Anna ran a hand through her hair. “I can take care of myself. It’s over now. After this shoot, you’re going to go back to Los Angeles and get your movie made.”

John looked down, shaking his head at the mention of the movie. There was no way he was going to work with Tom Melton, but he was so wrapped up in this shoot, in Anna, and in the option that he didn’t see a way out of it. Clara’s lawyer friend hadn’t returned his calls yet. “Can we just talk—”

“You need to get your head together and do your job,” Anna snapped.

John knew she was right, but it still rankled him. She didn’t trust him enough to talk to him about it.

“Fine,” John said, walking away.

#

LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER returning from the village, Anna couldn’t fall asleep. She thought about the photos and how hurt John had looked when she didn’t want to talk about it. But mostly, she thought about why she’d been ignoring the hurt and humiliation swirling in her stomach all day.

The heart of it was, she actually liked those photos. They were intimate, and they had been special. She looked good too. She knew she did. Tom had been laser focused on all aspects of his life, and the bedroom was no different. It’d been flattering at first, to be the object of such intensity, but it became exhausting after a while, the façade of complete mastery never slipping, never a smile or a laugh. Their shared bed had been a project like any other. Those photos were one of the rare examples of both their masks falling. Or so she’d thought. For him, they were ammunition he had held on to, in case he would need it. The bastard.

Maybe John and Jenny were right. Maybe the problem was she played too much defense.

A half hour later, she sat at the small desk in her hotel room. Jenny stayed with Reed most nights, so Anna was on her own.

Two important people hadn’t called in the past twenty-four hours: her producer and Tom. Why now? Why after all this time? What’s he after?

If Tom hadn’t called her, well, there was no reason she couldn’t call him. She picked up her phone, taking a deep breath. She gave herself a stern talking-to. So her ex-husband turned out to be a jerk. She’d always known Tom was capable of it. It had just never been turned in her direction. Time to square her shoulders and not back down.

Tom’s phone was always on, and it was always with him. He would either answer it or ignore her. She didn’t know which she preferred.

“Shouldn’t you be doing damage control?” Tom asked.

Chapter Thirty-One