Sam Pleasant couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with a smile on his face. Today his mood before he even opened his eyes could only be described as good as fuck. He could still hear the sound of her laugh over the thumping music, feel her soft skin as his fingers trailed down her wrist. He stretched with a sigh, then rolled over to see if he could interest his new lady friend in some room service and possibly round two before they both started their day.

But of course she was gone. What did he expect from a post-award-show one-night hookup? Not that there was anything wrong with the one and done, but he’d had such a good time with her—even before they’d made it back to the hotel—he’d already made up his mind that he wanted to see her again.

Disappointment flooded through him as he looked at the empty side of the bed, now cold like he hadn’t spent the night with one of the most beautiful girls he’d ever laid eyes on. He glanced around the room, hoping to spot a note or something, but all he saw was his Gucci suit placed over the hotel room chair. He smiled again, knowing full well who had set it there. He had vivid memories of dropping it on the floor piece by piece as he and Cha-Cha made their way to the bed.

He’d called her Cha-Cha in his head all night. But now he wished he’d gotten her real name. And her number. It didn’t have to be a thing, but . . . he didn’t want it to be over just yet.

Apparently, she didn’t feel the same way. Sam tried to shake off the rejection as he stood and made his way to the bathroom. He found his boxer briefs under the cover at the foot of the bed, then checked his phone. It flooded with texts and calls. He let out a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face as he scrolled to the text messages from his assistant, Walls.

I’m up. You have a key?

Walls responded right away.

Yup got a key. I’ll be right over.

I have your clothes and shit.

Bet. Thanks.

He switched back over to his text inbox. Looking over the congratulations and well wishes from friends and colleagues and castmates and a few unknown numbers, he still couldn’t fucking believe it. He was now Oscar-winning actor Samuel Pleasant. He couldn’t put the way he felt into words. He had another two years before he saw his thirtieth birthday, but he’d been working toward that golden statue his whole life.