Page 3 of Romance Is Dead

“What are we waiting on?” I spotted our director, Natasha Vossey, pacing the length of the room, peering out the window each time she passed. I’d worked with her before and knew she hated starting even a minute late.

“Teddy,” Mara said. “He’s hot, but can he read a clock?”

Then, right on cue, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the room.

It was Teddy. Golden sunlight slanted through a nearby window, illuminating him like something from a Renaissance painting. His sun-kissed skin looked lit from within and his hair shone like burnished bronze as he moved leisurely into the room, no sense of urgency or remorse, clearly unconcerned that he’d kept everyone waiting. He slung a letterman jacket over his shoulder as he greeted the cast and crew, his biceps straining his white tee-shirt as he made sure every person in the room had noticed his arrival.

He was, unfortunately, even hotter than I remembered.

“There you are!” Natasha stormed across the set. She was a petite woman, but you hardly noticed when she was stomping toward you in a leather jacket and Doc Martens.

Teddy’s eyes widened as she approached, and I silently cheered her on, hoping she’d give him the dressing-down he deserved.

Instead, she simply motioned toward the set. “Over there. Now. We’re running behind and we haven’t even started blocking, for Christ’s sake!”

“Sorry. Yes, ma’am.”

Natasha gave him a withering look. “Never call me that again.” She spun around to take her place behind the camera, motioning for everyone else to get moving.

The whole room shifted. Actors moved toward the set, crew members headed toward the lighting rigs and sound systems, and PAs scurried to get out of the way. Meanwhile, I prayed Teddy wouldn’t remember me. Our interaction earlier that summer had been so brief. So meaningless, so nothing. I hadn’t even given him my name. Ideally, he wouldn’t recognize me and we’d never have to address what happened. After all, my character did wear a wig. I could assume a fake identity and remain in the wig at all times.

That was it. The new plan.

Before I could leave, Teddy broke away from the wardrobe assistant who had been taking her time double-checking the fit of his tee-shirt and locked eyes with me. Something like recognition flashed across his face—a startled raising of his eyebrows and opening of his mouth. Panic flared in my chest, and even though my brain told my feet to flee, they remained rooted in place.

A second later, a body crashed into me—and my entire torso was suddenly soaked in boiling hot liquid.

I screamed and tore at my sweater. It was hot, way too hot. I tried to rip it over my head, but the wet material merely bunched on itself and I only got it half off. I was no longer being boiled alive, but I was stuck with my sweater wrapped around my head and my arms twisted helplessly in the fabric. Which meant I was now standing in front of the entire cast and crew in my jeans and a soaking-wet bra.

And the person with a front-row seat to this spectacle was Teddy.

Chapter Two

Please don’t let my nipples be showing, I prayed to whatever deity might happen to be listening. I’d love it if everyone on set couldn’t see my nipples right now. Would be absolutely thrilled.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” a voice shrieked nearby. “I’m so sorry!”

I assumed the panicked voice came from whoever had just drenched me in boiling hot liquid. Straining to peek above the fabric bunched around my head, I spotted the culprit: Trevor, the PA who had driven me to set.

And right in front of me, now in direct eyeline with my bare, scalded chest, was Teddy.

“Trevor!” The urgent call came from another room. Probably someone wondering where their coffee was. They were about to be disappointed.

“Sorry,” Trevor squeaked once more before scurrying away, the cup caddy dribbling as he went.

I craned my neck, still swaddled in my sweater, scanning the room for Mara. She’d just been here—where the heck could she have gone? I finally spotted her across the room, where she was helping a young, blonde woman who was desperately gesticulating to her face in an apparent eyeliner-related emergency. I silently cursed the wardrobe department. They’d been so determined for my character to look “sexy in a nerdy way” that the sweater they’d given me was at least a size too small. I’d struggled to pull it on before it was soaked in coffee; there was no way I’d get out of it by myself now. I was looking for the nearest wardrobe assistant, my arms still pinned in the air and my hands losing circulation quickly, when Teddy cleared his throat.

“Do you need some help?” His smile was smug and self-satisfied, like he assumed I’d been waiting on pins and needles for him specifically to rescue me.

Which, maybe I did need rescuing. But not by him.

“I’ve got this under control, thanks.”

Teddy stared at me wryly. “Suit yourself.” He started to walk away.

“Actually!” I swallowed, my pride slipping down my throat. “Some help would be great.”

“I gotcha.” Teddy said, taking another step closer. Without my neck having its full range of motion, I was stuck staring at whatever part of his body was at eye level, which turned out to be his collarbone. This close, he smelled of pine and something earthy—like the forest after it rains. It was. . . pleasant.

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