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“Reese, maybe we should wait,” Sophie starts as I move past her.

“It’s my job,” I say. Then I’m rushing out the door.

But when I round the corner to where they’re filming, I hit an abrupt stop. Because when I see who’s standing there, my skin goes cold, like the temperature in the room has dropped.

I knew. Somehow, I knew.

Jacques is standing to the side, Marcel behind him. Kelly stands off to the side, whispering something urgently into her phone. Nancy’s got her hand up, saying something.

But I can’t hear it. All I see is the man jabbing a finger in Neil’s chest.

“I know she’s here,” the man barks. “So tell me where she is, or I’ll—”

“Simon!” I yell, surprised at the calmness and volume of my voice. It doesn’t match the riot of adrenaline bouncing around in my stomach.

Simon looks just like I remember, only…older. More tired, with a little less hair. He’s still handsome, in that slick, knowing kind of way.

He grins, widely, shoving past Neil to get to me. “Reesey,” he says. That smile used to make me do things—think things—I didn’t want to. It used to have me agreeing with whatever bullshit used to come out of his mouth.

But I was younger then. Naïve.

Made to think I was small.

And I know a grin a thousand times more beautiful than that one.

Simon takes a step toward me, brushing Neil out of the way.

“Stop!” I shout, putting a hand up. “Stay right there.”

Simon snorts, but stops, looking mildly surprised. Like he thought I’d welcome him with open arms.

Neil’s looking between the two of us. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to stand up for me. But he looks away, whispering something to Nancy.

Nope.

Inside, my chest is tight with fear. I haven’t seen Simon since the day I walked out of our apartment for the last time. I haven’t heard his voice since I deleted that last angry voicemail on my phone before blocking his number.

But I was brave enough then to leave. And I’m a hell of a lot braver now. I picture that drawing on my desk.

Eli, swinging me around on the video.

I steady my voice. “How did you get in here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, but a crew member behind him looks so stricken with guilt he doesn’t need to tell me. He just followed someone in the door, acting like he owned the place. That was Simon. All that bravado and nothing but jealousy and insecurity inside.

“I’m here now.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Oh I know. Mr. Slick here told me.” He jerks his thumb in Neil’s direction. “Closed set and all that.”

I glance at Neil. At least he did try to stop him. But whatever tiny spark of gratitude that comes up is quickly snuffed out when Neil picks up his mic. It’s the one he uses for interviews.

“But now you’re here, and you can tell everyone to back off.”

The cameraman he was speaking to a moment ago hoists his giant camera up on his shoulder.

He’s going to film this. Anger ties a knot in my chest, both at that, and what Simon just said.