You’re supposed to be with Florence. I’m not even going to be here much longer. I have to go back.

I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had a bottle of whiskey lying against my thigh, but I’d only had one or two drinks.

When I’d gotten home, I’d thought that getting good and shit-faced drunk was the way to handle this lousy day, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Maya had said.

That had been hours ago.

I’d slept fitfully, and now, dawn was a creeping, pale glow along the horizon.

I have to go back.

“Should have made her tell me,” I mumbled. There’d been something in her eyes when she’d said it. Something sad, empty, and lost.

I knew what it was like to feel sad, empty, and lost.

I’d felt like that quite a bit, and I was an ass for walking away after seeing that look in her eyes.

Closing my hand around the neck of the whiskey bottle, I gripped it tight. I was two seconds away from twisting off the top.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I put the bottle down on the nightstand, then climbed out of the bed. I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore, but I had to do something to occupy my mind until I could leave for the studio.

With little else to do, I headed out to the pool. If I exhausted myself enough, maybe my brain would shut down.

* * *

I was unsuccessful at shutting my brain down.

The only thing I managed to accomplish was to physically exhaust myself, so by the time I had to leave, my legs felt heavier than lead and my eyes were gritty.

The one good thing—or acceptable thing—was that I was used to operating on next to nothing, so I made the drive on autopilot, sipping coffee that was nowhere near strong enough and hoping I could get through the day without pissing Kurt off.

I doubted he’d replace me, but I didn’t want to deal with Peter if Kurt called him and bitched.

I got to the studio lot early. Not early enough, though.

Florence’s car was already there.

Running my tongue across my teeth, I climbed out, more than a little wary.

That wariness increased when Florence’s driver climbed out and went to open the passenger door.

Florence climbed out, smiled at him before turning her attention to me. I knew right away there were going to be problems. She normally came to the set in casual clothes. When she spent half the day—or more—in costume, the casual clothes were understandable. But today, she wore a dress with a neckline that was cut low across her breasts and a skirt that revealed almost every inch of her curvy legs.

She looked amazing.

But then, Florence frequently looked amazing. She had a knockout body and knew how to accentuate it without going overboard.

As she started toward me, I slid my hands into my pockets and tried to figure out just what in the hell she was up to. She moved slowly, like a lioness on the prowl.

If it had been a few weeks ago, a month ago, I might have been intrigued. But I was tired of games and tired of her wanting me to give her more than I had in me.

She rose onto her toes and kissed me on the cheek.

I didn’t react.

“I don’t like how things ended last night,” she said, her voice low. “Could we talk?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I shrugged restlessly and leaned my hips against the car. “We got time, as early as we are.”

“Not out here.” She gave me a playful smile as a car glided past us. “This is a private kind of conversation.”

She turned on her heel and started across the lot.

I knew exactly where she was going.

And I didn’t want to go.

But shit.

I’d already told her yes.

* * *

Florence’s dressing room was a tornado of frilly lace, female fussiness, and fancy, flowery perfumes. Just standing in the doorway made me feel too out of place and crucially aware of just how big I was. The chair she sat on looked barely big enough to support a teenaged girl. If I sat on it, it would probably shatter into toothpicks. The mirror was surrounded by lights, although they were off now. The only light on was a single lamp, shaded by a delicate lavender shade.

Everything was flowery or purple. It couldn’t be any more female if it tried.

And the room suited her to a T.

As I stood awkwardly in the doorway, she sat her purse down and then turned to me.

“Come on inside, Glenn.” A smile bowed her lips upward. “Hard to talk with you hiding away like that.”

“I’m not hiding.” Irritated, I edged inside and shut the door. It stuck a little, and I leaned my shoulder into it. Once it clicked, I turned.

Immediately, I wished I hadn’t shut the damn door.

Florence had closed the distance between us and she now leaned into me like I’d leaned into the door, resting her hands on my chest.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” She licked her lips. The weight of her breasts pressed against my chest, while her hips pushed against my cock.

My body remembered hers, and we’d definitely had some good times together, so it was completely understandable when it reacted. I wasn’t dead. A woman like that presses against a man and something’s about to get a little excited.

Florence’s eyes widened, and the smile on her face took on a decidedly pleased look. “You still want me.”

“Florence, don’t do this.” I caught her hands as they slid down my chest.

“But…”

“Don’t.” I took a step forward, which forced her to back up. “Sex is easy—it’s physical, and it’s easy.”

Her face went red, and part of me thought maybe I needed to shut up.

But I couldn’t. She had to understand.

“It’s easy,” I said again, softening my voice. “And it rarely means anything. You need to find somebody who is going to love you the way you deserve. And that guy isn’t me.”

She jerked back, the color draining from her face, replaced by a sudden, sickening pallor. “So you’re doing this for me,” she said in an ugly, awful tone.

“Florence…”

“Maybe I should say thank you,” she continued, mocking. “Thank you so much, Glenn, for leading me on all these months and making me think there was something there. You jerk! You stupid jerk!”

* * *

It was over an hour later when I finally emerged from my dressing room.

I hadn’t wanted to leave Florence when she was so upset, but once she’d started throwing things at me…well. Staying wasn’t helping either.

I needed coffee and then I—

“Maya.”

She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway.

Her eyes flitted past me, and then she went to go around me.

“Maya, wait.”

She froze when I touched her. Slowly, I let my hand fall, but I didn’t move out of her way. “Have you…” Swearing under my breath, I looked away. “How’s Florence?”

She looked back at me. “What?”

“Ah…Florence. Is she okay?”

“Funny you would ask.” She pushed her hair back but shrugged. “She sounded fine when she called me this morning. She had to come in early, and I had an errand to run.”

Frowning, I turned those words around in my head. Okay, so she hadn’t talked to her.

Still…

“I talked to her again,” I said, feeling uncomfortable as I forced the words out. I stared down the hall in the direction of Florence’s dressing room. She had to have come out.

“Maya!”

Maya turned, looking for the source, and I heard her swallow back a sigh as she saw the flustered woman hurrying down the corridor. “Hello, Helen. I was just going to get some coffee, then head to Florence’s dressing room. I have her scenes for the day—”

“She won’t answer.” The woman looked at me, then back at Florence. “I’ve been knocking for the past ten minutes, and she won’t answer.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “I’m afraid to call security after yesterday. The director is already being…” She trailed, then made a face.

“Okay.” Maya nodded before shooing Helen away. She looked at me then, eyes big and dark in her face. Her voice was strained as she said, “You said you talked to Florence. About what?”

“I…she was here when I got here. Said she wanted to talk to me. We were in her dressing room and I just…” Hell. Shoving my hand through my hair, I looked away. “She didn’t take it so well last night. I think she thought she could…persuade me to change my mind. But it’s not happening.”

“Oh, no…”

Maya spun on her heel and took off running.

I didn’t even think to ask. I took off after her.