Page 19 of Take 2

Chapter Sixteen

T he headache is mild, but I take a couple of aspirin in case it wants to develop into something worse.

The bigger problem is that I don’t know how much of an idiot I was last night.

I’m alone in this bed, so I’m guessing not too bad.

I roll my neck and pop my hair up into a pony with my trusty green scrunchie.

Once my teeth are brushed, my face is relatively presentable, and I put on the perfect billowy blouse with my twill chinos, I knock on the door that separates me from Preston.

“It’s open.”

“Good morning,” I say as I walk in.

One sleeve is already rolled up nearly to his elbow, and he works on the other one. “How are you feeling today?”

“Mostly concerned about how stupid I was last night.”

“Not sure I’d be a good judge.” He completes his Sperry model look and glances up at me with a grin on his lips. “You look great.”

“Thank you.”

He holds the door open for me, and we make our way out.

This time, we hop into a rental car since, ideally, we won’t be getting drunk while Preston is working.

Of course, it’s not just a rental car. It’s a luxury convertible because this is what we do now.

The wind blows loose strands across my sunglasses, and I watch historic and modern buildings alike blur by.

“Glad you’re making use of that scrunchie.”

I turn to face him. “It’s a reminder that I need to beat you one of these years. I plan to shoot it at you when I go up to accept my Oscar.”

“Why do you like to pretend I wouldn’t be happy for you?”

“Because I’m still angry at you for two years ago.” My attempt to be a good sport and have a celebratory drink with him the first time I lost to Preston will forever be seared into my brain.

“You may not have responded, but I know you got my apologies.”

I shrug.

“I thought we were starting fresh with a clean slate now?” he says.

“You thought a second loss to you would do that? Interesting.”

“First of all, I wanted you to win that one. Both, really. But this year? So bad. Secondly, I thought your success and experience would, in fact, put us on a different footing than when Lisa introduced us five years ago.”

Words evade me. I tap my knee until his hand covers mine.

“Please, Mira. I’m trying.”

My fingers itch to spread out and let his weave between them. I look up to find his focus on the road before him. His jaw is clenched, and part of me wants to stroke my fingers along it to relax him. “I just don’t know what it is you’re trying to accomplish.”

We park, and he squeezes my hand. “I guess the first thing is to get you to stop hating me.”

“I obviously don’t hate you.” As much as I’d like to.

“Great. One thing off the list.” He gets out of the car, and I sigh, wondering what else is on the list.

The parking lot is full of much nicer cars than ours, and the marina we walk up to has rows of yachts that have to cost more than most of my movies. The one we get on is moderately small amongst some of the giants. It’s sleek and white with three outdoor decks where the film crew bustles around.

We pass by craft services on a lower deck and go up to the bow where Rafael Medina is talking to some cameramen. He waves when he spots us, and after he finishes that conversation, he approaches us with a wide smile. “Preston, glad you could make it out here.”

They shake hands, and Preston says, “This isn’t the kind of shoot anyone wants to miss.”

“Indeed.” Rafael gestures to the azure water reaching out to the horizon with sunshine glittering on its surface like fairy dust. “And you brought the most interesting guest possible. Mirabelle, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.

” He rolls the “R” and makes my name sound sultry with the Spanish pronunciation.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I say as I shake his hand. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“And I yours. We’re all getting dinner sometime so we have more time to talk, right?”

“Of course,” Preston says.

“Excellent.” Rafael claps him on the back. “Now let me show you all the ways your genius ideas are a pain in the ass to shoot.”

I sink into the background as they get to work.

This is the magic I love. Even before the actors come out, seeing all the moving pieces and people behind the scenes is like a shot of adrenaline.

The camera lens captures such a small window of what a movie is, and while I love the polished, finished product, witnessing this end of it is a rush.

The yacht sets sail, and Monaco shrinks behind us. Part of me wishes I could be the kind of person who vacations like this, but I wouldn’t trade my job for the world. Of course, it isn’t my job today. It’s Preston’s.

Actors appear from a lower deck where they were in hair and makeup, some who I know, some I don’t.

“Mirabelle Sheridan is here!” My name is given all the weight most people would reserve for the A-lister who said it. He’s my favorite Chris, though I wouldn’t ever tell him that. “Please tell me you’re watching me to get inspiration for a script that’ll get me an Oscar nomination.”

We kiss each other’s cheeks. “What do you need me for when you’re in a Medina/Greene picture?”

“Oh, I need you.” He winks at me, and I roll my eyes. “If you ever need someone to read a sexy scene with you, you know who to call.”

“According to People, it would be Paul Rudd.”

He blows out of his lips in a psh . “Do you have free time while you’re out here?”

“I don’t know.” I glance at Preston, and Chris follows my gaze.

“Oh, I see. I have to win an Oscar to get your attention. Well, write me a role!”

I shove his well-muscled chest. “You’re ridiculous. But at least you wouldn’t beat me for it.”

“Exactly.” He walks backwards toward the set. “I’m going to carve out some time with you while we’re here.” He turns around, giving me a drool-worthy view of his perfect ass in linen pants as he gets to work.

My eyes trail him but find Preston looking at me incredulously.

I shrug innocently and bat my eyelashes.

He rolls his eyes and focuses back on work.

It’s such a beautiful thing when writers are involved.

I love that Rafael brought Preston out here.

Talking to the actors, adjusting lines as they shoot, collaborating like this, make the best movies.

It’s kind of giving me a work crush on Rafael.

God, I want to work with someone like that.

During lunch, the yacht is anchored, and I sit with my feet in the chilly water off the platform at the stern. The mountains that set Monaco apart from France are a majestic backdrop to the crowded city skyline. Footsteps approach behind me, but I don’t turn to see who it is.

“Looks like clouds are rolling in, so we’re heading back soon.” Preston folds one leg under himself as he sits next to me.

“Okay.”

“Having a good time?”

“Very much so.”

He leans on his knee. “Sorry we don’t get to spend much time together.”

“That’s not actually what I’m here for,” I say with a smile. “Anyway, it’s fun to watch you work. All of you,” I add awkwardly. Not that I’m watching you .

“You’re just being a film nerd, and all I want to do is hang out with you.”

I force myself to hold his gaze. If I were really being open-minded and not holding a collection of grudges with varying levels of legitimacy, I might be falling for him right now. But am I ready to? Maybe the grudges aren’t a hindrance. Maybe they’re protecting me.

“You asked me to kiss you last night.”

My heart jumps. “Um, remember when you said you couldn’t judge if I was stupid last night?”

“Yeah, not because I didn’t remember it. Just because I may not judge that to be stupid.”

I press my lips together before I gather words. “Well, did you?” I’d like to think I’d remember us kissing, but crazier things have happened.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d like for you to not have to be wasted to want to kiss me.”

The sun is baking me. That’s the reason for my temperature rising. Yep.

I want to yell at him for making this so difficult.

I want to shake him and tell him this is a terrible idea.

But I also want to kiss him. It’s the shoot giving me butterflies.

His proximity is just confusing things. It was the listening to the actors and discussing the character arcs that was sexy, not his broad chest I could melt onto or his lips that look soft in contrast to his sharp jawline.

“Do you want me to now?” he asks.

Avoiding the idea was possible. Barely. Lying about this is beyond my capabilities. “Yes.”

His smile makes my heart speed up, but when it lands on my lips, everything freezes. My heart, my lungs, my brain. Especially my brain.

Everything stops. Nothing exists except his lips on mine—soft and gentle but pushing for more.

Then his hands exist too. One weaves into my hair, and the other slides around to my back.

My foot comes out of the water as he pulls me against him.

His tongue brushes mine, and every lie I told myself about this trip melts into a puddle that’s starting to dampen my panties.

A quiet moan rumbles in my throat.

The cool breeze on my skin is a perfect contrast to the warmth of him against me. The rolling of the boat over waves is like a preview of how our bodies could move together.

Let me guess, you met him while you were yachting in the Mediterranean?

My stomach plummets. A joke made in another life tears through me, and I pull back.

Preston takes a deep breath before attacking me with those green eyes that are warmer and hence more dangerous now. Until he narrows them. “What’s wrong?”

What isn’t wrong? My mind is jumping to all sorts of things it’s supposed to stay away from. Memories clash together like cymbals in my head. As I look back out over the water, I could almost cry for the na?ve girl I was. For him … “Isn’t this all a little too movie-perfect?”

Preston’s shoulders relax. Little does he know I can seriously sabotage this by thinking it’s too perfect. “Is it?”

“I mean, we’re yachting on the fucking Mediterranean. It was movie-perfect enough for you to literally write it into a movie.”

“So, you’re upset that this is too perfect?” He rubs his forehead. “Okay, sure. I can see that. Perfect setting, perfect kiss—”

“Um, you’re putting words in my mouth now.”

“Hmmm.” He taps his chin in an overdramatized show of thinking … and pushes me off the deck.