Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2) (64)

While we’d be shooting some action scenes outside on the streets of London, those weren’t for a few weeks. For now, we were at Elstree Studios where our set builders and art department had created impressive versions of an MI6 office, a members-only club, and Daniel’s sterile London flat. We were using two soundstages, and before we left London, we’d film out of sequence in one of the indoor tanks because I had an underwater fight scene.

As soon as we’d found a private, dark corner, Blake whipped around and stared at me incredulously, hands on his hips.

I blanched. “I know.”

“You do?” Blake feigned shock. “Great. Do you want to fill me in on why you’re acting like Daniel has chronic constipation?”

In Blake’s thick New York accent, the insult almost made me laugh, but I knew that would worsen the situation. “I’ll get it. I’m just a wee bit rusty.”

“Well, whatever is fucking with your mojo, fix it, and soon. The street action scenes are scheduled to an inch of their life, coordinated meticulously with the BFS and Met Police. There is no waiting around for you to switch into character.”

“I know.” My voice hardened. “I’ve got this.”

Blake gave me an appraising look and nodded before clapping me hard on the shoulder. “You’re talented, man. You’ve got that ‘thing,’ that quality that makes you great. But that ‘thing,’ whatever it is, it’s not showing up with you. Find it again. Fast.” He strode off on the unspoken warning, leaving me to stew in my apprehension.

I’d had my ups and downs in romantic relationships, and while I’d always cared for my girlfriends, I could honestly say that whatever was going on with a woman had never infected my work.

Until now.

It had been four weeks since Aria broke things off. Four weeks since I’d left Ardnoch. I couldn’t stay there, so I returned to London with my trainer, and filming started two weeks ago. After we were finished in London, we’d travel to locations in Europe and Asia for the rest of the five-month shoot.

Before Aria, I’d been excited about this movie. This was the part that could launch me into superstardom.

Now I felt like I was missing a limb.

Aria was the reason I’d lost my thing, whatever the fuck it was.

I’d promised myself when the day came that she ended our arrangement, I’d fight for more. I didn’t.

I let hurt and rejection win.

I didn’t fight for her. For us.

Now I understood what all those miserable bloody love songs were talking about. The cliché about days seeming darker, empty, every second meaningless … it was all true. Cliché, for a reason. Without Aria, I felt exhausted by life. But if I didn’t want my career to go down the toilet along with our relationship, I needed to buck the fuck up.

“That’s a wrap for today!” Blake called out. “See you back here tomorrow morning at six a.m.!”

I left before anyone—costars, director, producer, writers—could stop me to talk. As I grabbed my gear and pulled out my phone, I saw I had a text from Theo. He was filming a TV show here in London.

At the Roebuck, if you fancy a drink.





The Victorian pub in Southwark was a ten-minute drive from my apartment on St. Katherine’s Docks and a favorite haunt of Theo’s. There were plenty of exclusive clubs in London that would welcome Theo Cavendish through their doors, but he seemed to eschew fashionable clubs. That’s why his membership at Ardnoch was so surprising. When I’d said as much, he’d replied, “No amount of celebrity contamination can mar the beauty of somewhere like Ardnoch.”

I tried not to be offended that he considered me celebrity contamination.

I quickly typed a reply, Be there in an hour.

It would take me that long to get there from the studios. But I could do with a drink after the day I’d had.

When I walked into the Roebuck later that evening, I found Theo in the laid-back pub, legs outstretched, gesticulating with his hands as he told a story to two women he’d attracted. The thought of having to be sociable pissed me off, and I almost turned and left. But Theo looked up at that moment and nodded at me. He turned back to his companions and said something with that playboy smile that turned people into infatuated idiots.

Whatever it was, the women stood, grinning and waving at him as they crossed the bar to sit with another group.

Gratified by their departure, I slid into the seat opposite Theo. The pub was busy, the bar area packed with people. My friend was nursing a whisky.

“You look like shit,” he greeted me pleasantly.

“It hasn’t been the best day.”

“Tell me about it. Did you know the Roe is becoming a celebrity hangout?” He leaned forward in his seat. “Those girls were telling me Angeline Potter’s been in here this week. I’m telling you, that woman is stalking me.”

The British actor and rom-com sweetheart, whom I did a movie with back in the day, was a member of Ardnoch, and according to Aria, she spent a lot of time there. I’d been lucky enough to avoid her so far because once she got talking, it was difficult to get away. She was kind of self-involved.

“I didn’t know Angeline was interested in you.”

“Cornered me at the fucking estate last Christmas under the mistletoe. Never one to let a lady down, I obliged her with a grope.” He seemed to consider this. “Ah, actually, I think I went down on her in the restroom.”