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I rub my bottom lip. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

I disconnect the call and ask the driver to drop Keegan, Fen, and Vander off at Tinsley’s and then to take me to the studio.

“What are you going to do?” Keegan asks, using her good hand to hold mine.

“What needs to be done,” I tell her, already concocting a plan in my head.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offers, and I shake my head.

“No. This I’m going to handle alone, but one way or another, it’ll be settled by tonight.” I’ll bloody well make sure of it.

31

Ipush through the glass doors of the building with my sunglasses still on. This is a multi-purpose building. The security guard nods, recognizing me, which is a relief. I’m in no mood to stop or partake in idle chat. My hands are shaking slightly with a steady course of adrenaline that quickens my strides.

Pure, unfiltered rage that’s been building since I saw Keegan talking to Alden has been twisting me up with no proper outlet for it. I was in shock in the car when I heard it was Tommy Hardgrave, but now I want his blood spilled for the world to see. I want to wipe that charming, pretty-boy arsehole smile from his face.

We’re set to start table reads next week, and this will certainly fuck all that up.

I make my way toward the elevator and catch my reflection in the mirrored doors. Disheveled hair and two days’ worth of stubble. I haven’t slept. Between the threats and what happened with Fen’s mum, my mind wouldn’t quiet.

The elevator doors open on the top floor, and it’s business as usual up here at Entice Pictures. Assistants scurry past withcoffees and scripts in their hands, eyeing me with that familiar mixture of wariness and calculation. What’s Loomis Powell doing here today? Isn’t he supposed to be on an island or watching his life fall apart the way we have been?

I ignore them and make straight for Mel’s office in the back.

“Mr. Powell?” His assistant, Bridget, comes scurrying over to me when she sees me approach, a tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. “We were just notified you’re coming. He’s in a meeting, but?—”

“He’ll have to end it.” I plow past her and straight into his office that occupies the corner of the fourteenth floor, with windows that frame Boston like it’s just another prop on his set.

Mel Stevens looks up from his desk, AirPods in his ears, his face transitioning from annoyance to recognition to practiced neutrality. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Twenty-five years of producing films that have collectively grossed billions tends to hone your poker face. But I also know Mel folds like a cheap suit under pressure, and I tend to test that.

Tommy wasn’t the only one who knew we were in Key West or that I was wearing a disguise.

“I’ll call you back,” he says and hits the red button on his cell phone. He pulls his AirPods from his ears one at a time as if he’s enjoying making me wait. “Loomis, this isn’t how I was hoping to see you again, and I have to say, this latest round of press isn’t in your favor.”

“No?” I take off my sunglasses and hook them in the front of my black shirt. “Not keen on the videos being posted? Not good for the studio’s image?”

He scowls.

“Maybe you should have let your twat golden boy know that before he started committing crimes.”

Mel frowns, a confused look crossing his features that gives me hope that the studio wouldn’t be part of this. He gestures tothe chair across from his desk. “Sit down before you fall down. You look like hell.”

“I’m not here to discuss my appearance, and frankly, I don’t care. I want to know if you knew it was him. If you knew what he was doing and if you aided in it.” I sit in the chair across from him and drop my elbows to my knees so I can meet his eyes.

“Who are you even talking about?”

“Tommy Hardgrave. Or didn’t you already know?”

Mel’s expression doesn't change, but his fingers begin to drum lightly on his desk.

“What about him? Because from where I’m sitting right now, you should be more concerned about yourself and less about him.”

I laugh because that’s a good one. “He’s been stalking me and Keegan Fritz.” The words come out matter-of-fact because if I let the emotion in, I might throw Mel’s ridiculous crystal paperweight through his equally ridiculous floor-to-ceiling windows. “He was stalking me all over town, following me from here and videoing me with Keegan. He’s harassing us both. Posting videos online from dummy accounts. Sending texts to Keegan’s ex-boyfriend in an attempt to use him to hurt us. Tipping off paparazzi to our whereabouts. Spinning stories to the tabloids. Revealing Keegan’s non-public profession as an author and calling it smut and trash. Risking my son’s safety.”

Mel’s drumming stops. “Those are serious accusations. How do you know it’s him?”

“I suppose my question is, Mel, how do I know it’s not you too?”