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“I can imagine,” Maggie said. “But if it’s about the system, like movies and television itself, do you ever wonder if there’s another way?”
“Buying a movie theater?” he asked, confused.
“Producing. Directing. Something like that.”
“Oh, the dark side.”
“Hey.” She flicked his forearm with her finger. “I live on the dark side. I just wonder if the problem is people like Vincent Minna. Could you make more of a difference if you became the anti–Vincent Minna?”
“Drew is always telling me that I’m an ‘entrepreneur.’” Cole put the word in sarcastic air quotes, as if nothing could be more ridiculous. “And look, acting is only part of my income. Endorsements, side hustles, those are part of the gig. But I became an actor because I didn’t want a real job with memos and, like, TPS reports.”
“Sadly, I can confirm that real jobs do in fact suck. I just ... wondered if there’s another way. Or maybe anadditionalway.”
“What, you’re saying my performance as mega-hottie and mega-asshole Geordie Robertson can’t change Hollywood?”
“Alas, no. But in fairness, your ass is totally revolutionary.”
“That’s probably why Zoya cast me.” Cole set his hand over Maggie’s. “You know, Drew has never asked me why I want this. He just took it for granted that I did, and ... I did. For nearly two decades, it was always about what we were going to get, how we were going to get it. That was what I needed, so I didn’t mind. But I’m glad you’re here now to ask me those hard questions. Because I don’t think I’ve ever answered them out loud. Maybe I was afraid to.”
She flipped her hand around under his, linking their fingers together. “You say that like it’s goodnow, but give it a few months ...”
“No, I’ll always appreciate it.” His words were firmer and more serious than the Pledge of Allegiance.
Maggie knew she should treat his vow lightly, act as if it were pillow talk because it was just too soon, but it was all too easy to see how they could sit and talk like this every night. How he could tease her out of her tendency to take things too seriously and pick them apart until they were threadbare. And how she could take him seriously, asking questions and validating him in the ways clearly no one else in his life did.
If only it weren’t for how they’d met, becauseWaverleywas always going to be there. It would always be the first line on her résumé, and it would always be the vehicle for his renaissance. That was never going to change. Cole and Maggie meeting on that set, even if they hadn’t touched until filming was over, was always going to be a little bit sketchy.
Maybe more than a little bit.
But despite her fears about how they’d gotten started, all Maggie could do was squeeze his hand and ask, “So what do movie stars do on weeknights?”
INT. COLE’S BEDROOM
Maggie hadn’t ever seen a K-drama. Like ... ever. So after dinner, Cole introduced her to the glory that was Hyun Bin and Son Ye-jin—“No, seriously, no one onWaverleyhas ever had this kind of chemistry”—and then they headed to bed.
The night before, Maggie had gone on and on about his shower—“Seven jets? Like, as many as Snow White’s dwarf friends?”—and it looked like they were in for a second round of her oohing and ahhing orgasmically while he lay in bed and tried to think calm, nonerotic thoughts.
“I could move in with you just for that,” she called to him in the bedroom when she’d turned the water off.
His heart tripped in his chest.Be cool, be cool, be cool.“Then my evil plan is working,” he shouted back.
“Your plan to ply me with luxury?”
“That’s how I get you.”
“And how do you keep me?”
He probably didn’t. Compared to Maggie, Cole felt hopelessly flat. For decades, he’d been so focused on saving his own butt and career, while at dinner that night, Maggie had proposed fixing the entire industry.
God, but he loved her. Now that she was here, with him, in his own house, it was so hard to keep that inside. His plan, because he honestly did have one, was to make her giddy with happiness. To feed her every night. To hold her every night.
And to give her as many orgasms as she could handle.
Last night, she’d passed out on his chest as soon as they’d gotten in bed. Which meant he needed to work overtime now. He marched into the bathroom.
She was at the vanity, brushing her wet hair. She locked eyes with him in the mirror and raised her brows as if to ask what he was doing there.
He strolled over and set one hand on her waist. The fingers of his other hand trailed down the white towel she had wrapped around herself. It was thick, plush, and soft—but also just scratchy enough to catch on his fingertips.
