumble down the path, slap the door handle, and lean my hip into the door.

Okay, now I just have to make it to my room.

Easier said than done since this house is enormous. A few steps means passing through the lofted foyer into the living room, down the hall past three other bedrooms, an office, and a game room, until I finally reached my corner of this beast.

I’ve been in mansions before, but nothing like Tate’s house. It was a work of art: all white and modern with walls of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the valley. I’d given myself a little tour last night and had gotten lost somewhere between the gym and home theater. The kitchen had all chef-grade appliances and a dining room to seat twelve, the TV in the living room was taller than me, and every room led to a private balcony that afforded a beautiful sunset view. There was even a pool and a side garden, complete with a fountain and hammock.

But the bad part? I had yet to see Tate use any of it. He worked out with his personal trainer at his super exclusive gym, a chef came in once a week and prepared all his meals, and I doubt he’s ever used his dining room table. I’ve only been here two days, but I have yet to run into him. It was too much space for one person or even two. I never thought I could feel so lonely living with another person.

I drop my bags and head back out for the second round. I make it back alive and shut the door, noticing for the first time that I’m not alone in the house today. Voices are coming from the back patio.

I creep through the living room and peer through the French doors. Tate is standing near the garden, holding a bound booklet in his hand, as he talks to a woman sitting on the deck divan.

“I love you, dammit!” he shouts.

My eyes bug out of my head and I start to inch back. What have I interrupted?

“I can’t stand to be without you,” he continues in a tense voice. “If you break up with me, I swear I’ll die…”

I pause. That’s a little dramatic.

Tate runs a hand over his hair. “Give me another chance, I’m begging you.” Then he takes a deep breath and relaxes. He looks at the woman and arches an eyebrow.

“Nice job, Tate,” she says, standing up. She’s in jeans and a light blue t-shirt. A black leather jacket is slumped over the couch behind her. “I think your intonation is spot on, but the timing needs some work.”

“Where, exactly?” he asks, flipping through the book in his hand.

She gets up and walks over to him. “Here. Try it again, but this time, hold that pause a little longer. I want to feel the tension, not just see it.”

Ah. Tate must be practicing his lines. I know he’s about to finish up a movie, but I didn’t know anything past that. Based on the dialogue, I’m going with a romance, not something I figured a bad boy like Tate would go for.

Tate gives himself a shake, first jostling his legs and then throwing out his arms. He shifts his weight, glances down for a moment, then slowly looks up.

I catch my breath. His face is transformed. Gone is the smug, laid-back look that I’ve come to know, and in its place is a fierce intensity that sends shockwaves through me. If a man looked at me like that, I—well…

I would faint.

“I love you, dammit!” he shouts again, but this time he adds a hard shake of his head. “I can’t stand to be without you. If you break up with me, I swear I’ll die.” He wrenches a hand through his hair. “I begging you…” he whispers a few beats later “…give me another chance.”

“Much better!” the woman cries, clapping her hands.

Tate nods. “Thanks, Sandra.”

My eyes go wide. Sandra? As in Sandra Simmons? Tate has the best acting coach in L.A. on his back patio. First Kevin, then Francesco, and now Sandra Simmons? What doesn’t this man have?!

Tate narrows his eyes at his script. “Can I run through it one more time—”

My Ke$ha ringtone cuts through the air, and suddenly I find myself the center of attention. I fumble around my pocket and pull it out. I don’t have to look at the screen to know who it is. Only one person has that ringtone: my best friend and ex-roommate, Kelley. “Sorry!” I click my phone off and toss it on the landing table. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Tate glowers at me from across the lawn, irritation and annoyance radiating off him in waves.

“Hi, you must be Charlotte,” Sandra says, walking toward me. She offers her hand. “I’m—”

“Sandra Simmons,” I finish for her, taking her hand and pumping it. “I…I can’t believe I’m meeting you. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks,” Sandra says with a laugh.

Tate snorts behind us, but I ignore him. “Um, are you the one Kevin sent to help us?”

Sandra nods. “Yup. I got here early to help Tate with his production, but I’m ready to get started when you are.”

“Oh, I don’t want to cut you and Tate short.”

“We can start now,” Tate says in a clipped tone. “Charlotte ruined my concentration with that God-awful ring tone. Ke$ha? Really?”

I bite my lip. “It’s a joke between my friend and me.”

“Whatever.”

I can feel my temper slipping, but I hold on to it. All I have to do is constantly remind myself what’s waiting for me if I make it through it this.

I turn back to Sandra and force a smile on my face. “Let me put my bags away and I’ll be right out.”

I start hauling bag after bag through the living room to my room. After the third trip, Sandra comes in and offers to help, but I politely decline. I give Tate a peeved look during my last trip, but he’s draped across the divan, looking infuriatingly comfortable. Sandra frickin’ Simmons offers to help me, but my own boyfriend doesn’t?

Why am I not surprised.

I throw on a fresh change of clothes, brush my frazzled hair, and touch-up my makeup. It’s not glamorous, but it’ll have to do. I retrace my steps and find they’ve moved inside to the living room.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

Sandra jumps up from the kitchen counter and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. She walks over and offers it to me. “You’ll be needing it,” she says with a wink. Butterflies take flight in my stomach as reality hits me: I’m about to get acting lessons from one of the best coaches in the business.

Sandra moves past me toward the couch. “Okay, since this is a romance, I want to focus on you two getting physical.”

I should’ve known this was coming.

“First, stand together so I can get a sense for your dynamic.”

I awkwardly join Tate over by the couch and wait as he drags himself to his feet. I briefly meet his eyes and then turn away. His face, his eyes, his everything is too much to handle at once.

“Take a stroll around the room,” Sandra orders. “Pretend like you’re at an event or out to dinner.”

I start walking in one direction, and Tate goes in the other. We stop, turn, and stare at each other.

“What’s the holdup?” Sandra asks.

“I’m waiting for Charlotte,” Tate says.

I scrunch up my nose. “Why can’t you come to me?”

“Because I want—”

“Okay!” Sandra shakes her head. “Tate, the lady is always right, so please join Charlotte.”

Tate rolls his eyes but does as she asks. Soon we’re stalking around the room, yards apart, staring straight ahead. I don’t need an acting coach to tell me that we’re blowing it.

“You two look awful,” Sandra points out anyway. “Like you’re total strangers.”

“We are strangers,” Tate says through clenched teeth.

“Alright. Try walking while holding hands,” Sandra suggests. Both our hands remain fixed at our sides. Sandra sighs. “Tate, take Charlotte’s hand.”

My eyes go wide. The idea that Tate Gunner would hold my hand had been the stuff of dreams…until I met him. Now I don’t want to be in the same room with the jackass.

“Tate!” Sandra snaps.

Tate darts out his hand and takes mine. I stumble, but catch myself.

Sandra starts rubbing her temples. “Why don’t we come back to that.”

Tate and I drop hands, stop, and step away from each other.

“Hugging is next,” Sandra says grimly.

Oh God.

“Charlotte, let’s start with you this time.” Sandra walks over to me and takes my waist, forcing me toward Tate. “I hope we all know how to hug, but after what I just saw, I can’t be so sure.”

I grimace.

Come on, Charlotte! You’re an actress, for Christ’s sake, so start acting like one.

“You know what? I’ve got this,” I say to Sandra. She nods and steps back. I glance over at Tate, who looks just as uncomfortable as I do.

I walk over to him slowly, gliding into my role as Tate Gunner’s girlfriend. My hips start swaying, my head tilts down, and I slide into his arms. I snake my hand around Tate’s waist, press my body into his, and squeeze. Tate’s stiff and unyielding at first, but then I feel his steely arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his hard chest. I breathe him in—rich and smoky with a hint of spice.

So this is what movie stars smell like.

A few seconds later, I pull away.

“Good job!” Sandra says.

I glance up at Tate and search his stony face. He stares down at me for a moment and then looks away. I smile to myself. Looks like I nailed it.

“I think we can move on. So, this next scene will be a kissing scene.”

Maybe I spoke too soon.

“The scene is set at a bar. This is your first kiss in front of a crowd, so you need to be slightly nervous, but excited. What I’m looking for is if you can execute this smoothly. I don’t want any awkwardness.”

This isn’t just our first kiss in front of a crowd, this is our first kiss ever. I take a deep breath. I can totally do this. I try to conjure up my first kiss with Jay. It was sweet and a little scary, but passionate and warm and everything I thought it would be when I first met him.

Besides, I’m sure Tate will be a professional about this. He’s kissed, like, a hundred women. He’s not going to be awkward—

Movement catches my eye and I glance over at Tate. Did he just inch away from me?

Oh, hell no.

“So, Tate,” Sandra begins, “why don’t you…”

But I’m already in motion. I stop in front of Tate, tilt my head to the side, and fix my eyes on his lips. I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, look up at his emerald-green eyes, and then release it. Tate raises an eyebrow at me, smirks, and leans forward.

Nope. I’m calling the shots this time, baby.

I plant a hand on his chest and shake my head. I slowly tilt my head up, part my lips, and lean in, never taking my eyes from his. I graze his cheek with my cheek as I kiss his cheek softly, tracing a line down his neck with my fingertips. His breath catches, and I smile.

That’s right. There’s no getting out of this one.

I pull back and move my hand up his t-shirt. Keeping my eyes on his, I lean in, take a fistful of his collar in my fingers, and lock lips with him. He’s tense at first, but that soon fades. His arms wraps around my waist and pull me closer. I crane my head back as he presses his lips against mine, and all too soon, he’s taken control of this kiss.

His tongue is hot as it pries apart my lips and darts inside. Our tongues meet and twist together, caught in a kiss that I’m helpless to stop. My heart races. My body’s numb. Everything fades away except for Tate Gunner’s smoldering hot lips on mine.

I sigh as he slowly pulls away. My eyes flutter open and meet his—his irises thin lines around dilated pupils. I release his shirt and rock back on my heels. Hell yeah. Charlotte Laine is back in action.

“Fantastic!” Sandra cries. I turn and see a surprised smile on her lips. “I think that’s all for today. Your homework is to hold hands since you’ve clearly got hugging and kissing down.”

I nod and stumble back to the couch, heading for my water bottle. I had to wash Tate off my lips. I know I’m an actress and our kiss isn’t real, but Tate’s touch reminds me of what I lost months ago.

Tate’s still standing where I left him. Sandra’s next to him, talking about his film, but I can tell he’s barely listening. His eyes sweep around the room and meet mine.

I duck my head and quickly take another sip of water. There goes my hope that our kiss would make things less awkward. If anything, it’s made things worse.