Page 5 of The Sun & Her Burn

Because Savannah was with her husband, Tate Richardson, and the young, hot thing in Hollywood these days, Jace Galentine.

No doubt, they were trying to convince him to star in one of their upcoming productions.

He had worked with them on numerous movies over the past five years even though there were whispers in the industry that Savannah was having an affair with him.

My blood turned to poison, sickening me with every brutal beat of my heart.

I was standing before I knew it, offering my hand to Isla with a big smile, hoping its legendary effect would distract her from my discomfort.

“Should we take a walk? This bar is so stuffy, and it’s a beautiful day out.”

A frown flickered between her brows, but Isla dutifully tucked away her tablet, grabbed her recorder, and accepted my offered hand.

“Stuffy,” she asked as we moved toward the party of three still loitering at the doors. “Or crowded?”

“They are often synonymous, aren’t they?” I replied mildly as we approached the other group.

“Seb, my boy,” Tate bellowed in his 1950s radio announcer voice, a crackling, booming baritone that commanded any space. “What a surprise! It’s wonderful to see you.”

His sincerity had long ago broken down my bitterness, so the smile I gave him in return was shockingly genuine. “Hey Tate, good to see you, too. Savannah. Jace.”

I nodded at the other two in turn.

Savannah was just staring at me in that way she had, a beseeching look that asked for my forgiveness and my attention. The last time she had phoned me, I didn’t answer. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to call again until I reached out first.

Jace only nodded back curtly. He was not particularly tall, as most actors weren’t, but that was his only shortcoming. Beautiful like an angel descended from heaven with the kind of golden-blond hair that could not be bought in a bottle and features that were finely tuned yet still masculine. He played charming, irreverent characters in action movies and romcoms, the light-hearted, easygoing foil to my darkly brooding, often tragic characters.

We did not particularly like each other, and it only confirmed for me that the rumors of his affair with Savannah were true.

She did, after all, like young, up-and-coming actors.

“Come sit with us,” Tate demanded in the way of all old white men, as if my refusal to obey never crossed his mind. “We were going to drink old-fashioneds and talk about this damn movie we’re trying to get into pre-production.”

“I’m happily tied up at the moment,” I said, indicating the woman on my arm. “Have you met my lovely companion, Isla Goodspeed?”

In my peripheral vision, I noticed Savannah frowning at Isla, who was pretty enough to make any woman jealous.

And Savvy, for all her grace and power, was not above envy or possessiveness, even when it was wildly inappropriate.

“You should really join us, Sebastian,” she pressed, suddenly stepping closer, her hand reaching out to land as gentle as a butterfly on my arm. “You’ve played hard to get for too long. It is beyond time for you to take a role in a Richardson Production.”

I would rather burn my own eyes out.

“I’m in the middle of an interview,” I said, smiling at Isla warmly. “So we should be going. But it was great to see you all.”

“I’ll call you,” Tate said as we moved by them. “We can hit the racket at the club like old times.”

We had played tennis only three or four times when I was younger and more prone to that kind of idiocy. I tried to keep my space now even though Tate’s fatherly, jovial nature would have appealed to me greatly under other circumstances.

I’d never had someone like that in my life. An older man who genuinely just liked me and wanted the best for me in a paternal way.

Andrea, maybe, but we were co-collaborators even though he was older than me. And his personal life was such a travesty that he was never in any place to give me advice the way Tate liked to do.

“Bene,” I said anyway, before flicking a hand over my shoulder and then opening the door for Isla.

We walked in surprising silence for a few moments. I was grateful to Isla for giving me the brief respite.

“Tower Bar?” I suggested.