Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Yes, I knew.
I grunted and, under the cover of my sunglasses, closed my eyes. I drank my water and let the fresh air ease me. Emma softly hummed a tune, and it took me a minute to figure out it was “Maria” from The Sound of Music.
For some reason it made me want to laugh. Not at her or the song but because it seemed so her. I drank more water instead, as she drove with smooth ease.
“You’re a good driver,” I found myself saying.
A small smirk played about her lips. “You doubted me?”
“Didn’t say that. I figured you had to be at the very least proficient if you asked to drive.”
“I could have been deluded,” she countered sweetly. “Full of my own self-importance yet dangerously incompetent.”
“Met many people like that, have you?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “A few.”
“Hmm.”
She passed a slower car. “Truth is I love driving. Especially on scenic roads. Back in Iceland, a couple of us rented sports cars on our day off and drove in tandem through the countryside.” She appeared lost in thought, a melancholy look on her face.
“Princess Anya made that show.”
Her jolt of surprise was visible and swift.
Shit.
Then she turned my way with a wide grin. “You watch Dark Castle?”
Double shit.
“It’s a good show. I watched it . . .” On the road between games. “Sometimes.”
Smug was a good look on Emma Maron. Although I was beginning to think every look on Emma was good.
“So you liked Anya, huh?”
Anya. Not her. Anya was a character on a show. A character I’d seen naked and—fucking hell. Double, triple fucking hell.
I pulled my leg up a little higher to hide my thickening cock. But I couldn’t stop picturing her naked tits. Damn it. I was the absolute worst letch.
“Liked her better with her head intact,” I muttered, earning a lilting laugh from Emma.
“Yeah, me too.” She said it with a smile, but it soon faded, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “I guess Amalie told you.”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Not that I have anyone I could actually tell.”
That seemed to appease her. But then her slim shoulders slumped. “It’ll be out eventually. In one spectacular finale.”
The finale aired in six months. “Did you know? That you were, ah . . .”
“Getting the ax,” she supplied with a waggle of her brows.
A chuckle left me. “Yeah, that.”
The show was notorious about hiding plot twists not only from their fans but their actors as well.
“No,” she said soberly. “Not until I read the script during the read through.”
I knew that voice, the bitter pain laced with confusion, as if she was wondering, Did this fuckstorm that happened to me actually happen? I knew it too well.
They killed her off without warning. In front of her peers.
“That’s some shit, Em.”
She was silent for a beat before answering. “It sure is, Lucian.”
CHAPTER THREE
Emma
After months of being in Iceland, driving in California was like stepping into another world. Sun, sea, mountains. Many coastlines had the same features. But even though I lived in California only part of the year, there was something that felt like home about the quality of light here, golden and warm; the endless stream of cars; the surfers bobbing like corks in the water before they caught a wave.
I glanced at the water, and a lump rose in my throat. Being here reminded me that LA waited, and with it, all my fears and doubts. If I didn’t find another role soon, I was screwed. Problem was we weren’t allowed to tell casting directors Anya was dead. Not until the finale aired. Which left me in a tough spot of pretending all was well. So here I was, supposedly taking a break after a rigorous filming schedule. All part of the plan, according to Dan, my agent, and Carrie, my manager. Let the world think it was life as usual for me.
It was, of course, a lie. Being let go from Dark Castle had sent cracks through my fragile world. I had to believe Dan and Carrie when they told me not to worry, that offers for new parts would come pouring in. Only unlike some of my costars, I hadn’t been offered any parts in the show’s off-season. I’d already begun to worry about being typecast.
Death of a career in Hollywood came swift as the ax that beheaded Anya. If word got out that no one wanted me, then no one would risk offering me anything. It was like some horrible self-fulfilling prophecy of doom.
Hands cold and clammy on the steering wheel, I turned my attention back to driving and the man slumped in the seat next to me. The aviators he wore covered his eyes, but the steady rise and fall of his wide chest made it clear he’d fallen asleep. I stole another glance and smiled a little. Even in sleep his generous mouth was pinched and turned down at the corners, like he didn’t want to give in to peace.