“I’m out by the pool,” she heard her grandmother call as she entered the open-concept, white marble kitchen her grandmother had spent more than $100,000 remodeling the year before. She squinted as she walked through, the glaring sun against the white nearly blinding her. She’d never tell Abigail, but the older woman had gone way overboard with the white—floors, cupboards, appliances, and backsplashes. She felt sorry for her grandmother’s housecleaner. No amount of obsessive scrubbing could keep the kitchen sparkling.

The rest of the five-bedroom, four-bath bungalow-style home looked similar to the kitchen. Every room was professionally designed and decorated, with the furnishings and décor swapped out every couple of years as styles changed. Her grandmother’s home was always camera-ready for a spread in Modern Homes Magazine. But it was never comfortable and inviting. As a child, she’d felt as though she were living in a museum—not allowed to touch anything or make a mess.

She stepped through the patio door and saw Abigail lounging in the sun, wearing a large brimmed sunhat that covered the top half of her body, a towel around her lower half, and an oversized umbrella covering it all. Okay, so lounging in the sun wasn’t the best description. “Hi, I brought you your favorite nonfat, no-sugar latte.” She set the cup down and her grandmother reached for it instantly.

She took a sip and said, “I can’t believe these are healthy. They don’t taste healthy.”

“Starbucks—a modern miracle,” Parker said, kicking off her flip-flops and reclining in a chair beside her grandmother. This was one little white lie she had no trouble telling. The weekly latte was probably the only thing her grandmother had ever consumed that she enjoyed in her entire life. She still had the same thin shape she’d had at thirty, and Parker thought it was kind of sad that even after her acting career ended, her grandmother hadn’t relaxed enough to start enjoying things like sugar.

“You should be covered up,” Abigail said, forming as much of a frown as she could with the Botox filler in her forehead.

“I like the heat on my skin.”

“You won’t like the wrinkles.”

“That’s what Botox is for, isn’t it?” she said, though she was still opposed to the treatment. Injecting a disease into her face seemed counterproductive somehow. Though she’d never admit as much to her grandmother, who’d invested in a dermatological company the year before. Beauty for Life MD was making her grandmother almost as much money as her career in movies had and the additional perk—probably the biggest one for Abigail—was the free cosmetic procedures. Parker knew she could get the family discount if she wanted, but she hoped to hold onto her natural look as long as possible.

“You’ve gained weight,” Abigail said, setting her latte aside.

It wasn’t a question, so Parker didn’t answer.

“I can see it in your face and neck . . .” She removed her sunglasses to study her. “I thought you were working out all day, every day, for this new role.” The look of disappointment and judgment was one Parker should be used to by now.

“I am working out, but I needed to put on some muscle,” she said, knowing this was one conversation her grandmother just wouldn’t understand. A low number on the scale was her number-one priority. How many times had she heard that growing up? And despite Hollywood’s changing landscape and its increasing acceptance of plus-size models in the fashion industry, her grandmother was old school. Gain weight, your career was over. End of story.

“Have you cleared it with the director?”

Oh God—how many times over the years had she heard that? As a child actress, she couldn’t cut her hair without her current director or agent’s approval. If she got a bruise anywhere visible, they had to be notified immediately in case a job came up . . . which meant she wasn’t allowed to get a bruise or cut or scratch . . . which meant she wasn’t allowed to play anything where she could get hurt. Basically anything fun.

The year she lost her front tooth was like Armageddon at home. She’d had to keep her mouth closed during all of her casting calls and the inevitable speech impediment that accompanied missing teeth had cost her so many jobs that year her grandmother had exclaimed dramatically, “Career over at nine.”

At the time she’d cried her eyes out, but now she laughed at the memory whenever she recalled it. Her grandmother still didn’t think it was funny.

“Trust me, Grandma, the weight gain is fine.”

Abigail didn’t look convinced. “You know I don’t understand it when actresses gain weight or purposely try to look hideous for a role. I’m not sure they can ever recover from that.” She rolled onto her stomach.

Parker bit her lip, fighting the urge to remind her grandmother of the many actresses who’d taken such a gamble and it paid off with an Oscar. She reached for her drink, but then thought better of it and set it aside.

The gamble had paid off for other actresses, but would it for her? What if she was gaining weight and putting her future prospects at risk for no pay off in the end. Her gut feeling that this movie was going to be a hit could be wrong after all. “Grandma, are you sure taking this role was a good idea?” she asked quietly, watching the glistening reflecting off of the pool.

The sound of her grandmother snoring was the only response she received.

Sighing, she stood, and, bending to kiss the sleeping woman’s cheek, she whispered a good-bye and let herself out. This was one internal battle she was going to have to fight alone.

*   *   *

Reluctantly, Parker stepped onto the scale a few days later. After a ten-minute battle, of course. He’d never seen anyone so freaked out by a scale before. Tyson frowned as he slid the slider to the left instead of the right. What the hell? “What happened?”

Parker didn’t look at him as she stepped down. “I don’t know. Maybe your meal plan isn’t as solid as you thought.”

No, that wasn’t it. “You’re not eating everything on the daily menu.”

“Yes, I am.”

“There’s no way you would lose weight if you were.” He placed his hands on his hips and studied her.

“What do you want me to say, Tyson? I’m eating.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know what to tell you. Besides, it’s only four pounds. I think I’m good enough where I am anyway.”

Good enough where she was? Their goal had been twenty pounds; they’d agreed on it. Something was going on with her. He checked his watch. “Okay. Well, it’s after twelve. Let’s go eat.”

“Now? I didn’t bring much . . .”

“I have enough to feed an army.” He’d stepped up his own training as well in recent weeks to be ready for the fight, which was drawing nearer faster than he liked. “Let’s go.”

She let out a deep breath, glancing around to make sure they were alone in the cardio area before speaking. “It’s too much, Tyson . . . all the food, getting up at two a.m. to drink that awful shake. It’s bullshit and I can’t gain any more weight.”

“What you’re gaining is muscle, Parker, not fat. What are you stressing about?” Man, he’d never get women and their weight issues. Beautiful was beautiful, sexy was sexy, no matter what number the scale read. “Believe it or not, you look smaller now than you did when you walked in here four weeks ago—tighter, toned . . .” His dick perked up as his eyes danced over her, and he sighed.

Really not the time.

Taking her hand, he led her away from the scale. He sat on the bench and she sat next to him. He waited for her to talk, sensing there was plenty she wasn’t saying.

Finally she cleared her throat. “My grandmother is Abigail Hamilton . . .”

He nodded. He’d Googled Parker weeks ago, so he knew she’d been raised by her Hollywood actress grandmother after her parents died in a fire when she was seven. He’d also seen pictures of her walking the red carpet as a kid and then, as she got older, accompanied by movie producers and other male actors who he couldn’t name if his life depended on it. All he knew was that it had annoyed him.