Page 152 of Merry Me
The silence was starting to eat at me, slow and steady, like water wearing down stone. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she was just tired. Or maybe the magic had faded the second I stepped onto that plane.
I shifted my weight, my drenched costume sticking to my skin, the fake rain continuing its downpour from the rig above like it had something to prove.
Had she found it? The necklace—the note—I’d tucked it deep in the side pocket of her suitcase before I left.
Had she read it? Had she understood what I was trying to say?
She hadn’t mentioned it, and the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of everything—my lines, my focus, the scene I was supposed to be pouring my soul into.
“Easton! Let’s go!”
Paul’s voice cracked like thunder through the megaphone, his tone pure frustration. He waved me forward with a dramatic gesture, clearly on the verge of combusting.
“We need moreintensityin this take. You’re supposed to beheartbroken, not distracted. Reset!”
I lifted a hand in acknowledgment, running it back through my rain-soaked hair, droplets trailing down my temple and jaw. The water was cold. The lights were hot. My patience was nonexistent.
All I could think about was beingdone.
Done with the scene. Done with this shoot. Done with being anywhere that wasn’t wrapped around Natalie.
I rolled my shoulders and started back toward my mark when I heard the unmistakable click of heels behind me.
Vanessa.
Of course.
She sauntered up slowly, her black dress clinging to her like it had been painted on. Her dark hair was slicked back from the rain, and her lips were curved in that same slow smile that always made me want to roll my eyes.
“Drenched looks good on you,” she purred.
She stepped in close, too close, her hand sliding down my chest—slow, deliberate—before pressing against the front of my pants, her fingers brushing over me like it was hers to touch.
“Bet you’d feel even better out of those wet clothes,” she murmured. “My trailer’s waiting.”
My hand snapped out and gripped her wrist in a flash, yanking it away with enough force to make her gasp.
From the crew’s angle, it probably looked like nothing. Just another costar interaction. But I was done letting her get away with this shit.
“Touch me again,” I growled, “and let’s see if you can hold a pen after.”
Her eyes flicked wide for a second, but I didn’t stop.
“I’ve told you…don’ttouch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even fucking look at me unless we’re rolling.”
She started to speak, lips parting in some feigned confusion or comeback, but I stepped in—close enough for her to see I wasn’t bluffing.
“I love someone. And you?” I snorted. “You’re not even in the sameleague. Pull that shit again, and I’ll report you so fast you’ll be lucky to land a toothpaste commercial.”
Vanessa froze, stunned silent.
“Now back the fuck off,” I snapped, turning away without another glance.
Silence stretched behind me—a pause thick with disbelief.
Then her voice floated after me, light but cracked at the edges. “Your loss.”
She turned on her heel and stalked off, back to her mark with her spine a little too straight, her shoulders a little too tense.
