Page 53 of Falling Like Stars

“Fucking hell.” I rub my face and wince at the scratches.

My Oscar sitting on the end table gives me a flash of Eva screeching at me about my speech. I can’t remember what exactly. Maybe I don’t want to.

I spy my phone on the floor and pick it up. There are a bunch of congratulatory texts and calls from family and friends, and one text from Eva, left two minutes ago.

Coffee? I’ll get your favorite. xoxoxox <3

I try again—and fail again—to recall what happened last night.

“She didn’t…” The kisses and hugs and heart emojis stare up at me, innocent and cute, while my skin is scratched from last night’s fury. “Fuck.”

I delete Eva’s text. Then block her number. Then find my assistant and hit call.

“Good morning, Oscar-winning actor, Zachary Butler!” Andrew says too-loudly. “That’s how they’re going to bill you on every single project from now on. I’m so happy for you—”

“Andrew, listen,” I say, heading back up the stairs. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” he says, instantly taking it down ten notches. “Are you okay? You sound terrible. Too much celebrating?”

“Andrew.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

In the bedroom, I head to the immense closet, put my phone on speaker, and toss it onto the settee in the middle. Then I grab a bag and start packing.

“I need you to call my attorney, Jackson Smith and have him call Eva. He’s to tell her she has one week to get all of her shit out of the house. If she protests—which she will—Jackson should remind her that I bought it, she doesn’t have the financial means to keep it, and that I’m going to sell it. One week and then I change the locks. Are you getting this?”

“Yeah, boss,” Andrew says softly. “What else?

I throw pants, shirts, underwear, into the bag. “All communications from Eva now have to go through Jackson. She’s to have zero contact with me. Then I need you to block her on all my socials and clear my schedule for the next week. I’m unreachable.”

“Okay, but Zach, you have, like, ten meetings next week, including a pitch from that new exec at Warner Bros. and a message from Scorsese’s people. Not to mention, every major outlet wants a sit-down interview and photo spread with you since your Oscar win.”

“Postpone all of it,” I say, zipping the bag and hefting it over my shoulder.

“And post-production for Midnight Skies?”

This makes me pause, a pang in my chest. “I need a week to get my head clear or I’ll be useless. Tell Roger I’ll be back next Monday.”

“Sure,” Andrew says hesitantly. “Hey, Zach. Are you okay?”

I stop in front of my drawers and pull out the box that holds my family’s antique engagement ring. “Not really,” I say, and stuff it into the bag. “But I’m wide awake.”

“Um, okay. Where are you going to be all week?”

“Chateau Marmont,” I say bitterly, and head downstairs. “Isn’t that where all the celebrities with huge drama go to hide out?”

“You admitted you’re a celebrity. Now I’m really worried. Can I bring you anything? Or do anything—?”

“Only what I told you,” I say. I’m in the living room now, and my Oscar is still on the table. Like a sentinel standing guard over what was.

“Okay, sure,” Andrew says. “Anything you want, boss.”

What I want…

I leave the house and let the door bang shut behind me.

Chapter Fifteen

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