“Well, I’ll be back when you’re both ready,” Austin said, rising.

I waited until he opened the door to leave before calling out to him again. “Austin.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” I didn’t need to go further than that, because I’m sure he understood. Amelia was only here because he pointed her in my direction when I was afraid to.

“No thanks are needed. My job is to get you what you want,” he replied, closing the door gently behind him.

I didn’t just want Amelia—I needed her.

Leaning over, I reached for my cigarettes.

“What did I say about women not wanting to kiss ashtrays?”

I turned back to see that she stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The only thing separating her body from my gaze was a fluffy robe. Her long brown hair, now completely wet, stuck to her neck and shoulders.

“You do realize that if I can’t smoke I’m going to need to relax some other way, right?” I asked, getting up from the couch.

“You’re a very smart man, Mr. Sloan. I’m sure we can think of alternatives.”

“Found one,” I said, tugging on the rope keeping her robe closed before sliding the rest of it off her shoulders and watching as it fell to a pool around her feet.

“Ah…” her lips parted when I cupped her breasts, allowing my thumbs to rub her nipples.

Just as I was about to kiss her, there was knock at the door.

I sighed. “That’s most likely Oliver. I told him to bring over all of your things.”

“And he agreed?” Her eyebrow rose in shock.

“Not at all. But you’ll convince him,” I said, bending down to pick up her robe.

“And if I don’t?”

“Sweetheart,” I leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Pick your battles with me carefully. I wouldn’t tell him to move your stuff over here if I didn’t already know you wanted to be here.”

“We haven’t been together for a full day yet, and I’m already under your spell,” she said softly.

“Good.”

Kissing her cheek, I walked around her toward the bathroom, my whole body so hot it felt like I was on fire.

That’s what she did to me.

She wasn’t under my spell. I was under hers.

Chapter Two

Amelia

I’d never met my father. My mother had told me so many different stories; he was an archaeologist she met while filming in Egypt, a famous street artist from the streets of Paris, a British officer who died in combat—the list could go on. Each time she told me a story, I was more focused on whether or not she really met and slept with all these men and less concerned about my father. I never really felt like I didn’t have a dad because of Ollie. For as long as I could remember, he had taken care of me. The reason my mother got me the gifts I actually wanted for my birthday or Christmas was because of Ollie. Whenever I was in trouble, Ollie always got me out of it as gracefully as possible. I never wanted to let him down. However, from the look he was giving me when I opened the door, I knew I had let him down. Big time.

“Morning,” I replied with a smile, mentally preparing myself for what he was going to say.

He inhaled deeply, opened his mouth to speak, but then just handed me a small duffle bag, along with my heels. “I’ll wait out here for you.”

“Ollie—”

“Try to hurry up, please. After yesterday, you can’t afford to be late. You have a busy day today,” he continued, backing away from the door like it was the gates of hell.

“I’ll be right out.” I frowned, closing the door.

Walking back into the bedroom, I stopped for a moment when I heard Noah start to sing “Livin’ on a Prayer” in the shower like he was a rock star. The grin on my face spread so wide my cheeks hurt. He was absolutely horrible, yet I didn’t want him to stop.

“Whoa-oa!” I started to sing along as I dressed in the bright yellow cocktail dress Ollie had brought me, though I wasn’t sure why since I was just going to change once I got on set.

Hearing the door open behind me, I turned to find him stepping out of the bathroom, a wall of steam behind him. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, allowing me to watch as drops of water dripped down his hard abs.

“Were you singing?” he asked as his eyebrow raised and the corners of his lips turned up.

“What? No,” I lied, turning back around to grab my heels.

“Liar,” he said, chuckling. “How was your talk with Oliver?”

“There wasn’t one,” I replied, tying my hair into a bun. “He’s waiting for me, so I’ll see you there.”

He nodded, and I kissed his cheek. I made a move to rush toward the doors when he took hold of my wrist, pulling me back slightly. Lifting my chin, he kissed me deeply, and as I leaned into him, he broke away.

“See you later.”

The butterflies in my stomach made it impossible for me to speak, but I couldn’t stop grinning. I felt sixteen again. Nodding, I spun around, heading to the doors, where Oliver was still waiting in the same exact same spot, scrolling through his smartphone.

“I’m ready.”

“Are you, though?”

“Ollie.”

He shook his head at me, handing me a thick pink script and heading down the hall toward a pair of elevators.

“Ollie, I know you’re pissed—” I started.

“Why, Amelia?” he asked when we got on the elevator. “Of all the men in the world, why on earth would you go back to Noah Sloan? Weeks ago, you couldn’t even say his name without become enraged. You’re better than him, and I shouldn’t even have to say it because he proves it time and time again. The only thing you’ve ever gotten out of being in a relationship with him is pain. He is a mess, and he’ll drag you down with him—”

“I don’t need a lecture, Ollie! Especially when you don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea what it’s like to be him, and I’m not a child anymore. Who I do or do not date isn’t your business.”

“It is when it messes with your performance or your own reputation. The Amelia London I know would have never just disappeared for a whole day without even calling or at the very least apologizing.”

I couldn’t get out of the elevator fast enough and didn’t bother to wait for him as I moved toward the doors. Luckily, the excitement had died down since production had started, and no one was on the street anymore. Parked out front, right under the archway of the hotel, was a familiar black Escalade. The driver, dressed in a dark suit, held the door open for me when I stepped out.

“Amelia!” my mother called, waving at me with a bright smile on her face.

It felt like someone had punched me in the gut. All the air in my lungs left my body, and my heart started to pound as I—for a split second—thought of running. This morning, I was able to push her to the corner of my mind, and now here she was.

Oh no. No. Please, no.

“Beloved 15-year-old child star Skylar DeGray … was involved in a horrible accident.” The reporter’s voice haunted the back of my mind.

“Amelia? What’s wrong?”

Nothing happened. Act. Like. Nothing. Happened.  It was simple enough, yet my chest burned just looking at her, the woman with the same round face and blue eyes as mine.

She repeated herself. “Ame—”

“Sorry! I’m just having a moment. What are you doing here?” I tried to recover, sliding into the leather seat beside her, noticing she was dressed in a silver floor-length dress and a sunhat. “Don’t you think your outfit is a bit much?” I asked.

“Always dress in an outfit you don’t mind dying in, sweetie. Now, you said you’re having a moment? What happened?”

“Ollie…never mind. So again, what are you doing here?” I leaned back, trying to remember how I usually acted around her. Most times I was annoyed and did my best not to show it. However there were times, as few and far between as they were, where I really thought she was a good mom.

I was wrong.

“Some moms got to drop their kids off at school. I’ve always enjoyed dropping you off at work...”