“You’re . . . you’re . . .” My mind had turned completely off. Of course, when I was twelve years old I had daydreamed more than once about what I would say to Noah Douglas when we met. Of how I’d win him over with my wit and natural charm.

That was not happening. I was floundering badly and couldn’t even figure out a way to finish the sentence I’d started.

This was in large part because he was ridiculously, almost . . . animalistically attractive. He wasn’t conventionally handsome; his nose was a little too big, his lips a tad too full. It shouldn’t have worked, but for some reason on him his features came together in a way that made it hard to look away. He had dark-brown hair like mine, nearly black, and these intense, hooded light-brown eyes that made my stomach flip over and over.

What was I supposed to say to the man who had played Felix? And Malec? And that other guy whose name I still couldn’t remember?

“Whatever you do,” he said, his deep voice now so recognizable that I felt stupid for not having realized that it was him sooner, “do not call me Felix. Or Malec Shadowfire.”

OMG, Noah Douglas was a freaking mind reader, too. This was bad. Very bad. I tried to banish every impure thought I was currently having about him.

Then, that flare of annoyance was back. Just because I was female and of a certain age, did that automatically mean I should recognize him? That I totally did was beside the point. He shouldn’t have been egotistical enough to assume it. For all he knew, I could have been like . . . my mom. Who loved the theater and didn’t watch television or movies because they were “less than.” She wouldn’t have known who Noah Douglas was.

So why was he so certain that I did?

“Why do you think I’d call you by those names?” I asked.

He gave me a look of weariness bordering on contempt. “Because that’s what people always call me. But I do have an actual name. Use that.”

That devilish little imp inside me—the one who was still mad at Harmony for stressing Shelby out and at that woman who’d tried to stop me from eating and then stared at my scars—broke free, triggered into a frenzy by Noah’s very large ego.

And I told the biggest lie I’d ever told in my entire life.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, because I don’t even know who you are.”

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

“What?” he asked, and again, he was totally entitled to the disbelief in his voice. He waited a beat before saying with a scowl, “In that case, I’m Noah Douglas. An actor who is nominated for one of these awards, which is why I’m here. How about you?”