Downstairs, a note stuck to the fridge. Went in to the studio. Keys to the Audi are on the hook by the door. Dad.

Traffic made the short commute seem long, and she had to make one embarrassing stop by a drugstore before reaching the studio.

***

All she wanted this summer was to spend some time with Dad and be able to list an interesting job on her college applications. She had never wanted to get involved in any work drama but she couldn’t overlook intentional harm to someone; hence, the drugstore purchase newly residing in her purple messenger bag.

Ashley shoved it into one of the cabinets under the makeup counter. Now she needed someone to ask her to run an errand to Caz’s trailer. She’d drop off the package, and her good deed would be complete. Ashley moved along the counter, past numbered, sectioned containers of powders, gels, oils, and creams. Scooping up a stray box of tissues, she popped it into a square cutout labeled Tissues.

The makeup artist, busy sorting through a wheeled cart that held even more potions, lifted her head to nod in approval. Her short bleached rock star haircut didn’t move, but her fuchsia mini dress swished around her thighs. “Call me Powder.” In the mirror’s reflection, Powder’s face, made up with slashes of solid color, looked even more dramatic beside Ashley’s pale, unmade face. Ashley’s attention left her own reflection at the sound of Petra’s voice.

Petra curled into one of the chairs facing the mirrors. Holding an entertainment magazine, she jabbed a red, jewel-decorated nail at the glossy cover. “I posed for so many shots. Why am I not on the cover?”

Powder rolled her eyes and added more cotton balls to a tray.

Ashley looked at Petra in surprise. Did she mean to sound so egotistical?

Olive massaged Petra’s shoulders while feeding her ego. “I know. You so deserve the cover. You are the lead.” Glancing at the crowd of additional suck-ups around the beautiful brunette, Ashley realized how Petra could remain oblivious—everyone smiled and nodded to her face. Not one of them called her on her ego. As Ashley moved closer, her eyes widened at the image on the magazine. The cover depicted Caz lying across a gray carpet with a hot-pink bra wrapped around a beer near his hand.

Petra read the caption. “Depraved young Hollywood. Caspian arrives in LA. Only here an hour, and he’s already partying like a Brit on Ibiza.”

The subject of the photo, Caz, sat silent at the other end of the makeup table with compressed lips and a light frown.

Petra raised her eyebrows at him. When he failed to respond, Petra continued to read. “Blah, blah, then something about an unknown blonde companion.” She held the cover to the light to get a better look at the picture.

Ashley winced. She stood near enough to recognize the back of her own head. While totally annoyed on Caz’s behalf, she felt grateful the article didn’t identify her. Having spent summers with her divorced dad, she grew up around movie people and knew lots of them didn’t want a private life. Dad attracted attention-seeing flakes. Actors were the worst. When Ashley was little, one of Dad’s girlfriends took her to the mall. After Ashley threw a tantrum over leaving the toy store, the actress walked out and left her.

A minor earthquake hit and Ashley hid in the back of the store. Knowing they were at the mall, Dad drove over to check on them, but he found the actress talking to the press rather than looking for his kid. Dad hadn’t dated an actress since. Good policy. Say no to egotistical actors.

Caz turned his chair away from Petra and looked out at the set. Powder didn’t let his antisocial mood put her off. She moved in front of him and clipped his hair back with a curler clippie. Next, she dabbed at his jaw line with a spongy makeup wedge. Others gave the star and his frown a wide berth, but Powder wasn’t intimidated. She waved a makeup stick at him. “This’ll look great,” Powder said. “Trust me.”

Caz made a disbelieving sound and tilted his head out of her reach.

Ashley, feeling sorry about the embarrassing photo, slipped around to the back of his chair and whispered in his ear, “Do you want me to say something? Explain what really happened?”

Caz turned his head toward her and spoke in a normal tone. “So you can get your name in the press?”

“No,” Ashley said, annoyed. “So you don’t come off as a man-whore who needs to be in rehab.”

His bright impossibly blue-green eyes widened, and he straightened. Powder followed him, continuing to jab the sponge at his face, and Caz snapped, “Can you give us a minute?”

Powder backed off, and Ashley gave her an apologetic look.

Olive snapped to attention and popped over to Caz’s other side. “I can get you whatever you need.”

Caz waved Olive away with a flick of his hand. Olive stomped back to Petra, but she kept her eyes on Ashley and Caz.

Quietly, Ashley said, “If I wanted to be in the paper, I wouldn’t be the ‘unidentified blonde.’”

“No one but you knew I was in that car. I was supposed to be in the Hummer.”

“Like I wanted to be stuck in your paparazzi traffic,” Ashley said. “You fancy foreign film guys.”

Caz grabbed her elbows and pulled her forward, close enough she could smell his cologne and feel his breath when he complained in her ear. “Fancy…”

Powder came back. “Sorry, but we’re going to be behind schedule if I don’t get your eyeliner finished.”

Ashley smirked and pulled back. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your eye makeup.” She drawled out the last two words with her most put-upon Texas twang. Nothing mocked fancy better than a Texas drawl.

Caz released her arms, but his gaze didn’t leave hers, even when Powder stepped in with the promised eyeliner. Looking over Ashley, Caz sneered. “Late night with your boyfriend? He seemed a little old to keep you out past nine.”

“That was my dad in the garage, you perv.” Ashley stepped toward the counter. The confrontation with Caz reminded her of her purchase. Going to the end, she scooped out her purple messenger bag. “Um, Caz, what’s your trailer number? I need to drop off a package.”

Powder stepped back and unclipped his hair. The strands fell forward into his eyes. “You’re good to go.”

Caz threaded his hair back with one hand, nodded vaguely toward Powder, and focused on Ashley. “I locked the trailer. Give it to me now.” He eyed her hand atop the messenger bag and held out his own, palm up.

Eyes widening in horror, face heating, Ashley gazed at all the people working nearby. No way.

“Later is fine,” she said, and scurried away.

Shortly after, Ashley saw Caz act for the first time, not block, not line-read, but actually act. He was amazing, mesmerizing. Now she understood all the attention and the line of fans she’d seen at the gate this morning.

“He’s really good,” she said to Olive, who stood nearby, eager to jump up and kiss someone’s feet the moment the director yelled, “Cut.”

“I know that,” Olive said sharply and moved away.

It wasn’t until the end of the day that the issue of the package came up again. Caz walked straight over to Ashley and asked for it.

Her lips twisted. “What’s your trailer number?”

“I don’t let people in my trailer. It’s my home for now. Are you going to let people walk through your home?”

“I thought you actors had an open-door policy.”

Caz swung a script against his leg. “Some of us are discriminating. For instance, you’renot invited into my trailer. So give me the package.” He looked around for her bag, but she’d stashed it in the makeup area rather than carry it around all day.

“Fine. I’ll hang the delivery outside your trailer. What’s the number?”

Caz stretched his arms over his head, drawing her eyes to his biceps. Lean, hard, perfectly on view below the short sleeves of his T-shirt.