Tidal (5 page)

away at the smooth digital keyboard. He

still hadn’t mentioned what had happened

back in Los Angeles but it was bound to

come up at some point during the next

several weeks when he bitched about

disliking the film industry. What would I

even say?

My stomach rolled. I needed to clear

the air between us and I needed to do it

right now.

“Cooper,” I started, and he lifted his

chin a little. “Look, I—”

“I don’t think it’s going to be what

you’re used to,” Miller said loudly from

behind us. I turned, shoving away my

frustration at having been interrupted, as

my bodyguard wiggled a set of car keys

high in the air.

“It’s a moped, isn’t it?” Cooper said,

laughing in earnest for the first time in

hours. “Fuck me sideways, no private jet

and now a moped.” Miller shot him a dark

glare and shook his head.

“No, it’s the”—he punched the key fob

a few times, and I whipped my head back

around to see the headlights of a compact

Kia flashing rapidly, illuminating the

place. He was right, it wasn’t what I was

used to, but I didn’t care. There was so

much more to worry about than what car

took me to point A to point B.

Like the migraine that was gradually

forming in the center of my skull.

Like my parents still not calling me

back; like the money that would be

deposited into my account in a few days

and the fact I was going to start shooting

the remake of a movie in a couple weeks.

Like Cooper.

“It’s small,” I said, sticking my hands

into the pockets of my tight denim shorts. I

looked up at my bodyguard and cocked my

head doubtfully. “Can you even fit in that

thing?”

Miller paused at the curb, lifted his

eyebrow at me. “I’ve fit in smaller.” Then

he grabbed our luggage and ambled to the

Kia.

I didn’t know how to take that, so I

just nodded.

Cooper began to walk away. Frantic

to make things right, I grabbed his upper

arm, curling my fingers around muscle.

“Wait, I need to talk to you,” I said. His

eyebrow shot up, but he lagged behind.

“Look, what happened in L.A. with that

kid . . . it wasn’t what you thought,” I said.

A smile quirked the corners of his

lips. “I know it’s not. It’s not even about

that. It’s just you. You’re going to bring

out the worst in me.”

The worst in him? He was at least a

half foot taller than my five foot six, so I

tilted my head back to stare up into his

blue eyes. “Because I’m an actress?” I

demanded.

Cooper’s halo of golden hair drifted

when a hot breeze whispered through the

garage, and he moved his head slowly

from side to side. He pulled his arm out of

my grip then placed his hands on either

side of my shoulders. Tossing a quick

glance at Miller, who was waiting quietly

inside the idling Kia and glued to his

phone, Cooper dropped his voice to an

uneven whisper. “Because I can already

tell you’re going to give me a hard time,

Wills.”

“You don’t even know me enough to

judge,” I snapped. He grimaced.

“Stop jumping to conclusions,” he

said, his jaw tightening. “I don’t care what

you’ve done in the past, okay? I’m

worried about what’s going to happen in

the future.”

I scraped the bottom of my foot

anxiously across the concrete as I waited

for him to explain. It was the least he

could offer me since that lip-numbing kiss

I’d craved—correction: was still craving

—was obviously out of the equation.

“I make it a point not to hook up with

people I’ve been hired to work with,” he

said.

My head spun for a moment, and I just

stared up at him, letting his fingertips dig

into my shoulders. Could this guy get any

cockier? “Okay, for starters, you’ve

known me for, like, two seconds. Two . . .

what makes you think I’d even go for it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Willow

Avery—everyone knows you.” When I

sunk my teeth into my bottom lip to hold

back a rude reply, he added, “And

besides, you wear your emotions on the

sleeve of your”—he dropped his gaze to

my blouse, plucking a piece of fabric

between his fingertips—“flannel shirt.”

I scoffed, finally breaking away from

his grip. I leaned back and crossed my

arms over my body. “Thought you said I

was mechanical.”

“Not when you’re flustered.” He took

a couple steps backward, making his way

in the opposite direction of our rented

Kia. “Goodnight, Wills,” he said once he

reached the exit.

“Wait—where the hell are you

going?” I called out, frustrated.

He opened the door, glanced over his

shoulder, and then said in what could only

be described as a Hollywood exit, “I live

here, remember? Long term parking,

where I left my car.”

No, I didn’t remember that he lived in

Honolulu because he’d never told me. Up

until now I’d assumed he’d come to Los

Angeles from Australia, because of the

accent. I watched his body disappear

around the corner then stalked across the

concrete, to the Kia. When I slammed into

the passenger seat, Miller shot me an

amused glance that clearly told me what

he was thinking.

“It’s not even like that,” I snapped.

“No idea what you’re talking about,”

he answered immediately, stifling a laugh.

He stared straight ahead, but the big ass

smile threatening to slide across his face

said it all.

Once we escaped the airport chaos,

traffic was scarce. I spent the entire ride

drinking in the sights as the sun slowly set

and chewing a piece of gum Miller gave

me. Thirty minutes later, he parked the Kia

into a driveway belonging to a small,

wood-framed home that was more garage

than house. I opened the car door and the

moment I slid out, I heard the rush of the

sea nearby. I could smell and taste the salt

hanging in the air, even though this place

wasn’t oceanfront.

“It’s empty,” I murmured, feeling a

surge of panic rush through me. It was just

after eight and there was practically

nobody outside, except for a few kids

playing basketball at the end of the cul-de-

sac. This place was empty and organized

with none of the commotion that I craved.

Pulling in a deep breath, I forced myself to

calm down, to focus on the positives. Like

the sound of the waves.

Loud and distracting, just the way I

liked it.

If I was lucky, that noise would be

what lulled me into a dreamless sleep

tonight, and every other night after it while

I was here. That sound would be just

enough to drown out the what-ifs and

images that met me whenever I closed my

eyes—enough to keep me from sinking

myself into something else that I’d never

emerge from.

No more fucking myself over
, I

silently promised.

Miller cleared his throat, drawing my

attention to where he stood a foot away,

leaning against the hood of the car. In the

shadows of the sunset, he looked

absolutely menacing, but he wore that

laid-back smile that had kept me from

getting too pissed when he’d silently

teased me about Cooper.

“Guess you’re not used to this either?”

he asked. I followed his eyes back to the

front of the tiny house and exhaled.

“At least it’s not rehab,” I whispered

so softly I wasn’t sure he heard me.

He walked around the car and opened

the trunk. When he closed it a moment

later, my rolling bag, as well as his own

luggage, was enveloped between his

massive arms. I tried to take my suitcase

but he grunted stubbornly.

“This is my job,” he said.

I lead the way to the house. “You

make me feel like a runt.”

“That’s my job too,” he replied.

I nodded, though I didn’t turn around.

The sad part was I hadn’t always needed a

bodyguard. There’d been a time, about

four or five years ago, where I was well-

known enough to get amazing parts but not

so famous that I needed to be protected.

To be honest, it sucked to have fallen far

enough to get the parts nobody else

wanted and yet still be
that
actress, the one who was so notorious the studio had

to hire bodyguards, aka babysitters. Miller

was probably getting paid more than me.

I felt my smile slip.

His own look faltered and he took a

hesitant step forward. “Are you okay?” he

asked.

Bobbing my head a little too

enthusiastically, I turned back toward the

front door and opened the lockbox with

the code Kevin had given me. There were

two sets of keys, and I dropped one into

Miller’s outstretched palm.

“Don’t bust through the ceiling, Lurch.

The tabloids would be all over me for

trashing a rental house,” I said, trying to

lighten the mood. Miller tossed his head

back and howled with laughter, but the

inside of my chest felt hollow, clenched. I

focused on unlocking the door so he

wouldn’t see the look on my face.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied seriously.

I waited to go inside the house until I

heard the sounds of his feet scraping up

the wooden stairs that led up to his

apartment. The moment I opened the door,

I felt sick to my stomach. It was

suffocatingly hot. I stumbled a few steps

backward so I could stand in the doorway

and get fresh air. Gripping the wooden

frame, I gasped in deep breaths of air,

taking each one in as if it were my last.

I needed to pull myself the hell

together.

I needed to walk into that house and go

to bed because tomorrow morning, I

would have to face Cooper. I needed—

My cell phone vibrated in my back

pocket, indicating a text message and

broke my erratic thought process. As I

finally stepped inside, shutting the door

behind me with the back of my foot, I

pulled my phone out. I found the

thermostat and adjusted it to the lowest

possible setting, then sunk down on the

worn, brown suede sofa to check my

missed messages.

There were three. Two from my

mother—one to tell me the fridge had been

stocked with my favorites (I already knew

that because Kevin’s assistant had told

Miller who had told me hours ago) and the

other to say a mover would be dropping

off several of my things in the next two

days and that she and Dad missed me.

“Phone not working my ass,” I said,

thinking of the lie Kevin had told me this

morning in my hotel room, as I typed

Thanks. Can’t wait to talk.

I expected the other message to be

from Jessica since she’d yet to call or text

me, but it came from an unknown number

with an 808 area code. A Hawaii area

code, I realized, as I glanced at an

outdated calendar across the room that

advertised a local insurance agency. I

opened the message, 99 percent sure who

sent it, despite the fact that I never gave

him my phone number.

8:14 p.m.:
Let’s try this again . . .

I’m sorry, Wills. Want to do something

together? Neither of us wants to be alone

tonight.

“You confusing, crazy boy,” I

whispered, shaking my head

disbelievingly. I positioned my fingers

over the smooth keypad, ready to tell him

off—to let him know I’d been dealing

with his type for years—but then I thought

better of it. I called him instead.

“I took you for more of a texter,” he

said the moment he picked up. I could hear

the sound of waves crashing behind him.

“Some things come out better if

they’re said aloud.”

“Like?”

“Like hi Cooper, this is Willow.

Thanks for the invitation but I’m not

fucking you tonight.”

A low growl came from the back of

his throat, and I heard him thud down on

something heavily. “That’s why I sent the

other message, Wills,” he said in an

admonishing voice. I looked at the screen,

and sure enough, there was a second text

sent around the time I dialed him.

8:19 p.m.:
That sounded like I was

trying to get into your panties, didn’t it?

I’m not.

“I call bull. And besides, I thought you

called them knickers,” I said. He

chuckled. Ugh, even his laugh had a sexy

accent. I stretched out on the couch, letting

the pitiful AC unit fan my face as I

shrugged out of my long-sleeved, flannel

shirt.

“I don’t sleep with clients,” he said.

“And I’ve not lived in Australia for ten

years, since I was twelve when my mum