Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Spit it out, Canon. I promise not to overreact this time.”
“How have things been with Monk?”
My promise not to overreact holds me back from… well, overreacting, and after a few seconds I find an elusive calm.
“I’ve barely seen him, but when I do, I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” He looks about as chagrined as Canon Holt is probably capable of. “I didn’t mean to be in your business, but—”
“You sure ’bout that? ’Cause you were dead-center in my business.”
“Look, both of you are really important to this process, and I just can’t afford anything personal interfering with this.”
“I don’t ask about you and the actress you can’t keep your eyes off of, do I?”
Canon must not realize the deliberate way he doesn’t pay attention to Neevah actually draws attention. He even sends most of his notes for her through his AD, Kenneth.
His scowl is deep and instant. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then neither do I.” I turn to leave, but level a warning look over my shoulder. “You mind your business and I’ll mind mine. Have a good night, Canon.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice gruff with irritation. “You do the same.”
Taste of his own medicine is not so sweet.
Monk and I have barely been in the same room since this shoot began, yet Jill and Canon both asked about him today. As if him returning won’t put me on edge enough, I don’t need their speculation making me more self-conscious. I’m not sure what Jill saw, but I need to get my poker face ready. It’s bad enough I’m feeling this tiny thrill of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Monk again. If I do attend the Halloween party, I won’t just need a costume.
I’ll need a mask.
TWENTY-SIX
Monk
I probably shouldn’t have come.
I’m exhausted, irritable, and the only holiday I dislike more than Halloween is Columbus Day, for obvious colonizer reasons.
And, yet. Here I am, posted up on the wall, scanning the crowd for… yeah, I should’ve stayed my ass at home.
Evan’s house, built into the side of a mountain, overlooks the city, offering a spectacular view studded with lights and hills. Members of our cast and crew seem to be packed into every square inch for this Halloween party. I just got back from New York and haven’t even returned to the set yet. I could have easily used that as an excuse not to show. I could have pretended not to be back in time if I’d wanted to avoid this party.
If I wanted to avoid her.
That’s the problem, though. I’m not avoiding her. On the low, I’m searching the room for that cloud of curls and tight, curvy body. In some books, that could be considered the opposite of avoiding. I was on the balcony with Canon the last time I caught a glimpse of Verity. Canon, who’s doing everything he can to deny that he’s attracted to Neevah. It’s actually funny seeing a man with so much control and discipline folding for a girl, and not even realizing how obvious he is.
Okay. I do see the irony.
Who am I to talk? At least Neevah hasn’t proven to Canon she’s a lying bitch.
Yet.
Contrition for even thinking of Verity that way pricks my conscience, though I’m completely justified. She did lie to me. She cheated. Maybe she’s changed. She said she doesn’t do relationships anymore. I guess she figured out monogamy isn’t for her. I may not trust her, but I’m honest enough with myself to admit I want her. Still. It only took one touch, the clasp of our hands when we agreed to a truce. That familiar bolt of electricity traveled between our palms, burning right through the skin, a reminder that I’ve never had this connection with anyone but Verity.
A question of what we could have… could be… again.
I peer through the glass doors leading to Evan’s backyard and the glittering sapphire water of his swimming pool. Buckets are lined up on a long table. Probably twenty people stand around cheering, but I can’t make out what’s actually happening, so I head outside.
Six people wearing plastic ponchos stand in front of the buckets. I only recognize one of them. The person I hoped to see and dreaded seeing.
Verity’s hair is tied back and laughter illuminates her face. She’s dressed as Jennifer Beals from Flashdance, the gray sweatshirt slouching to bare one shoulder, but she slips the poncho on to protect her costume. Her curls have been softened into loose waves tonight and, hands behind her back, she kicks off the red heels that complete the iconic look. She’s bent at the waist, poised to dip and bob for the apples in her bucket. A piercing whistle blows, and the six of them go hard, sloshing water everywhere as they rapidly retrieve apples from their bucket and spit them out. When the whistle blows, signaling time is up, the “judge”—Jill carrying her daughter, Sienna, on her hip—counts their apples.