Finally, Ethan smirked, raised his eyebrows, and looked back out the window. Grey did the same. A question rose in her throat and she considered swallowing it down, but her propriety won out over her pride.
“Do we need a game plan?” she murmured, low enough that Ozzy wouldn’t hear. Ethan’s eyes flicked back over to her. Lazily, he uncrossed his legs and slowly leaned over her, his lips brushing her ear. She froze, her skin buzzing with the knowledge that if she turned her face a millimeter to the left, his newly smooth cheek would be pressed against hers. The rule about his proximity not disconcerting her anymore apparently only applied when there was enough room between them for the Holy Spirit. Once he got close enough, however, it was clear that the only spirit he’d been acquainted with lately was decidedly earthly.
“I was thinking,” he drawled, his breath hot on her neck and unmistakably oozing with bourbon. “We get out of the car…walk into that building…watch the movie…and go home. How does that sound, baby?” The term of endearment dripped with sarcasm, making her stomach roil.
She reared back against the door, trying to communicate the extent of her disapproval through her expression alone as she mouthed silently: Are you drunk?
He cast his eyes down and slumped back into his corner of the back seat. Grey rolled her eyes. Fucking perfect.
At that moment, a clipboard-carrying production assistant flung open the door, and Grey was lost in a field of flashes. The next thing she knew, her body was flush against Ethan’s with his arm snug around her waist, and the two were smiling and posing in front of a gaping, faceless abyss that howled their names. Well, mostly his name. Grey smiled and leaned into him, rising up on her toes as if to whisper sweet nothings in his ear.
“You’ve been smoking again.”
He laughed and looked at her with what could easily pass as genuine adoration. Through a gritted smile, he replied, “What are you gonna do? Tell on me to Audrey?”
Grey tilted back her head and laughed as if that was the funniest joke she’d ever heard, making sure to angle her face so the cameras caught her good side. Ethan stepped aside to give Grey a moment to pose solo, showing off her glam squad’s handiwork. He then grabbed her hand and whisked her down the carpet toward the huddle of TV correspondents, who practically started trampling one another to get to him. Sadie Boyd, the tenacious host of Hollywood Tonight, pushed her way to the front of the throng, all sharp elbows and sparkling veneers.
“Ethan! Long time! Do you have a minute?”
Ethan grinned at her. “For you, Sadie? I have two.”
Sadie cackled even louder than Grey had pretended to a moment ago. Her cameraman had finally caught up to her and she contorted her body to face all three of them at once. “So, Ethan! You’ve been a hard man to pin down over the last few years. I think I speak for everyone when I say I’m thrilled to see you back on the red carpet.”
Ethan turned to the camera, practically glowing. He looked ten years younger than he had in the car. Grey couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She hadn’t needed to worry. “Thank you, Sadie. Very happy to be here.”
“Tell me, I think we’re all dying to know: to what do we owe your miraculous reappearance?”
Ethan turned to Grey and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she instinctively snaked hers around his waist in return. “This girl right here. Woman. Sorry. This…amazing woman.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, crinkling at the corners. Damn. He really was a good actor.
He turned back to Sadie. “You know Grey, right?”
Sadie focused her attention on Grey without missing a beat. “Grey Brooks, of course! Poison Paradise! Huge fan. And your former costar, Mia Pereira, is having her big night tonight. But what about you? Do you have anything exciting on the horizon?”
Grey smiled coyly. “Nothing I can talk about yet. Right now, I’m just…enjoying myself.” She reached up and stroked Ethan’s cheek. He turned his face into her hand and planted a soft kiss on her palm, his eyes never leaving hers. The brush of his lips sent a delicious jolt of electricity through her.
“Well, the two of you are just too cute,” Sadie gushed. “I can’t wait to see what you get up to in the future. Maybe working together is in the cards?”
“I’d love to,” Ethan replied instantly. “She’s incredibly talented.”
Grey lowered her eyes bashfully. “Oh, stop it,” she said, giving him a playful push.
Ethan laughed. “We’d better go before I embarrass her too much. Great talking to you, Sadie.”
He took Grey’s hand again and ushered her past the rest of the reporters, through the VIP entrance into the roped-off lobby of the theater. Dozens of people milled around, sipping complimentary champagne, but miraculously, nobody tried to approach them. They retreated into a corner.
“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Grey muttered.
Ethan craned his neck, as if looking for someone. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“How do you know if I’m talented? Have you even seen anything I’ve done?” The words slipped out more brattily than she’d intended, revealing a glimmer of bruised ego underneath.
“Sure I have. Just now. You were perfect.”
Ethan zeroed in on his target, flagging down a waiter and plucking two glasses of champagne from his tray. He offered one to Grey, who shook her head. He shrugged and poured the contents of one into the other, discarding the empty glass on a nearby ledge. Before he could take a drink, Grey snatched the flute out of his hand.
“This isn’t fucking cute,” she hissed, brandishing it at him, a few drops splashing out of the precariously full rim. “You can’t be a mess tonight. I’m not cleaning it up.”
He stared at her from under hooded eyes. She expected him to retort, but his gaze slid sideways, focusing on something behind her. She whirled around to see what he was looking at, and her stomach sank.
Callum Hendrix appeared through the throng, his arm slung possessively around the mononymous Peyton, a wide-eyed and excruciatingly wholesome pop star infamous for revealing her exes’ dirty laundry in her thinly veiled lyrics. Thankfully, it seemed like neither of them had clocked Grey and Ethan lurking in the corner. Grey briefly considered finding a way to warn Peyton what she was getting into, but thought better of it. There was no way Peyton wasn’t aware of his reputation. She must be in it for the material. If there was anyone who deserved to be the subject of a scathing album or two, it was Callum.
She quickly turned to Ethan, her back blocking both of them from view.
“Fuck,” she muttered. Of course he would be here; practically the whole cast was here. She took a long swig of the champagne and closed her eyes, concentrating on the feeling of the chilled fizz sliding down her throat, the bubbles working their way up to soothe her frazzled brain.
She’d been prepared to return to Poison Paradise’s fifth season with her head held high and her lips sealed about how unenthused she was to be working with Callum every day for the next nine months, only to discover after receiving the script for the premiere that his character would be suffering a tragic (and fatal) accident involving his motorcycle and a not-quite-frozen lake in the opening scene. She felt a little guilty about letting her personal life spill over into her work—but not guilty enough to stop her from sending an extremely expensive gift basket to the writers’ room the next day.
Callum had made it clear that he blamed her for getting him written off the show, and his fans had harassed her online for months. Never mind that his increasingly difficult behavior over the previous two seasons had already made him unpopular with the producers. In a fitting bookend to their first meeting, the last time she’d seen him was at the table read for his final episode, pretending not to notice him glaring daggers at her over their scripts.
Grey opened her eyes again and saw Ethan was watching her. He extended a hand to her.
“Should we go to our seats?”
She took it gratefully.
“Yes, please.”
* * *