Page 27 of One Life to Loathe

“He’s quite good looking, too,” Sylvia noted. “You would be smart to hitch your wagon to him. He’s going places, and even when you age out, he’s going to be able to get you significant supporting roles.”

“It’s not like that.” Sam looked scandalized. “We were just talking about filming locations.”

I believed her. Sylvia and Bethany wouldn’t, of course. They were too invested in the gossip. I believed her, though. That didn’t mean Miles was some innocent lamb. No, I was worried that he would eventually take advantage of Sam’s naïveté and lead her to the slaughter.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said, my eyes going toward the kitchen door as the server approached. “Promotional photos aren’t a big deal. We can get through them in a few hours. As forSam and Miles, give me a break. Miles is too focused on the show to take it to a weird place. Leave her alone.”

The table fell into silence for several seconds. When I looked up, I found both Bethany and Sylvia watching me with unreadable eyes. They looked as if they were sorting things out.

“Can I order breakfast?” I asked the approaching server, grateful to have a reason to leave this conversation in the dust.

“Absolutely,” she said. “What will it be?”

I didn’t even look at the menu. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to get through this meal. Then the rest of the day would be a piece of cake.

“YOU NEED TO BE CLOSER THAN THAT.”

Miles looked exasperated as he watched Sam and I pose with one another in the gazebo. We were the last two to finish up. All the group photos had been completed almost an hour before. They were looking for something torrid for us, though, and it was not going well.

It seemed Sam didn’t want to touch me.

Well, that was fine. I wasn’t keen on touching her either.

“We’re practically on top of each other,” Sam complained. They’d dressed her in skintight black pants and a purple bustier top that put her assets—which hadn’t looked all that ample until I’d seen her in the top—on full display.

“You guys are missing the point,” Miles argued. He wasn’t angry as much as frustrated. “Yes, this is a show with a lot of mythology. We’re going to delve into that in each and every episode. At the core of it, though, this show is a love story. You guys need to sell that, and you can’t if you act like he’s about to give you lice.”

Sam immediately reached up and scratched her scalp. It was the “lice” effect. Whenever someone said the word, you foundyourself growing itchy … whether you were afflicted or not. I broke out in a grin.

“I can see them creeping through your hair right now,” I teased.

She shot me a dirty look. “You cannot.” She scratched again. “Right?”

I chuckled. “No lice,” I promised her. “If I saw lice, I wouldn’t hesitate to say something.”

“I shouldn’t have said the L-word,” Miles admitted. “That won’t happen again. Here.” He bumped me out of the way with his hip and slid his hand around Sam’s waist. “We don’t want any space between your bodies.” He snapped her to him, and I swear I momentarily saw red when her body collided with his.

“Oomph.” Sam’s cheeks turned a bright pink color, and she was a little breathless when she looked up into Miles’s intense features. Was that attraction she was trying to mask there? Because that’s what it looked like. Sure, it could’ve been embarrassment—it was obvious the snide words over breakfast had stuck with her—but her reaction seemed like something other than embarrassment.

“You’re selling the love story,” Miles insisted. “You’re two beautiful people—I mean, you’re really beautiful, Sam—and you’re about to embark on a love story that will touch millions of people. I need you to sell it, though.” He stared hard into Sam’s eyes, which only served to irritate me further.

“I’ve got this.” I reached around him and snagged her wrist, determinedly pulling her away from him. “Just … give me a second.”

Miles didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Okay. We’ll take five minutes. Talk yourselves through this.” He motioned for the photographer to follow him to the coffee stand. Neither of them asked if we wanted anything.

“We have to get through this,” I said to her. “We can’t drag this out. It will cost extra money. Is that what you want?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course that’s not what I want.”

“Well, then play along.” I pulled her against me, something inside of me groaning when her body plastered itself against mine. I was a good eight inches taller than her and yet her body seemed to fit mine in all the right places. How was that even possible?

“I really am trying,” she insisted. “It’s just … not working.”

“You’re not letting it work.” My tone was gruff, even though I wasn’t really irritated with her. I was more irritated with myself than anything. Why was she affecting me this way? “You’re too focused on not getting close. You want to give the appearance of being close without actually touching me. That is not going to work.”

“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

I frowned and looked down, immediately wishing I hadn’t because the first glimpse I saw was of her cleavage. Seriously, did they stuff that top to give her a helping hand? Or had I just not been paying attention? “Why would I feel uncomfortable?” I barked.

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