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  I instantly let go of her arm.

  It’s just that … I’m intimidated. There’s no other way to put it. I’m terrified I’m going to fail. That I’ll ruin this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  “You’re seriously going to do fine,” Lydia says, practically reading my mind as we come to a stop in front of the desk.

  Before I can even utter a response, she’s already moved on and is giving our names to the receptionist, Alexis, or so it says on the shiny silver tag above her shirt pocket.

  “And how can I help you, Miss Parker?”

  “We’re here for filming with Mr. Stevens,” Lydia says and adds, “The fifteenth floor, I believe.” Her soft smile and elegance speak of confidence and certainty. Sure enough, the receptionist nods and reveals key cards, swiping them in something I can’t fully see next to her computer.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and look around the large lobby, watching as the men and women, each dressed in varying degrees of wealth, move across the tiled marble. The ceiling is domed and so high I have to crane my neck to see the etched designs along the coffered ceiling.

  I wonder if they can tell I’m a girl from outside the city. One of the ones who stares out of her window at night and memorizes each building that’s lit up off in the distance. No one special, and destined to stay in the same town where I grew up.

  My mother insisted that a college degree wasn’t necessary. She loved having me work with her in the corner shop selling secondhand antiques and collectibles. I did it for years, but going to school was a chance to get closer to the bright lights of the city. Every year inching nearer, but knowing within four short years I’d be right back in the suburbs, working at my mom’s shop and making her proud.

  One day, I’m just a marketing student. The next, I’m taking an internship under Nancy Welsh, a well-known agent.

  I shouldn’t have applied; all it did was upset my mother, who didn’t understand, and pulled me closer to a life I didn’t think I was supposed to lead.

  Within two weeks, I was practicing line readings with a client and up-and-coming actress, Lydia Parker, sweet and seemingly unassuming. But Lydia is cunning, and she knows the ways of this industry. It wasn’t an accident that we were practicing lines in the coffee shop that the director, Stevens, frequented. What Lydia wants, Lydia gets.

  I guess him catching sight of me makes me a happenstance of sorts. I’m just a minor character, but still, it’s more than I ever thought I’d be.

  I almost turn my head, tearing my eyes away from the abstract stone sculptures on either side of the elevator when I hear Lydia thank the receptionist. I almost carry on, allowing myself to move through the motions of something I only dared to imagine.

  But my eyes catch sight of a man as he enters an elevator. His thin, brown, worn leather jacket is pulled tightly across his broad shoulders as he walks.

  My heart stops beating. The chatter and faint sounds turn to white noise. It can’t be him. I tell myself over and over. My lips part and I nearly take a step forward, mostly from disbelief. My hand instantly reaches behind me for Lydia, but I’m not aware if it’s even her. I just need something to grab onto in order to stay grounded.

  I recognize him by the way he moves. The way his hand slips into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans and pulls out the necessary card. I know it’s him before he even turns around. The sharp jawline is new, accompanying an older version of the boy I used to know. But his eyes I would know anywhere. The darkness that swirls, the chill in his gaze, yet the heat it brings me. They hold me captive, make me weak, make me crave the way things were before I lost him.

  Nathan Hart.

  There’s a secret, a dark past between us. Something I’ve tried to ignore and pretend never happened. It’s what tore us apart and even though I’ve accepted what occurred and my part in it, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.

  Time is a bitch. It slows and seems to stay still, refusing to move or to let me respond with anything but disbelief. I wish I hadn’t been looking toward the elevator doors as they start to close, taking him away from me. But I am and as they slowly close, his eyes drift to mine. I’m caught in his stare. Unmoving and trapped by fate as his eyes widen slightly with recognition.

  Then time continues, sure that I’ve seen him and he’s seen me, certain that it’s destroyed me in this moment. And I’m released, turning from the doors as quickly as I can.

  He wasn’t supposed to be here.

  But I know I saw him and he saw me.

  And that changes everything.

  Chapter 2

  Nathan

  * * *

  I don’t think my blood can get any colder. My jaw and every other muscle in my body are tense. This is exactly why I didn’t want to leave Los Angeles. The ghosts follow me everywhere.

  The reminders of what I left behind.

  But the vision of her was so real.

  Her pale lips and the curve of her neck and shoulders. I can practically feel her soft skin against the tips of my fingers. I close my eyes as the elevator dings and everyone in the spacious cart shifts forward, ready to move before the doors have even begun to open.

  My body refuses to be anything but tightly wound, not wanting to believe it was her, but unable to deny it.

  I’d know her anywhere, even if it has been nearly a decade. The way her doe eyes stared straight into me, unlike anyone else can. Cutting through me and holding me still. It has to be her.

  My Hally.

  Older and looking back at me with something akin to fear. And I know why. I may have loved her, but she kept pushing and pushing. My hands clench into white-knuckled fists. The people move but I keep my pace even and my stride casual as I exit the elevator. I nearly look around the room, lost and confused as to why I’m here and forgetting who I am. Why I’m heading past rows of stage equipment and lighting.

  I barely notice the glances and knowing smiles as I make my way back. Refusing to look flustered or as though I’m off balance in the least. I just need to get to my dressing room. It’s here somewhere and then I can lock everyone out and get a grip.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here. Out of everyone in New York, what is she doing here?

  “Mr. Hart,” Stevens, the director, says from the back corner of the stage to my right. The backdrop goes all the way up the twelve-foot-high ceilings, although the paint itself stops before the plywood reaches the top of the wall. It’s fitted with everything needed to look as though it’s a living room. It’s all the same here, and I only focus on doing my job.

  Well, not here. Not in television shows.

  LA is where I’ve been since I left Bailey, a town about two hours away from NYC. Since the day an agent met me outside of prison and told me he’d change my life forever. He was right and I never looked back.

  Movies are out and TV shows are in, or so my agent says. And like the good client I am, I took his advice and came out here even though it was so close to her. I should have known better than to return anywhere close to where I grew up. I’ve been on edge ever since I got on that plane to come back here. I thought I’d be hours away. Hours from Hally and everyone else I left behind. As if there was ever enough space to make me forget.

  “There he is,” my agent, Mark, practically yells out, clapping his hands once as he pushes off from the stage wall near the row of dressing rooms and walks over to me. His suit is crisp and impeccably tailored.

  I halt in my tracks; my eyes are drawn to the sign on the door behind him. The one with my name embossed on a gold star. The room I know I can disappear into.

  I try to loosen my coiled muscles and greet Mark Shannon. I owe him everything and he deserves that much. But I can’t shake the knowledge that she was right there. My skin heats. She saw me.

  And she didn’t come to me.

  My heart drops at the thought and I barely register what Mark’s saying. I’ve never stopped wanting her and seeing her so close is too much to just let her slip away.

/>   “Line readings at two and then you need to be on set no later than three,” Mark starts with the schedule. I’m sure he has it all memorized, although he’s got a stack of papers in his left hand. His right hand grabs my shoulder as he guides me to the door, rattling off names and times that I don’t give a shit about.

  He opens the door for me and pushes it forward, not stopping to even take a breath. He moves at a mile a minute and I let him. It doesn’t matter if I even respond, so long as I sign my name on the dotted line and I always do.

  I take a look around and everything’s familiar. These rooms are all the same. A bed, a desk, a makeup vanity. They’re all solid wood and decorated nicely although it’s made to be temporary and that’s more than obvious by the quick construction.

  I always tell Mark, modern. I’m not quite sure what it means, but the rooms always come with enough to keep me occupied and comfortable for the first few days. And then I get antsy.

  It used to make Mark squirm and get nervous when I’d leave the set. Especially when he first brought me on, taking a risk on the boy from New York with a bad rep but the talent and looks to make headlines in production. Bad boy turned movie star. He doesn’t give a shit anymore though. Like I said, I show up, do my job and get back to where I belong. Alone.

  The small fridge opening catches my attention. I turn to see Mark bending down and listen to the sound of glasses clinking against one another.

  He pulls out two bottles of pale ale and holds them up for me to see. “Just like you like it,” he says confidently.

  I couldn’t care less about beer right now. I feel like a dick as I watch Mark take in my posture, as it slowly dawns on him that I’m completely uninterested.

  I’m grateful. I really am. He found me the day I walked out of prison, at only nineteen years old. He gave me a life I don’t deserve and I hate that he’s looking at me as though I’m anything but happy for all he’s done.

  “You name it, Nate,” he tells me, walking forward and putting the bottles down on the desk next to the fridge.

  The words are caught in my throat, but her name is all I can think to say. The only explanation I can give.

  His face is deadly serious as he stands right in front of me, nearly a foot shorter and looks me straight in the eyes. “You name it and I’ll get it here in no time.”

  My teeth grind; my pride and something else, fear maybe, want me to shut the fuck up and just tell him everything’s fine.

  But I’m desperate. And desperate men do foolish things.

  “There’s a girl,” I start and then clear my throat. “A woman.”

  Mark stares at me, waiting for more and ready to deliver. “Harlow May.” Her name is like a sin on my tongue. So sweet and tempting. The sound warms my chest and just saying her name brings a sense of peace about me. The anxiousness leaves me slowly as he nods.

  “Harlow May,” he says and nods repeatedly, although his eyes stayed glued to mine.

  “She was here in the lobby,” I tell him and my blood heats remembering how she looked at me. The fear in her eyes was the very same that was there when I last saw her. When I told her to stay away and never speak to me again.

  “Alright, she was here and you want to …?” Mark questions and it pisses me off.

  “I want to know why. I want to know everything about her,” I say and my voice comes out firm and absent of negotiation. I’m fully aware of how fucked up my request is. “I want her here,” I add. I don’t give a shit if it’s crazy. I couldn’t give a damn what he thinks. “Just make it happen,” I tell him words I hear these assholes tell their agents all the time. I’ve never requested anything from Mark, ever, but I need this. I need to know if it was really her.

  “She wasn’t in the pilot, so if she is here, she’s no one important,” Mark says easily and then seems to think twice about his word choice. Maybe it’s because my eyes narrow and that uneasiness I’ve been trying to shake comes back full force.

  “Give me five minutes,” he says as he starts walking briskly to the door. “I’ll know exactly who she is, where she is, what she’s doing, and who she’s fucking in five minutes,” he says and then flinches when my eyes flash with anger.

  “I don’t want to know who she’s fucking,” I spit back at him and then regret it. Not because of how pissed off I sound, but because it’s a lie. I do want to know. I close my eyes and run a hand down my face in frustration as my head throbs while I listen to the door opening and closing.

  I know she wasn’t in the pilot. He didn’t have to tell me that.

  One episode down, and five to go for this season. If things go well and the show gets picked up for the next season, then ten episodes are tentatively slated for season two. Even starring in so many damn episodes, the shooting time is only thirty days. Television production is proving much faster than cinema.

  Which means fewer days with her. If she’s even here for the show. I try to ignore the hope I feel at seeing her again. I try to ignore the way my stomach churns at the thought of being close to her again.

  Hally was a mistake all those years ago. She brought chaos to my life. A torrent of emotion I thrived on, a tension between the two of us that I was addicted to. I know it was the same for her. The two of us together was nothing but destructive. Both of us tearing at each other, even if it was only to get closer. Desperate for one another in every way.

  If she’s here, I’m fucked. I already know that much.

  I’m on edge as I open up the door to my room and stand there, watching everyone move about and praying for a distraction. The fourteenth and fifteenth floors are booked for production. Different sets on each and our rooms are scattered throughout the building.

  My eyes drift from one person to the next, each on a cell phone or getting their makeup done or preparing in some way for the long days ahead of us. It’s showbiz and it moves a mile a minute. Or at least it does around me.

  I used to be eager for this. To play a role that someone else chose and fade into a life that wasn’t my own. Even if it was just for a moment. I could be someone else and forget my own name. Forget where I grew up and how I had no one. Forget how I ran away from the one person who had ever made me feel anything but anger.

  Scripts and gigs were easy to become consumed with; I was that desperate to be anyone besides the person I’d become. And not a damn thing could stop me from playing the part Mark gave me. I wasn’t bred for this lifestyle, but after years of being shoved in front of cameras and taking over the spotlight, nothing fazes me anymore.

  But knowing she’s here somewhere in this building, or was … She may have already left.

  The realization makes my blood spike with adrenaline, and the need to run to her and stop her from getting any further is sobering.

  I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want to walk away. But that’s the way it had to happen. Life decided that, not me. I never thought I’d see her face again. I’ve been running from her for years.

  Chapter 3

  Harlow

  * * *

  You’re going to do great, sweetheart. Break a leg!

  I stare down at the text from my father and I can’t even reply. He’s so damn proud of me and I know he chuckled when he typed up that second line. But my lips are unmoving and in a grim line.

  My butt is firmly planted on Lydia’s bed by the desk in her room, laptop open and script in hand. I haven’t budged from my spot in her room, but I know this is temporary.

  I have to go out there. Any minute now, I need to get up and face him.

  Nathan’s name is in bold lettering on the first page of the screenplay. Mine is in tiny print toward the very end. Mostly on the second to last page. I need to suck it up and prepare myself for the inevitable. I’ve had two days to try to figure out what to do and get a grip.

  No one told me who was in this production when I signed up for it. No one warned me that the one person on the face of the earth who hates me was going to be here. Yet I can’t bring
myself to turn around and walk away. I keep telling myself it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; that I won’t let him ruin it for me. Or let the past haunt me like it did for years.

  But the truth is that I want to see him more than anything else. I never wanted to say goodbye to him, but he shoved me away when I needed him most.

  I know he’s here. Now that filming’s begun, I’m well aware of the fact I’m on the same floor as he is. I don’t know if he knows I’m here. He saw me, I’m sure of it. But he hasn’t come searching for me. He hasn’t had me fired either. So maybe that’s a start.

  The only thing I really know is that I’m desperate to get one more look at him. I’m desperate to see him in person again and not just in the trailers for movies I refuse to watch. I’m scared to death, but I need to hear him say my name again.

  Not enough to leave Lydia’s dressing room, though. Chickenshit is what I am. But at least I haven’t run.

  * * *

  Ten years ago

  March 6

  * * *

  I want to get up out of this seat before the bell goes off, but I have to wait. Class is over and the sound of everyone packing their geography books and notebooks back into their backpacks along with chatter and laughter surround me. But it’s all just white noise.

  My breath comes in shallow pants as I peek over at Nathan and find him staring at me.

  I’m quick to rip my eyes away from him and focus on shoving my textbook into my bag. It won’t fit and I find myself shoving it harder and harder and getting more and more pissed off. I know I’m taking out my frustrations on the damn over packed bookbag, but at least it’s an outlet.

  I hate him. I hate Nathan for what he said last night. I hate that we’re on-again, off-again. I hate that I gave myself to him. Each thought accompanies a shove until the stupid book is in place and I have to zip up the bag.