Page 104 of One Life to Loathe

“You’re doing a good job.”

Once Daisy was gone, I focused on my phone to see if Sam had messaged an update. I clicked on my email when I realized I had a new message, and almost fell over when I read what my manager had sent me.

It was short and sweet.

You got the role. Good job. They expect you on set one week after you finish with the first season of Evermore. We won’t announce you’re leaving the show right away. We’ll give the show a chance to find good legs first. In a few months, I’ll approach Miles, and we’ll go from there.

That was it. My manager assumed it was a done deal.

This movie was everything I ever hoped for. It would be a great place to start my comeback. It was exactly what I wanted to happen.

So how come I wasn’t more excited? Why did this feel like bad news instead of good?

26

TWENTY-SIX

“What are you doing?”

I found Leo hiding beneath the bar in the speakeasy set. He was on his phone and seemingly hiding from the world.

He looked up. “I can’t be around Bethany and Sylvia right now,” he replied. “They’re monsters.”

I was amused despite myself. It had been three days since my accident. During that time, Leo had been attentive to the point of distraction. We didn’t need to hide our relationship any longer, so we’d managed to hit up a few of the restaurants in the downtown area—no more heading off the main strip for food—and life had been pretty settled. I expected Leo to start pushing me away at some point because I figured he would start freaking out about everybody watching us. If anything, the reverse was true. He seemed bolder and happier than ever.

Bethany and Sylvia were another story, however.

My bustier top—why that was the aesthetic Miles insisted on going with was beyond me—was so tight I had to contort to sit on the floor with him. Leo noticed me struggling and grabbed me around the waist.

“Lean back,” he ordered.

He reclined against the wall at an angle, so when I did the same, using him as a pillow, I could breathe again.

“I hate these tops,” I muttered as Leo brought up the article he’d been reading. It was about box office receipts being down in the streaming age.

“I like them.” Leo’s lips curved against my cheek as he made a big show of looking down my top. “Do you know what’s interesting about them?”

“The fact that they make it look as if I have boobs?”

“Huge boobs,” he corrected. “I’m still uncertain how that’s even happening.” He dropped his phone and moved his hands over my top. They hovered there a moment as he sent me a questioning look.

“Are you asking for permission to touch my boobs?” I was both touched and amused by his gentlemanly show of respect.

“Yes.”

“Go nuts.”

“Thank you.” He kept his hands out of my shirt as he felt the bustier’s seams. “Now, I’ve had these things in my hands so many times over the past few weeks I’ve lost count.”

“These things?”

“That’s what I said.” He smacked a kiss against my cheek. “I happen to like them a great deal. These tops are causing mirages of some sort, though, because you look like Pamela Anderson in these and it makes zero sense.”

His scientific approach to the problem made me laugh. “You are just too much.”

“I like them at night when there’s nothing on them.” He kissed my cheek again. “I don’t know how I feel about these tops because they have every guy in the crew staring hard. It frustrates me.”

“Are you saying you’re a toxic alpha donkey?”

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