“Knight called you, didn’t he?”
Cyndi takes a long pause. “I’m really sorry. Cortez is a big movie for the studio. They can’t take the risk.”
Risk?Risk?
I used to be a sure thing, a box-office draw.
Now I’m nothing more than a risk no one is willing to take.
“You couldn’t manage to stay out of the tabloids for even a few weeks?”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just hiking. And Grant is . . . Grant is . . . no one’s business.”
Cyndi’s laugh is more of a bark. “I know you’re not that naïve, sweetie. You made yourself—and anyone you date—everyone’s business the minute you hooked up with a married man.”
Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but no amount of blinking helps. “Ididn’thook up with him.”
If that disgruntled homeowner is still watching me through her open door, she’s definitely getting a show.
Tough cookies.
I’m tired of everyone assuming the worst about me. I’m sick of people expecting the worst from me.
Everyone except maybe Grant. And Kenna.
”Idid notknow he was married! And I didn’t sleep with him!”
“Honey,” Cyndi drags the word out, filling it with pounds of condescension. “The truth ceased to matter a long time ago. Noone cares what really happened. They only care what they can sell. Reality is whatever the headlines declare it to be.”
A lump the size of Pikes Peak lodges in my throat. I can’t swallow it away, and I can’t breathe around it.
“I think it’s time we both face that. I can’t keep pitching you, or you’ll tank my reputation too.” Cyndi clears her throat, maybe trying to wipe away the harshness of her comment. “This movie isn’t going to happen. And it’ll be a long time before anyone else is willing to give you a chance. Maybe we should part ways and get back together down the road. If you can stay out of the headlines and away from the drama.”
Drama.
Oh, the irony.
Drama is the only thing I loved as a kid—watching every production I could get to, then being on the stage myself, performing to anyone who would watch.
Now, drama that I never wanted to be part of is costing me my agent and keeping me from doing what I love.
Less than a block from Nan’s place, my knees buckle, and I melt to the sidewalk. Though Bronco licks my face and tries to boost me up, I’m stuck.
I have no idea where to go from here.
When Grant rings Nan’s doorbell at exactly 7:01, I trudge through the living room to answer it. Grant’s bright smile slowly fades as he takes in my attire. Gray sweats, fuzzy purple slippers, and a tie-dye sweatshirt he’s seen on more than one morning jog. My hair is up in a messy topknot, and whatever makeup I put on earlier this morning has been cried off. I probably look like a rabid raccoon.
“Am I early?” He glances at the techy watch on his wrist. “I thought I said seven. Our reservation is at 7:30.”
“I’m sorry.” I can’t meet his gaze. “I texted you that I couldn’t make it.”
“I . . . I’ve been in meetings and at practice all day.” He glances over his shoulder, toward where I’m sure his truck is parked along the street. “I came right from the facility. I didn’t get a chance to check . . .” He stops, ticking his head to the side and studying me. The weight of his gaze is everything. Warm and comforting and safe.
Since the beginning. Even when he didn’t want to help me, he was safe. Never rude. Never assuming.
Suddenly I need more than his gaze. Throwing myself against him, I’m immediately wrapped in his embrace as I burrow into his warmth. His gray button-up is soft against my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to hold all of him as close as I can. Beneath my ear, his heart beats loudly, increasing in speed as his arms tighten around me.
I feel so small next to him like this. Like he could protect me from the world.
