Page 73 of Fool's Gold

It isn’t fair.

Especially after Marcus made such a big fucking deal about negotiating my contract to avoid that kind of schedule.

Thinking about him again tears a hole right through my heart, and I swallow down the pain, hoping none of it shows on my face.

“We’re thinking of a few months in New York City, but it shouldn’t take any longer than four. I’m not a merciless overlord.”

The way Damon suppresses a sneer, I know exactly what he’s referencing.

Not what, who.

I want to drop my head in my lap and disappear. No doubt, word about the breakneck pace and Marcus and his awful behavior got around to the rest of the biz.

Gossip travels faster than the speed of light in this town.

I might not be the center of the spiral this time, but I’m caught in the swirl, as usual.

I slowly straighten, sighing through my teeth. It’s time for me to learn how to navigate this properly. Otherwise every project I choose to take on in the future will turn into the same snarled mess.

“You got the role, Miss Stone. Congratulations again.”

I shake Damon’s hand a second time before Jacob escorts me out, his hand light on the small of my back. The barest touch of pressure, yet I’m intimately aware of his presence. Because it’s light and sweet and wrong.

I’m so fucked up. My body throbs, but not for him.

Jacob glances sideways at me, his profile strong and dazzling. “Are you excited?”

He doesn’t have to go after women with his looks. They simply fall at his feet and beg him for a chance. Even going out to dinner last night, the server nearly tripped over her tongue when she realized who sat at the table in her section. It became only too clear she had eyes for Jacob and none for me.

“I am,” I reply automatically. “I mean it. This is going to be a lot of fun,”

“You’re just excited about going to New York City. I hear you’re a huge fan of Broadway shows.”

I nod and say, “My parents took me to see several before their death. I’d say they were more the fans, not me. But yes, I hope I can see at least one while we’re there.”

Jacob steps ahead to hold open the door for me. I reach into my purse and draw out a pair of Gucci shades, then slide them up my nose.

“I’m going to make it my business to ensure you do,” he says.

Sliding my sunglasses down my down, I flutter my lashes at him. “My hero.”

“Always. It’s my pleasure.” His tone is so serious I snort. “Now, how do you feel about going for coffee?”

“I’d say it’s a good idea. I could use a caffeine bump. It’s like I can’t get enough sleep these days.”

I loop my hand through his elbow. The reality of the situation hits me like someone pulling a bag off my face. The sunlight, the busy street, life going by… We’re two people in a fantasy career, but I’ve never felt more normal. For a brief second, there are no worries. There are no stressors.

I’ve got one film in the books and another preparing to start in a month.

Being with Jacob is light and breezy and no pressure.

Boring.

The insidious voice in my head whispers the word, and it takes root with hooked barbs. I scowl, Jacob too busy chatting about the rest of his afternoon plans to realize.

We round the corner and meet a wall of photographers. Cameras flash in unison, louder than a chorus of cicadas in the summer, and amid the clicks, their voices rise. Each one fires off a question and gets louder the longer we stand there, deer-in-the-headlights style, all of them vying to be heard.

“Mr. Kessler! Miss Stone!”

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