PROLOGUE
Eight years ago
Lilah Hunter knew better than to get her hopes up. The odds of booking something her first pilot season were slim, and even if she did, the odds of it getting picked up were even slimmer. The week before, she’d made it to the final round of callbacks for a sitcom about a group of hot young singles in some unspecified city, only to find out today she hadn’t gotten it, while en route to the audition she was currently in the waiting room for.
This one seemed like even more of a long shot: co-lead of a network drama, not just a supporting character or part of an ensemble. Like most roles she was sent out for, she knew almost nothing about the show itself, other than the title (Intangible), her character’s name (Kate), and the name of the other lead (Harrison). She’d read for it twice already, doing her best to piece together a coherent characterization out of the context-free scenes she’d been given. Whatever she’d done must’ve worked, though, since she’d made it all the way to the chemistry round.
There were six of them there: two other potential Kates and three Harrisons, all pretending they weren’t sizing one another up. At this stage, they knew it wasn’t about their individual performances anymore; it was about finding the right combination that was greater than the sum of its parts. Lilah had gotten this far on her own, but her future with Intangible hinged on her ability to find—or fake—an instant, palpable connection with at least one of the three random strangers sitting across from her.
But no pressure.
The other two Kates looked around her age, early to midtwenties, but otherwise seemed superficially varied enough that it was obvious the creative team didn’t have any particular type in mind. The prospective Harrisons were fairly different, too, other than checking all the basic boxes to qualify as TV handsome.
As soon as she’d walked in, her eye had immediately been drawn to one Harrison in particular. There was something less coiffed and groomed about him than the other two, less obviously telegraphing his aspirations to be a professional Beautiful Person.
He was beautiful, though. Long legs, long lashes, dark hair that fell over his forehead without reaching his eyes. Not just beautiful, but attractive, too—which weren’t always the same thing. In her brief time in L.A., she’d already met more than her share of conventionally hot people with the charisma of a rock. But there was something magnetic about this guy, something compulsively watchable, even as he sat there doing nothing. Maybe it was his aura of quiet confidence, out of place in a room full of people quivering with nerves.
He caught her staring at him and held her gaze before flicking his eyes over her in an appraising look that stayed just on the respectful side of leering. To her surprise, she felt her heart rate speed up slightly, her cheeks heating. She looked away so she wouldn’t have to see him see her blush.
Maybe she didn’t need to worry about faking the chemistry, after all.
Macy, the casting director, came out into the lobby with a clipboard. “Well, hel-lo, everyone,” she said, beaming. “Thank you so much for coming back in today; we’ll do our best to keep things moving.”
She went on to explain how the six of them would be paired off and rotated so each Kate would get the chance to read with each Harrison, but all Lilah took away from it was that she’d be going last: both a blessing and a curse. Everyone would definitely be sick of hearing the scene by then, but at least she had the chance to leave the final impression.
As the first potential Kate and Harrison stood and followed Macy into the hallway, Lilah pulled the sides out of her purse. They’d already been folded and unfolded so many times that the paper had softened, in danger of slipping off the staple. She knew these lines backward and forward, but auditioning had never been her strong suit, so it was impossible to be overprepared.
Nerves crackled through her, the pages trembling slightly in her hands, and she closed her eyes, trying to breathe through it. When she was calm enough to open them again, that same Harrison was watching her. She felt her anxiety rush back, even more acutely than before. Was it possible chemistry could be a bad thing in this situation, if he was messing with her focus before they’d exchanged a single word?
While they waited, the two remaining auditioners struck up a conversation, quiet murmurs punctuated by skittish, too-loud laughter. Lilah let herself meet his eyes again. He looked right back, one side of his mouth curving up, revealing a dimple.
Before she could figure out what, if anything, she wanted to say, Macy came out and called him in to read with one of the other Kates. When he came back, though, he sat down in the chair next to her.
She shot him a sideways glance, but he was intently studying the script in his hands. She returned to her own sides, embarrassed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him fold up the pages, and when she looked back, he was looking straight at her, that dimple even more powerful up close.
“Hi,” he said.
She already felt another blush creeping up her neck. “Hi.”
“I’m Shane.”
“Lilah.”
She shook his hand, grateful he didn’t mention how cold hers must feel, thanks to the combination of her nerves and the overly air-conditioned room—especially in comparison to his.
“Where are you from?” she asked. “Your accent, I mean. Texas?” The twang in his vowels was subtle enough that she might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been taught to listen for it.
“Oklahoma.” He winced. “Is it that bad?”
“No, no. Not bad at all.” She bit her tongue before an it’s cute could slip out.
“Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia. Right outside.”
Shane’s grin returned, wider than before. “Oh yeah? Say ‘water.’ ”
She laughed. “Nice try. I just spent four years getting it trained out of me.”
He laughed, too, and her stomach swooped like she’d missed a stair. “If you’re trying to intimidate me with your experience, it’s working.”
She cast her eyes down at her script, needing a break from the tractor-beam focus of his gaze. “Is this your first pilot season?”
“My first audition, actually. Well, third, if you count the other rounds for this.”
“Wow. Lucky you.”
He laughed under his breath. “Tell me about it.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I’m not even an actor. I waited on Macy at The Vine last month, and she asked me to come in and read for it.”
His devil-may-care energy suddenly made perfect sense. He wasn’t like the rest of them, painfully aware they were inches away from achieving their dream but were far more likely to be smacked back down to earth. If he’d seemed at all smug or cocky about it, it probably would have killed her attraction to him right then and there. But he’d said it almost guiltily, like he knew he shouldn’t be there. Like he was ashamed of even making it this far.
The fact that he had made it this far, though, said something.
Lilah raised an eyebrow. “So you do exist. I thought that kind of thing was an urban legend to get all our hopes up. Since the L.A. economy would probably collapse without the aspiring-actor-to-service-industry pipeline.” She had her catering uniform stashed in her car so she could go straight from the audition to the party she was working later that night.
Shane shook his head, a self-deprecating smile creeping across his face. “I haven’t given up the rest of my shifts yet, that’s for damn sure.”
“I’m sure this whole thing is just a formality before they cast a couple of industry kids instead. Your dad doesn’t run the network, does he?”
“Not that I know of, but it’s been a few weeks since we’ve talked.” He jutted his chin at the script pages in her hand. “They tell you the twist at the end?”
“What? That you don’t know you’re a ghost?”
“And you don’t know you’re psychic.”
Lilah flipped through the sides absentmindedly. “Pretty smart of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how these things go. I’m sure they’re setting Kate and Harrison up for the long game, trying to draw out the unresolved sexual tension as long as possible. If the characters literally can’t touch each other, they can coast on that for years.”
“Years,” he repeated, with a sardonic twitch of his eyebrows. “You really think they’ll make us wait that long?”
His delivery was innocent, but when his eyes met hers, the suggestion in them made her breath hitch. She fought to keep her expression blank. “Well. It might not be us.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly. “Maybe that would be for the best, though. This is the kind of thing that changes the course of your whole life, right? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Though his tone was still blasé, she sensed a hint of truth lurking beneath it.
“Not necessarily,” she said. “We could shoot the pilot and then it never gets picked up. Or it gets canceled after three episodes. No matter what happens, there’s, like, a ninety-nine percent chance you’ll be back at The Vine by next pilot season.”
He cocked his head, and she wondered if he was going to chastise her for being so cynical. Instead, his grin widened. “I like those odds. Sounds like we have nothing to worry about, then.”
“No, there’s always something to worry about,” she said reflexively, half under her breath; but she was smiling, too, gratified when he chuckled in response.
His gaze caught on hers again, both their grins fading as their eye contact lingered, the easy rhythm of their conversation lurching to a standstill. It was a little unnerving, the way he was looking at her. Dark pupils swallowed amber irises, leaving her helpless as a trapped fly.
“We’ll be okay,” he said simply.
Something about the way his mouth wrapped around that “we” sparked a deeply unprofessional thrill in her lower belly—quickly overpowered by the rush of shame that followed. But that was why they were there, wasn’t it? It was hard to avoid, in a situation that felt closer to speed dating than a job interview.
Feeling it was one thing. It would only be wrong to act on it.
He was close enough for her to notice he’d missed a spot shaving, a small, dark patch of stubble decorating the corner of his jaw. She found her mind drifting to what it might feel like against her lips, dragging over her skin, the thought sending a hot quiver through her.
All of a sudden she was grateful that, unlike in most chemistry reads, there would be no physical contact involved. She wouldn’t have to fumble her way through touching him for the first time with a table full of strangers watching them.
For the first time? Where the fuck did that come from? Talk about getting ahead of herself. Even if they got cast, they wouldn’t be touching—that was the whole point.
She realized belatedly that she’d gone way too long staring at him without saying anything. He was still watching her, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. Dimple, she thought stupidly, involuntarily. She opened her mouth and inhaled sharply—like that would make the words come faster—then hesitated.
“Lilah? Shane?” Macy’s voice came to Lilah’s rescue, making her jolt. “They’re ready for you.”