Page 15 of Take 2

Chapter Thirteen

I n the morning—or whenever it is, because: jet lag —I slip out of the bed where Preston sleeps and go back to my room.

His words repeat in my mind over the sound of the shower.

Make you fall in love with me. That had to be the stomach bug talking.

Right? As I rinse out my hair, I remember I need to find out what products Preston uses.

Wrapped in a towel, I peek in at him through the connecting door to verify he’s still asleep.

He is. And the sight doesn’t inspire oh, I should get out of here thoughts. It makes me want to sit next to him and read a book while I brush through his silky hair with one hand.

I am royally screwed.

The door closes softly. I slide a robe on and pull out my laptop.

I dig through my bag, but— Damnit, where are my writing gloves?

I pinch the bridge of my nose and imagine Lisa and James telling me this is a sign I shouldn’t be working.

Well, my wrists scraping against the edge of the laptop used to be the norm before I got them.

This won’t stop me, even if the loss of the soft green gloves I’ve written in since grad school pulls me down.

I sit cross-legged on the bed and open the screenplay I’m supposed to clean up.

I’ve compiled a list of notes and find more saved on my phone, a Post-it in my purse, and the back of a receipt.

This was the plan Ashleigh and I came up with.

I’ve done the pre-work to get ready to revise it.

Yet, sitting here with the script open, I have no desire to work on it.

It isn’t for lack of caring about this story or paralysis from the scope of work. It isn’t even burnout or creative exhaustion. I feel like I’m in writing mode, but this isn’t what I want to write.

I glance up to the left corner, where I could create a new project with a couple of clicks. Daydreams from the flight reassemble in my head. Would that be more of the same, writing too many things instead of focusing on one? Or is this Lisa’s advice to work on whatever lives rent-free in my head?

Maybe my optimism isn’t completely dead because I choose to believe the latter and start with a fresh, clean digital page.

The day is a blur of working at the desk, room service while working on the balcony, and checking on Preston.

I’m lying on my stomach on the bed with my feet in the air when he knocks on the open connecting door.

My laptop is nearly dead, and my neck is probably broken.

His footfalls on the carpet announce his entrance before I can tell him to come in.

“Feeling better?” I ask without looking up.

“Physically, yes. But this is absolutely not how today was supposed to go.”

Everything in me creaks like stairs in a haunted house, but I manage to twist my neck enough to face him. Water clings to his hair, and fortunately, he’s fully dressed now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “This is a great day.”

“You’re working. You could be doing that at your apartment.”

“Not with that view.” I tip my head toward the balcony.

“You’re not even enjoying it.”

“I even went out there for some fresh air.”

“With your laptop?”

“Obviously.”

“What are you working on?” he asks.

“My thesis for my chemical engineering PhD.”

He rolls his eyes and sits next to me on the bed.

“Hey! Get your ass off my bed.” I shove him with—apparently—zero force because he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You had your ass on my bed last night.”

“You wanted it there.”

“Fine.” He flops down onto his stomach next to me. “Ass no longer on bed.”

“You’re an idiot.”

His cocky smile and those emerald eyes are dangerous when they’re this close to me and our bodies are horizontal. “Where are your writing gloves?”

“Left them on the plane, I guess.” I curl my fingers into my palms at the reminder.

“That sucks. What are you writing?”

“A movie.”

“Can I see it?”

I scrunch my nose. “Maybe if it’s ever in For Your Consideration. ”

“Really? I don’t get sneak peeks?”

“Why ever would you think you’ve earned that?” I roll onto my side and prop my head on my hand.

“I had hoped traveling with you would get me insider status.”

“I’d think it more noble if it was all to get in my pants.”

His pupils dilate, which I should not be able to notice, but here we are. “Really now?”

Ambiguity about whether we’re both attracted to each other is unnecessary. It’s not something worth wondering about, and we’re both adults, so there’s no reason to tiptoe around it. Feverish confessions don’t count.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” I ask. Not as an offer; I simply want to know where his head is. Actually, asking that while lying on a bed feels like a terrible idea. My boobs perk up like they’re expecting attention.

“That’s a trap.” He’s unfazed by my bluntness. At least one of us is. “If I say yes, I’m a pig. If I say no, you’re offended.” Wow. He didn’t even take advantage of my question sounding like a proposition. This is serious.

“I would not be offended.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I worded the question incorrectly. Are you trying to get in my pants?”

“I’m trying to have a fresh start with you, and I think we should both be open-minded.”

Other questions dance on my tongue, but I’m not brave enough to know the answers. “I’ll do my best.”

“And I won’t try to seduce you.” Something in his voice makes that sound a lot like, Your moans are going to echo through this entire building . Lying on my bed was not the right time to bring this up. “Let me see it.”

For a second, I forget we were talking about my script. “It’s a mess.”

“I’m familiar with all the phases of drafts, Mira.”

“Are you? I thought you shat out your screenplays in their perfect, Oscar-ready forms?”

He rolls his eyes and turns my laptop toward himself.

“No! I haven’t even read it.” I push the monitor down to close it.

He tilts his head as his eyes narrow on me. “Something new? I thought you were working on an existing script on the flight.”

“I decided it wasn’t the thing to work on right now.”

“Feeling inspired?”

“Yep.” I fold my fingers together and rest my chin on them, the picture of innocence. “It’s about a woman killing her colleague on a business trip.”

He laughs, stands, and smooths his shirt. “Let’s get ready and go out to dinner.”

I watch his ass as he goes back to his room and sigh at my closed computer. Murdery vibes would make sense. What’s really starting to come together in this script is something much more hopeful, though.