Page 1 of One Life to Loathe

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ONE

“Would you like a cocktail?”

The flight attendant, a perky brunette with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes, leaned over and fixed me with a “hurry it along” look. Her job was to be friendly and wait on people in first class. I’d never traveled in first class before, but my expectations were off the charts. That didn’t mean she wanted me to drag things out and make her life more difficult.

There was just one little problem.

I, Samantha Summers, wanted to savor every moment of my big break. Yes, I’d finally gotten my big break. Or at least I hoped that’s what it would turn into. Since I’d moved to New York at the age of eighteen to try to work my way up in the theater world only to move to California at twenty-five to try my hand at movies and television, I’d been waiting for my “big break” for a long time.

I’d finally gotten it.

I hoped.

No, I prayed.

No, I wished on a star.

“What?” I blurted dumbly when the flight attendant kept looking at me.

“What do you want to drink?” she gritted out.

Then I remembered that my big break meant nothing to her. The fact that I’d been tapped to be one of the leads on a new supernatural soap opera—one they were going all out for and filming in Salem, Massachusetts—meant absolutely nothing to her.

“I’ll have a rum and Diet Coke,” I said lamely.

The flight attendant didn’t respond. She just turned on her heel and left to collect more orders. Rum and Diet Coke? Did it get more bland than that? It was all I could think of, though. I was so accustomed to drinking diet soda now that I couldn’t even sip regular soda. It tasted like I was downing straight sugar. A woman who was about to hit it big—or at least make enough money so that she wasn’t supplementing her income serving as a hostess at the sort of restaurant she could never afford to eat at—didn’t drink rum and Diet Coke. I was going to have to come up with a signature drink. That’s all there was to it.

I shifted in my seat and glanced to my left, to where an empty seat remained. The production company forEvermorehad sprung for first class for my trip to the East Coast. That was a good sign to me. They were putting a lot of money into this production. Filming it in actual Salem meant big things.

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

I’d been considering leaving the entertainment business when I auditioned for the role. I was getting bit parts here and there—guest spots in procedurals and hospital shows mostly—but I’d always dreamed of being an actress. Sure, a supernatural soap opera could go cheesy, but I was okay with that.Dark Shadowswas still revered for a reason, and this wasn’t a daytime soap opera. It was a streaming soap opera. It would have a ten-episode first season—the network had already committedand was forking out millions of dollars for each episode—and if things went well, it could have a good run. That’s what I was hoping for anyway.

I was thirty, so this felt like my last shot at doing anything with my dream. My parents had always been supportive—my mother saw anything and everything I was in—but even they were starting to make noise about my future plans. They used all the words I didn’t want to hear. Stability was the big one. And they weren’t wrong. I needed stability in my life. If this worked out, though, I could move back to the East Coast, which I vastly preferred to the West Coast, and make enough to buy an actual house.

I didn’t need a lot of money. I knew I was never going to be Jennifer Lawrence or Emma Stone. If I could be Sandra Oh or even Melanie Lynskey, however, I would be happy. I knew it was too late for me to blow up and be Nicole Kidman. I just wanted to make a living doing what I loved, and this was my biggest break.

Supernatural soap operas were hit or miss, and I had to temper my expectations with that reality. For everyBuffy the Vampire SlayerandThe Vampire Diariesthere was aMidnight, TexasorThe Fadesthat flopped. The pilot script I’d read had been good, though. As long as the actors committed, the audience would as well. I had faith in that. I had to, because if this show failed, I would have no choice but to figure out what my future looked like without acting, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I was so caught up in my heavy thoughts—and still chastising myself for ordering a rum and Diet Coke—that I almost missed the man who had stopped directly next to my chair. My first instinct was that it was the flight attendant returning with my drink … and likely a snarl. Instead, I found a delicious hunk of a man standing over me.

He was tall—six foot three if I had to guess—with a shock of dark brown hair falling over his forehead and searing blue eyes. He was dressed in standard jeans and a pullover, but there was something intense about the way he was eyeing me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, suddenly unsure of myself. I’d double and triple-checked my ticket to make sure I was in the proper seat. I couldn’t believe production had sprung for first class. Now I was second-guessing myself again. Was I in his seat?

The man pointed.

I touched my chest. “I … don’t know what that means.”

His lips curved down. “That’s my seat.” His voice was low and gravelly.

“Oh.” My stomach sank, and I stood up. Of course I was in the wrong seat. Wait … where was the right seat? Would I not get my rum and Diet Coke? Did they even have room on this plane for me? What would happen if I missed my flight to Boston? Would they replace me with someone who didn’t miss flights?

The man made an exasperated sound in his throat when I didn’t immediately move and bumped me with his hip as he tried to get around me. Several things became obvious at once. He was not suggesting I was sitting in his seat. He was after the window seat. Also, his body was ridiculously solid … and warm. I knew that because he had to press himself against me to get to his spot. I’d made it almost impossible for him to get around me.

There was a moment when I stopped breathing. He was facing me, his kissed-by-angels face looking down at mine, and it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the plane. That moment was fleeting, though, because his glare sucked all the warmth out of the moment, and when he flopped down in his seat, I knew this wasn’t going to be some plane meet-cute I would someday tell my children about. It wasn’t just that he was giving me a dirty look. No, he was boasting the scowl of the ages.