So she was nothing like me.

I wasn’t plain, but I wasn’t Aphrodite, either. I fell right in the sweet spot of “acceptable.” I had dyed my light brown hair to a darker almost-black color now, but my eyes were still as blue as the ocean. My trademark was the few little freckles I had on the tip of my nose. The more I read of the script, the more I wondered, how the hell am I going to be able to do this?

Closing my eyes, I tried not to think about the fact that the only other scripts waiting for me were something from ABC Family called Living It Up with the Family and, even more insulting, a reality TV show for my mother and me.

I’d rather die.

“Ms. London, we’re here,” the driver said to me as he pulled to a slow stop in front of the glass building on Central.

“Thanks, I’ll be out soon.” I slipped back into my heels, grabbing my bag as I went. It was so hot in Los Angeles that the moment I stepped out, I swear it felt like my skin was melting.

“How can I help you?” the receptionist asked as I walked across the polished floor. In the center were the letters “MES.”

“Amelia London for…” I looked at the script, “…David Zane and Company.”

The receptionist grinned at me. “Amelia London? I used to watch Kid Genius and Spellbound all the time. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks!” I said cheerfully. Spellbound was the TV series I did in my teens where I played a witch. I hated those days more than I care to explain. “So where do I go?”

“Twentieth floor, third door to your right.”

Nodding, I checked my watch and headed toward the elevators. I still had twenty minutes, but I preferred to be early.

“Hold the elevator!” I yelled, rushing for it. I noticed the person inside push the button a few more times trying to get it to close.

Ass!

Running fast, I stuck my bag between the closing doors and instantly wished I hadn’t. I wished I had let it go. I still had time. But when the doors opened, leaning against the elevator wall, wearing sunglasses, dressed in dark jeans and a button-down shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows, was none other than Noah fucking Sloan.

Shit.

“Take the next one, babe. I’m not signing anything,” he said, scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to look up.

“Good. I wouldn’t want anything of yours anyway, Noah,” I replied, stepping inside.

He took off his sunglasses and tilted his head to the side, his eyes wandering down my body and back to my face again.

“Amelia?” His eyes widened, and a wicked smirk spread across his face. “Amelia London? When did you get you get tits?”

“Fu—Sometime after I dumped you,” I spat through my teeth, crossing my arms over my chest.

He snickered. “You dumped me? Is that what you tell yourself? Alright, if it helps you sleep at night.”

Rolling my eyes, I pushed the button a few more times, but I could still feel his eyes burning into my back.

“I know I’m pretty. You don’t have to keep staring.”

“Your ego hasn’t gone down, either. I wasn’t staring. I’m just stunned. I thought you left Hollywood.”

I’m dead, people. Stop beating me over the head. Jesus.

“Nope. I’ve been doing indies.”

He didn’t look impressed. “Why are you here?”

“For a movie.”

“Obviously. What movie?”

I thought about not telling him for a moment, but there was no point in that. He would find out sooner or later, even if I didn’t get the part.

“Sinners Like Us.”

“No, seriously, what’s the movie?” he said, as if he couldn’t even waste a second to think about it.

I lifted the script for him. “Sinners. Like. Us.”

“You can’t be serious,” he snickered, taking the script from my hands. “There is no way you could play Blair Hawthorne.”

“And why not? You got the part of Damon Shaw, didn’t you?”

“A bad boy playing a bad boy isn’t that much of a stretch. You, on the other hand…” he drifted off as the elevator doors opened on my floor.

“You’re Amelia London.” He frowned, handing me back the script when we got to the doors. “Sweetheart Amelia. There is no way. You’ve got the cursing down, but you do know you’ll have to shoot nude right? Besides, you’ve always had one hell of a bitchy temper. Save yourself the stress. I heard Freeman is working on a rom-com. You should try that.”

He opened the door to the casting room, handed me back my script, and proceeded to close the door in my face.

I stood there in shock for one second before I grabbed the door handle in such a rage that I wanted to rip the whole door off its hinges. He had only made it in few feet, but I dropped my shit at the door, took off my shoe, and threw it at his back.

I missed.

“I had a temper, you son of a bitch, because you made it your mission to piss me off when we were young!”

He turned back, eyes wide. “Did you just throw a shoe at me?”

“Be thankful it’s just a shoe! What makes you think I can’t do this role? You think I won’t go naked?” I tore off my shirt and threw it on the ground, followed by my bra. I stood in front of him with my nipples hard, suddenly aware of the chilly office air. “Skin is skin. I’ve been at this for almost two decades, and I’m not scared of anything, least of all your second-rate-acting ass.”

His jaw clenched as he stepped closer to me, not stopping until my back was pressed up against the wall.

“Second-rate acting?”

“You heard me.” I stood up to him. “Second. Rate. The only reason you got this part is because people are under the delusion that you are attractive.”

His nostrils flared, and his eyes dropped down to my body once more. He was staring at me so intensely I wanted to look away. Despite the frigid air, my skin felt hot.

“Fine.” He frowned. “You want to act? Okay, right here, right now. Be Blair.”

“What?”

He didn’t wait to explain. He started to recite a few lines.

“‘You lost your head again, Blair. You’re always jumping without goddamn looking, and then you get upset when nothing goes your way. When in the hell are you going to grow up?’”

It took me a second to remember where that line was, and I could see him already giving up on me, pulling away.

“‘Fuck you,’” I sneered in his face. “‘The great, almighty Damon Shaw, pissed that I didn’t follow his rules. But the thing is, I’m never going to be your pet. I’m not always going to do what you want me to do. My life does not revolve around you!’”

“‘Keep pushing me, Blair! Keeping venting all your goddamn insecurities at me! Maybe that will make you feel better, huh?’”

“‘Insecurities?’” I snickered. “‘Let’s not pretend that I’m the damaged one here, Damon. Tell me the reason you feel the need to tie me up and pin me down whenever I so much as look away from you. I’ll tell you: because you’re afraid I’ll leave, just like your mother, just like your father. People are always leaving you.’”

He paused, took a step back and bent down to grab my shirt. This reminded me for the first time since I had taken it off that I was naked from the waist up in front of him.

“‘You’re right,’” he whispered, pulling my shirt over my head. Without a bra, my nipples poked out. “‘You’re all I have, Blair. I love you enough to die for you, to kill for you. But you can’t keep blaming me for things that are not my fault. I can’t fix those things.’”

His hand cupped my cheek, brushing circles on it with his thumb. “‘And don’t pretend you don’t know the reason that I tie you up is that you like to be tied up.’”

We stared at each other. He was too close to me, and I couldn’t do this with him right now. When he leaned in for a kiss, I slapped him as hard as I could across the face, not caring how my fingers burned.

“In your dreams. You’re not my Damon. You’ll always be my shitty ex, Noah,” I said, grabbing my things from the ground and then pulling open the door. I made it about two steps before I realized I was still missing a damn heel. Not just any heel, but a thousand dollar heel.