2. Two

2

TWO

I felt bad about ruining Sam’s good mood. No, really.

It wasn’t her fault that I’d basically been forced into accepting this role. I had no interest in being a vampire. None. Zilch. A television soap opera—even a high-end deal—wasn’t the sort of thing I ever imagined myself doing. I’d been backed into a corner, though. I needed to prove that I could get along with others and not wreak havoc on a set.

My agent had told me that. Over and over again.

How I had gotten the reputation for being difficult was beyond my ability to grasp. I was an easygoing guy. Or I had been. Somehow that had gotten away from me, though. The more people called me difficult, the more I lived up to their expectations. I’d had a chance to be an action hero, and I’d screwed myself. Then I managed to get a few roles in indie movies that could’ve elevated me, and I screwed myself there too because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I was the guy who continually screwed myself.

And now I had screwed Samantha Summers. Not in the fun way of course—I knew better than getting involved with a starlet on this project because that never went my way—but I’d completely stolen the life from her eyes. She’d been excited when we first started talking. She’d believed we were going to bond over being love interests. She couldn’t possibly know that I was incapable of bonding over anything, though. So, what did I do? Was I polite? Did I feign interest? No, I messed up. That was my claim to fame. Now I’d messed her up, and I really did feel bad about it.

Despite telling myself over and over again that I should apologize during the interminable flight, instead I continued to down cocktails, and then, I’d taken a nap. All the while, Sam read her script and tried to pretend I wasn’t right next to her.

She was pretty. Oh, hell, who was I kidding? She was beautiful. You can’t even get episodic work in Hollywood unless you’re something special. Sure, some people managed to make it by being cast as the oddly normal looking best friend, but those roles were few and far between. No, Samantha—who preferred going by Sam if what she told the flight attendant was true—was definitely pretty. She had long blond hair, big blue eyes, and a dimple in her cheek when she smiled.

I’d only seen the dimple once. After she realized I wasn’t going to be any fun, she refused to acknowledge my existence.

I didn’t blame her. I was a jerk. I was a grade-A asshole of the highest order. No matter how many times my manager told me—or I told myself for that matter—that I needed to get it together and be a professional, I fell apart at the worst times. It didn’t take a licensed therapist to figure out why. I’d had everything and burned it down. Now, that was my pattern. I couldn’t break from it. I just kept burning things down.

Apparently, I was going to burn Sam down with me this time. Ah, well, she would get over it. Even pretending I shouldn’t be angry with myself didn’t work, though. I kept darting looks at her as we exited the plane. She’d struggled to claim her carry-on from the overhead bin so I’d pulled it down for her. She didn’t make eye contact when thanking me, though.

Good job, idiot. I could do nothing but shake my head at myself as I followed her off the plane. You completely botched this. I thought you were going to try to be nice for a change. Get along with your co-stars. Not be difficult.

I always made those promises to myself. I never followed through. What is wrong with me? If I had a dime for every time I asked myself that question, I would be rich. I saw myself being a jerk. I registered that I shouldn’t be a jerk. Did that stop me from being a jerk? No. I was just a complete and total piece of shit sometimes.

Sam looked over her shoulder when I sighed. Her blue eyes—they reminded me of the water in the Bahamas—were cloudy. This was my chance. I could apologize and say I was tired…or lie and let her believe I was a nervous flyer. Instead, I made things worse.

“Are you cataloging my finer qualities for your spank bank later?” I asked, internally cringing when her mouth fell open.

“Omigod,” she hissed before turning and increasing her pace.

For some reason, her reaction made me grin. She was scandalized by what I’d said. Her cheeks had turned pink. The only thing missing was the steam coming out of her ears. I moved faster to keep pace with her as she rolled her carry-on onto the moving walkway.

“Is that what you were doing?” I asked. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not talking to you.” Sam kept her back to me. “Just … go somewhere else.”

“You’re going to have no choice but to talk to me,” I countered. “We’re going to be on the same set together. Every single day. For a full six weeks.”

The look she shot me was withering. “That doesn’t mean I have to acknowledge your existence. I’ll just pretend I’m on a science fiction movie with green screen and treat you like the tennis ball they use to track movement for CGI characters.” She said it in a sweet tone, but there was nothing sweet about her glare.

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help myself. Most people were frightened of me because of my “reputation.” Not all of it was true. Most of it wasn’t true actually. Enough of it was true to make people fearful of me, though. Not Samantha Summers, however. She wasn’t having it.

I liked that about her … even as I reminded myself that she was off-limits. I’d promised not to burn this set down. I had to start building myself back up.

“That wasn’t supposed to be funny,” Sam huffed. “It was mean. You’re supposed to be upset that I was mean.”

“Sorry. I think my ‘cry when people are mean to me’ setting was skipped at birth.” I kept following her as she checked the signs for baggage claim. “If you want to practice being mean again later, I have an opening before cocktails.”

“Whatever.”

We had to ride an escalator down to the baggage claim area. At the bottom, there was a man in a chauffeur uniform. He had a sign that read Powell and Summers. It was only then that I realized the production had sent a car for us … but we were going to have to share it.

“Look at that,” I said, leaning in close to Sam’s shoulder as she pulled up short to stare in horrified disbelief at the sign. “It looks like you’re going to have another chance to be mean because we’re riding together.”

“No way.” Sam briefly closed her eyes. “This is like torture.”

“You love it, and you know it.”

“I do not.” Sam turned on me. “I don’t like being mean to people. I don’t like it when people are mean to me either. I just … don’t like it.”

“Aren’t you playing a witch?” I asked. “Witches are mean. Just think of it as method acting.”

“You are very annoying.”

She wasn’t wrong. “You’ll get used to it.” I moved past her and headed toward the luggage carousel. “I don’t know about you, Samantha, but I think this is going to be a fun shoot.”

“Sam,” she corrected. “Nobody calls me Samantha except my mother when she’s gearing up to yell at me.”

“I think Samantha is more adult. I’m going with that.”

“You just have to be contrary, don’t you?”

That was how I burned things down. I disagreed on absolutely everything. “I kind of do,” I admitted.

“Well, I’m not going to let you get to me. Just so you know, whatever you do to irritate people, it’s not going to work on me. This is the thing I’ve been waiting for my entire life. I’m not going to let you ruin it.”

I didn’t want to ruin it for her. I would, though. I ruined it for everybody all the time. That was my gift. “I guess we’ll have to see about that, huh?”

“I guess we will.”

THE PRODUCTION COMPANY SENT A LUXURY SUV to pick us up. Sam kept making huffy noises for the duration of the thirty-minute ride. I, however, was quiet for a change. I was used to West Coast life. The East Coast foliage was quite beautiful and it helped me relax.

Salem was only a half hour outside of Boston, so when I saw the signs that we were approaching, I leaned forward. I’d never been to Salem before. I hadn’t even spent a lot of time in Boston. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but the town was much smaller than I was envisioning, and I was flummoxed when the driver pulled onto the main drag.

“This is where we’re filming?” I didn’t mean for it to sound as derogatory as it likely sounded to Sam.

This time when she huffed, though, there was some grit to it. “You’ve seen exactly one block of the town. How can you possibly have a problem when you haven’t even seen the town?” She sounded exasperated.

“It’s just… I expected it to be bigger.”

“Bigger isn’t always better.”

“Well, if you want to place a bet on that…” I trailed off and instantly regretted it when she peeled my skin off with a single glare. “Never mind.” I went back to looking out the window. I should have kept my mouth shut. I didn’t, though. “Where are the witches? I thought this town was full of witches.”

“It’s the end of August.”

I waited for her to expand. When she didn’t, I lifted a hand. “And?”

“And the seasonal stuff starts in September, which you would’ve known if you’d bothered to research anything.”

My smirk was back. “You research a lot of stuff, don’t you?”

“It’s called being prepared.”

“You’re one of those people who still has a paper planner, aren’t you? Even though your phone is better and easier, you still get colored ink pens and fill out planners. I can tell.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“It was just an observation.” The SUV stopped in front of the only hotel on the strip. It said Hunter Hotel on the front and looked to be a three-star at best. “Is this where we’re staying?”

“Oh, you’re just going to be a ray of sunshine wherever we go, aren’t you?” Sam threw open her door, not waiting for the driver to come around and open it for her and was standing impatiently by the hatchback when I managed to catch up.

“It was just a question,” I said, fighting hard to keep from laughing when she looked anywhere but at me. If an individual could pull a muscle rolling her eyes or avoiding eye contact, it was Sam. “Sorry to have upset you.”

Her eyes narrowed but there were hints of life there. “Are you talking about now or on the plane?”

“Actually, I was being sarcastic.”

The light went out of her eyes as quickly as it had come, and I hated that I’d snuffed it out again. Yet I did nothing to fix it.

The driver handed Sam her suitcase first, and she smiled as she tipped him. I watched her go, enjoying the extra sashay in her hips, and when I finally turned back to the driver, he was studying me with unreadable eyes.

“What?” I demanded.

“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” he replied.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re never going to get a woman like that if you’re not a little nicer to her.”

I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and handed it over to him. He was holding my suitcase hostage at this point. “I don’t want a woman like that,” I assured him.

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t.”

“You might be able to fool her with that ‘I’m too cool for school’ thing, but you’re not going to fool me. I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“Um…I wasn’t looking at her any specific way.” Was I? I didn’t think I was. Sure, I felt a little bad about ruining her fun. That didn’t mean I was looking at her a specific way. I never looked at anyone in a specific way these days. I just wasn’t in the mood for drama. It used to be that I could find someone to entertain me for a few months, and then they would go on their way when things grew mundane. No hard feelings. As soon as I hit thirty, though, that changed. Now, suddenly, everybody I was dating had questions.

Where is this going?

Do you want kids?

Do you like a split-level or ranch?

I was still trying to reclaim what I had lost. What had been stolen from me by bad stories and celebrity gossip sites. I was not adding to the mayhem … especially with a co-worker. No matter how cute she was.

“I think you’re seeing something that’s not there,” I said to him. “Thanks for the laugh, though.”

He didn’t back down. “She’s pretty,” he said, inclining his head toward the hotel. “Sometimes people are meanest to the ones they like the most because that’s how they protect themselves.”

“Are you a psychologist on the side?” I asked dryly.

“Actually, I am.” He handed over a business card. “I’m just doing this until I have the money to start my own practice.”

The card read Alexander Petruzzi, drive your way to mental health .

I pressed my lips together, then looked up again. “You’re a weird dude, Alexander,” I said finally.

“Call me if you need me. My rates are cheap because I have no overhead at present.” He strolled to the front of the SUV and tipped his little hat. “Just remember what I said. You always hurt the ones who could hurt you.” With that, he hopped in the SUV and took off.

“Geez,” I muttered as I started toward the front door of the hotel. “Who knew you could get therapy from drivers in Massachusetts?” My first instinct was to throw away the card. At the last second, though, I shoved it in my wallet.

I wasn’t going to call him of course—I would never—but it might make for a good laugh when I got back to the West Coast. I was always up for a good laugh.

Inside the hotel, the lobby was surprisingly ornate. The decorations I’d been expecting on the street were present all around me, including in a huge painting on the back wall that seemed to depict some freaky scene of a witch being worshipped by a bunch of dark acolytes.

“Well, that’s cheery,” I said to nobody in particular. When I looked to my right, I found Sam dragging her suitcase onto the elevator. She did not look at me before the door closed, even though I found myself willing her to do just that.

She was easy to rile. That meant I was going to have fun with her. If this town didn’t really have witches, I had to get my kicks somewhere after all. I put that thought out of my head and smiled at the man in the well-dressed suit behind the check-in desk.

“Leo Powell,” I offered. “I’m with the Evermore production.”

“Ah.” The man nodded. “I’m Jax Hunter. I own the hotel.” He inclined his head toward the perky brunette standing at his left. “This is Daisy, my fiancée.”

For her part, Daisy merely rolled her eyes. “You just like telling people we’re engaged,” she said. “This guy doesn’t care that we’re engaged. Why do you keep doing that?”

“Because you saying yes was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Jax replied.

I didn’t crack a smile. Someone else—Sam probably—would’ve found them adorable. I just found them annoying. “I’m checking in.”

Jax lifted his chin, his eyes roaming my face. He didn’t look bothered by my tone. There wasn’t a lot of friendliness there either. “You guys must’ve had a long flight.”

“What do you mean?” I pulled out my ID card and handed it to Daisy. The production would pay for the hotel room, but I still had to prove who I was.

“The woman who was with you was in a foul mood too,” Jax replied.

“Oh, Sam?” I darted a look toward the elevator. The flight wasn’t the reason for her bad mood. No, that was me. “I’m sure she’ll sleep it off and be a cheerful little chipmunk again by tomorrow morning.”

Jax looked perplexed. “Weren’t you on the same flight? I have a note here that says you guys were coming in the same car.”

“We were, but it’s not as if we’re friends.” I turned my attention to Daisy. “Do you need anything else from me? If not, I would love my keycard. I need a shower and a nap.” Was I being brusque? Yes. I didn’t know these people, though. More importantly, I didn’t care. I just wanted a break from talking. It never went well for me.

That’s not what’s wrong with you, my inner voice whispered.

I tried to ignore it.

You feel bad for ruining Sam’s day. This is guilt. You should’ve apologized. You had the opportunity.

I brutally pushed the thoughts aside and smiled at Daisy to get her moving faster.

“You’re in room 605,” she said as she handed over the keycard. “All of the rooms have been redone in the past year, so I hope you enjoy your stay.” I thought she was finished, but she said something else. “Your ‘not friend’ is across the hall from you if you want to not talk to her.”

My first inclination was to demand a different room. I did not want to have to deal with Sam at odd hours of the day and night. I didn’t ask for a different room, though. I just nodded.

“Thanks. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s not as if this town has a lot of hotels to choose from. I’m just interested in the bar. You have a good one, right?”

“We do,” Daisy confirmed. She didn’t have even a hint of a smile on her face. “There are plenty of bars around town, too. That’s one thing you won’t be able to complain about.”

“I don’t know. I can complain about anything.”

“I’m not surprised.”

I was caught between amusement and annoyance when I snagged gazes with her. The friendly woman I’d first caught a glimpse of behind the desk was gone. In her place was someone who clearly didn’t like me.

Well, join the club, Daisy. Nobody likes me. That’s how I prefer it.

“Thank you.” I moved toward the elevator. “I can’t wait to get a better look at your town.”

“There’s more to it than meets the eye,” Jax called out.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”