1. One

1

ONE

“ W ould you like a cocktail?”

The flight attendant, a perky brunette with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes, leaned over and fixed me with a “hurry it along” look. Her job was to be friendly and wait on people in first class. I’d never traveled in first class before, but my expectations were off the charts. That didn’t mean she wanted me to drag things out and make her life more difficult.

There was just one little problem.

I, Samantha Summers, wanted to savor every moment of my big break. Yes, I’d finally gotten my big break. Or at least I hoped that’s what it would turn into. Since I’d moved to New York at the age of eighteen to try to work my way up in the theater world only to move to California at twenty-five to try my hand at movies and television, I’d been waiting for my “big break” for a long time.

I’d finally gotten it.

I hoped.

No, I prayed.

No, I wished on a star.

“What?” I blurted dumbly when the flight attendant kept looking at me.

“What do you want to drink?” she gritted out.

Then I remembered that my big break meant nothing to her. The fact that I’d been tapped to be one of the leads on a new supernatural soap opera—one they were going all out for and filming in Salem, Massachusetts—meant absolutely nothing to her.

“I’ll have a rum and Diet Coke,” I said lamely.

The flight attendant didn’t respond. She just turned on her heel and left to collect more orders. Rum and Diet Coke? Did it get more bland than that? It was all I could think of, though. I was so accustomed to drinking diet soda now that I couldn’t even sip regular soda. It tasted like I was downing straight sugar. A woman who was about to hit it big—or at least make enough money so that she wasn’t supplementing her income serving as a hostess at the sort of restaurant she could never afford to eat at—didn’t drink rum and Diet Coke. I was going to have to come up with a signature drink. That’s all there was to it.

I shifted in my seat and glanced to my left, to where an empty seat remained. The production company for Evermore had sprung for first class for my trip to the East Coast. That was a good sign to me. They were putting a lot of money into this production. Filming it in actual Salem meant big things.

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

I’d been considering leaving the entertainment business when I auditioned for the role. I was getting bit parts here and there—guest spots in procedurals and hospital shows mostly—but I’d always dreamed of being an actress. Sure, a supernatural soap opera could go cheesy, but I was okay with that. Dark Shadows was still revered for a reason, and this wasn’t a daytime soap opera. It was a streaming soap opera. It would have a ten-episode first season—the network had already committed and was forking out millions of dollars for each episode—and if things went well, it could have a good run. That’s what I was hoping for anyway.

I was thirty, so this felt like my last shot at doing anything with my dream. My parents had always been supportive—my mother saw anything and everything I was in—but even they were starting to make noise about my future plans. They used all the words I didn’t want to hear. Stability was the big one. And they weren’t wrong. I needed stability in my life. If this worked out, though, I could move back to the East Coast, which I vastly preferred to the West Coast, and make enough to buy an actual house.

I didn’t need a lot of money. I knew I was never going to be Jennifer Lawrence or Emma Stone. If I could be Sandra Oh or even Melanie Lynskey, however, I would be happy. I knew it was too late for me to blow up and be Nicole Kidman. I just wanted to make a living doing what I loved, and this was my biggest break.

Supernatural soap operas were hit or miss, and I had to temper my expectations with that reality. For every Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Vampire Diaries there was a Midnight, Texas or The Fades that flopped. The pilot script I’d read had been good, though. As long as the actors committed, the audience would as well. I had faith in that. I had to, because if this show failed, I would have no choice but to figure out what my future looked like without acting, and that was the last thing I wanted.

I was so caught up in my heavy thoughts—and still chastising myself for ordering a rum and Diet Coke—that I almost missed the man who had stopped directly next to my chair. My first instinct was that it was the flight attendant returning with my drink … and likely a snarl. Instead, I found a delicious hunk of a man standing over me.

He was tall—six foot three if I had to guess—with a shock of dark brown hair falling over his forehead and searing blue eyes. He was dressed in standard jeans and a pullover, but there was something intense about the way he was eyeing me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, suddenly unsure of myself. I’d double and triple-checked my ticket to make sure I was in the proper seat. I couldn’t believe production had sprung for first class. Now I was second-guessing myself again. Was I in his seat?

The man pointed.

I touched my chest. “I … don’t know what that means.”

His lips curved down. “That’s my seat.” His voice was low and gravelly.

“Oh.” My stomach sank, and I stood up. Of course I was in the wrong seat. Wait … where was the right seat? Would I not get my rum and Diet Coke? Did they even have room on this plane for me? What would happen if I missed my flight to Boston? Would they replace me with someone who didn’t miss flights?

The man made an exasperated sound in his throat when I didn’t immediately move and bumped me with his hip as he tried to get around me. Several things became obvious at once. He was not suggesting I was sitting in his seat. He was after the window seat. Also, his body was ridiculously solid … and warm. I knew that because he had to press himself against me to get to his spot. I’d made it almost impossible for him to get around me.

There was a moment when I stopped breathing. He was facing me, his kissed-by-angels face looking down at mine, and it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the plane. That moment was fleeting, though, because his glare sucked all the warmth out of the moment, and when he flopped down in his seat, I knew this wasn’t going to be some plane meet-cute I would someday tell my children about. It wasn’t just that he was giving me a dirty look. No, he was boasting the scowl of the ages.

“I’m sorry,” I said dumbly. I was still standing.

“Whatever.” He shifted so he could grab the two pieces of the seatbelt and fasten them around his waist.

Slowly, I sank back into my seat. “I didn’t realize what you were actually saying to me,” I admitted.

His forehead creased, but he didn’t respond.

“I thought you meant I was in your seat,” I offered. It was obvious I was making things worse, but I couldn’t help myself. “I just got confused.”

“Well, then perhaps you should have a parent or guardian fly with you,” he barked. “It’s not rocket science.”

My lower lip came out to play as I crossed my arms over my chest. The warmth I’d momentarily felt when he pressed his body against mine had been replaced by the frigid tundra of the Arctic. This was not a friendly man, which meant the flight from Los Angeles to Boston—all five and a half hours of it—was going to be unpleasant.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, hating myself for apologizing yet again. It wasn’t as if I’d kicked his puppy.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on the flight attendant, who was returning with my drink. “I’ll have a vodka and soda,” he said before she could ask what he wanted.

“Certainly.” The smile she graced him with was much friendlier than the one I’d gotten. “Here’s your rum and Diet Coke.” Her upper lip curled into a sneer, but I did my best to ignore it and snagged the cup from her instead.

“Thank you.” I sipped the drink. It was bland and mostly flavorless. That was better than the alternative, though.

They were preparing to close the front door, which meant boarding was over with. At least we would be in the air soon. Then I could pretend to read a book or something. Anything would be better than sitting in my seat and being hyper aware of the douche canoe sitting next to me. Despite those dark thoughts, I risked a glance at him. He was not looking back at me, so I could stare as hard as I wanted.

He had cheekbones carved out of granite, plump lips, and a slight scar above his left eyebrow. He also looked familiar. Why, though? Los Angeles was not one of those cities where you bumped into someone you knew whenever you headed out on an errand or a casting call. Everybody was nameless and faceless unless you were a big celebrity or made plans to rendezvous with friends. This guy definitely wasn’t a friend and yet…

Things clicked into place out of nowhere. “You’re Leo Powell.” I hadn’t realized I was going to say it out loud—or with quite as much gusto—until the words were already out of my mouth.

Very slowly, very deliberately, he tracked his eyes to me. “Why don’t you scream it next time,” he suggested dryly. “I don’t think the people in the back row heard you.”

I refused to let his tone get to me. I was too excited. “We’re working together. On Evermore I mean. I’m one of the stars. Well, I’m one of the people on the show. I’m not really a star. I hope to be a star of the show, but I haven’t earned that yet. One day, though.” I crossed my fingers, kissed them, and raised them in the air.

Leo watched me babble, then shook his head. “Geez.” He looked up when the flight attendant returned with his drink. She was all flirty eyes and pouty lips, but he didn’t react all that nicely to her either. “Thanks.” He took the cup and downed half of it. “I’m going to need another.” He cast me a pointed look.

“Of course,” the flight attendant said, obviously taking pity on him. “We’re taking off in a few minutes, though. I’ll make sure I grab your drink for you the second we’re in the air.”

“I guess that will do.” Leo didn’t look as if he believed that, but at least he wasn’t pitching a fit. Given his reputation—it wasn’t good—he was known as high-maintenance and low- reward. Almost a decade back, when he’d been in his early twenties, he’d been cast in a huge action movie and everybody said he was going to be the next Tom Cruise. In short order, he’d been arrested for a drunken disorderly in downtown Nashville, where some of the film was being shot, and he’d made a big deal on social media about what a jerk the director was. To absolutely nobody’s surprise, most of his performance had ended up on the cutting room floor. He’d responded with depth and maturity.

I’m lying. He responded like a freaking donkey and melted down on camera about only having seven minutes of airtime. Ever since then, he’d been getting the Mel Gibson treatment. Occasionally, someone would take a chance and cast him—Hollywood loved little more than a comeback story—but most of his roles were forgettable … if not laughable. I still didn’t understand why he’d taken the role in the movie where it pitted cavemen against aliens.

When Leo kept his focus on his drink, I realized he thought the conversation was over with. Despite myself—I was a people pleaser most of the time—I couldn’t do the smart thing and let the conversation fall by the wayside. I was too annoyed. Plus, we were going to be sitting next to each other—nobody else to talk to—for five hours. Surely he couldn’t ignore me the entire time.

“I’m Samantha Summers,” I volunteered. “I’m the main witch on the show.”

Leo downed more of his drink but didn’t respond.

“Since you’re going to be the main vampire, and we’re supposed to be love interests, maybe we can use the time on the flight to get to know one another.”

Leo cocked the eyebrow with the scar. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because the show will live or die on our chemistry,” I replied. It took everything I had not to reach over, wrap my fingers around his neck, and squeeze. I was a sunshine girl, though. I had to be. Otherwise, I would’ve given up on acting when I got my last big break on General Hospital and they recast me four episodes after I started.

“I like how you think I care about that,” Leo said on a harsh laugh. There was nothing pleasing about his face now. He was just a sourpuss with a nice body.

“Shouldn’t you care?” I challenged. “I mean … we both need this show to do well. Why wouldn’t you want to put actual effort in to make sure that happens?”

Leo’s expression shifted. That didn’t make it better than his previous expression. No, now he almost looked as if he wanted to pat the top of my head and say “there, there” while gracing me with pitying looks. “It’s a television soap opera,” he said.

“I’m well aware of what it is.”

“These things are a dime a dozen. It’s not as if we’re doing Shakespeare here.”

I made a sniffing sound as I shuffled to get more comfortable in my seat. “I’ve never actually found Shakespeare that interesting.”

“We’re not even doing Fast and Furious movies,” he argued. “We’re doing a show where a vampire and witch fall in love and their families want to go to war over it.”

I blinked. “So?” I said finally. “The pilot script was good. They’re flying us first class.”

“It’s cute that you think that’s a big deal,” Leo replied. “It’s not, though. The production company probably has a block of seats with the airline and they dole them out willy-nilly.”

“You don’t have to be so obnoxious,” I fired back. “I’m just trying to get to know you. We are going to be working together. We should at least be … friendly.”

“Friendly?” Leo barked out a humorless laugh. “We’re going to film ten episodes of what will likely be the laughingstock of Netflix’s spring schedule next year. Those who watch it will binge it in two days. Then it will be forgotten because it won’t get a second season. Netflix ruthlessly cancels things. At least we’ll get our paychecks, though. There’s that to look forward to.”

I faced forward. I couldn’t even look at him. Why had they cast Leo Freaking Powell? The guy’s reputation was the stuff of nightmares. Everybody had a story about Leo melting down. It was what he did. He got a chance at a fresh start and burned his world down within weeks of getting it. He made Shia LeBeouf and Charlie Sheen look balanced. He made Edward Norton look pleasant. He made Marlon Brando look sane.

“Whatever.” I drained the rest of my drink, no longer caring that I’d ordered rum and Diet Coke. “I was just trying to have a conversation. You don’t have to worry about it happening again. I should’ve realized you weren’t going to make an effort.”

Now I’d clearly irritated him because he leaned closer and glared. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?” I shot back. I was too worked up to be pleasant and nice. “You have a specific reputation. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but five minutes with you and it’s obvious that your reputation is earned.”

“Is that so?” Leo’s eyes flashed with something dark and dangerous. “At least I have a reputation. Have you ever done anything?”

“I was on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy … and Law and Order: Special Victims Unit … and I was the fourth Kendall on General Hospital .” For four episodes , I silently added. He didn’t need to know that part, though.

“Ah, well, at least you were on Grey’s Anatomy .” Leo shook his head. “This might be an exciting job for you—and good on you if this is the biggest thing you’ve ever gotten—but all this show does for me is prove that I can’t possibly fall any lower. Wait.” He held up his hand. “I guess that’s not entirely true. There’s always reality television. I could go on a ‘celebrity’ season of Survivor .” He used air quotes, telling me exactly where his head was at.

His attitude frustrated me. Unfortunately, when I was frustrated, I found myself caught between pouting and tears. Even though it was the last thing I wanted, I could feel the tears scalding the back of my eyes now.

“You are a donkey,” was all I could grit out.

His eyes widened.

“Just because life isn’t going well for you, that doesn’t mean you have to crap on everybody else,” I hissed. It came out as a half sob because of the tears I couldn’t seem to control. I ignored them, though. “Why can’t you just let other people be happy? Why do you have to be so miserable? Why can’t you just be a human being?”

Now it was Leo’s turn to blink. He didn’t speak for a long time. Then he finally opened his mouth. “I?—”

“No.” Before I even realized what I was going to do, I slapped my hand over his mouth. “You’ve said enough. How about we just make this flight a silent zone, huh? I think that would be better for both of us.”

With that, I dropped my hand and faced forward. I refused to let him ruin my good mood. This was going to be my big break. I was going to get to do the thing I loved most. I wasn’t, however, going to let Leo Powell ruin it for me.

No way.

No how.

Nothing doing.

From now on, he was nothing more than my co-star. We didn’t have to be friends. We didn’t have to be anything.

That would be the best thing for both of us.