Cross your Heart Page 10

  “Reid, it’s Rox.”

  I hear his feet shuffle through his trailer, pausing at the door.

  “My decision to open this door depends on whether you’ve spoken to Zara or Brooke.”

  I can’t stop my laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Edging his door open, his eyes narrow on me. “You know damn well you and Brooke are the rile sisters. I highly doubt ten years has changed that.”

  “I find that offensive.”

  Opening the door wide enough to let me in, he closes it behind me. “You do not. And the only reason I’m letting you in right now is that I can tell you spoke to Zara.”

  Arms crossed over my chest, I let my eyebrows find my hairline.

  Offering me a bottle of water, he sits on one of the sofas lining the side of his accommodations.

  “Producer perks, eh?” I gesture around the room.

  “Guess so. It’s pretentious. I would’ve been happy with a swag on the grass.”

  I drop into a chair across from him. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hart. Swag?”

  “The privacy is nice though,” he confesses, ignoring my comment.

  “Privacy?” I ask. “What is this magical thing you speak of?”

  A small bark of laughter filters across the space.

  “Forever the loner.” I smirk at him and he shrugs.

  “Who did you call?” He drops his feet onto the chair diagonal to him, ankles crossed.

  I sigh. “Mom.”

  “Knew you were too calm.” His smug smirk tickles my nostalgia. This moment feels like us. Content and quiet in our own company. Talking about nothing when once again our world us been tipped on its axis.

  “It’s annoying how easily she can clear my mind.”

  “She helped craft you, she knows how to disable your meltdowns as much as she knows how to push your buttons. It’s a skill.”

  “You’re not thrown by this change?” I ask his overly relaxed state.

  I’m both annoyed and in awe at his ability to adapt to this situation better than I can.

  Reid has always been a planner; achieving his dreams through set goals and hard fucking work. This wasn’t part of his plan. Yet, stretched along his couch, hand inched up his shirt, scratching at the tanned line of his stomach, he’s the definition of calm.

  “I was as ruffled as you when James first suggested it.” I remember his stare, the ominous look in his eyes. “But” —he throws an arm behind his head, the defined line of his bicep, bulging— “I had to think like a producer, not myself. He was right, Rox. Characters were blurred. You and I have something,” he sighs.

  “On camera,” I add.

  He looks away. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. On camera.”

  We sit in silence, eyes catching at times, too much passing between the weighted stare, forcing us to look away.

  “You used to be able to disable my meltdowns,” I offer quietly, wanting to escape the uncomfortable silence. “Now it feels like all I do around you is detonate.”

  He continues watching me for a beat, his hazel gaze scanning my features intently. “It doesn’t feel that way, it just is. I no longer have the ability to shift your negative mind frame because you don’t let me close enough. Detonation is your default.”

  “I don’t know how else to be,” I agree easily. “Being around you doesn’t feel natural to me anymore.”

  “Why?” The soft burr of his voice encourages my honesty.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?”

  “A little bit of you. More of myself. Definitely of failing.”

  “Roxy, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but you’re everything. James had no issue with you. It was Ari and me. It happens from time to time, people being cast in the wrong roles. You’re not gonna fail. You haven’t done so yet.”

  “Haven’t I?” I argue.

  “Stumbling isn’t failing, Firefly. It’s self-discovery. It’s knowledge. It’s experience.”

  “Poetic,” I scoff.

  “It’s true.”

  He must see the skepticism in my eyes. “You don’t think I’ve stumbled?”

  “Frankly,” I answer truthfully, “no.”

  Sitting up straight, disappointment twists along his features. “You’re not the only one that’s done it tough in this industry, Roxy. Not by a long shot. Every single one of us has moved mountains to be here, just like you.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way,” I quip.

  He barks out a sarcastic laugh. “That’s because sometimes you enjoy playing the victim. Own your fucking mistakes. Learn from them. Be better.”

  “Mistakes?”

  He shifts forward in his seat. “There’s that detonation again. Why can’t you take constructive criticism anymore?”

  I stand. “Because after a while all kinds of criticism feel the same. I can’t move left, right or fucking backward without someone reminding me of how I’m a giant fuckup.”

  “So look forward.”

  My eyes burn with tears. This is the Reid I know. The black and white version that seems void of any heart. “Sometimes the road forward is too uncertain.” I hope he reads the meaning in my eyes. “Sometimes the road forward is paved with horrors from the past that you’d hoped you’d never come face-to-face with again.”

  Pain slices across his face, but I ignore his hurt, too consumed with my own. I walk from his trailer on quick feet, making it out the door before my eyes close over, letting water spill down my cheeks.

  Twelve

  Take Two

  Roxy

  A month. That’s how long my peace lasted. Four blissful weeks of my name not tainting every magazine or gossip blog in existence. Thirty days that helped me relax into my life, into a false sense of security that maybe, just maybe, the world was done with both hating and wanting to humiliate Roxy Monroe.

  My fist bangs on his door with the force of thunder. Cracking with determination and fury.

  He opens the door cautiously, eyebrows touching in uncertainty.

  “I thought you were a lot of things, Reid, but selfish wasn’t one of them.” I slam the magazine against his chest, pushing him back into his trailer.

  “Selfish?” He balks, righting his footing, letting the magazine fall to the ground.

  I push him again. “Yeah, selfish,” I spit. “Add self-serving, individualistic, megalomaniac and liar.”

  “That so?” he grits out, arms crossed over his chest.

  Leaning down, I pick up the magazine, a photo of Reid and I from high school days plastered across the cover. “Exclusive! The story of the Oscar winner and the disgraced actress,” I read. “Monroe, desperate to win back Rivere’s love, hijacks film.”

  His nostrils flare when he’s angry, dark brows falling heavy over the havoc in his eyes. Jaw wired shut, I see the thick bob of his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat.

  Throwing the magazine to the ground once again, I raise my eyebrows in challenge. “Cross your heart?” I finger, tone dripping in hostility. “Liar.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “What?” I ignore the confusion in his voice. “You thought Roxy Monroe could boost the publicity for your little movie? Thought I’d be good for PR?”

  “Good?” he stammers. “You’re a PR nightmare.”

  My eyes blink closed in pain, my feet stepping back in defense. The world hasn’t exactly been kind to me over the years, but Reid? Hearing him label me like everyone else does is a slap to the face I never expected.

  I swallow down the hurt, refusing to recognize that this is the second time in less than a month that Reid has made me cry. “You thought your PR nightmare could boost interest in your project. Pick the girl layered in scandal, eh? Make her more pathetic than the world already views her as?”

  “If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”

  “That’s the kicker, isn’t it, Reid?” I whisper. “You went fr
om best friend to stranger. I don’t know you. Not like I thought I did. Not that it matters, tell the world pathetic Roxy had a school-girl crush and you decimated her heart. The fucking tabloids can’t get enough. Bra-fucking-vo.” I clap.

  “You think I leaked our past?”

  “Who else fucking knows?” I accuse. “You. Me. Brooke. Our moms. Oh, you know?” I emulate a light bulb going off above my head. “It was definitely Zara. She saw first-hand how fucked up I was after you walked away, she’d love for the world to know it too.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly,” he declares. “I’m gonna ask you to walk away before you keep saying things that you can’t take back.”

  He’s shutting me down. Again. Refusing to admit to hurting me. Again. “Wish you’d had that mentality ten years ago.”

  He barks out a tired laugh. “Funny, I always thought the same about you.”

  Spinning on my heel, I slam open the door to his trailer, stomping down the stairs.

  “All right there, Monroe?”

  I scowl unnecessarily at Ari, walking past, one banana held in each hand. “Not in the mood for you right now, Ari.”

  Holding his bananas up in surrender, he feigns hurt.

  He looks ridiculous and to stop my smile spreading, I narrow my eyes. “Shouldn’t you be filming.”

  “First take, baby.” He shoots his bananas like a gun, lifting them to blow the ends.

  A defeated laugh escapes against my permission and he smiles triumphantly.

  “Are you ever not eating?”

  “Body is a temple.” He peels his banana. “It needs to remain fueled to fire on all fronts. Free to grab a coldie?”

  I watch him chew, amazed at how annoying and calming he can be all at once.

  “Sure,” I sigh. “Whatever that means.”

  “A beer. Don’t make me twist your arm.” He rolls his eyes. “Let’s shoot through, I found this epic dive bar about ten minutes away.”

  The bar is definitely a local hangout. Barely interested glances thrown our way as we wander in, no one giving two shits about our celebrity status.

  Pulling a stool out from the bar, Ari gestures for me to sit, him sliding into the one beside me. The bartender approaches, an unimpressed frown pulling his lips down. “Don’t post on that social media crap that you’re here.” He eyes both of us. “We don’t need hordes of assholes coming in and ruining our peace.”

  “You got it, Rick.” Ari glances to his name badge, grinning. “We’ll take two beers. Whatever is full strength and on tap.”

  Skeptical as fuck of us, Rick wanders off as slow as he came.

  “How’d you find this place?” I look around. It’s done its time. It’s made solely of old oak wood; the bar, tables, stools, the walls even. It was likely pristine in its day, now worn down over the years. It has that smell of a bar that’s lived through generations of different clientele, stale booze oozing from its pores.

  “Was driving around one day, got lost, ended up here. Stayed awhile. It’s nice to be no one for a few hours.”

  I smile my agreement.

  “Thank you.” I turn my smile to Rick as he places two beers down in front of us.

  “Cheers.” Ari taps his glass against mine before lifting it to his mouth. I watch his eyes close in pleasure at the first sip.

  “So.” He places his beer down, turning his stool to face me. “Wanna tell me what had you storming out of Rivere’s trailer ready to spontaneously combust?”

  Sipping the beer, I let the taste tease my tongue. “Read today’s tabloids?”

  Mouth sliding into an awkward grimace, Ari nods. “I did hear something through the grapevine.”

  After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “Why are you so certain it was Reid?”

  “Dallas called me for a comment, told me he heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  Sipping his beer, Ari licks away the froth left on his top lip. “That could mean Joe Blogg from down the road who has never heard your name, you know that right? Total furphy for sure. Dallas Montgomery is the ultimate mongrel.”

  “You can say that again,” I mumble. “Few people I despise in this world. He’s one of them.”

  “Why believe a word he says then?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Dallas might be an asshole, but he knows how to get under my skin. That, and I didn’t realize anyone else knew. The fact that Reid could’ve shared something incredibly private for both of us makes me feel violated.” I sigh. “I’m overreacting.”

  “You’re not,” Ari assures me. “But if it was as private as you say, I’d guess he feels the same way. Which makes me think it wasn’t him. I’ve known Reid for quite a few years now, and I never knew that detail about you. He told me he knew you from school days and that you were the greatest talent he’d ever known. Nothing more.”

  “I should’ve spoken to him instead of going off half-cocked.”

  “A half cock is never good,” he jokes and I laugh. “Good thing about fucking up, Roxy-Roo, is that there’s this pretty epic thing called an apology. You use it, and more often than not, everyone moves on.”

  “Had many an apology thrown back in my face.”

  He shrugs. “Those people were likely too raw to consider acceptance. Or they were just dipsticks.”

  “Dipstick?”

  “Jerkoff. Tosser. Idiot. Shit cunt.”

  I laugh, but it lacks genuineness. “I knew as soon as word got out that you and Reid had switched roles, it’d add gasoline to the fire. That first month lulled me into a false sense of security. I thought the world had chosen to cut me a break. Obviously not.”

  “They’ve already called you pathetic. What else could they say? Can they really claim that you’re more powerful than James Valentine and Reid Rivere? That this is just a ploy to win Reid’s affections? Please.” He throws a peanut up, head tipped back to catch it in his mouth.

  He’s right. Perspective is a wonderful thing when you can find it. Nice to have someone lead you in that direction when you’re lost. “I guess so. You know, you have no idea how many hands have been in that bowl you’re digging around in for peanuts?”

  He pauses, hand in the bowl. “They’re in shells.”

  “Yeah, but someone touched that, someone who maybe didn’t wash their hands after pooping. You’ve now touched that shell, so you have their toilet germs on your hand, then you touch the nut that you’re going to put in your mouth.”

  Pulling his hand from the bowl, he glowers at me. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a buzzkill?”

  I ignore his comment, lifting two fingers at Rick, asking for two more beers.

  “If it’s any consolation, he read everyone the riot act first day of filming. James was right at his back in support.”

  “Who?”

  “Reid,” he answers. “Told everyone that if he heard of anyone looking at negative media regarding anyone in the crew, or talking about it, they’d lose their jobs on the spot. He skirted around saying your name, but we all knew who he meant.”

  I groan. “Great, now I look like I need Reid to fight my battles.” I drop my head against the bar, banging it lightly once or twice.

  “It wasn’t like that. It was an ultimatum thrown out about respect. Use it or use the door.”

  I push myself back up, shaking myself from the moment. “Enough about me and my woes. What’s your story? Is there a Mrs. Ari Hart?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. Love is too complicated.”

  I drink my beer, waiting for him to expand on his very concrete statement.

  “There are too many variables you can’t control in this life.” He gestures around us. “Date someone who isn’t celebrity and insecurities fester like a mozzie bite, scratched too much it turns into staph.”

  “Gross.”

  “Look at you right now plastered over tabloids from something that possibly happened ten years ago. Say I had a girlfriend right now, paparazzi would take a photo of me attempting to
choke you by throwing a peanut into your mouth and all of a sudden I’m doing the same with my dick.”

  “Poetic.” I grimace.

  He lifts a shoulder in nonchalance. “Date a girl in the industry and you never really know the game plan. Is she using you for fame? Or maybe you’re doing that to her? Too complicated.” He waves his hand in dismissal. “She’d need to be pretty special for me to consider a relationship. I can barely fuck someone at the moment without people wanting to talk about My Night with Ari Hart.”

  I watch him sadly, the dejection in his tone filtering through my veins in understanding.

  “Think of it as a scale.” He lifts his hands evenly in front of him. “The more your career soars” —he lifts one hand— “your personal life falls. In the same stroke, your personal life soars” —he adjusts his hands to demonstrate— “the world’s likely forgotten about you, so your career probably sucks.”

  “Welcome to Hollywood,” I declare.

  “Welcome to Hollywood,” he echoes, grabbing his beer.

  Thirteen

  Take Two

  Reid

  I tap softly on her hotel room door with my knuckles, the sound soft enough not to disturb the other guests, but loud enough to announce myself.

  I wait a beat before the sound of her feet padding across the room can be heard through the door.

  “Hey,” she greets suspiciously.

  “Hey. You got a second?” I gesture into her room and I see the beat of hesitation, the reluctance at letting me into her private space.

  “Sure.” She opens the door wider, letting me through.

  “Unlike you,” I comment. “It’s tidy.”

  She scoffs. “Don’t look in the bedroom. Wanna drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Beer,” she informs me. “Ari and I had a few this afternoon, best I stick to the same poison.”

  “You and Ari are what, friends now?”

  She shrugs as she walks toward me, purposely stopping a few easy steps away from me to hand me my beer. “He’s a nice guy. Easy to talk to. When I can understand what he’s saying.”