Chapter 1

Hayden

I tossthe stress ball up and catch it again as I contemplate the opportunity my friend Brady is pitching me.

"It'll be good, Hayden," he says, cajoling me over our video call as much with his voice as with his eyes. He's good at this kind of thing, looking directly into the camera, giving me the puppy dog eyes that made him a teen heartthrob years ago. We're older now, and the days of being on the cover of Teen People are long past, but he can still do that beseeching look that makes women fall at his feet.

It might not make me swoon, but it does the trick.

"Okay," I say at last. "I'll do it."

"Yes!" He pumps a fist in victory. "You won't regret it, I promise." He starts prattling about the details of the shoot for the film I just agreed to be a part of, not only as the headliner but also as an executive producer. This'll be my first foray into that line of work, but Brady's right that this is the kind of opportunity I've been looking for.

I've done so much action hero work that I'm starting to feel pigeonholed. And don't get me started on the diets I have to do to stay in shape for the roles. The whole thing is so physically draining that it's sucked all the joy out of acting.

A Shakespeare adaptation will be a nice change of pace. I'll be playing Brutus in Julius Caesar. He says they're going to do a unique take on it, though he hasn't mentioned what that means precisely. "It's still being developed," he says. "But it'll be awesome. I promise."

Shakespeare's a classic, after all. And I haven't done anything like that since … since I did a year of acting school before I got my first big movie role. It's been over fifteen years now.

God, time flies. Especially when you're busy churning out blockbusters.

I played Oberon in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I remember having so much fun on that show. I had a ton of fun making my first movies, too, but they were way different, and I wonder if this project will help me recapture that feeling from when I first started out—the sense of awe and amazement and the thrill of being part of something.

Lately I've gotten jaded and everything pisses me off. I don't like who I've turned into, and whether this recaptures how I used to feel about acting or not, I definitely need a change of pace.

Because otherwise …

Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do. Give up acting? What would I do with myself then?

"Send me the script," I tell Brady when he lets me get a word in edgewise. "I'll contact my agent after we get off the call, and she'll be in touch to finalize the details."

"Awesome, that's fantastic, man. Hey, uh, before you go …"

Here it comes.

"We still have one or two more producer roles we're hoping to get filled out. Do you think you could talk to your dad about the project? See if he's interested? Or"—he holds out his hands toward the camera like he's stopping me from interjecting, though my jaw is clenched tight and I'm in no danger of saying anything—"if you don't want to talk to him directly, I'd be happy to do it if you can set up a meeting for me."

It takes everything in me not to sigh out loud at the ask. I knew it was coming. I've been expecting it since he started talking about this project. It isn't surprising he's asking me to be the lead, nor is it surprising that he's asking me to talk to my dad, the great Ethan Stone, star of stage and screen in the 80s and 90s who quit acting when I was a little kid and started his own movie company. Of course he wants my dad's deep pockets backing his film. Right now it's a small indie film that, if it's as unique as he says, will likely do well on the festival circuit. But with my dad's company behind him?

"I'll see what I can do," I say at last, bringing all my acting skills to bear so I don't sound as irritated by the ask as I feel. I was kinda enjoying the idea of doing a small budget indie film. It'd be a nice change of pace.

But of course, no one's content to remain small if they have the opportunity to be huge.

"Thanks a lot, Hayden," Brady says, starting to wrap up the call. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," I cut in, not wanting to deal with a lot of gushing. "Just so you know, my dad is super picky, so he might not even want to hear a pitch."

Brady holds up his hands, palms out. "Say no more. I understand completely. I've looked at his portfolio, though, and I really think this'll be right up his alley.

I nod. "Yeah, cool. Sounds great. Like I said, send me the script and the production schedule. You said it'll be filmed on location?"

"Yeah, yeah." He scrunches his nose and scratches the stubble on his cheek. "It's kind of in the middle of nowhere, but it's perfect for what we need. You'll love it."

We exchange a few more necessary platitudes and pleasantries before I can finally get off the call.

Hitting the end button, I blow out a breath and squeeze my stress ball a few times, closing my eyes and centering myself, pulling back into my own head after dealing with that phone call.

I like Brady—for the most part. We've been palling around Hollywood since he starred in a teen movie nearly twenty years ago. My mom played his mom, and even though I wasn't doing more than bit parts at the time and didn't have a role in that film, I was on set and we hit it off.

Of course my parents were divorced by then, so while he knows my mom, Grace Barlow, he's never actually met my dad before.

I'll do what I promised, though. I'll talk to my dad for him. This is how the world works, after all. What's the point of having friends if they don't help you forge new connections?