Chapter 10

PIPER PACED THE FLOOR in front of her bed, the weight of the script in her hand feeling heavier by the minute. As soon as it arrived, she’d pored over it, paying particular attention to the steamy scenes and the stage directions, including wardrobe—or lack thereof. Panic had set in with the realization of what was expected of her in this role.

A lot of actresses started out doing nude scenes. Did they regret it later on? Some put their foot down and still made it big. The thought of stripping to almost nothing in front of the cast and crew and potentially 282 million Netflix subscribers worldwide had her stomach churning.

She needed to talk it through with someone. It was late, but she dialed Josie. “I don’t think I can go through with it,” she confessed, no greeting or pleasantries first when she picked up.

“The Decadence mixer?” she asked, sounding confused.

“No. The part. There are two sex scenes where I have to bare—everything.”

“Oh wow!”

Silence followed.

“Josie, please. I’m desperate for advice and need you to talk me down from the ledge.”

“I was thinking, Piper. Breathe.”

She tried but failed. Dread about her career going down the tubes before it took off made her chest ache and her head pound.

“If you join the club, you’ll eventually have to bare it all there. Right?”

“Probably, but for 1000 people max with confidentiality agreements. Not on giant screens in ultra-high definition for my parents, my overprotective brother, my Sunday school teachers, and the entirety of my father’s church congregation to see.”

As she imagined their reaction, Piper closed her eyes and tried not to throw up.

“Hon. You still there?” Josie asked after several silent seconds passed.

“I was just thinking about going home for Christmas and facing them after seeing my...well, all of me.”

“Can’t you set limits and have them written into your contract?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Piper resumed pacing while they talked. “No one has asked me to take my clothes off before.”

“But it’s everywhere—on TV and in the movies, especially in dramas, which is your genre. You must have expected it to come up, eventually.”

“I expected to have a resume to fall back on if and when it came up. That showed my acting chops and gave me options to negotiate. I never dreamed I’d be offered a leading role this soon.”

“You sell yourself short, Piper. With your looks, you were bound to get offers.”

“That’s a double-edged sword though. My looks, not my superior acting skills, are why they’d want me to take it all off.”

What had Hunter said? She had exquisite bone structure. More like she had the boobs and ass to jack up the ratings and earn them a second season.

There was more silence on the line before Josie said, “Listen. You’re the one who has to look in the mirror every morning and face your family and friends back home. If you set limits, what’s the worst they can do other than say no?”

“Doom my career before it starts,” she said glumly. “If I get a reputation for being difficult, I might not get offered future roles. It’s not fair. Do you think men have to make this kind of choice?”

“I’ve seen a lot of bare chests and asses lately, but they probably don’t face the fallout from the small-town prudes that women do. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” She was no closer to a decision than when they started talking, but she felt somewhat better having vented a little. “Thanks for listening, Josie. I’m glad I’ve got you as a sounding board and as a friend.”

“Who dressed in a leather mini and hawked my wares when I was in a bind?”

“You’re right! That took cajones I didn’t know I had. Coming from a conservative small town, I don’t think of myself as a prude. But if someone had told me before I left for LA that I’d end up selling kinky clothing in a sex club, I would have called them a liar.”

“But you did it for me,” Josie reminded her, “and I’m grateful. Real friendship is a two-way street, Piper. Call me anytime, and I mean that.”

After their conversation, she made another call.

Cindy answered on the first ring. “Piper,” she exclaimed, speaking first. “I’ve been on pins and needles waiting to hear from you. What did you think about the contract and the script?”

“That’s why I’m calling.” Piper took a deep breath, her voice wavering slightly as she explained. “I’m concerned about the love scenes. They call for me showing more skin than I expected. Can we address that, do you think? Without me coming across as difficult?”

“Oh, my dear, you aren’t the first with reservations. I’ll call the casting director and see if we can make a few adjustments. She sounded excited about you in the role.”

“Excited? Seriously?” The casting director she met had seemed completely unmoved by her performance. “Are we talking about Sheryl Martin?”

Cindy chuckled. “She can come across as cool, unapproachable, and often indifferent, but I’ve known Sheryl forever. She’s always honest and up front. Let me talk to her and see what we can figure out.”

Although her agent seemed confident of a positive outcome, Piper couldn’t help but worry that they would say thanks but no thanks to a wet-behind-the-ears actress making demands.

Luckily, she had a closing at 2 o’clock. Reviewing fifty pages of legal documents, making sure every “sign here” red flag and “initial there” yellow tab was in place was a welcome distraction. Her backup job took her mind off her potential career-ending move, and the closing went off without a hitch.

On her way home, while battling the afternoon sun and rush hour traffic, Cindy called with the news.

“I’ve secured some stipulations. Since this is a streaming service, they’re going for an adult audience,” she advised. “No news there. Would you object to a bare back, a glimpse of thigh and cheek, a tiny bit of ass crack, and side-boob only? Sheryl wanted to argue, but I told her your decision had to be respected and gave the impression we’d pass without rejecting it outright.”

She showed that much skin at the pool and on the beach, less maybe the bit of crack. “I think that’s an acceptable compromise. What did she say?”

“Yes. Of course. The new contract should arrive by courier this evening.”

If she wasn’t in bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go traffic, Piper would have jumped for joy. Instead, she put her excitement and gratitude for Cindy into words. “You’re amazing. I really appreciate you going to bat for me.”

“You’re welcome, but it is what you pay me for. A percentage of this next Netflix runaway hit, starring Piper Emory—your parents picked a great stage name, by the way—will help pay my daughter’s Ivy League tuition bill.”

“Let me guess. Harvard?” Teasingly, she dropped the Rs for Hs.

“Worse. Columbia! In the middle of Manhattan, making it the most expensive of them all.”

Piper whistled, imagining the hefty price tag. “Glad to be of help.”

“Same here. Call any time. Ciao, for now, darling.”

And just like that, she was back to being dahling . With her worries set aside, Piper smiled all the way home.

Before parking, she turned into the small circular driveway and stopped at the cluster of mailboxes. It had been a few days since she last checked her box. When she opened the small door, she found it brimming with sales papers and a pile of envelopes—all bills, most likely.

“You’re a gainfully employed actress now, so no problemo,” she boasted to her windshield as she drove on, even though her first paycheck was weeks away.

When she pulled into her assigned space, she noticed Tristan’s truck was parked two spots down. It was massive. How could she miss it? Her excitement waned slightly as she stared at the gleaming black vehicle with tinted windows. He wasn’t usually home at this time of day. She hoped her streak of good luck would continue, allowing her to navigate the courtyard to her door without another tense encounter, especially after their latest unpleasant exchange.

Carefully balancing her briefcase, purse, and the hefty pile of mail, she emerged from her car. The warm, humid breeze pulled strands of hair from her bun, whipping them across her face. Piper tilted her head, hoping the breeze would rid her eyes and mouth of the tangle, but was only partly successful as a handful of strands stubbornly clung to her lipstick.

Using one raised finger, which was all she had free, she peeled them off her lips. She must have loosened her grip because an envelope slipped from the pile then another. The more she fought to hold on to them, the worse it got until they cascaded to the ground and began scattering in the wind.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” she muttered, trapping some beneath her feet before they escaped. The sales circulars were a hopeless cause and rolled like tumbleweeds across the parking lot. As she bent to gather what she could before the rest scattered, one plain white envelope caught her eye. It was devoid of postage and a return address, with only her first name printed on it in black ink.

Filled with an instant sense of dread, she dropped her purse at her feet and stuffed what mail she had retrieved inside it. Positioned between her car and the one beside it, which blocked the wind, she broke the seal on the mysterious envelope.

The message inside was written in the same cramped scrawl as the first.

From bibbed overalls and pigtails to painted-on shorts and nude scenes in front of the entire world... Who is the real Piper Emory? Gullible farm girl or casting couch slut. I love a good mystery and intend to uncover the truth.

The only time she’d ever worn bibs and pigtails was back home last fall on a hayride at the local corn maze with a bunch of her friends. Those pictures were buried on her Instagram page. Finding them so many months back would take a lot of scrolling.

Her page wasn’t private as a wannabe actress trying to develop a following. But she was careful what she posted online, especially since moving to LA. She never revealed the places she was going or anything about work. But he’d learned about her audition. What else could he mean by his crack about the casting couch and nude scenes in front of the world? But how the hell did he know the script called for nudity? Dear heaven, had he been in her house and seen her script?

As the horror of that sent shivers down her spine, realization suddenly dawned. “Oh my gosh,” she gasped with rising panic. “This isn’t Tristan or just some crackpot; he’s a freaking stalker.”

Her heart pounding, Piper rose to her feet and scanned the parking lot for any sign of the creep. Then she sprinted to the stairs and dashed to the top. The keypad took forever because she kept looking over her shoulder and entered the wrong code twice. When the light finally flashed green, she raced through the gate, her only thought getting safely inside.

As well-crafted plans often do, hers went awry when a murky figure materialized in her path at the same time the metal gate slammed shut. Too late to stop her momentum, she let out a blood-curdling scream as she collided with the shadowy but very solid shape. It cut off abruptly when her briefcase crashed to the ground with a bang, and her heavy purse, slung over one shoulder, pulled her backward. She flailed her arms, sure she’d be flat on her ass in a second and vulnerable to her attacker. An arm encircling her waist kept her upright.

“Piper, what the hell?”

She lifted her gaze to Tristan’s face, never more relieved to see his ever-present scowl.

“Thank god it’s you!” she breathed.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

She raised her hand and the now-crumpled letter. “I think I have a stalker.”

He took the page from her and angled it toward the single streetlight in the courtyard. After he read it, his gaze met hers in the dark. “A stalker would indicate this isn’t the first time you’ve heard from him.”

“It’s the second unmarked, unstamped, hand-delivered letter I’ve found in my box.”

“Have you reported them?”

She gave a little shake of her head.

“Piper...”

“I know. It was stupid.”

Tristan looked over the letter again. “Are you in the habit of wearing overalls and pigtails?”

“No. I did it once. He had to have seen the picture on social media.”

“TikTok is destroying the world,” he muttered.

“It was Instagram, actually.”

With a single brow arched, he prompted, “And the comment about the nude scenes?”

“I had an audition at the Netflix studio on Vine recently. For an R-rated series.”

“Nudity on Netflix isn’t a stretch. He could have assumed, but I don’t like the language, or that he might be following you.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, her insides a knot of horror. “I don’t like any of it. I guess I should go to the police.”

“Uncovering the truth isn’t an actual threat, and they likely won’t do anything unless it escalates. But you should file a report to have it on record. In the meantime, I can look into it.”

“You can?” she asked, surprised.

“I’m a PI.” When she blinked up at him, he elaborated, “A private investigator.”

“I know what it stands for. I’m just curious why you would help me. You don’t even like me.”

His scowl returned. “What gave you that impression?”

“Other than your constant frowning, grumbling, slamming doors in my face, and telling me to get out of your club?”

He switched it up this time and glowered.

“I’ll file a report in the morning,” she said hurriedly, stooping to gather her things. When she rose and tried to move past him, he caught her arm, not so easily dismissed.

“Do you still have the other note?”

“Yes. I don’t know why I saved it, but I did.”

“Get it,” he directed. “I’ll meet you at your place in a minute.”

She hurried to her condo. Her first instinct was to lock, chain, and dead-bolt the door, but she left it open for Tristan as she sifted through the drawer in her kitchen where she kept coupons and miscellaneous mail she planned to deal with, eventually.

How had she accumulated so much junk in such a short time?

As she searched, a shadow fell over her. Tristan had entered silently and now stood beside her, wearing exam gloves and holding a Ziploc bag.

“This is freaking me out,” she exclaimed needlessly, her trembling hands betraying her fear.

“I know, but try to hold it together,” he replied, not grumbling or snapping for the first time since she’d known him. He nodded at her hands, still in the drawer, and gently urged, “The other letter.”

“Right.” She resumed her sifting, finally locating it near the bottom. What it contained would explain a lot. When she was hesitant handing it to him, he slid it from her fingers.

As he scanned the page, a muscle jumped in his jaw. Then his eyes, no longer appearing black but returning to their usual hard, steely blue-gray, bored into her. The room seemed to grow smaller, the walls closing in as the tension and what she suspected was a healthy dose of anger rolled off him in waves.

“You thought I wrote this.” It was an accusation, not a question.

Averting her gaze, she nodded, her cheeks burning. “You were at the pool party and commented about my skirt being too tight only a few days before. You were the obvious suspect.”

“Look at me, Piper.” He waited to speak until her eyes met his. “I’m not the kind of man who writes anonymous letters. If I have something to say, I’ll say it to your face.”

“Yeah. I figured that,” she allowed, barely above a whisper.

He grunted noncommittally and laid the letters side by side on her counter. After he snapped a picture of each with his phone, he sealed them in the zippered plastic bag.

“Take these with you to the precinct tomorrow. If the cops follow up, they’ll want to see them.”

“And dust for prints?”

“Possibly.”

Uninvited, he moved through her place, testing windows, doors, and locks.

“What are you doing?”

“Security check.”

Despite his size, his footsteps barely sounded on the stairs as he climbed to the second floor to continue his inspection. Piper didn’t follow. Still on edge, she needed space to breathe and calm her frazzled nerves.

“The sliding door needs a security bar,” he remarked when he returned to her minutes later. “And the chain on the front door isn’t worth two cents. The dead bolt will slow a would-be intruder down but won’t stop a well-placed boot if he’s determined to get inside. You need a metal security door, like the wrought iron one on 113, and an alarm system,” he advised. “I’ll take care of both tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t. I offered.”

Piper felt a wave of gratitude wash over her as she looked up at Tristan, his protective stance giving her a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in a long time.

He offered his hand with his calloused palm facing up. She hesitated briefly. Its size was impressive, easily double hers. Piper laid her hand on his, instantly sensing the warmth and power radiating from his grip.

“A key, Piper,” he clarified. “I’ll need one unless you plan on staying home all day.”

She quickly pulled her hand away, her cheeks burning hotter. “I have two closings and will be gone most of the day, actually,” she murmured, reaching into a different drawer for a spare key.

Avoiding skin-to-skin contact, she dropped the key into his palm, watching his strong fingers curl around it. Being in his presence brought up feelings she didn’t want to contemplate, including memories of his touch and his kiss. Also, that he was firmly against being with her in any way other than as a neighbor, and now, as a PI and her unexpected guardian.

Tristan was reserved, and decidedly grumpy, her polar opposite. And despite all that, she wanted to be so much more than neighborly or a case he needed to crack.

“I thought you were an actress.”

Startled out of her thoughts, she shook her head. “I’m a wannabe actress. To pay the bills, I’ve been doing mortgage closings as a notary.”

“Which explains the skirt and blouse.”

“Yes, although that’s about to change. I’m about to sign a contract for a six-episode TV series. It’s my first big role.” She turned to open the fridge. “I planned to celebrate with a glass of wine. Now, I need one to calm my nerves. Can I pour you some?”

“No. But congratulations on the part.”

“Thanks,” she said, bending to slide the bottle of pink Moscato from the bottom shelf. She stood in time to catch him staring at her ass.

His eyes rose to hers, neither embarrassed nor apologetic. Then, as if it hadn’t happened, he picked up the thread of their conversation about her stalker.

“When you file your report tomorrow, ask for Detective Lloyd. He’s a friend. I’ll let him know you’re coming in.” Tristan moved to the door, where he paused and turned back. “If you need me to go with you, I can move some things around.”

She shook her head. “I’m a big girl. Besides, I’m not sure when I’ll be through with the first closing.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He reached behind him, pulled out his wallet, and strode back to her. After sifting through it, he extended a business card.

“Here’s my number if you change your mind.”

She took it, thumbing over the raised lettering for Rossi Security, Inc.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said. “Just some crackpot, right?”

He hesitated, his expression softening as if sensing her distress and not wanting to add to it. “Maybe,” he replied, which wasn’t very convincing, “but it pays to be careful.”

She could read between the lines; he thought it probably was something.

“Lock up behind me.”

Piper nodded, following him to the door. After she slid the useless chain into place and turned the only slightly better dead bolt, she rested her forehead against the cool wood, listening to his boots as he walked away.

Didn’t that figure? She got the role of her life on the same day she gained a stalker; her first-ever lucky streak beginning and ending at almost the same instant. On top of that, the hottie next door, who she suspected wanted her as much as she wanted him but refused to act on it, took her on as a project.

She’d learned something from this, at least. If Vegas ever called, she was a hard no.