Unforgettable: Book Two (A Hollywood Love Story #2)(35)

“What should I do?” I ask this bastion of wisdom, my voice so small. “I can’t stop dreaming about him being mine.”

“My dear, I have always told my students not to follow their dreams. Lead them and land them. Go back to him and fight with your heart for what you want. If it’s meant to be, it will happen.”

I digest her words. In the distance, a petite but sturdy brown-skinned woman with a long shimmering black braid heads toward us at a brisk pace. She’s clad in a colorful sari.

“Miss Stadler,” she says in a melodic, Indian-accented voice, wrapping her fingers around the handles of the wheelchair. “It is time for another treatment.”

Miss Stadler? Brandon’s mentor? Could it be?

“I hope I’ll see you again, my dear,” the beautiful, disabled woman says cheerfully as she’s whisked away by her nurse.

I’m too stupefied to say anything. Is this all meant to be?

One hour later, I’m packed. I’ve collected my phone, and I’m on my way back to LA.





Brandon


INTERIOR KURT’S KITCHEN-NIGHT

The lights are dim. KURT’S at the counter, pouring himself a glass of Scotch. Shirtless, he’s wearing sweats and looks unshaven and disheveled. He takes a few sips and tosses the glass to the floor. It shatters.

KURT

Goddammit. I’m falling apart without her.

ANGLE ON THE KITCHEN DOOR

The knob twists and the door opens slowly.

CUT BACK TO KURT

He pivots and his eyes narrow in disbelief.

KURT

What are you doing back?

As I pound out the line, I say it out loud. I’m about to write Mel’s comeback when my name sounds in my ear. A soft familiar rasp. On my third shot of whiskey, I’m in a drunken haze. I must be imagining things. I whirl my desk chair around and blink hard.

“Hi.”

It’s Zoey, with her overnight bag in hand. In my stupor, I didn’t hear her drive in. Her glimmering eyes meet mine. I’m taken aback. How many agonizing days has it been? Five? Seven? Ten? It feels like an eternity. I’ve lost count. In fact, I thought she’d never come back. Dressed in stretchy yoga pants and a Kurt Kussler sweatshirt, she looks rested and thinner. I can tell even in the dimness.

“How was your vacation?”

“Enlightening.”

She glows like an angel under the overhead halogen light. At the sight of her, my comatose cock awakens with a stir. It wants to steal my next line.

“I missed you.”

She quirks a smile. “I swam a lot.”

I smile back at her. She doesn’t move. We share a stretch of silence. Only the electricity between us is palpable. I can hear the sparks.

“What are you doing?” she finally asks.

“Writing.”

Her eyes warm with interest. “Oh, the Kurt Kussler season finale?”

Though I never told her I was doing this, she must have read about it in the trades or online. My writing debut has been highly publicized.

“Yeah. But, I can’t really talk about it.” Damn. I hate being sworn to secrecy.

While I’m dying to share the plot twist with her and show her what I’ve written, I’m grateful she doesn’t pursue the subject. Her eyes fix on the almost empty bottle of liquor.

“You should stop drinking.”

We share another awkward stretch of silence. I so want to take her in my arms and taste her. Wash away the foul taste of the whiskey with her sweetness. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

She turns on her heel. “I’ll bring you your Starbucks in the morning.”

“I’m going to take a break. Are you sure?” The truth is I’m famished. Dealing with bouts of depression and writer’s block all week, I haven’t eaten much.

At the doorway, she cranes her neck and looks over her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just keep writing. Don’t give up.”


At her last three words, something in my head clicks. My eyelids flutter. And my heart races.

“Zoey!” I call out her name. It’s too late. She’s gone.

I swivel my desk chair and face the computer. I feverishly type away. I know at last how the season finale is going to end.




“Cut! That’s a wrap!” shouts out Director Niall Davies.

While just minutes ago, a loud gun explosion thundered in my ears, now an explosion of claps, cheers, and wolf whistles reverberates. On location, we just finished shooting the last scene of the explosive season finale of Kurt Kussler. The emotionally charged cliffhanger that dramatically changes the dynamics between Kurt and his assistant Mel.

Lying in a pool of make-believe blood on the street just outside Kurt’s house, I slowly sit up. Wiped out, I swipe at my face, burnishing the tears my co-star Kellie Fox shed. Still crying, she’s kneeling beside me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Her eyes continue to water. Then, laughter mingles with the tears. “Brandon, you got to me.”

I brush away her tears and then smack her mouth with a kiss. My lips long to be smothering another mouth. The mouth I thought about everywhere on my body while shooting—and writing—this climatic, action-packed episode.

I compliment my co-star. “You were amazing.”