My Famous Ex Wants Me Back

Maria Blake POV “You’re doing the voice again.” Raff looked up from the script. “Don’t know what you mean?” “The one where you think you’re already him.” “It’s my character, who else should I be?” “Right now, you’re Rafferty Cole, in our apartment, at eleven-fifteen—with the script upside down.” He looked down. The script was upside down, one page dangled helplessly by the last surviving staple. “Line four,” she said. “You still haven’t—” “Come here.” He pulled her toward him by the ankle. “One break.” “You said that an hour ago.” “It’s a hot scene, and you’re irresistible, Maria Blake.” She giggled. “Come here.” She leaned in. The script flopped somewhere between the nightstand and the bed. The dangling page took the rest of the notes down with it. The city below their small apartment was like that one roommate that’s always enthusiastic and sometimes too loud. The roommate in this case was cab horns and someone’s music from two floors up, music so loud Maria wondered if they were celebrating or having a mental breakdown. Raff kissed her neck until she forgot what line they were on. Then she forgot there even was a script. “Raffie—” “Still here.” He pressed his fingers on her center and she arched into it. “Raffie I swear to God—” He covered her mouth with his. A few minutes later he was lying beside her. “Hi.” His eyes were dark and amused. “Hi,” she laughed. They stayed tangled together. The music from two floors up shifted to something slower. “When this is official,” Raff said to the ceiling, his thumb moving across her shoulder, “I’m taking you everywhere.” “But it’s not official yet.” “Red carpets, press tours, all of it.” He tilted his head to look at her. “You have to make sure they always get my good side.” She propped herself up. “Raffie, You haven’t gotten the role.” “I’m getting it.” Not arrogance — Rafferty Cole didn’t do arrogance, he did childish certainty. Like reality bent to his will. The annoying thing was that it often did. If it didn’t how else could she explain him being called the same day he auditioned to be told he was in serious consideration for the role. The only thing rarer than same day shortlistings in Hollywood was Rafferty Cole’s optimism. “And when I do — everything we’ve been building will finally work out for us.” I haven’t been building anything, Raffie. I’ve been building you. She almost said it. “Yeah, Raffie.” she smiled. She believed in him. His phone lit up on the nightstand. She recognized the number from the three previous calls that had all landed somewhere between almost and just a few more things to consider. Raff sat up and answered. His face became a collage of expressions. It happened fast. At first disbelief. Then confusion, then something she’d never seen before. Her Raffie suddenly looked taller. “Are you serious?” His eyes widened. “Tomorrow? Yes.” She already knew. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and waited. “Yeah.” He exhaled like he had been holding it in for the past two years he’d been auditioning for a major role. “Yes. Thank you.” He hung up and looked at her. “I got it.” Maria screamed so loudly the neighbor upstairs started stomping on the floor. They laughed. “Filming starts in a couple weeks.” He was still smiling like someone had surgically altered his face. “Come with me tomorrow — it’s the first agency meeting, they are going to talk about contracts, press schedule — come.” “To the agency?” “Why not. You should be there.” Maria swallowed. “I’m also meeting Darcy Monroe,” he continued. “The co-star, she was in—.” “I know her,” Maria said. Everyone knew Darcy Monroe. Three films in four years, Hollywood’s favorite romance female lead and America’s sweetheart. She had probably featured in more wet dreams than movie scenes. “Everything’s about to change for us.” They opened up some cheap champagne. The loud music from two floors up switched to an upbeat vibe, like the building had been listening and wanted credit for DJing the moment. The next morning the lousy roommate was even louder. The agency conference room wasted no time in making Maria feel like she didn’t belong. A woman at the far end stood. She was dressed like she required someone to keep track of the color tones. “Hi, I’m Bex Ashford.” Her eyes moved to Maria. Her thumb found her index nail briefly, working at it once before she continued. “We’re thrilled about your commitment to Mr. Cole’s image management — but my team and I will be handling all branding going forward,” she said. Maria kept her face completely still. “Social media, press correspondence and brand partnerships. We’ll be running full management, you know? For proper handling at this level of visibility.” Raff’s knee pressed against hers. It helped keep her steady. “Maria’s been running everything for two years,” he said. The room didn’t quite respond. “She built the whole online presence from scratch. The fan base, the aesthetic—” “Absolutely,” Bex said, warmly. “And that foundation is exactly what we’re building on. You’ve done wonderful work.” She was already moving to the next slide. Maria picked up the magazine in front of her and opened it. Something about architecture, she figured from the images, she didn’t take in a single word. Wonderful work. Right. “We’re sure you understand.” Bex added. Raff looked at Maria. His face contorted in guilt. She smiled and nodded. She smiled and did not mention two years of midnight editing sessions or her i********: strategy that took him from forty followers to forty thousand, or how dare she mention the audition tape that got him into the room in the first place. “Having cleared that up — we’ll now join your co-star at the chemistry read.” said the man beside her. The chemistry read was on a studio lot in Burbank, in a room with bright lighting and a few cameras. Maria hadn’t been provided a chair so she stood against the far wall. The door opened. Darcy Monroe arrived late, but she walked in with an audacity that made everyone else look early. She was even more beautiful in person than on screen, Maria didn’t think that was physically possible. She had been compared to Marilyn Monroe enough times that she’d started leaning into it deliberately. “Raff.” Darcy smiled. She touched his arm in greeting — just briefly, fingers at his elbow, natural as anything — and her eyes moved to Maria. She held eye contact a second longer than necessary. “And you are—” “Maria.” She stretched out her hand. “Right.” She turned back to Raff. She either didn’t see Maria’s hand or chose to ignore it. Either way she left her hanging. Maria withdrew her hand. The read-through was going well. The director had said the words chemistry and gold at least three times. Darcy’s hand found Raff’s arm again during the second read-through, which Maria noticed and told herself it was nothing. Darcy was good. She laughed at Raff’s timing. She matched his energy and returned it with interest. She put her hand on his arm when the scene called for it and, more than once, when it didn’t. Maria stood against the wall and watched. The AC unit had been rattling all afternoon. Then it finally gave out. A gust of wind caught the pages mid-scene — the script launched off the table in a spectacular arc directly toward Maria, who was stepping forward at the exact wrong moment. It caught her across the face. Full pages. Both sides. A clean hit. The room went silent. “Oh my god—” “It’s okay, I’m fine.” Eyes watering. Completely fine but burning with embarrassment. “Keep going, Raffie.” she smiled. “Maria, you just—” “I’m fine, Raffie.” She straightened out and blinked, ignoring her burning eye. “I’m fine, keep going.” Someone made a sound. A snicker. She looked. Darcy had her fingers pressed to her mouth. Her shoulders were doing something. She was probably just suppressing her concern. The chemistry read lasted two hours. Raff found her outside afterward and kissed her cheek. “I have one more thing to do inside, two minutes.” She stood in the parking lot for twenty-two minutes before texting him: I’ll meet you at home. He sent back a thumbs up. Then: don’t be mad. She was not mad. She had just watched a stranger inherit two years of her work, got hit in the face with a flying script and watched someone else’s hand sit on her boyfriend’s arm for two hours straight. Why would she be mad? It’s everything they dreamed of right? She was fine. Except for the constant nausea, she was fine. She stopped at a pharmacy on the way. She stood in the aisle, questioning the point of a pregnancy test. Then she paid for it and walked out. She was buying it to rule it out. That was the reason. She was being responsible and thorough and ruling it out. She put it in her bag and kept walking. The test sat on the bathroom counter, unopened. If she was just ruling it out, why was it still unopened? She was simply someone who had bought something and not yet used it. Completely normal. A very regular occurrence. Then she opened it and sat on the toilet seat. Her phone buzzed. She unlocked it thinking Raff had texted back. It was Raff, but it wasn’t a text from him. The agency had posted. The photo was from the chemistry read — Raff and Darcy close, the lighting was a paid actor too, the scene looked warm and natural. The caption read: Hollywood’s next obsession? Love or Loss the movie — coming soon. Twelve minutes old. Four thousand comments and climbing. [The chemistry is UNREAL. He’s so hot oh my god. Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?? She must be crying right now!!] Maria’s phone suddenly weighed a ton. She looked at the pregnancy test in her other hand. She didn’t cry. She just sat there holding both things, neither of which she was ready for.