I think you just did . . .

“Right. Adam and I are heading into town to this dive bar. Apparently lots of bikers hang out there!”

I heard Adam laugh. Jack was obsessed with American culture and dying to take a road trip.

“You and Adam, huh?” I asked, twisting the sheets in my hand.

“Sure, why?”

“Nothing. I was just hoping for a little phone action with my Brit tonight,” I whispered, my skin dancing with just the idea of it.

“Oh, you were, huh? What exactly did you have in mind, Grace? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Fuck. You had to say knickers, didn’t you?” I moaned into the phone.

“I know it makes you crazy, Crazy. Wish I could get you sorted, but I’ve got company and—”

I could hear Adam laughing again. “I can’t hear this! Get off the phone and let’s go!”

Jack told him to shut up.

“No, it’s okay. You go,” I told him. “Get in a biker brawl. Just make sure you stay away from the assless chaps, okay?” I frowned slightly.

Calm down. He’s twenty-four. Of course he’s going out.

“Call you when I get home?”

“No, call me tomorrow. I’ve got an early call time, and I need to fit in a run before I head to the studio.”

“Listen to you, you’re like an old pro.”

“That’s five.”

“What’s five?” he asked.

“You called me old. Every time you say something about frown lines or being old in general, that’s five orgasms you owe me, got it?”

“Fucking hell, Grace,” he groaned.

“’Night, love,” I whispered, and hung up as he was protesting.

Well played . . .

I chuckled to myself as I rolled over in bed, letting one hand linger on his pillow. Out with Adam. Huh.

I sent him a text.

Be careful, George. Love you xoxo

And so it went. I was on set most days and even some nights, and loving every second of it. Shooting was going well, and the cast was settling in with one another. Leslie had signed on to reprise her role as my nemesis, and it was nice having someone else around from the original New York crew. She had pictures of Jack up in her trailer and made no bones about the fact that if I were ever done with him, she would absolutely swoop right in. I didn’t blame her one bit. But no one was getting ahold of my Brit.

A little more press was written about the series being in production, and I was starting to notice a trend. Whenever I was mentioned, Jack was mentioned. These were just trade magazines, Variety, Deadline, but still. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew I was damn lucky to have this job. It was rare that producers would sign an unknown like myself for the lead in a series like this. In fact, it was almost unheard of. So I got it, but still.

“Don’t worry about it, asshead. It comes with the territory. People want to know who you are, why you got this part. It’s natural—in a town where nothing is,” Holly informed me one day. We rolled around on the bed in my trailer until we were dizzy, enjoying the spoils that came with a large production budget. She’d stopped by to inform me she was hiring me a stylist.

“What? You mean I can’t continue to run around in yoga pants every day?” I laughed, pulling myself off the bed and picking up a plate of cucumbers. My first sex scene was scheduled in a few days, and while the potted plant was no longer, I did seem to have a lot of scenes where I was holding a book. I’d be dropping the cucumbers soon and just sticking with the air. Big, yummy gulps of air.

“No, dear, you need a look. I’m sending someone over tomorrow. She’s bringing lots of great things. Let her dress you. You’ll love it. And make sure she picks out something for the party next week,” Holly instructed, leaning into the mirror and inspecting her face.

Looking at her, it was hard to tell she was on the business side of show business. She always looked flawless. But she’d brought studio heads to their knees when working out a deal—figuratively speaking, of course—and she loved her job. Part of her job was combining work with fun, and she was having one of her famous parties. Jack and I had met at her last one.

“Yeah, yeah, is Lane coming?” I asked, watching her face carefully. She was always vague about Lane, who’d played Jack’s assistant in the Time movie. Tall and impossibly good-looking, built like a god and capable of making her see God as well, the two had been engaging in a purely sexual relationship for months now. It was on; it was off. It was on; it was really on; it was off. Lane was great—sweet as can be—but I think they both knew it was just about getting an itch scratched.

Gross.

“I think so. Rebecca too. Nick’s going to try to make it. He’s supposed to be back from Oregon sometime next week,” she answered, her cheeks barely flushing.

Hmmm. Off again?

Wow, the whole gang. We knew Rebecca through Jack as well. She was a part of the Time cast. Nick was, well, Nick.

“Is he still working on that series?”

“Trying to. He wanted so badly to go legit, but he misses Hollywood too much.” She snorted as she stood up to leave. Nick was a screenwriter and had been working on a documentary for PBS. He was on location most of the time now. It would be good to see him. He texted me all the time, telling me how much he missed me, but I know secretly he just wanted to look at the pretty. He had a major crush on Jack, and he loved to make it as obvious as he could. Which was pretty obvious.

After Holly left, I looked at myself critically in the mirror. I could see a difference. I could definitely see more “cheekbone,” but did that mean I was ready to sex it up for the camera? I twisted this way and that, checking it out from all angles. I thought I looked pretty good, but that damn camera. They say it adds ten pounds, but I think that’s when you’re under thirty. Over thirty, I think it was a few more than that. David made sure I was watching the dailies and could see what I really looked like.

I texted Chip Chip the Devil Man and added an extra workout for tonight.

Air is good.

In the end, I tried like hell to give them the cheekbone they asked for. I barely ate for three days, ran my ass up and down the canyon like I was getting paid to, which I was, and worked out more than I had ever worked out in my life. I moved that scale two pounds. Two pounds! And don’t think I didn’t hear about it, everyone had their two cents to say about my two pounds. Diet tips, weight-loss books, fasting schedules, everyone had an opinion. But we also had a tight shooting schedule to stick to, so when SS Day (Sex Scene Day) came, I breathed deep and went for it.

We had blocked the scene earlier that morning, the actor who I had been working with on this particular story arc was great, supersweet and very good-looking. Relatively new to the industry, he was just as nervous as I was, so we psyched each other up.

It was strange, rolling around on a bed with another actor and trying to make it seem natural, when it was more choreographed than my high school pom-pom routines. Hand here, knee bent here, stick your butt out here, but keep it covered with the sheet, it was like a grown-up game of Twister. Mabel, my character, was having a one-night stand, and when I met the actor I could understand why.

A few minutes before we were ready to shoot, I headed over to the craft table for a bottle of water, my throat suddenly dry at the thought that I’d be rolling around on said bed in my skivvies, otherwise known as pasties and a thong. Mumbling a cheekbone mantra in my head, I turned a corner and overheard David talking to the assistant director. Really wished I hadn’t.

“It’s fine, wardrobe’s sending over a bunch of those teddy things, just tell her it’ll be sexier to have her covered up, more suggestive that way,” the AD said.