It’s like she can’t hear a word I’m saying. Acting means being able to shut up when the director yells cut and talk when the cameras are rolling. I spend half my time on camera in other places, promoting films or sitting for interviews or pretending to spill my deepest secrets. But now, when it counts, my agent can’t hear a goddamn thing.

“So, here’s what I think we should do.” She starts ticking off a checklist of ways to keep the story alive. The longer it has a beating heart, the longer we have to make a deal. First thing on her list is to appear in public with Emily Rochester. A walk down the main drag in Eben Cape will be enough, if there are photographers. My agent will ensure there are photographers. My entire soul sighs at the thought of staging a PR walk in Eben Cape. This is supposed to be one of the few places on earth that people don’t treat me like I’ve crash-landed from another planet populated only by actors and hot people. They don’t have such a sense of urgency about it, like they do in other cities. Better take my picture fast, before I get beamed back to LA. Not in Eben Cape.

Beau comes up from the cabin, two beers in hand. He takes one look at my face and narrows his eyes. He cocks his head. I know he can tell something’s wrong. He’ll ask me about it the moment I get off the phone. Sooner, if he gets impatient.

I can’t listen to another word out of my agent’s mouth.

“I have a meeting.” I interrupt her mid-stream and shoulder my way into the priority spot in the conversation. “We’ll come back to this later. In the meantime, I don’t want any press interviews. I’m not talking to anybody about this. I don’t care what they pay.”

“Mateo,” she scolds. This is a familiar scolding. “That’s not how you’re going to make the—”

Make the connections you need to be at the top of the industry. That’s what she was going to say. Catrina has said it before, and I’m sure she’ll say it again.

“Everything okay?” Beau asks. It should be okay. We’re out on the boat. It’s beautiful out on the water. He has beers. It was going to be the perfect day before all this bullshit with the press started.

“We have to get back. Something’s wrong.”

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Emily Rochester

My hands are blue. I’ve been baking all morning.

Yesterday we picked blueberries, filling up entire buckets, the same tin buckets that I used when I was a child. They’re overflowing with ripe, juicy blueberries. We started with blueberry pancakes, then I made a blueberry crumble.