Page 29 of Shine For Me

“Hey!”

A long time seems to pass before he looks up, even though the blind item is only a few lines long. I wonder if it took him that long to control his temper or something because when his eyes meet mine, I can see how pissed he is. “This is about Adam?”

I shrug again. “It’s stupid. Gossip like this—”

“Doesn’t come from nowhere,” Bash cuts in.

“Adam is in politics. His father is the governor of California. Hollywood is a cakewalk compared to how brutal those people can be.”

I don’t like how closely Fox is studying me, like he can’t quite comprehend my reaction.

“So you think he didn’t do this?” Skepticism drips from Bash’s voice.

Of course he did it. Sleeping with an intern is incredibly on brand for my fiancé.

I just don’t really care. Not about that part, anyhow. He can sleep with whoever he wants. I’m just pissed that I’m going to have to pay the price for his overcharged libido. Again.

But if I’m honest with myself, the gossip and the increased press attention isn’t what really bothers me. No, the real problem isme. But I have no idea how to express that to my cousin, not with Fox sitting right there.

I’m saved from further explanation by a PA, who comes over to tell us the lighting crew is finished with our stand-ins and it’s time for us to get the shot. As we take our places on the set, I can tell that Bash isn’t happy about dropping it, but he seems to know better than to try and mess with my concentration while I’m working. Bash only has two lines in this scene and he’s dismissed as soon as Gabe gets a few takes.

Fox, however, is another story. He seems agitated, and he keeps flubbing his lines. This is a scene that recently went through several re-writes, and he keeps reverting back to the original dialogue. It takes us twice as long to get through the lines as it should and by the time Gabe calls cut, Fox is surly and frustrated. Gabe comes over to talk to him and I use that opportunity to hurry off the set. Luckily my assistant, Cassie, must have sensed that I didn’t want to stick around, because she has all my things gathered in my dressing room when I get there to change into my own clothes.

“A car is already waiting,” Cassie says softly, and I feel a hot flash of embarrassment at her gentle tone. She’s read the item, too.

I wait to look at my phone until I’m in the car on my way back to the hotel. I have twenty-three missed calls and God knows how many texts. Adam has called me three times, which is somewhat surprising. Usually he’s content to let our teams handle stuff like this. I ignore his voicemails and scroll through the rest of the notifications. Many of the calls are unknown numbers—probably reporters trying to get a comment directly from me. Two calls from Harper, the PR person I usually deal with in Justin’s office. My stomach twists when I see a call from my grandfather. He didn’t leave a voice mail, but there’s a text from him, too.

Jimmy:Call me.

That’s it. No words of comfort. Not even a freaking greeting. I close my eyes, feeling shaky. I know I need to call him back. My grandfather is not the type of man you keep waiting. But the thought of the lecture I’m sure I’ll get makes me want to start screaming. The last thing I want right now is a reminder of how to play the game, a reminder of what’s expected of me.

So I do something I never do—I ignore his message. I don’t text back and I certainly don’t call. Instead I go down to the last voicemail on the screen and press play. My twin brother’s dry voice fills my ear a moment later.

“Well, this is a bit of a shit show,” Grey says. There’s a pause, then his voice comes through again, a bit gruffer. “I’m around for a few hours if you want to call.”

I hit his contact without thinking. Grey most definitely isn’t the first person you’d think of if you needed some comforting. My cousin Ophelia is much better at that. Or my mom, though I would never in a million years tell her that my fiancé might be publicly cheating on me. My grandmother would probably be the ideal person to talk to right now. She would know that I didn’t actually want to talk about Adam and would distract me with stories about her recent foray into stained glass art or her trips to the Getty museum until I felt better.

But there’s a part of me that doesn’t actually want to feel better, and I’m not sure exactly why. So I don’t call my grandmother or my cousin or anyone else. Instead I hit my twin’s contact and wait for the call to connect.

“So you know that guy, Marcos, who I trained with forDark Side?” he asks without preamble. I blink around the car, confused.

“Um, yeah? I think?”

“I just texted him,” Grey continues, like this is a perfectly normal way to answer a phone call. “He’s going to get some contacts together for me.”

I wait for more explanation, but none comes. Maybe he was in the middle of a call with someone else and didn’t realize he switched over? “Um, Grey? You know this is June, right?”

“Of course,” he says. “Who the hell else would I be telling about Marco The Mafia Guy’s hit man contact list?”

A grin breaks out over my face as understanding hits me. “Any of these guys located in LA?”

“A few. But the others are willing to commute. Apparently, there’s a whole network of world-traveling hit men out there. It’s kind of fascinating, really. But, yeah. It shouldn’t be hard at all to take out one douchey, spoiled, trust-fund asshole. Even if he is the son of the governor of California.”

“I wish you were here,” I say suddenly, then immediately regret it. Grey and I don’t do sappy. It’s not that he doesn’t care about me—he really would send a hit man after a guy who hurt me if he thought it was what I wanted. No matter what might have happened between us over the years, he’s still my twin brother, my first friend, the kid who pretended he couldn’t ride a bike when it took me longer to learn, the person who held my hand and tried to distract me every time our parents started fighting. Bonds like that don’t break so easily.

It’s just that we’re not really good attalkingabout that bond. Our ability to communicate seemed to have broken down sometime after Mom left, and I’ve never found a way to bring it back.

“I can come down tomorrow,” he says after a long pause. “I can free up my afternoon. It’s not much time, but the flight is quick.” I realize that I don’t actually know where my brother is right now. He came back from Greece a few days ago and then went to…New York? Not knowing makes the ache in my stomach a million times worse.