Page 53 of Burn the Script

Our arrangement worked in her favor because it saved her from the societal pressures of being in a relationship, a real one. People loved a celebrity who was in love. If she were single and looked at someone too long, her fans would spin theories and start rumors. Tatum hated that, because she would only ever love one man.

Sliding a knuckle under her chin, I lifted her head, an intimate shot for the photographers skulking in the shadows. “You’re not ready.”

“I never will be,” she whispered, blinking as tears welled in her eyes. “But you and Miguel don’t need me anymore. I’m extra baggage at this point.”

A swell of activity and excited whispers drew our attention to the main doors where a younger actor stood hand in hand with his partner. Every year, new celebrities arrived on the scene, out and proud. With streaming services producing their own shows and movies, the industry was changing, leaving old Hollywood behind. I’d planted roots in the past, and sometimes it felt impossible to dig my way out of it.

Tatum hugged me close and slipped a keycard from the front of her dress to my inner pocket. “My escape room is on this floor. End of the hallway on the left, near the exit.”

My hand covered hers. “Marcus will be mad if he finds out you gave this to me.”

“He doesn’t have to know. And it’s not like my fan club will storm the hotel in the next twenty minutes.” She patted my chest. “Go, while everyone’s distracted. I’ll send him to you.”

I checked the exits and who was guarding them. A large group still crowded the main doors, but a side door stood neglected. Could the plan work? Could Miguel and I steal a few moments alone without getting caught?

Another thought came to mind. “What about security cameras in the hallways?”

“We’ve all mastered the art of ducking our heads, honey. I’ll remind Miguel.”

I kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Tot. You’re a gem.”

Adrenaline set my nerve endings on fire as I strolled toward the restrooms, hands in my pockets and head on a swivel. After confirming the coast was clear, I veered down the hallway and maintained a leisurely pace while staring at the carpet. Only when I was safely inside the room did I allow the air in my lungs to break free.

Thick, drawn curtains darkened the space. I switched the lamps off and on, testing the best combination for a romantic ambiance. Satisfied with the mood lighting, I faced the mirror to smooth out my black jacket and dust lint off my pants.

All the finer details, including the flaws in my appearance, sharpened into focus. Loose strands had fallen from my slicked hair. The black bow tie Miguel made for me sat crooked, and that wouldn’t do. I wanted to look as flawless as his talent.

As I adjusted my cufflinks, there was a swift knock at the door. Four taps, urgent and annoyed. I opened it without checking the peep hole. “You came.”

Miguel shoved me aside and slammed the door, fumbling with all the locks. Once they were secured, he spun and plastered his back to the wood, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. “Are you fucking insane? I nearly had a heart attack when Tate said⁠—”

I grabbed him by the jacket and slammed my mouth to his, cutting off his lecture. He tasted like oranges and cherry grenadine, and I moaned while licking the flavors off his tongue. As we moved deeper into the room, he loosened the death grip on my wrists, meeting me stroke for stroke.

“Indulge me,” I said, digging inside my pants. “We don’t have much time.”

“I’m not sucking your dick at a fundraiser,” he mumbled against my lips.

Chucking, I held up the phone from my pocket. He watched with cinched eyebrows as I opened the music app, selected a playlist, and set the phone on the desk. When we met toe to toe again, the confusion in his eyes gave me pause. The idea may have been silly, but he was all dressed up—a prince at a ball—and my prince deserved to dance.

Like an awkward schoolboy, I lifted his hands to my shoulders and placed mine on his hips. Once we were in position, neither of us moved. We stared. The secrets he kept from me glistened in his brown eyes. I wasn’t surprised when he hid them from my view as well. He circled his arms around my waist and rested his cheek on my shoulder. I hugged him back, and we swayed.

“I couldn’t let the night end without stealing a dance from the most beautiful man here,” I said.

Warm breath fanned my neck as he spoke. “Why the bolero music?”

“It relaxes you, and it’s romantic.”

Leaning away, he slid his hands up my chest and straightened my bow tie. “I vote we continue the romance at home. We’ll keep our tuxes on while you feed me leftover cheesecake by candlelight.”

“Or…” I grabbed his hand and spun him outward before pulling him back in. “We lose the tuxes, and you eat the cheesecake off me, by candlelight.”

His face lit up like the sun, and he snorted. “My graham cracker crust.”

“You let me get away with many crimes, darling, but being crusty isn’t one of them.”

We were both grinning when he laid his cheek my shoulder again. My nose grazed the tips of his hair, and I relished the sweet scent of his shampoo. The light strumming of guitar strings poured from my phone and added to the mellow comfort of our embrace.

In stolen moments like this one, I regretted the decision I made at eighteen. Despite being told otherwise, my road to success felt like a winding path instead of a direct one. And I couldn’t see a way out of my current situation without losing everything I’d worked for.