The devil wanted to talk to me.
Fuck.
What did she want?
Yes, Elena Harper had just stopped Sebastian from rearranging my face in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
I was grateful for that. Deeply grateful, actually, especially since everyone else had suddenly developed a passionate interest in the floor, the walls, or the bubbles floating inside their champagne.
But this was Elena Harper.
She didn't do anything without a reason.
The woman had probably calculated how much stopping that slap would improve Harper Global Media's reputation before she even caught his wrist.
Maybe cameras had captured the entire thing. Maybe she wanted to use me in some public statement about protecting women in the industry.
Or perhaps she was about to tell me I had handled the situation badly.
That seemed possible.
Very possible.
Elena might drag me into an empty room, lock the door, and explain in that cold voice of hers that pouring champagne over one of Hollywood's most powerful producers had made me a financial liability.
Then she would hand me a contract demanding that I never speak publicly about the incident.
Or she would offer to bury the story for a price.
Or she would bury me.
My imagination was being incredibly helpful.
"I'm sorry," Nina said, stepping beside me before I could answer Elena. "Riley has already had a difficult evening."
Elena looked at her.
It wasn't an angry look.
"And what right do you have ?" Elena asked.
"Nina Walker. Riley's manager."
"I know who you are."
Of course she did.
Elena probably knew the names, salaries, credit scores, and childhood traumas of everyone in the building.
Nina straightened her shoulders. "Then you understand that any conversation involving Riley's career should include me."
"I didn't say this was about her career."
That did not make me feel better.
Nina glanced at me.
I recognized the question in her expression.
Do you want me to stay?
I should have said yes.
Instead, I looked back at Elena.
She stood perfectly still in front of me, one hand resting near the button of her suit jacket. Her black tie was still immaculate. Not a single strand of her long hair seemed out of place.
She had just threatened to destroy a multimillion-dollar distribution agreement, yet she looked as composed as if she had merely corrected a spelling mistake.
Those blue eyes settled on me.
Waiting.
Not impatiently.
Elena Harper probably considered impatience a weakness suffered by people who didn't own enough clocks.
"I'll be fine," I told Nina.
Nina's lips tightened.
"That is exactly what people say before being found dead in a lake."
Elena's expression didn't change.
"I don't dispose of actresses in lakes."
Nina blinked. "That wasn't as reassuring as you probably intended."
"It wasn't intended to be reassuring."
I covered a laugh with a cough.
Elena's eyes shifted toward me.
Shit.
For one terrifying second, I thought she might have noticed.
Then I remembered Elena Harper had probably heard people laughing before. Perhaps during layoffs.
"I'll only be a few minutes," I told Nina.
She leaned closer to me. "Call me if she tries to harvest your organs."
"I can hear you," Elena said.
"I assumed you could."
I squeezed Nina's hand before following Elena away from the crowd.
The ballroom had already begun recovering from the scandal.
Conversations resumed in low murmurs. Waiters moved between the guests, collecting empty glasses and pretending they hadn't witnessed a producer nearly slap an actress.
I felt people watching us.
Of course they were.
Elena Harper walking through a room was already an event.
Elena Harper walking away with me after publicly humiliating Sebastian Vale was tomorrow's headline being born.
I could practically see it.
ELENA HARPER DEFENDS RILEY CARTER IN SHOCKING PREMIERE ALTERCATION.
Or perhaps:
SECRET ROMANCE? BILLIONAIRE CEO RESCUES OSCAR-NOMINATED BEAUTY.
That one would sell more copies.
Elena led me through a narrow corridor beside the ballroom. Her footsteps were steady, unhurried, and strangely quiet against the polished floor.
I walked behind her, trying not to stare.
That became difficult when I noticed how her suit trousers fit.
Dear God.
Apparently my survival instincts had abandoned me completely. I had almost been assaulted ten minutes ago, and now I was admiring the ass of the most terrifying woman in Hollywood.
Trauma did strange things to the brain.
We reached a small private lounge with dark walls, leather furniture, and tinted windows overlooking the city. Elena opened the door and waited for me to enter.
I hesitated.
She noticed.
"You're safe, Miss Carter."
"That sounds exactly like something a dangerous person would say."
For the first time, something changed in her expression.
It wasn't a smile.
Perhaps the distant relative of one.
Then it disappeared.
I stepped inside.
Elena closed the door, muting the music and conversations from the ballroom. The silence that followed felt thick enough to touch.
I suddenly became very aware that I was alone with her.
She walked toward a drinks cabinet and poured herself a glass of water.
Not whiskey.
Not champagne.
Water.
Of course.
Alcohol probably feared interfering with her judgment.
"Would you like something?" she asked.
"A new nervous system."
"That isn't available."
"Water is fine."
She poured a second glass and handed it to me.
Our fingers brushed.
It was barely anything, but a small electric sensation traveled through my hand.
I tightened my grip around the glass.
Absolutely not.
I was not going to react to Elena Harper touching me. The woman had spent the evening evaluating actors and threatening business partners.
She probably shook hands with people worth billions without remembering their faces.
I drank half the water too quickly.
Elena watched me.
I lowered the glass.
"What?"
"You're nervous."
"I'm alone in a room with a woman who can destroy careers before finishing her morning coffee."
"I usually finish my coffee first."
I stared at her.
Was that a joke?
No.
It couldn't have been.
Elena Harper did not joke. Jokes required joy, and I was fairly certain she had sold hers during an acquisition.
Still, the corner of my mouth twitched.
I placed the glass on the nearby table before I dropped it.
"Thank you for helping me."
"I did it for me, not you."
My smile disappeared.
Of course she did.
I should have known better than to expect a normal response from Satan in a tailored suit.
Elena set her own glass down.
"But you were interesting."
The hell?
I waited for her to explain.
She didn't.
"You stopped a man from hitting me because I was interesting?"
"I stopped him because Sebastian Vale has been a growing problem for my company. Tonight gave me sufficient justification to deal with him."
"That is possibly the coldest explanation anyone has ever given after helping me."
"I wasn't trying to impress you."
"Well, congratulations. You succeeded."
Her gaze moved over my face slowly.
Not sexually.
At least, I didn't think it was sexual.
With Elena, it felt more like being inspected by an exceptionally attractive executioner deciding which weapon would be most efficient.
"You didn't freeze," she said.
"Someone grabbed my ass."
"Many actresses would have ignored it."
"Then they're smarter than me."
"No. They're afraid."
"And I'm not?"
"You were terrified."
I stiffened.
"I was not."
"You were."
"You don't know me."
"I know fear when I see it."
Her voice remained calm, but something dark passed behind her eyes. It vanished too quickly for me to understand it.
"You were afraid of what he could do to your career," she continued. "You confronted him anyway."
"He deserved worse than champagne."
"I agree."
I folded my arms.
"So what exactly is happening here? Are you going to lecture me about professionalism? Ask me to stay quiet? Offer to make the story disappear?"
"No."
"Then why am I here?"
Elena walked toward the window.
Los Angeles glittered below us, bright and false, every light concealing a locked door or a private disaster.
"I watched you before the incident," she said.
"That doesn't sound creepy at all."
"You're being considered for the female lead in Ashes Between Us."
I stared at her back.
So this was about the film.
Nina had warned me Elena would be present, but I hadn't expected her to speak with me directly. Executives like Elena usually sent assistants, casting directors, or polite rejection emails.
"I haven't received the script," I said.
"You will."
"Is that why you called me interesting?"
"You entered that ballroom smiling as though nothing in your life had ever hurt you."
I swallowed.
She turned toward me.
"Then Sebastian touched you, and the performance stopped."
Her eyes held mine.
"There was anger beneath it. Fear. Pride. Enough cruelty to humiliate him in front of the entire room."
"I poured champagne on him. I didn't stab him."
"You considered it."
"I did not."
"You looked at the stem of your glass."
That was disturbingly observant.
"I was checking whether it was strong enough," I admitted.
"For what?"
"Nothing that would hold up well in court."
That almost-smile appeared again.
This time, I definitely saw it.
It transformed her face for less than a second, softening nothing while somehow making her even more beautiful.
Then it was gone, and I wondered whether I had imagined it.
"The woman in Ashes Between Us needs that contradiction," Elena said. "Warmth on the surface. Violence underneath."
"You think I'm violent?"
"I think you're angry."
My spine tightened.
"I'm not angry."
"You're in Hollywood. You would have to be an idiot not to be."
The words landed somewhere uncomfortable.
I looked away from her.
Nobody said things like that to me.
People said I was fortunate. Blessed. Living the dream.
They reminded me that millions of women would kill to have my life, as if gratitude and misery couldn't occupy the same body.
"What do you want from me?" I asked quietly.
"An audition."
I looked back at her.
"I thought Elena Harper didn't believe in auditions."
"I believe in results."
"And if I'm not good enough?"
"I'll tell you."
"Gently?"
"No."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Elena's gaze dropped briefly to my mouth.
My breath caught.
Perhaps I imagined that too.
She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and removed a black business card. Her name was printed across the front in silver, along with a private number.
She held it out to me.
I took it carefully.
"Tomorrow," she said. "Nine in the morning. Harper Global Media. Private screening room three."
"That's less than twelve hours away."
"Yes."
"I need to read the script."
"You'll receive it tonight."
"I need to sleep."
"That sounds like a personal scheduling issue."
I looked down at the card.
"You're an asshole."
"I've been called worse."
"I heard."
"Will you be there?"
I should have made her wait.
I should have told her I needed to speak with Nina, check my schedule, and consider whether I wanted to work for a woman who treated human emotion like an inconvenient budget request.
Instead, I slid the card into my clutch.
"Nine in the morning."
Elena nodded once.
The conversation was apparently finished.
She walked to the door and opened it.
I moved past her, but her voice stopped me before I entered the corridor.
"One more thing, Miss Carter."
I turned.
Her blue eyes settled on me with that same merciless calm.
"Next time, use red wine. Champagne doesn't stain enough."
I stared at her.
Then I smiled.
Maybe the devil had a sense of humor after all.