Nerves fried already, I nearly came out of my skin as Levi slammed his door with a crack and stalked toward the station.
Did I really just kiss him?
Sweet merciful shotgun, I was so fucking mortified, I daydreamed briefly about going back to Joe Morris’s land and having him put me out of my misery.
The decision to kiss Levi had been so sudden it was nonexistent, and looking back, I couldn’t even pinpoint it as a moment in time. I’d been sitting there, trying to get a word in edgewise as he yelled and berated and called my intelligence into question again and again. His features had been severe and intense, but I remembered thinking they were so obviously involved.
My well-being and the threat to it—that was what had him hysterical.
And, God, even madder than fire, he’d looked so good.
The next thing I knew, I was on him like white on rice.
I could still feel the tingle of his lips on mine, the recklessness with which he’d kissed me back branded on my body like a physical mark. I didn’t even think he’d known he was doing it, maybe still didn’t know that he had, but Levi Fox, one of the biggest assholes I’d ever met, had just given me the best kiss of my life.
As a result, I suspected he hated me even more. My response? The opposite.
To say I was intrigued by him would have been the understatement of the century.
For some inexplicable reason, I felt drawn to Levi like a moth to a flame.
How in the hell was I supposed to deal with that?
Flurries floated mindlessly to the ground outside the window of Grace’s house as Boyce Williams, producer on Cold, droned on from his spot at the kitchen table. The sun was setting over the tops of the still lush evergreens on the property, and the evening appeal of a good stiff drink had never looked better.
I was trying hard to listen to every word and detail as he shuffled through the beginning of the script and a few small changes they’d had the screenwriter make, but I was too lost in the chaos of my thoughts.
They were the exact opposite of the steady calm snow outside, and they heated my cheeks to a ruby shine.
I’d been the one to kiss Levi Fox.
But, Jee-zus, he’d wrecked me.
So much so I couldn’t fucking concentrate.
“…So, in the opening scene, when Grace was in the station alone, weaving through file after file of information on the victims, we’re going to have Levi Fox be there with her instead.”
My head jerked up at the sound of his name.
“Levi Fox?”
Boyce nodded as though I’d been following along all this time. “Yeah. The research team thinks highlighting a male and female lead will make the film resonate with more male viewers.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course, they thought people would care more about the movie if it wasn’t all about a woman.
“Plus, adding a romance aspect to the film will appeal to more viewers in general.”
“A romance aspect?” I questioned. That definitely hadn’t been a part of the original screenplay.
Grace’s determination, her strength, her character, her sacrifice? Yes.
But romance? No.
“Yes, between Grace and Levi.”
“But I thought the point was to keep it as close to factual as possible…”
Grace and Levi had been coworkers. Two cops who were striving to solve an important case in a small town. A case that involved a serial killer.
What in the fuck did romance have to do with that?
Boyce tilted his head, each degree of the cocked angle taking his condescension to a douchier level. “It’s based on a true story, Ivy. But it’s not a fucking documentary. The goal is to make money.”
Pain pricked as I clamped down on my tongue. It was gearing up to run away, I could feel it, and the last thing I needed to do was lose my job. If I blew this, it’d be the top of an ugly downward spiral to nothingness. But beyond that, I’d be doing Grace Murphy a huge disservice. I knew for a fact that no other Hollywood diva they could bring up here would care even one iota as much as I did about getting her right.
Boyce sighed. “Just go over the changes with a fine-tooth comb. Johnny Atkins will be up here in a week and a half to start filming, and the two of you will need to be on the same page.”
I nodded. I knew all about the director, Hugo Roman, and his unyielding demands for instant chemistry. I hadn’t worked with him before, but tales ran wide of his propensity to shoot love scenes first, just to make sure the male and female lead had the heat necessary to take his film to the top of the box office.
I attempted to picture Johnny Atkins as I thumbed through the script long after Boyce left me to my solitude. I endeavored to see his smile when Grace exchanged jokes with him, his heavy scowl when she did something he didn’t like, and his long lash-rimmed eyes when his stare scrutinized Grace’s choices.
I tried.
The only problem was that I knew Levi Fox—he was complicated and layered and hotter than any man I’d ever laid eyes on, in person or otherwise.
And I wasn’t sure that Johnny Atkins’s version, no matter what he did, would ever be able to live up to the real one.
Laughter rang out in the open space around Ruby Jane’s as I slammed the door shut on my rental and pulled the front of my coat tighter around my body. The red neon in the apostrophe was dimmer than the rest of the sign, and the brown building looked worn from years of use. As the only watering hole in Cold, Montana, though, I suspected the lack of curb appeal did nothing to diminish a steady flow of patrons.
I had on my fancy jeans and a lavender cashmere sweater, but the day of activity in the snow had done a number on my brown suede ankle booties. They had stains and irreversible damage that would make any fashionista cry. I, perversely, now had hopes that they would bring my outfit down a couple of notches, to a level that would blend.
I wanted a drink and I wanted the hum of public noise, but I wasn’t in the mood to be noticed. The irony was almost too rich—an up-and-coming Hollywood actress trying to avoid attention.
Trust me, no matter what they say publicly, it’s usually the other way around.
Cold, brass door handle in both hands, I had to lean all of my body weight into the door to get it open. That should have tipped me off.
But I was too busy thinking about what I’d order to heed any warning born of common sense.
Just barely in the door, I surveyed the room as I let the door fall closed behind me. But the suction of the indoors and the wind from outside were too strong and my body too slight, and before I knew it, I was careening forward in a film-worthy fall that ended on my hands and knees thanks to a solid wood slap in the ass.
Grit from people’s shoes and undissolved ice salt stung sharply in the palms of my hands, purple bruise blood pooled at my knees, and, perhaps above all, humiliation ached in the pit of my stomach.
Silence descended as bar-goers noticed my less than graceful entrance one by one. Head down beneath my protective curtain of hair, I stayed there, waiting for absolution to swallow me whole.
Square-toed boots stopped just short of my fingertips, and the dagger to my pride sank a little deeper. Up the denim, my gaze began its march to find the owner, and when it did, I knew I had my answer.
Just like Rose, lonely and freezing in the middle of the cold Atlantic as the Titanic went down, it didn’t matter how much I prayed.
For me, tonight, absolution would never come—only a conundrum named Levi Fox staring down at me.