He shook his head approvingly. “Sober looks good on you.”
I chose not to respond to that. Instead, I flicked the bag’s silver zippers with the tip of my thumb. They dangled back and forth, making a tinkling noise as they knocked against each other. “What’s this for?”
“Tiff wanted you to have some of your clothes to carry along with you. She’s arranged for everything else you’ll need, to be sent ahead to your rental house in Honolulu.”
“Fun. My mom can call you, but can’t even leave me a voicemail saying she’s glad I’m out of rehab?” My voice broke on the last few words.
“Their phone hasn’t been getting half of their calls.”
It was a shitty excuse, especially for someone like Kevin who could come up with a lie without so much as twitching, but I brushed it off. He’d only try to maintain the bullshit, and I’d just get irritated. It was way too soon to start up our cycle of butting heads.
“What about—” I began.
“They gave you a twenty thousand dollar advance on the two-fifty you’ll be paid when filming is complete,” he said, walking over to the armchair to sit down. “After I took out my percentage that left you—”
“Just over 17 grand,” I said. I’d been doing this for so long that the fifteen percent math was permanently ingrained in my mind. “And it’s in my account already?”
Kevin shook his head. “No, but by the end of the week.”
I felt my heart sing a little, felt my body come alive as a thrill raced through it. Everything would be better once I was in Hawaii. With Surfer Boy. Sexy and completely hostile Surfer Boy. I swallowed hard, hoping that the flicker of attraction I’d felt yesterday when we touched was nothing.
I couldn’t let him be an obstacle.
“I see the wheels in your pretty little head turning. Don’t do anything stupid to ruin yourself,” Kevin said, whipping me out of my thoughts. There was a pitying edge to his voice that matched the look in his gray eyes. He’d been looking at me like that for years now, but today when I was so clear-headed—so raw—it rubbed me the wrong way. Today, it was impossible not to vividly imagine the warning Kevin had given me three years ago.
“You’re not responsible enough for this, Willow. Any other choice and you will ruin yourself," he had told me.
And yet somehow, even after I’d taken his advice, I’d done just that anyway.
“Pretty as she drowns and ruined when she resurfaces,” I whispered under my breath, remembering a poem I’d read while in rehab. Kevin cocked an eyebrow, but I shook my head. “What time does my flight leave?”
He reached out the folder he was holding. When I didn’t immediately get up to take it, he wiggled it back and forth. Groaning, I skulked over to him and took it, sifting through the contents as I returned to my spot on the bed. There was information about my community service in Hawaii, the probation officer I’d need to report to, and the address of a personal trainer. Even at my smallest—late last year when I wasn’t eating because I’d always forgotten to—I was never Hollywood’s definition of “thin.”
I was tall and C-cupped and wide-hipped.
“Got to make sure I get rid of the ass fat. Let me guess—it’s going to be a part of my final contract?” I asked sarcastically and Kevin made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “No need to lie to me about this, too. We’ve been doing this too long.”
Thankfully, Kevin opted to keep his mouth closed. I flipped the personal trainer’s information over, reaching the last document in the folder. I studied my ticket carefully, silently. In less than four hours, I would take off from LAX, and I was nowhere near ready. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled.
Kevin waved his hand to the suitcase. “I’ll settle your bill while you get dressed?”
“Thanks,” I murmured, watching him as he quietly left the room.
I showered and dressed quickly, in a pair of tiny denim shorts that constricted my thighs, a white tank top that was too tight across my br**sts, and an oversized flannel shirt. As I yanked the brush that I found in the front pouch of the bag through my wet, tangled hair, I forced my feet into a pair of high top black Converse shoes. For a long time afterward, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying my reflection. It was the look I’d always sprung for before rehab, minus the baseball cap my mother loathed, but it didn’t seem so careless anymore.
Now, I felt like I was trying too hard to be myself.
“Suck it up,” I whispered to the girl in the mirror with the green eyes that seemed too big for her face and the pale, drawn skin. “Everything will be better soon.”
Then, grabbing my bag off the hotel bed, I left the room and went in search of Kevin.
***
When I asked to go to lunch at Junction, Kevin quickly complied. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to keep me happy or if he just wanted to get rid of me as easily as possible. He had driven himself today, in a sleek metallic Audi sports car that I didn’t remember him having before. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous when he opened the door for me—I’d lost my license over a year ago, right before I turned nineteen. Getting my driving privileges restored didn’t seem to be anywhere in my near future.
After lunch, which felt rushed, Kevin and I went to his office so I could sign paperwork. We were halfway through the documents when a giant of a man showed up. As I gazed toward the front of the office, watching him interact with Kevin’s assistant, I already knew he was a bodyguard hired for me. My new babysitter. When Kevin caught me staring, he motioned the man back to his office.