Tidal (21 page)

remind me.”

“But what I was going to say,” Miller

said, steering the conversation back on

track, “is to be careful. I’ve told you this

before, but you remind me of my little

sister and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

It took me a second to realize he

wasn’t talking about the paparazzi or

getting knocked in the face on set with a

surfboard. He was blatantly referring to

the thing I had going on with Cooper.

Whatever the hell that was. I dragged my

hands away from my face and smoothed

back my hair.

How did I even respond to what he

just said?

On one hand, Miller was someone

hired to work for me. If my old bodyguard

had warned me about a guy I was sleeping

with I would have flipped out on him and

fired him on the spot. But on the other

hand, Miller wasn’t my old bodyguard. He

was the man who’d taken me to the lamest

amusement park ever when I was alone.

He’d sat with me after I had a nightmare.

So, I told him what I would tell any of

my friends if they gave me non-shitty

advice. “Thanks for the heads up, Miller.”

“And now you’re going to fire me.”

Shaking my head, I climbed out of the

Kia. I turned to face him, supporting

myself by holding on to the edge of the

door and the hood of the car. “Nope. I’m

trying to keep from hugging you for giving

a fuck.”

All these feelings today—they were

going to be the undoing of me.

Chapter Fourteen

“Skye from Las Vegas asks ‘Willow,

how did you feel when you learned you

were cast in the reboot of the movie?” the

moderator asked.

Like if I didn’t take the role, I’d

never work again
, I thought.

I cast a glittering smile in his direction

and lifted my microphone to my mouth.

“Excited and—don’t laugh at me, guys—

but terrified. I’m not sure if you’ve ever

carried a surfboard but”—I sighed and

rubbed my forehead for dramatic effect

—“it really, really hurts when it knocks

you in the head.” The crowd of fans lined

up in front of the outdoor stage rolled with

laughter and hundreds of camera phones

flashed simultaneously.

“But really, I can’t wait because this

cast is amazing and the script is so

incredible. I can’t wait to get to work on

such a kickass movie,” I said.

How many more adjectives could I

use this morning without making myself

sound like an idiot?

We were twenty minutes into the

beachfront press conference and for the

last ten of them, Justin Davies, my leading

man, had kept trying to touch my thigh

beneath the table. Once again, I leaned

close to him, keeping my smile plastered

on my face and muttered, “It would be a

shame if I break your fucking nose with a

surfboard when we start shooting

tomorrow.”

He skimmed the back of his hand

across my cheek and the flashing cameras

went berserk.

Asshole.

“Uh oh, is there more than an on

screen romance blooming between Justin

and Willow?” the moderator asked the

fans, and they cheered wildly.

I twisted Justin’s fingers tightly in

mine, and he winked a hazel eye at me.

Once the crowd died down, the

moderator said, “Mitchell from

Greenville, Texas asks ‘how are you

training for your role’? We’ll start with

Justin.”

I nearly rolled my eyes when Justin

tilted his dreadlocked head to the side

(he’d told me shortly after we met that

there were fan pages dedicated to his

hair), stared confidently into the crowd,

and said, “If you’ve seen the original you

know of course that Chad is a

photographer. James Dickson and I

thought it would be interesting if we

added a little twist to the storyline and put

me out there with Willow.”

I kept the surprise out of my face when

I turned to look at him. Had he trained

with Cooper too? As if to answer my

question, Justin winked and said, “I’d

done a little surfing when I was a

teenager, so it was easy to jump back in.

By the way, let’s give it up for Willow

Avery. She’s gorgeous today isn’t she?”

Never in my life had I wanted to

drown someone as much as I wanted to

right now.

The moderator turned his attention on

me. “What about you, Willow?”

I raked my hand through my brown

hair, which the stylist who’d shown up at

my rental house at the ass-crack of dawn

had artfully tousled for at least an hour. “I

didn’t have it quite as easy as Justin. I’ve

spent the last couple weeks training with a

really incredible surf coach here in

Hawaii—Cooper Taylor. I’ve gotten to

the point where I can actually take on a

wave or two. Of course, I fall flat on my

butt two seconds later, but it’s a work in

progress.”

That comment evoked more chuckles

and flashes from the throng of people so I

gave them the pretty smile they expected.

“Speaking of Cooper Taylor,” the

moderator started, and I felt my breath

catch. “How does it feel to be working

with the Hilary Norton’s only kid?”

I blinked. And for a moment, I was left

utterly speechless.
How does it feel to be

working with Hilary Norton’s kid?
And

he was talking about my Cooper?

A shiver raced up my spine the

moment I thought of him as that.

When I answered, I never faltered.

“He’s got this insane work ethic. We

trained for three or four hours a day.” And

not once did he tell me I was playing his

deceased mother’s role. “We still have a

ways to go, but I’m confident that all the

stunt work you see me actually doing is

going to look fantastic.”

The moderator turned his questions on

Justin then, and after that on one of the

supporting actors, but the sharp tingles

creeping down my face and throughout the

rest of my body made it nearly impossible

to hear anything that wasn’t aimed directly

at me.

Cooper was Hilary Norton’s son.

The sad part was that as I sat there,

becoming angrier, I wasn’t sure if I was

even supposed to be pissed. It wasn’t like

it had ever come up in a conversation, but

God, it was hard not to feel duped.

Because Hilary Norton—Cooper’s

mom—had OD’d on the same crap that

sent me to rehab.

By the time I reached Cooper’s house

for my lesson, which Miller insisted he

had to stay for now that the press had me

on their radar, my anger had reached the

boiling point. As Cooper and I strode out

to the beach, with Miller tailing behind us

a few feet, I put as much distance as I

could between our bodies.

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’m

guessing your press conference went

badly?” he asked.

Narrowing my eyes, I snorted and

picked up my pace. “Where should I start?

First there’s my horny costar who

introduced himself by asking if I’d fuck

him in his trailer to test out the new

couch.”

Cooper caught up to me, his face dark.

He placed his board down by the

shoreline in slow controlled motions. “He

touched you?”

“Don’t worry, I threatened to hit him

with a surfboard on set,” I said. Cooper

smiled, murmuring something under his

breath. Crossing my arms over my chest, I

stared down at him and asked, “Why

didn’t you tell me who your mom was,

Cooper?”

His toned body went taut and he

glanced down at the emblem on the head

of his board before meeting my gaze.

“Because it’s not a big secret,” he said,

shrugging indifferently.

I sank down on my knees beside him

in the sand, not caring that Miller was

lounging close by or that there were other

people around us on the beach. I squinted

at him and realized it wasn’t because the

sunlight was beating down on my face—it

was to hold the stupid tears back.

I pretended to clean something off my

board with the end of my beach towel. “I

didn’t know,” I finally said in a low

whisper.

He scoffed. “Then, how’s this? Hilary

Norton was my mum but I don’t broadcast

it. Because I don’t like talking about her.

Because they tore her apart until she tore

herself down.”

“I don’t know who
they
are.”

A sound of frustration bubbled up in

the back of his throat and he leaned close

to me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Willow. You

of all people know exactly who they are.”

“And Dickson knew who you were?” I

demanded.

He scoffed, nodding.

“God, I feel like an idiot,” I said.

“Why?”

I stopped fidgeting with my board and

looked him directly in the eye. “Because

I’ve been studying your mom’s movies

and working with you and—”

He touched his fingertips together in

front of his mouth and shook his head. “It

doesn’t change anything.”

So why did it feel like it did? When I

started to push my board out into the

water, he caught up behind me, tugging on

the strap of my swimsuit. I whirled on

him.

“Who my mum was doesn’t change

anything,” he repeated.

“Why’d you agree to train me?” I

demanded. “You hate Hollywood and I’m

working in your mom’s most popular

movie. That’s got to hurt, Cooper. I mean,

fuck
, I hurt for you.”

He started to speak and then he

hesitated. When I tightened my hold on the

edge of my board and nodded for him to

continue, he demanded, “You want to

know why I agreed to train you?”

“Please.”

“Because Dickson said nobody else

wanted to work with you.”

I felt as if someone had struck their

hand across my face. When I flinched, he

muttered a string of curse words. “Look,

Wills, that didn’t come out like I wanted it

—”

“No, I appreciate your honesty,” I

said, shoving my board further out into the

white water.

“Where are you going?” he called

after me.

“We’ve got a lesson, don’t we?”

Chapter Fifteen

The tension between Cooper and me

during my lesson was almost unbearable,

and when Miller waved at me from the

beach a couple hours into training, I was

relieved.

“I’ve got to go,” I said to Cooper,

laying down on my board and

maneuvering it around to face the

shoreline. “It’s almost five and I’ve got

this meet and greet with the crew and cast

tonight at seve—”

He came up beside me, so that our

elbows knocked against each other. I

gripped the sides of my board tighter and

glanced down at the Channel Islands logo.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice hoarse.

“Dickson’s asked me to come.”

My gaze popped up. “Really?”

Cooper’s brows pulled in and he

pinched his lips together. Then, he gave

me a sarcastic smile. “Guess my mum

made me important enough to invite,” he

said.

I flinched and took a deep breath to

keep my voice from cracking. “I didn’t

mean it like that. And I’m so sorry about

what happened to your mom. I just—”

When the words wouldn’t come, I paddled

my arms to nudge my board forward.

He came up right beside me, unwilling

to let me go. “You just what?” he

demanded, his nostrils flaring.

“I wish I’d known who she was before

we started this.” I arched my body

slightly, staring through blurry eyes at the

shore. “I wish I’d asked or something. I’m

so sorry,” I whispered. I needed to get

away from him. I needed to get away

before I shoved my foot further down my

own throat.

He released an agitated sigh. “It

wouldn’t have changed what happened to

her.”

No, it wouldn’t have.

“You want to know what the sad part

is?” he continued, as he moved his board

past mine. He looked over his shoulder

and waited for my response.

“What?”

“I still want to take you into my place

and bury myself inside of you until I—”

I sat up on my board, straddling the

middle of it. “Until you what?” I

questioned. He pushed himself up into a

sitting position and yanked the front of my

surfboard next to his. I gripped the edges

firmly between my thighs to steady myself.

“Until I forget myself,” he murmured.

“Or fuck, get this taste for you out of my

mouth.”

We were still several feet from

reaching the shore, so nobody would be

able to see the way his fingertips skimmed

my breast through my tankini or how my

nipple instantly responded to his touch,

hardening. I flushed, held my breath for a

drawn out moment, and then relaxed.