Wild Fire (Wild State) (7 page)

 
“I’ve
been
looking.” Frustration gnawed at her, making her chest ache, and she lifted one manicured hand to rub at the offending spot. “I feel as though all I’ve done is look, look, look.” Catching Fiona’s sympathetic gray gaze, she shrugged, helpless. “I haven’t seen him since reshoots in September. He won’t return my calls. Or my e-mails.”

Fiona winced. “That’s probably not a good sign.”

Scowling, Sadie stalked across the bedroom to where the designer gown her stylist had delivered that morning hung in a black garment bag. “Probably not,” she agreed as she unzipped the bag to reveal a sliver of gold satin. “I was hoping you’d have some sort of sage advice for me.”

Fiona laughed as she plopped down at the foot of Sadie’s giant bed, tucking her bare feet with their hot-pink painted toenails beneath her. “If only being in a relationship actually made me wise. Please try to remember who I’m dating.”
 

The happiness that laced Fiona’s teasing made Sadie uncomfortably envious. Sadie’s
Vendetta
costar, Declan Murphy, had fallen fast and hard for his makeup artist last spring, and only a few short months later had moved into Fiona’s newly acquired Pasadena home with her. The couple had invited Sadie and other cast and crew from the movie over several times in the intervening months between the end of shooting in Italy and the start of post-production back in Los Angeles, and every time she visited their cute little bungalow—and was forced to return to her big, empty house afterward—Sadie had to battle back waves of bitterness.
 

She and Ryan could’ve been just as happy as Fiona and Declan, if only he hadn’t decided their history meant nothing to him.
 

If only he hadn’t made her feel like a fool for believing that same history connected them somehow.

As the garment bag fell away, Sadie took in the gown her stylist had chosen for her to wear on this evening’s red carpet. A column sheath of warm champagne satin, flowing down to a swirl of abstractly placed sequins from knee to hem, ranging in hue from pearly white to deep amber. The draped neckline was high in front and would brush her collarbones, but the dress left the wearer’s back bare, from her nape to the base of her spine. Simple, elegant, and with a surprising sensual twist, she couldn’t have chosen better herself.

From behind her, Fiona sighed enviously. “Now that is one gorgeous gown.”
 

Yes, it was. Shoving thoughts of Ryan aside, Sadie turned to beam at her friend. “Isn’t it just?” She eyed the garment bag on the bed next to Fiona. “And? Let’s compare.”

Fiona adjusted her glasses on her nose as she glared at the bag that housed her own dress for tonight’s event. “Nope. There’s a reason you’re a movie star and I’m not. And that reason is better clothes.” She petted the garment bag almost mournfully. “It’s okay, Elie Saab,” she murmured consolingly to the bag. “It’s not
your
fault Sadie has a secret cabal of angel seamstresses slaving away to turn clouds and fairy dust into magical princess dresses.”
 

Laughing, Sadie unbuttoned the well-worn, blue men’s dress shirt she’d donned over her lingerie in order for Fiona to do her hair and makeup. “If I had a secret cabal of anything, it wouldn’t be angelic seamstresses.” She pulled her gown from its hanger and, lowering it to pool in a fall of shining satin, stepped into it. “The cabal would need to be something cool. Like ninja monkey assassins.”

“Or Rodents of Unusual Size.”

“Exactly.” Settling the sleeveless bodice into place, Sadie turned to examine her appearance in the full-length mirror on the wall to the left of her walk-in closet. “There’s only so much one can do with seamstresses.”

In the mirror, she watched as Fiona smiled and shook her head. “I dunno. When the end product is that”—she waved her hand at Sadie—“I can see the appeal of having one of those angels on hand. You look amazing.” Fiona paused. “Definitely amazing enough to catch Ryan’s eye tonight. If that’s what you’re aiming for.”

Barefoot, Sadie moved to the mahogany dresser opposite the mirror and opened the velvet jewelry case that had been delivered along with the gown. Nestled inside were a pair of long ruby-and-rose-gold drop earrings and a matching cuff bracelet. She slid the pieces into place before turning to face Fiona. “Except I’m giving up, remember? Waving the white flag of surrender and whatnot.”

Fiona began to shed her clothes—first the skinny jeans, then the pink-and-white checked shirt that made her look almost too wholesome for the L.A. scene. One would never guess that she was a native, born and bred into the Hollywood movie business. “You know Ryan is a friend,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” It didn’t matter that the two weren’t close—Fiona had a connection to Ryan that Sadie didn’t, and it stung.

Turning her back, Fiona whipped off her tank top and unzipped the garment bag, pulling out a long dress of garnet-colored silk adorned with tiny glass beads of a red so deep as to be almost black. “I met him through Wes, obviously,” she said, naming
Vendetta
’s director. “Because I meet everyone through Wes, it seems.” There was a smile in Fiona’s voice as she spoke of her longtime friend. “Anyway, the point is, I think Ryan’s a good guy.”

So did Sadie, and that was the problem.

“I mean, he’s great at his job,” Fiona continued, speaking over her shoulder to Sadie as she maneuvered the dark red gown into place. “From what I hear, he was pretty much locked in his studio for weeks working on getting the sound mixed correctly. Wes says he’s a perfectionist.”
 

“He’s…something.” He hadn’t allowed Sadie close enough to discover whether the man was as precise as the boy had been. Though to call Ryan a boy when she’d first met him all those years ago was a disservice to the memory.

He’d been a man to her.

Fiona turned to reveal the front of her dress. Gauzy three-quarter-length sleeves clung to her arms, and the plunging V-neckline came to a point over her sternum, revealing a good deal of her chest in the process. Yet the effect wasn’t sloppy—Fiona looked warm and touchable.
 

Sadie grinned. “Declan is going to lose his shit when he sees you.”
 

Winking, Fiona yanked the elastic tie from her hair, letting the medium-brown waves fall loosely around her shoulders. “That’s kinda what
I’m
aiming for.” She gathered a small toiletries case from inside the traveling makeup kit she’d brought to use on Sadie and indicated the adjoining master bath with a tilt of her head. “I’m going to pop in my contact lenses and do my face. Join me?”

Sadie followed her into the well-lit bathroom, perching on the edge of the claw-foot tub she’d designed the entire room around. “I know Ryan’s a decent man, and I know he’s a brilliant sound engineer. What I don’t like,” she said, frowning down at her hands as Fiona got to work at the vanity, “is how he just…shut me out. From the very beginning.”

For a moment, Fiona was quiet, and Sadie waited patiently for her response. What she’d come to learn about her new friend was that Fiona didn’t like to rush into things—something that must’ve irked the hell out of her when Declan pursued her so avidly. No, Fiona was a careful woman, with both her person and her words, and Sadie respected her all the more for it.

“You two were together once, right?” Fiona asked with her trademark caution. “I don’t know the story, but you’ve implied that you have a past.”

The reason Fiona didn’t know the story was because Sadie didn’t like telling it. Not that it was a bad story—no, it was an
amazing
story, the sort of meet-cute the industry built blockbuster rom-coms around. Or had done, before the romantic comedy fell out of favor.

Perhaps the universe was trying to tell Sadie something with that.

She tapped her nails against the tub’s rounded lip. “‘Together’ is a strong word. We were…we met a long time ago, when I still lived in London. I fell for him, fast.” Too fast. She could see that now, when faced with giving up on the hope she’d carried inside her all this time. She must have come off like a crazy person, insisting they were thrown together again for a reason, and that they’d be stupid not to find out what, precisely, that reason was.

No wonder he wasn’t interested. Honestly, she was probably lucky he hadn’t filed a restraining order, given the plethora of texts, voice mails, and e-mails she’d sent his way over the past months. Normal people didn’t hold on to memories of a single night for a decade.
 

But what a night it had been.

Apparently finished readying herself, Fiona packed up her case. “Did he fall for you, too?”
 

Sadie rose, shrugging. “I thought so. But like I said, it was a long time ago. And I shouldn’t have pursued him this time like I did.”
 

She hadn’t been able to help herself, though. When she’d seen him again on the set for
Vendetta
, for the first time in
ten years
, she had felt…empowered. Like a lightning bolt had hit her, and she had suddenly seen, with astonishing clarity, exactly what she’d needed.
 

What she’d needed, with all that empowering electricity zinging through her veins, was Ryan Young. The one who got away. The one who, if she was honest, could count as a failure now twice over.

Bloody hell, but Sadie hated failing. “What time is Declan arriving?”

Back in the bedroom, Fiona checked her phone. “The car will be here any minute.”
 

Sadie slid into ruby-red stiletto heels, which the stylist had packed into a box along with a tiny gold-sequined clutch, and checked her appearance one last time in the tall mirror. Declan had called the other night and offered to be her escort on the red carpet, but she’d assured him she was happy to walk alone. After all, she was a thirty-year-old multimillionaire, and often referred to as the “leading actress of her generation.” She didn’t need a man on her arm.

No matter how much she may have wanted one.

Understanding that Declan’s offer came from a place of friendship, however, she’d suggested they drive together, leading to Fiona packing up her bags to put in the trunk for the duration of the premiere. “Thank you for coming,” Sadie said as they headed down the two flights of stairs toward the front door. “You didn’t have to do my makeup, you know.”

“Well, Declan doesn’t let me put pretty, pretty lipstick on him, so feel free to consider yourself practice material,” Fiona said with a cheeky grin. “Plus, I’m the right price.”
 

“Indeed.” All Fiona’s expertise had cost her was a glass of wine, an hour of gossip, and a little painful baring of her soul. Tires sounded on gravel outside as they reached the foyer. “Our chariot awaits,” she said as she held the door open for Fiona, keying in the four-digit code to lock it behind her as they stepped into the California sunshine.
 

She turned to watch as the driver emptied Fiona’s laden arms, which allowed Fiona to flow directly into Declan’s, where he stood next to the sleek black car. He pressed his face into the side of her neck, appearing to breathe her in, and murmured something too low for Sadie to hear.
 

Whatever it was, it turned Fiona positively radiant.

Pulling back, the Irishman eyed Sadie and whistled. “You are impossibly gorgeous tonight, Bit,” Declan said, using the nickname of her character from their film. He’d never quite been able to kick the habit of calling her that, and she found she didn’t mind, there was so much affection for her in his voice.
 

She moved forward with a smile when he offered his hand to help her into the backseat of the car. “You’re not too shabby yourself.” The actor did look especially dapper this evening in a finely tailored three-piece suit of dark navy and soft silver tie. “Excited for your first world premiere?”

His dark eyes gleamed. “You know it.” He handed Fiona in after her, then settled next to his girlfriend, across from Sadie, and they were on their way.

As the plush town car whisked them toward the Regency Village Theatre in Westwood, where the premiere was being held, Sadie gazed determinedly out the car window. It wasn’t that Declan and Fiona were being overt—they weren’t—but there was a…a connection that seemed to radiate from them, like sunlight. And Sadie had forgotten to wear shades.
 

The trio chatted amicably during the drive about nothing in particular, a fact for which Sadie was grateful. It would be too easy to focus on her decision to put Ryan in the past, where he belonged, when she ought to be thinking about the future.
Her
future.

She was, after all, a thirty-year-old multimillionaire. The leading actress of her generation. And not exactly hard on the eyes, to boot. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a man who made her feel the same way Ryan did—or rather, had.

For one selfish minute, she allowed herself to remember. The train, the snow, the kiss…the “wow.” Her shabby flat on Christmas Eve, and her parents’ townhouse on Christmas Day. How she’d waited by the phone for hours and watched her mailbox for days, and then, when he hadn’t gotten in touch, had made a list of Next Steps she could take to find him—and promptly discarded when her best friend Marie had said, in the no-nonsense tone so at odds with her romantic French accent, “If he wanted to see you, he would have found you by now,
non
? You are not hiding.”

Yet part of her, she’d discovered when she came face to face with Ryan Young after so much time apart, had indeed been in hiding. For nearly ten years, she had held onto the hope of him, tucking it away in the corner of her heart relegated to naive dreams of love—the forever kind of love, which she saw exemplified in her parents every single day.

Forever-love wasn’t for everyone. She and her brother Kai had talked about it once, when he’d flown in from New York to see her house, shortly after she had made the move from London to L.A. permanent. “We can’t all be lucky, like Mum and Dad,” he had told her as they sat on her deck, sipping white wine and watching the sun set over the boats on the canal. “They got the best of both worlds—to-die-for love and insane financial success. You never hear one of them complain, do you?”