Page 24 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

CONNIE

I ’ve just gotten to a massive plot twist in my audiobook when a call interrupts my concentration. I’m in the hotel’s gym, running on the treadmill, but don’t slow my stride as I glance down to see who’s calling.

Shit.

It’s my agent. I groan out loud and let out a long sigh. Slowing down to a fast-paced walk, I tap on my headphones to pick up the call.

“Hi Janet,” I say as sweetly as possible while out of breath, bracing myself for what’s to come.

Too busy to beat around the bush, she promptly goes in for the kill. “You can’t ignore me forever, Connie. You need to get your shit together. Brands are getting impatient — they’re breathing down my neck, and I’m starting to run out of excuses.”

I roll my eyes, wiping a palm across my forehead and into my hair.

“I moved across the country, is that not excuse enough?”

“Not nearly excuse enough. Listen, sweetie, you might have turned your back on your acting career — fine — but you’re still an influencer with prior engagements.”

The way she hissed the word fine tells me it’s not fine, but I ignore her tone. I suck on my teeth, my hands on my hips while I think.

I could quit it all.

Start over fresh.

It’s not like I need the money. But for once, I chew on my words and don’t say anything rash.

Yet.

“I just need some time,” I finally say.

Something in my tone must convince Janet.

Her voice is softer when she speaks next. “All I’m asking is for you to fulfill the contracts you already have, and then we can talk. Deal?”

I sigh. “Fine.”

“I also need you to attend an event in Marsford Bay next month.”

I groan so loud that the man jogging a few treadmills away from me looks over. Smiling awkwardly, I give him a small apologetic wave.

“ What event?”

“Just this influencer thing — sponsored by Hendricks Gin, something to do with Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh great,” I mutter under my breath.

She ignores my petulance. “I just sent you an email with all the details. Anyway, I’ve got to go. I have a meeting in five. Talk soon.”

I mumble my goodbyes and hang up.

My audiobook begins to play automatically when the call ends and I start up my run again, now desperately needing to expel some of my frustration.

I despise those influencer events. The downside to all this internet fame bullshit.

For now, I try to push it out of my thoughts and run for another half hour, my lungs burning but my mind clear when I finally step off the treadmill.

“What about this?”

I bring a silk blouse up to Sophia’s chest so she can see it against herself.

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Pass.” Then smiles. “But it would look great on you.”

Sophia turns back to the rack of clothes, slowly rifling through it as I inspect the blouse further, now for myself.

It’s her twenty-first birthday on Monday, and I promised her a shopping spree to celebrate. She’s being surprisingly picky for a no-holds-barred shopping spree. I return the blouse to the rack and continue my perusal.

“So,” I say, “What’s going on with you? Any good restaurant gossip?”

She smirks but doesn’t look up when she answers, “One of the dishwashers got caught snorting Adderall in the dish pit.”

I snicker as I pick out a pair of jeans to inspect. I show them to Sophia, and she takes them to have a closer look.

“I meant more like —” I waggle my eyebrows to convey my meaning instead of finishing my sentence.

With all the stories I’ve heard from Jamie, the restaurant industry is just as messy as the world of acting: Toxic flings, cheating, and so much drama.

Sophia puffs out a laugh. “I mean … Yeah, I guess.” She turns a little shifty, avoiding eye contact. “I’m kind of hooking up with the day bartender.”

“You bitch,” I hiss playfully, slapping her with the shirt I’m holding. “And you led with the dishwasher story? Classic Aquarius, keeping the best secrets for themselves.”

She giggles, placing the jeans back where I found them.

“It’s part of my allure.” She strolls to another rack of clothes, her hand idly dragging against the fabrics.

“It’s no big deal, really. He’s so full of himself.

” She makes a face, and I can tell I won’t like what she’s about to say. “And thirty-three.”

My jaw drops. “ Sophia .”

“It’s fine ,” she says, elongating her last word as if it’s going to help ease my shock.

I stare her down, but her attention is on a blue baby tee. Finally, she looks up and cocks her head to the side, shooting me an unimpressed look.

“Please,” she says, “As if you weren’t also making dumb decisions at my age.”

I puff out an irritated sigh. “Yeah, and look where it got me. Twenty-nine and single.”

Sophia flings the baby tee over her arm, the pile of clothes she’s chosen to try on finally getting bigger.

“You’re being dramatic,” she deadpans. “ Anyway , enough about me.”

She narrows her eyes, and my stomach drops. I know that look: She knows something.

Oh god .

She knows something.

Never the one to skirt around a subject, she goes straight for the kill, her smirk never wavering. “So what’s going on with you and my brother?”

I hate how she used the word brother instead of his name. It feels deliberate, and I hesitate for a few seconds too long, which only cements the suspicious look on her face.

I shrug my shoulders and look away. “Nothing, we just work together.”

She stares at me, and I pretend to be focused on a lace top that would never go with my complexion. She lets out a sarcastic hum, and I start to sweat, hoping she’ll drop the subject. Why would she? I wouldn’t.

“You know he watches your stories, like, all the time. I think he’s kind of obsessed with you, actually.”

She says it much too casually, but her words feel like a bomb detonating inside my chest. It’s a confusing reaction, especially since I’ve been aware that Huxley has been watching my stories.

I only noticed it when I came back for the holidays and wonder if it’s been happening for much longer than that.

But obsessed with me ?

That’s a stretch.

Not to mention that the little shit hasn’t followed me back on Instagram yet. I know it’s a tactical move. And a great one at that because I check every day to see if he has. I was so sure I had him hook, line, and sinker when I sent him that nude two days ago.

But he stayed infuriatingly silent about it. Then, I thought I’d see some kind of tell when I picked him up the morning after, but his poker face was rock solid. He just handed me a coffee and put on a playlist he’d been working on.

I’ve been stewing since yesterday, morbidly curious to know where our precarious game will take us next. It’s like watching a car wreck in slow motion, there’s nothing I can do but watch. Or cause the wreck in the first place. It’s an intoxicating, albeit unhealthy, feeling.

Knowing Sophia is waiting for some kind of reaction from me, I scoff, trying to look as disinterested as possible in her little theory.

“Huxley? Obsessed with me?” I say as if the mere thought is ridiculous. “Isn’t he dating that Selina girl?”

I wasn’t specifically looking to pry, but the opportunity is right there; it would be a shame not to take it.

Sophia slowly walks around a rack of sweaters but gives me a quick look before returning to the rack. It’s obvious she knows I’m full of shit. I play dumb nonetheless.

“Apparently not.”

“Oh?” I squeak out, smiling to myself.

From the corner of my eye, I watch her grin, and I realize she won’t be giving me anything but that small morsel just to spite me. And if I want to keep my cards close to my chest, I can’t do anything about it.

“So you’re coming tomorrow then?” she asks.

I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she repeats with a bit of an attitude. “Sunday dinner? My birthday?”

“Oh! Right … Um …”

I’ve known about this dinner ever since Jamie invited me a few weeks ago, but I’ve been trying to find a way out of it since. The thought of having to dodge the minefield that is Huxley and me, in front of Jamie and Ozzy, has me breaking out in a sweat anytime I think about it.

It was one thing when Huxley was pointedly ignoring me, but now? I’d rather do anything to avoid it.

“Well,” I say much too tentatively. “I thought since we were hanging out today that I could …”

Sophia’s green eyes are hard and penetrating.

Oh god, she won’t let this go, will she?

“Why? Something better to do?”

My mouth hangs open, my half-hearted protest evaporating into thin air.

“ I mean, not really, but …” I stammer out.

“Great!” she chirps, smiling sweetly when there’s nothing sweet about her. She tucks her short blonde hair behind her ear, the very picture of innocence. “Settled then. You’re coming.”

She turns on her heels and heads toward the fitting rooms, giving me no other choice but to agree to her coerced invitation.