“I need you to take a deep breath and tell me everything.”

I sit on the curb, in a back alley, and take her through everything that happened.

Alisa always knows what to do or say, but this time, when I’m done, she’s silent.

“I’m so confused,” she finally says.

“Me too.”

“Do you have feelings for this guy, Maya?”

“What feelings? I don’t have any feelings for Ethan. No, I’m lying. I do feel something. Hate. I hate him, OK? I HATE HIM,” I bellow. “I can’t stand him. He’s the most annoying man I’ve ever met! You know why I’m here. Ethan is just a means to an end.” I blow my nose into a paper tissue. “And now he ruined everything for me.”

I hear a noise behind me, and I turn slowly. I have a bad feeling about this.

“I’ll call you back,” I say to Alisa.

Ethan stands there, frozen like a statue. If looks could kill, I’d be dead now.

Forty-Seven

“You hate me? Good to know,” he says eventually. “That’s fine with me, but I brought you here so I still have to get you back to Carmel.” Can this day get any worse?

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone curt. He starts walking toward the parking lot, and I follow. I messed up big time, and honestly, I don’t know if there’s any way to recover from this.

I look out the car window and don’t say a word. What could I possibly say anyway?

We’re halfway back when he turns his eyes to me for a moment, then back to the road.

“I’m sorry. What happened was a mistake. I understand there’s someone else—”

He continues driving in silence for a few minutes.

I don’t know what to say.

“Why did you do that, Ethan? Who were those people?”

“The main character in my upcoming novel is Maya June,” he says. “Cameron is a senior VP at my publishing house. They’ve been trying to get me to reveal who Max and Maya are for months, to use it as a publicity play because my stories are inspired by real life. When they saw us together, and I introduced you as Maya, they just assumed—”

“What? What did they assume?” I gasp. “That I’m Maya from the book. Wait, but we kissed; what will they think?”

He shrugs. “Who cares?”

“I care,” I bellow. “This will be all over the internet, won’t it? I should go back and find the photographer. I’ll pay him to not give anyone the pictures. Let’s just go back.”

“I already talked to Cameron,” he says. “I told him I didn’t want him to publish them.”

“And?”

“He said he’ll see what he can do but gave me no guarantees.”

My mind is racing.

“Who is he? You have to tell me who I need to talk to. I need to explain.”

“Who’s who?”

“Max!”

“Why? Why do you want to know?”

“Because I am Maya from your story. Isn’t that why you named her that? Because he told you my real name?”