Ivy lay across the bed, her red hair fanned out across the white pillow beneath her head. Her green eyes sparkled and shone in the soft lighting, and she writhed beneath the sheets, her lips parted, her gaze growing hazy.
Soft moans filled my ears, and I grimaced.
I hated the view.
My reason for hating it had nothing to do with the visual of Ivy herself but the Hollywood Heartthrob strategically placing his hands all over Ivy’s silky smooth skin.
Fuck, while I was making admissions of my loathing, I might as well cop to hating my reason for hating the view.
His hands were all over her, his fingers strategically sliding across the stunning planes of soft curves and flawless skin, and I was Roid Rage-level jealous. Out of my mind, clenching fists, overflowing with seething hate jealous.
Just two days ago, she’d had her hands on me and her tongue in my mouth, and I’d been a huge, spiteful dick.
God, she’d felt good. Her perfect ass in my hands. Her little hips grinding against me at a maddening pace. My hard cock nestled against her denim-covered pussy.
If we hadn’t been interrupted, would I have stopped?
I doubted I wanted to know the real answer to that question.
“Grace,” Johnny murmured into her ear, and I grimaced…again.
Under the layers of Johnny and Ivy and my rampant jealousy lay another connection I didn’t want to face. Me and Grace.
I averted my eyes from the scene before me and ran a hand through my hair.
I just wanted to be numb. To my past. To my present. To my fucking future.
I didn’t want to feel anything. I didn’t want to rehash my mistakes with Grace and my responsibility for her fate, and I didn’t like the nagging pull to try again. Relationships weren’t for me. It’d been fucking proven.
Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are feeling something.
With a mind of its own, my gaze moved back to the bed. I couldn’t stop watching her.
I couldn’t stop myself from imagining taking Johnny’s place.
I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what her real moans would sound like when I slid inside of her.
I wanted to know what she tasted like, how tight she’d feel around my cock. I wanted to know it all. Ivy fucking Stone had a very real effect on me.
God, I wish I could hate her for it.
“Cut!” Boyce called from his chair, pulling me from my incessant thoughts and giving my eyes a much-needed reprieve. He took off his headphones and walked over a few wire cables and onto the infamous set that was supposed to be Grace’s bedroom.
It was a half-assed remake of her bedroom, by the way. Too dark. Too modern. It looked nothing like the light and airy, overly feminine bedroom it had been when she was alive. Where sleek white sheets currently lay, frilly pillowcases and a yellow-and-pink patched quilt would have been in their place.
And her nightstand wouldn’t have been anywhere near that clean. If it were really her bedroom, that very same nightstand would’ve been cluttered with books, reading glasses, and the ridiculous retainer she used to wear because she was adorably obsessed with dental health and having the straightest teeth possible.
Honestly, I was thankful those little tidbits of Grace had remained private, information privy to only her nearest and dearest.
Well, at least, it had for now. Who knew if they’d end up adding that shit in later?
Seeing that I’d been on set as a liaison for the past few days while they started to run through scenes, I’d learned quickly that anything could change.
Even the storyline.
When it came to Grace’s house, Ivy had an insider’s view. And although the bedrooms had been redone by her mom, the living room and kitchen inside her old house were still one hundred percent Grace.
I’d yet to hear Ivy mention anything regarding the difference in décor from Grace’s real home to the film set’s portrayal. But it appeared she was sensitive to the details of Grace’s life that should remain private. Either that, or she was oblivious.
I couldn’t even question it; though, I knew it was the former.
Ivy had said she wanted to portray the strong, determined, and confident woman Grace had been. She wanted to really know her. Ever since she’d arrived in Cold, Montana, Ivy had done nothing but prove her honest motivations related to Grace’s character time and time again.
Hell, she’d essentially stalked me at the station in hopes I’d talk to her about it all, about her.
And all I’d done was give her grief and misplaced anger.
I lifted a hand to my chest in a pathetic attempt to rub away the sudden discomfort growing beneath my rib cage.
“Listen, Ivy,” Boyce droned, calling my attention. “We’ve gotta get through this scene if we’re gonna be ready for Hugo to get here and start filming tomorrow.”
A quick glance to the set found Boyce looking down at Ivy. She sat on the side of the queen-sized bed with a white sheet wrapped around her body like a cocoon. Her male costar stood confidently beside her, wearing nothing but a goddamn piece of nude-colored material over his cock.
Literally, the man was just standing there with barely an inch of fabric covering his body, and he smiled like he was doing everyone on set a favor by showing off that much skin on and off camera.
“I’m having a hard time understanding this scene,” she responded. “It just feels out of place for what’s going on in the actual story. It feels like it got tossed in here at random without any real thought behind it. I know we’ve switched gears to highlight a romance element to Grace and Levi, but the way this scene is laid out, it honestly feels off to me.”
“Listen, honey.” Boyce ran a hand through his pepper-gray hair. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with how movies are made, but we pay you to act out the script that we’ve provided, no more. Leave the writing to the writers and the producing—” He jerked a thumb at himself “—to the producers.”
Wow. What an asshole. I stepped forward but stopped myself before I did something stupid like walk onto the set and tell Boyce Williams to shove his condescending attitude up his ass.
He fucking deserved it, but it wasn’t my place and I didn’t want it to be.
Right?
Fuck, Levi. Focus.
My job was to stay amenable. Provide any information I could when asked, and otherwise, just sit back and watch Hollywood make a movie about my life, knowing I literally had no say in the matter.
“Please do not talk to me like that.” Ivy stared steadily at him from her spot on the bed. “I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass. I’m trying to make sure this movie is what it should be. And I’m telling you, Boyce, no matter what you think, this scene is out of place. It’s too fast for Grace and Levi. It feels rushed.”
I found her analysis surprisingly insightful. And surprisingly accurate.
Fuck.
He pursed his lips, his annoyance visible on every inch of his puckered-up face.
He’d been in a mood since the day started, and I silently wondered if this would be his breaking point. He was a man who didn’t like to be questioned. He gave the commands, and people followed. Period.
Ivy was throwing a big fucking wrench into that agenda.
“Let me worry about what this movie should or shouldn’t be, and you just act out the fucking script you’ve been given,” Boyce retorted. “And while we’re taking a break from getting work done, the point of this scene is to show an intimate progression with Levi and Grace and to provide some sex appeal to our viewers. We can’t do that when you’ve got yourself wrapped up in the goddamn sheets like a burrito. Less sheets, more skin, okay?”
Ivy’s face morphed into disgust, but before she could respond, Boyce laid into her harder.
“I refuse to let an actress who is insecure—because her ass is ten pounds bigger than it was during auditions—to slow this production down,” he stated snidely. “My job is to make sure we do not veer off our filming schedule. We have a lot of investors who will be severely displeased if we do.”
Her strong, confident shoulders slowly sagged forward with each word that left his lips, and I wanted to throttle the insensitive piece of shit with my fist.
I’d never seen Ivy look anything but self-assured. Determined. Strong.
His words had broken her down into something far weaker and substantially more vulnerable. Pain shot through the space below my ribs and tightened my jaw.
Boyce, on the other hand, gave zero fucks. He felt no need to stop, and apparently, had no issues with laying into her in front of everyone on set.
And her costar, the self-centered asshole, didn’t say a fucking word. He was too busy winking and smirking toward a few of the female crew members standing off to the side of the set.
“I know it’s getting hard for you, seeing as you’re twenty-eight and getting older by the day. And I understand it’s hard to compete with the younger, hotter, female actresses of Hollywood, but we don’t have time to deal with insecurity bullshit, honey,” Boyce continued. “But I promise you, while we’re filming, Hugo and I will make sure we position you in such a way that the added pounds you’ve managed to gain over the past few months won’t be so visible on the camera.”
She didn’t respond. The will to fight had left her, and her gaze stayed safely at her feet.
“Do we understand each other, Ivy?”
She just nodded, and I hated the fact that his ridiculous words had managed to break her down. Ivy had nothing to worry about when it came to her body.
Lush curves, svelte figure, she was a fucking goddess.
Ten measly pounds? What bullshit.
If anything, ten pounds would’ve only made her more luscious, more curvaceous, more perfect.
And she was young. So young. Inside or outside of Hollywood, her beauty was undeniable, no matter how much I didn’t want it to be true.
She didn’t deserve any of this.
I wanted to go to her. I wanted to save her like she’d saved me the other day, but Boyce stormed back to his chair behind the camera and plopped his ass down.
“Let’s get back to it, everybody!” he shouted, and Ivy and Johnny didn’t waste any time, slowly repositioning themselves on the bed in preparation for another run-through.
God, they were a stark contrast to one another. Johnny, confident in every aspect of the word, while Ivy’s uncertainty, fragility, discomfort read like a neon flashing sign across her face.
She wasn’t ready. But unfortunately for her, everyone else was.
“Action!” Boyce yelled, and the set grew quiet, only the sounds of the two actors on the bed filling the large space.
“I need to feel you,” Johnny whispered toward her ear. “Let me feel you, Grace.”
Ivy stared up at him, her mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. Her mind a million miles away and the lines she was supposed to say even further in the distance.
Johnny improvised, sliding his hands up her arms and into her hair, but Ivy’s movements were stiff, her mouth brittle. She couldn’t have looked any more disconnected if she tried.
When she clenched her eyes shut, Boyce’s voice filled my ears on a harsh shout.
“Cut!”
Abruptly, he stood from his seat, and the clipboard that was resting in his lap fell to the concrete floor with a clanging thud. His long strides closed the distance to the set as he stormed toward the two actors adjusting themselves to a sitting position on the bed.
“Did you forget the line?” Boyce asked, his voice harsh with underlying accusations.
It was like he thought she was doing this on purpose.
Couldn’t he see she was still reeling from his uncalled-for blowout a few minutes ago? Couldn’t he see the vulnerability etched within the normally soft and sensual lines of her face?
She didn’t look like the Ivy I had come to know.
She looked broken and battered, and fuck, it was awful.
I hated it. I hated every second of seeing her so fragile, so exposed, while all eyes were on her. Judging. Scrutinizing. Making comments under their breaths to one another while Boyce’s anger stayed directed solely at Ivy.
“N-no,” she muttered. “I—”
“You…what?” he questioned through gritted teeth. “What exactly is the problem here, Ivy?”
Enough.
Before I could stop myself, my feet were in motion, moving toward the set. And between one pounding heartbeat and the next, I was standing beside Ivy. She was still seated on the bed, only two scraps of nude-colored material covering her petite frame, leaving very little to the imagination.
God, she looked so small. So tiny. So unlike Ivy. My heart ached at the sight.
I lifted the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around her slender shoulders.
Boyce’s glare turned toward me. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah,” I said, locking my gaze with his. “I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone here that she needs a minute.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, outrage shining red and fiery from the depths of his gray eyes.
Thankful that his anger was now solely fixated on me, satisfaction spilled into my veins.
Yeah, fuck you, buddy. Your anger doesn’t impress me. I feed on it. I breathe it. It’s the only thing that gets me out of the bed in the morning these days.
“You heard me,” I said. “She needs a minute.”
Boyce stared back at me, slack-jawed. Anger vibrated from every inch of his body. “This isn’t your place.”
I ignored him and gently placed my hands on Ivy’s arms as I helped ease her to a standing position. I fixed the sheet as she stood, ensuring that it covered her entire body. She deserved some fucking dignity in this moment.
Her eyes met mine, green gaze searching and uncertain at the same time. She was too lost inside her own head to rationally work through the situation.
But that was okay. She didn’t have to. I would do it for her.
“This, what you’re doing right now, isn’t your place either,” I responded, a calm quiet overtaking my voice. “I don’t know much about filmmaking, but I’m sure your investors and director wouldn’t be too keen on the fact that you’re berating your lead actress until she can’t physically finish a scene.” I looked toward the rest of the crew on the set—the cameramen, the wardrobe team, the lighting crew—and all I saw staring back at me was understanding and relief.
The only person who appeared oblivious to it all was Johnny Atkins.
My eyes met Boyce’s again. “And seeing that I’m the liaison between this town and the film, I can tell you that our board members and our community would not be okay with the way you’re treating the actress who is portraying Grace Murphy. So, like I said before, she needs a minute,” I repeated and led Ivy off the set without another word.
No one tried to stop us. Ivy stayed silent. And for once in her stubborn life, she just let me lead her without any questions.
When we reached her makeshift dressing room at the back of the first-floor hallway, she shuffled inside, the long white sheet dragging across the tile floor as she went.
The instant I shut the door behind us, her emotions boiled and simmered over until she couldn’t hold them back any longer.
A myriad of feelings seeped from her pores. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. It was all there, in the firm, straight line of her lips, in the few tears dripping down her cheeks, and in the now-dimmed emerald of her normally bright eyes.
Silence overtook the space.
She paced the room, soft footsteps gliding on the new carpet, while I stayed standing near the door. It probably wasn’t my place to be there, but I just couldn’t find the strength to leave her like this.
The seconds bled into minutes, and eventually, once her tears had stopped and her foggy green eyes grew clear, she stopped in front of me.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked on a whisper, her gaze unrelenting as it searched mine for an answer.
“I couldn’t not do it,” I said. And that was the truth. We’d both been in that old office two days ago, and we both knew how it ended. I couldn’t explain how we’d gotten from that moment to this one any more than she could.
She threw both hands out toward her sides. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
She squinted her eyes, and I knew I had to give her more than what I’d been giving. I couldn’t just slide everything under the rug and hope it’d go away. And more than that, she deserved to hear the truth from my lips, not some watered-down, numbed-out version of my own stubborn, angry, tortured making.
“I just didn’t like seeing you look so vulnerable in front of all of those people,” I said softly. “I couldn’t not step in and protect you from that.”
She didn’t say a word, only stared up at me with those big green eyes of hers.
God, those eyes. They fucking slay me.
“You’re beautiful, Ivy.” For once, I gave her the truth. “So goddamn beautiful, and Boyce Williams is a fucking asshole for making you question it. Your face. Your body. Every fucking inch of you is conscientiously stunning.”
“Oh, trust me, I know how you feel about my appearance,” she retorted sarcastically. “You made it all pretty fucking clear when you let me know you would have no issues with fucking me. It’s just that whole feeling something for me that’s way out of your depth.”
I grimaced. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that.
Not just because it made her feel bad, but because it was far from the actual truth.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel something for her.
It was that I didn’t want to feel something for her.
I’d lost all control of my feelings when I’d pulled over her speeding, stubborn, little white-lying ass when she’d first arrived in town.
I deserved her angered words and backlash. And more than that, she deserved my apology.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I said, and the forest green in her eyes softened to emerald. “I shouldn’t have said that. You just…you overwhelm me.” I let her see the remorse and discomfort I felt from those cruel words I’d said, exposing myself in a way I hadn’t in years. “I’m sorry about a lot of things, Ivy. There’s just so much more to this than you even realize.”
I waited while she processed my words. It took more time than I was comfortable with, but thinking any amount of time would have felt differently was bullshit. It was the openness that simmered in me, not the time.
Eventually, she gave me a small, simple nod.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I asked, uncertain of her far too short response.
“Yeah, okay,” she repeated. “I accept your apology.”
A breath I didn’t even know I was holding left my lungs. “Okay.”
“Thank you for stepping in today.” She wrapped the white sheet around herself tighter. “I really needed that.”
Just like I needed you during the read-through…
I startled at my own thoughts.
Anxiety crept up my throat and clamped down on my voice box like a vise.
I felt like my brain was at war with itself. One side was wanting so badly to hate Ivy, not to feel anything related to her. But the other side was completely unable to follow through.
I looked down at her, and she looked up at me, her gaze open and vulnerable again, and oh so willing, but I couldn’t reciprocate it. I couldn’t give her anything else.
What I had already given felt like too much.
Two soft knocks to the door broke our eye contact.
“Ivy! You in there?” a female voice asked from the other side.
“Yeah.”
“Boyce would like to know if you want to break for lunch or finish running through the scene first?”
“Uh…” She glanced at me and then back at the door. “Tell him I’ll be out in two minutes.”
Her eyes met mine again, but for as mesmerizing as they were, I found my gaze flitting briefly to her lips.
Fuck. She needed to get back on set, and I needed to put some distance between us before I did something crazy like kiss her again.
“I guess that’s my cue,” I said and turned toward the door, but her hand on my shoulder stopped me.
Our eyes met again, and my heart felt like it was pounding inside my throat.
“Thanks, Levi,” she said. “Thank you for today.”
“You’re welcome,” I responded, the words thick on my tongue.
She felt too close. I needed distance.
So, I found the much-needed space by leaving her dressing room.
But it didn’t matter. The damage had already been done.
Ivy Stone was a permanent track in my life, and someone had set it to repeat.