Page 46 of The Likelihood Of You

“Oh, before I forget, before I saw that, I was coming in here to ask if you wanted to come to the apartment for a game night slash drinks thing on Friday to celebrate the end of filming. I know the official wrap party is in two weeks, but I thought we could have our own private one, away from the camera mafia, and you know, with people we can get drunk with, and when it turns weird, we won’t be released from all future projects with the company. So just me, you, Addy and Florence, I guess.”

“You and Addy… in the same room… is that wise?”

His smile faltered. “Were adults, we could be civil for one night and celebrate.”

I raise my head to look at him, and he’s standing half in the dressing room and half out into the lot. I let myself take in everything he just said to me, and only then does it click. “Wait, celebrate the end of filming? I thought we were still a month off?”

He draws in his brows. “Nah, man, we finish next Friday. Did no one tell you?”

“No.”

Because not telling Jacob things was now rule number one during this shoot.

I shake my head softly at him, the realisation of what the end of filming means slowly filtering into my head. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Has Florence already said yes?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Addy just went to ask her.” He turned his head as if something caught his attention as he opened the door wider. “Oh… hey.”

I recognised the glow from Addy’s hair on the door before I saw her, and not a second later, she stood with Nate in the doorway, passing him a quick smile before turning to face me.

“She said yes. We just need you, Jacob, to make it the smallest wrap party in history!” she sings the last part, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Um, sure. Yeah, sounds great.” I grit out, standing up from my chair, the leather peeling itself from my jeans as I do. I go to grab my backpack and join them at the entrance to the room. “Just text me a time, and I’ll be there,” I say, nudging past the both of them, shooting them a half smile.

As I head for the studio exit, I stick to the thought that Florence just said yes to going to a gathering that I’m going to. Granted, it was with Addy and Nate, but still, this meant she didn’t hate me. I knew she didn’t anyway, but it’s nice to have reassurance.

But then another thing boards my train of thought.

This gathering is happening because we don’t have anything left to film. The movie is done. Part of me is over the fucking moon because, my God, has this been a difficult shoot. I’ll be happy to see the end of Wes and his self-entitled ass and stupid facial hair. But the majority of me is a mixture of worry and anticipation.

Where does this leave me and Florence if we don’t technically work together anymore?

I reach the door with the neon exit sign strung above it, my feet picking up their pace, but as I grab the handle and open the doortowards me, I stop, the text tone of my phone pricking up my ears and slowing my body to a halt.

My hand delved into the pocket where my phone was and dragged it out; my mind was secretly begging that it wasn’t another paragraph rant from Charlie. Since that meeting with him, he’s been on my ass about everything, so having to skim through a hefty text compiled of capital letters and professionally suggestive curse words would delay my plans. And I’d happily rather slot my phone through a sewer grate if itwashim.

I reluctantly put my attention on the screen, the maximum level brightness forcing my eyes to squint, but not so much that I didn’t miss that the text had come from something a lot scarier than Charlie. Someone who made my heart threaten to flatline and my blood run cold.

And I had a feeling I’d finally figured out who this unknown number belonged to.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Today 13:03PM

Jacob, I really need your help. I don’t know who else to go to.

Chapter seventeen

Jacob

It was too convenient for that unknown number not to be Darcie. Who else would be asking for help from me who wasn’t already in my contacts list? No-one. It made too much sense not to be her. After I left the lot, I went online to see just how much damage those Tweets caused.

Unsurprisingly, the damage was bad.

Her followers were dropping by the thousands, brands were releasing statements saying that they don’t associate with her or her name anymore, and her fellow influencer ‘friends’ were fending for themselves by deleting all of their posts that had her smug face painted in them. Her platform was crumbling right before my eyes, which was why I was so sure it was her who’d texted me.

That was the other issue: how the fuck did someone I’d blocked so long ago get a hold of my number?

And just like that, Darcie James was consuming my thoughts again.

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