Not a Chance, page 1
Not a Chance
Chelsea M. Cameron
Contents
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About Not a Chance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Chelsea M. Cameron
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About Not a Chance
Hope has been loving her summer vacation in Castleton, Maine with her friends. There’s just one little snag, and her name is Saylor Madigan, the former actress turned writer and podcaster that Hope had a massive crush on when she was younger. Hope’s only goal is to get Saylor to agree to let Hope ghostwrite her memoir. The first time she dares to approach Saylor, things go badly. Very badly. But Hope isn’t the kind of woman who gives up that easily.
All Saylor wants to do is hang out in a small town where people don’t care so much who she is, and so far, Castleton has fit the bill. That is, until an adorable woman approaches her in the bar and wants to help Saylor write a memoir, something she absolutely does NOT want to do. Still, Hope is persistent and there’s something about her unfailing optimism that Saylor just can’t get enough of. That attraction lands Saylor in Hope’s bed one night, much to both of their shock.
Sex is a complication that neither of them need, but they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, so they agree not to let themselves get carried away again.
That turns out to be a promise that neither of them can keep.
Chapter One
Hope
My first introduction to Saylor Madigan didn’t go well, and that was no exaggeration. I prided myself on being the kind of person who can always find a silver lining in any situation, but it was hard to see the upside of that night at the Pine State Bar and Grille when I approached her and she looked at me as if I was the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen. Lower than garbage. I kept my smile on my face, telling her that I loved her work.
Her reaction was to narrow her ice-blue eyes at me. The fragile confidence I’d had when I initially walked up to her shattered as I looked up at her face. Yes, Saylor was gorgeous, but that wasn’t why I was here. My motives were entirely professional, and she could take or leave them.
When she didn’t respond to anything I said, my anxiety took over my tongue and I found myself blathering on about how much her work had affected my life, how I looked forward to her podcast every week, and how many of her fiction books I’d read. Totally embarrassing stuff.
I wasn’t always so clumsy when it came to talking to celebrities. It was something I did on a daily basis as a ghostwriter, and I was good at my job.
It was just… Saylor had been so famous when I was growing up and wrestling with my new and unexpected feelings about girls. If I was being honest, she was my first celebrity crush. I’d had pictures of her on my wall and may or may not have read some online fiction that featured her as a vampire (but I didn’t tell her about that part).
I’d told my friends I was going to be subtle, but the second I looked up, up, up into her face (goodness she was tall), the script I’d so carefully written in my head vanished and all I had left was incoherent fangirling. Finally, I was able to wrangle my tongue into submission and get to the point. My hands would not stop sweating.
“I’m sure you’ve thought about writing a book about your experiences,” I said, not going into my pitch yet.
Saylor looked me dead in the eyes and shook her head.
“No,” she said.
“No?” I repeated. I’d heard that word before. Had heard that word more times than I could possibly count, but coming from her lips with that ice-cold stare made something inside me crumple.
Without further ado, she walked away, leaving me wondering how the hell things had gone so completely wrong.
For a moment, I stood there, gathering myself together. No doubt my friends: Colette, Farrah, and Spencer, had seen the whole thing and were waiting to console me in my failed attempt.
This wasn’t the end of the world. I wouldn’t let this ruin my night, even if part of me wanted to run to the bathroom and cry a little.
Instead of doing that, I squared my shoulders, put a smile on my face, and walked back to my supportive friends, who all had identical looks of pity on their faces.
Colette immediately asked how I was, and I said I was fine, and steered the conversation away from what had just happened. They all let me, which was one of the reasons I loved them so much.
Saylor stayed at the bar, hanging out at the end with her phone and occasionally chatting with the stunning bartender, Esme. I watched them converse easily and Saylor even smiled a few times. Why couldn’t that have been me?
I let my friend’s conversation swirl around me as we moved over to the restaurant side to sit down and have dinner. I couldn’t see Saylor anymore, and all I wanted to do was put her out of my mind.
Since we’d walked over from the cottage we’d been renting, we walked back and then busted out the shots. It felt like the right kind of night for getting buzzed. Under the influence of more than a few of them, I suggested Truth or Dare before Farrah proposed skinny-dipping in the freezing ocean and I knew that was just what I needed to wash that interaction with Saylor out of my mind. Colette, surprisingly, was up for it, which showed just how much alcohol she’d had.
Normally when it came to anything fun, I had to drag my Colettey along with a scowl on her face, but tonight her eyes were bright, and I was happy to see her letting loose on this trip. She worked so damn hard and it wasn’t good for her. If it took shots and skinny-dipping to get her to stop thinking about work for a few hours, then I was okay with that.
Then there were Farrah and Spencer, who had been circling around each other ever since they’d drawn the papers that put them in the same room together. I hadn’t planned it that way, but it worked out beautifully anyway. Those two had history that neither of them had given up on. It was obvious in their eyes whenever they looked at each other and if something didn’t happen between them on this trip, then I didn’t know what I was going to do.
“I’m so glad I’m drunk,” Colette said when we got back from the skinny-dipping adventure.
“Me too,” I said, desperately wanting a hot shower.
“You okay?” Colette asked, and I knew the smile I had put on my face hadn’t fooled her.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, all of my energy suddenly draining. I just wanted to be warm and in bed with a book. “Look, let’s just go to bed.” I shoved her toward the bedroom she’d been staying in.
Colette seemed like she wanted to argue, but like she said herself, she wasn’t the friend who liked to talk about feelings. That was me, and I was more than happy to play that role in our group. Just not tonight.
Colette reached forward and gave me an uncharacteristic hug. I was going to chalk that one up to the alcohol too.
“Goodnight, Hope,” she said.
“Goodnight, Colettey.” I gave her a smile before going into my room and heading for the shower, not even caring if I used all the hot water.
What an unexpected night.
Chapter Two
Saylor
I finally left the bar after shamelessly flirting with the married bartender, but she didn’t seem to mind and told me that her wife wouldn’t either before she showed me pictures of them together with their sweet daughter.
It wasn’t serious, and we both knew that. I hadn’t come to Castleton to with the purpose of flirting with married bartenders. I’d come to get away. To take a breath. In my thirty-four years of life, I didn’t think I’d ever gotten a chance to fully inhale.
When other kids were swinging on the playground, I was on a TV set. Technically my first role had been in a baby food commercial and that one job had sealed my fate. My mother, a failed Broadway performer herself, had wished and hoped for a beautiful daughter that she could mold into a star, and when I was born, she saw her chance. My father walked out a few months after my birth and I hadn’t heard a word from him since.
Her wish had come true, and I’d believed her when she told me it was my destiny every night when she tucked me into bed. That it was calling, my purpose. To be beautiful and famous.
She’d been my manager, my mother, my everything. Even when there were other kids on set, she controlled my access to them, so I hadn’t even been able to make friends my age.
Acting had been fun, and I’d enjoyed myself, I couldn’t lie about that. Unfortunately, as soon as I’d been old enough to have a voice, I’d used it, much to my mother’s dismay. On my eighteenth birthday I’d cut off all contact with her and walked into a lawyer’s office to recover what was left of my money that she hadn’t managed to spend yet.
Shaking my head at my reminiscing, I got in my rental car and drove the short distance away to the house I was staying in. It was more of a cabin, really, but it was close to the beac h and surrounded by trees for privacy.
It was blessedly quiet when I went inside and turned on the lights. The silence cocooned me as I turned on the shower, shucked off my clothes, and let the night wash down the drain.
I’d decided I needed some kind of human interaction after sitting in this house with only myself for company for nearly two weeks, which was why I’d gone to the bar. Of course, the minute I’d ventured out, someone had recognized me and come up to me with a gleam in their eye. Just my luck.
I had to admit, when she’d approached me, I’d noticed how cute she was. The biggest brown doe eyes set in a sweet face with brown waves of hair that looked soft enough to stroke my fingers through.
And then she’d told me how much she loved my work and I’d mentally checked out, hoping my disinterested look would do the work for me of making her go away.
Underneath all my irritation at my night being interrupted was a spark of attraction. She was just so…bright. Her enthusiasm would have been utterly adorable if it wasn’t directed at me, and if I didn’t know she wanted something. At last, she asked me if I’d ever thought of writing a book and there it was. She was probably some kind of writer or agent or ran some kind of scam. There was only one way to shut that down.
I looked into those brown eyes and said one word. “No.” A complete sentence, no other explanation required.
“No?” she asked as if she was shocked.
My patience was at an end, so I just walked away at that point. I’d needed another drink anyway.
The bartender gave me a look, but didn’t comment on how I’d handled the situation as the stranger went back to her friends. She’d probably told me her name during her monologue, but I’d filtered it out. It didn’t matter anyway, since I was never going to see her again.
If she and I had met under other circumstances…
No. I was definitely being foolish. I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a robe before brushing out my hair and doing my skincare. I might not be in front of the camera as much anymore, but those early lessons about beauty from my mother had rooted into my soul and stuck there. I hadn’t ventured into the world of injections and facelifts and surgery to slow the years, but I knew it wasn’t far off. Social media filters could only do so much.
Studying my face in the mirror, I noted the nearly invisible changes that anyone else would have missed. My light blue eyes were the same, one of my signature features that had gotten me that first job, but my roots were starting to grow out. Gray’s weren’t far off and I was constantly on the lookout for them. Over the years, my once platinum-blonde hair had darkened and into a tarnished gold, but I kept it brighter with highlights. There was no way I’d trust a salon up here to touch me up, so I’d have to figure out when I could get back to my stylist in New York. It was so much work being beautiful.
My thoughts weren’t normally this pessimistic. I quickly finished my routine and took off my robe, slipping under the sheets completely naked. The window was open just a bit and I soaked in the peaceful sounds of the night.
As usual, it took several hours for me to finally fall into a restless sleep.
When I woke up the next morning barely feeling as if I’d slept at all, I already had messages from my assistant, Jackie. Groaning, I went to the kitchen to make myself some coffee before I dealt with all of that.
When I’d informed Jackie that I was taking a vacation, she acted as if I’d spoken in a different language.
“I don’t understand,” she’d said.
“What’s not to understand? I’m going on vacation.” She’d blinked a few times and I’d told her that I needed a break. Needed to get away. She seemed horrified, as if I’d told her I was flinging myself into a volcano.
Even after explaining everything to her, she’d still been perturbed. I promised her that I was still going to fulfill my current commitments, but that I wasn’t taking anything else on, and she was in charge of telling people no.
“Did you get a new therapist? Is that where this is coming from?” she’d asked me and I’d almost fired her right then and there, but she had been with me for too many years and it would be a nightmare to replace her, so I’d let it slide.
Now I’d been in Castleton for about two weeks and I still felt like I’d just started doing what I needed to do. Everyone was always talking about burnout, but I didn’t even know what that meant. I’d been working since I was a baby. I’d been burned out since birth.
Even after I’d left acting, I’d gone into all of my other projects with the same work ethic. It had taken me until this year to realize that I didn’t know how to do anything but work. When people talked about relaxing, or going on vacation, I had no idea what the fuck they did with themselves.
But I was tired. So fucking goddamn tired. On the advice of my younger brother, Sawyer, I made the first impulsive decision of my entire life and looked up vacation rentals in New England. Somehow, I’d found this cabin, with a town that was just the right size for me to disappear in.
I’d spent my first week and a half here almost completely in the cabin, leaving only to get food. I hadn’t gone deep into disguise, but no one had said anything to me, aside from the chatty man who ran the grocery store, but he seemed to be like that with everyone, so I’d brushed that off. No one else seemed to notice me.
It was refreshing.
Until last night at the bar. That bouncy woman had come up to me and ruined it.
My pissy mood from last night had apparently carried over to today and things weren’t looking good for the rest of the day. I gulped down some coffee and made some quick eggs with a bagel from the local bakery, which was almost solely responsible for keeping me supplied with pastries and cookies and cake and croissants. They also shipped anywhere in the US, and I had plans to take full advantage when I went back home.
Home. What was home anymore? I had apartments in both New York and LA, but they weren’t homes, not in the sense that other people thought about home. I traveled so much that hotel rooms were more my home than those places.
Maybe I didn’t need a home. Maybe home was only for a certain kind of person.
There I went again, thinking about things that didn’t need to be thought about.
Once my head was cleared via my second cup of coffee, I dealt with the barrage of messages from Jackie. There were always dozens, always time-sensitive, always needing me to make decisions and think and drain my mental well. Most of the time I functioned on autopilot and fell into bed every night, but this was supposed to be my vacation and I had barely left the cabin.
When I’d seen pictures of Castleton, I’d imagined myself sitting on the beach with a book and eating lobster rolls and just…walking around and doing nothing for an entire day. Sitting still. When was the last time I took time to sit still? Sitting and answering messages and recording my podcast and writing didn’t count as “still.”
Only one problem: I didn’t know how to stop. It wasn’t natural for me. The discomfort I had at not constantly working on my career was like ragged fingernails scraping down my skin. I hated it.
So I kept working, kept moving, because it was comfortable.
I stared at my podcast equipment that I’d set up in the second bedroom and knew I had to do some re-recordings and edit the intro script and confirm with my editor, but I just…didn’t want to.
I glanced out the window and a breeze blew through my hair, the air tinged with salt.
“Fuck it,” I said, slamming my laptop shut and putting my phone on silent.
I was going to the beach.
Chapter Three
Hope
I saw Saylor a few times again over the next few weeks, but I didn’t dare approach her. For one, I was scared that I’d fall back into fangirling again and make a fool of myself for the second time, and for two, I still hadn’t figured out what angle to play. Thirdly, my friends were being very distracting with all their romantic entanglements, so I was a little distracted. Farrah and Spencer finally, finally got their act together, and I was over the moon that even Colette had something going with Quinn, her ex’s younger sister. The sparks that flew between the two of them were electric, but I had to do a lot of supporting with my Colettey so she would let herself get to the vulnerable place where she’d even consider letting someone else in.
