Page 38 of First Impressions of You

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reaches out and strokes his thumb over the back of my hand soothingly. “There’s only one person to blame here, and it’s Davis.”

My first impression of him wasn’t wrong.

I should’ve known to trust my instincts. He was starting to fool me. I was starting to believe that I had been too quick to judge him, but now I know I was right all along. Winter isn’t a nice person. And he isn’t just a rude, snobby asshole.

What he did to Graham is on a different level. It’s unforgivable. He stole his work. His art.

I feel like screaming. I want to purge all this frustration from inside of me. I feel betrayed. Used. I feel stupid. I should’ve never trusted him.

Chapter 10

Rehearsals start the next day, and to say it’s awkward is underplaying it. I don’t think I can look at Winter. I’m afraid I’ll want to wrap my hands around his throat. Or snap at him for being so cruel.

The entire cast is supposed to meet at the 441 building, but fate decides to play a little joke on me, and I end up running into him right at the Sheriff’s Gate, the employees’ entrance on Film Strip.

I haven’t seen him since that day at wardrobe, and somehow, I’d forgotten how fucking handsome he is. I think after yesterday, I’d expected him to look more like a cartoon villain, so I’m even madder that he still looks this good.

“Good morning,” he says, but I pretend I don’t hear it and just keep walking. I feel him following close behind. “Good morning,” he repeats, louder.

I keep walking, and Winter quickens his stride until he’s walking by my side. He turns to look at me, but I keep my eyes straight ahead. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“So you did hear me.”

I turn around so quickly my hair whips him in the face. His smug smirk makes my blood boil. Gosh, how I want to wipe that smirk off his face.

When we reach the meeting point, nobody’s there. I look around, confused.

“Were we supposed to meet here?”

Winter is by my side, but when I look at him, he’s pretending to read a flyer pinned to the bulletin board by the entrance.

“Winter,” I call his attention.

“Oh, now you’re talking to me?”

I roll my eyes. “Emily told us to meet here, didn’t she?”

He looks at his watch. “She did. But she also told us to meet here at a quarter to nine. You’re late.”

“No, she said a quarter past nine.”

He pulls his text thread with the production assistant and shows me the last text. “A quarter to nine.”

“Fuck.” I check my email inbox because, unlike him, I’m not in texting terms with the crew. Sure enough, right next to meeting time, it says a quarter to nine. “Fuck.”

“That’s not a very professional look for your first rehearsal, now is it?”

“You’re one to talk. Didn’t you just get here as well?”

“I was just grabbing my phone in the car. Apparently, I’m the only one who has Princess Melina’s phone number saved in my contacts, and we had to figure out why she was late for the first day of rehearsal.”

“Fuuuck,” I say one more time. This definitely does not look good for me. I start walking in the direction of the employee gate, but Winter holds my wrist, stopping me.

“Let go.” I yank my arm free. “You’ve already stalled me long enough. I bet you weren’t going to say anything at all, were you? You’d just keep me here waiting, so you’d look good, and I’d look like the unprofessional, inexperienced, amateur—”

“Fucking hell, I was joking,” Winter says. “I’m also just now getting here too. If you’re looking bad, so am I.”

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