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 f**king 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 f**king 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 and I moved to Hawaii.”