I Like You I Hate Her (Something Like Love) Read online

  Tristan Kane. The man I hate and want. The bane of my existence.

  My new co-star.

  DON’T FUCK YOUR SISTER’S IDOLS

  TRISTAN

  The week flies by leading up to my arrival in the Midwest. I haven’t been to this part of the country…since I scrambled to Missouri to convince Sera to forgive me after what I did to her. If she could see me now, what would she say?

  Likely nothing since I believe she’s married to the bloke she met all those years ago when I fucked her over and cheated on her—with Jo—the woman I’m about to spend four months with. On location. Away from Hollywood, away from all the places we occasionally intersect and pretend we don’t know each other as we smile for the cameras when they catch us.

  I can pretend to like Jo. It’s good for my career to like her. But the truth and the lies we tell ourselves are often ugly twins. I can’t be near her. When I’m near her, I want to look inside that head of hers. She has snakes in there. And the kind of venom you can become addicted to.

  And those cameras? The bloody paparazzi? They like to find us together. Because then the gossip mags they sell them to can quote whatever interview with Jo they can dig up that casts me in a less than favorable light. Where she describes me as being an okay co-star, or not very…generous. If you know what I mean.

  Hollywood doesn’t like arrogant women. And Jo is nothing if not sure of herself.

  So she’s always stayed on the fringes. She isn’t a household name. She’s never won an award. She hasn’t been doing this since she came out of the womb as I have, but she can out-act me any day of the week. It pisses me off and also instills in me the belief that everything she says can be a lie. I don’t imagine she knows the truth herself sometimes.

  I don’t want to be caught off guard here. My assistant hugged me before I left for the airport because I gave him a brief vacation. I don’t want to be micro-managed or watched while I’m here with Jo. Clarke will watch me enough.

  The air is crisp in Missouri when I land. I exit my jet plane, a backpack on my shoulder, and my luggage being directed out the end of the aircraft.

  I haven’t taken a drive in the country in ages, and it’s another reason I told my assistant to take the first few weeks of this shoot off. I want to drive myself around in silence. In peace. Away from Hollywood, and it’s bullshit.

  There will be no peace here when everything collides.

  I wonder if Jo is still dating that model.

  He liked to post pictures of her on his social media. I wondered if she knew since she doesn’t run her social media. They tore her to shreds years ago when she broke that poor pop singer’s heart, and she likes to stay away from that. It’s a shame. I betrayed Sera, and the media gave me a shit time, but the dust settled in a couple of months.

  I’m Hollywood’s golden boy. Well, I was in my twenties. What am I now? Golden man? God, I need to stop obsessing over my bloody self.

  I round the plane and see a white convertible waiting on me. A man in a black suit stands next to it, nodding when I approach. “Tristan Kane. Big fan. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but I had to,” he smiles, his rapid-fire words causing me to do so in return. He holds out the keys to the car, and I take them, giving him a nod. “Thank you, sir,” is all I say. I don’t feel like turning on the charm right now. I need the quiet.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket as I open the door to the car, and I can’t help but groan.

  I’m never alone. And I hate it. I want to be alone more than I want the money I’ll make for my role in this film, and the money my production team will make as well.

  It’s a labor of love, but I’m burnt out.

  I throw my backpack in the back of the car and pull my phone from my pocket before sitting down.

  It’s my sister, Penelope. Don’t fall for Medusa again, she warns.

  I laugh. God. She’ll never forgive me for fucking around with Jo all those years ago, and fucking over her favorite author. I think she still keeps in touch with Sera occasionally. But Sera is the kind to sever entire chapters of her life, and everyone who played a part in them. So I think she’s pretty distant in her interactions with my sister. And Pen blames me. Rightfully so.

  Don’t fuck your sister’s idols. I’ll tell you that much.

  TOUCHY-FEELY SHIT

  JO

  Missouri is a dumbass name. Let’s just call it what it is—misery. That’s what I am in here, stuck in the middle of nowhere and filled with the kind of hicks I want nothing to do with.

  I never wanted to come here years ago with Sean, and I don’t want to be here now. But I’m just a face in this movie, and I don’t call the shots. I’m tired of living life in the passenger seat, yanking the wheel when I need to escape. I’m tired of the life I’ve built. It was shiny and exciting once, but I’m not that pink-haired girl running away from home anymore. I want to build my own.

  The drive to our location is short and dull.

  We’re in what they call the boot hill, where the novel this movie is based on is set.

  Hollywood loves to chase the hottest books, but this book was hot, maybe fifty years ago? I remember Tristan talking about it. It’s one of his favorite novels, his father’s favorite novel, and he’s been trying to have this story put on the silver screen for a decade. What a laugh that he has to share the glory with me. Someone he can hardly bear to look at unless he’s being paid to.

  Men love to blame you for where they want to put their dick. Or lips. As if we’re sirens luring them to the cliffs. This isn’t some fairytale, and I didn’t make Tristan Kane cheat on his girlfriend all those years ago. No one makes Tristan do anything he doesn’t want to. I should know.

  I wanted him to get lost in me, to rescue me. To make me feel like I’m more than the girl men turn to for a cheap thrill. His friendship on set felt like my saving grace. I built him up in my head, the same way the world did. But what he saw in me was a woman escaping a ghost, escaping Apollo, my abusive ex, and his rage. He saw the opportunity to help a lost woman, not someone to love. The kiss on the street the paparazzi caught? It wasn’t what it looked like.

  And then, he went chasing after his ex, Sera. He wanted her back. He’d made a mistake with me. It was obvious after, when my head descended from the fucking clouds. And my heart has never recovered.

  So I made sure the world knew, in every interview I got, that he was a mistake of mine as well.

  I tap my forehead on the window in the back seat of the car, flanked by my security team, taking me to the location.

  Isla, sitting in the back with me, turns my way. “Hey, you okay?”

  The you okay questions are going to get old quick.

  “I’m fine. I always feel sick after I fly.” A lie. I’ve flown all over the world. I don’t get sick—not over heights or men. But it’s a tried-and-true excuse to throw up in the airport bathroom without suspicion.

  She pats my hand, and I fight the urge to groan. Seriously with the touchy-feely shit. Save it for your real friends, Is. I’m your employer. I want to tell her I don’t like it. But the one person I’d rather not be a raging cunt to is the woman who spends most of her time with me. Up my ass. Managing my life.

  “Did you hear who one of the writers is on this?” Isla asks.

  “No, who?” I don’t care.

  “Severin Thompson. Did you ever see Not Friends, Not Lovers? It’s one of my favorites. I love the drama of it all. I hate that I get so sucked into love triangles. I would never want that for my life, but on screen? In books? Hell. Yes.”

  “I never saw that one.” Maybe I’ll watch it in my trailer. I suspect I’ll be spending a lot of time there.

  When I was younger, maybe I would have determined making Tristan’s life a living hell during this shoot would be the best idea…and a load of fun. But I’m getting a little old for this shit, perhaps.

  And being the Hollywood bad girl is a role you can only play for so long before they get bored with it. Shannon Doherty? How long was she able to play that role before the world tired of it? She was a little before my time, so I didn’t get to see it play out, sure. But I know my mother loved her. Shit, Isla is right. The world loves a love triangle. Let’s not forget Dylan, Brenda, and Kelly on 90210.

  Out my window, the cornfields and rolling hills finally give way to a town. A blip of a town. Some one-lane horse and buggy kind of place. And no sooner are we in it than we are out of it.

  “Shit, was there a coffee shop back there at all?” Isla mumbles.

  I laugh. First time since I got this role, I think.

  The shooting location is a ranch. It’s been abandoned for five years. The owners passed, and the family couldn’t part with it. So very dreary, but the movie we’re shooting isn’t exactly a pleasant thing. It involves murder and romance, and…I have to be a mother. A role I’ve never played. A part I want to play in real life.

  I hope the little kid who is playing my son isn’t an asshole.

  I have no idea how to talk to children. I’m sure Tristan does. He can charm anyone. He’s delighted the entire world time and time again, onscreen and in interviews. Even when he fucks up they line up to forgive him.

  He isn’t charming me this time, though.

  Instead, I’ll treat him the way I did when we first met.

  The way he deserves to be treated.

  PAST

  After the scandal of Sean and I years ago, I went to work. I used my reputation as a villain to my advantage. I leveraged the connections I made while being the girlfriend of Sean das Dores. The ties that hadn’t dropped me, anyway. My reward was a CHANEL No. 5 advertising film. The commercial tells an entire romantic story in three minutes—the story of two sinners falling in love.

  When the world
labels you, lean into those labels. Turn them on their head and use them as a weapon. And villains? Everyone loves them. From Disney Villains to the bad guys in your favorite movies. They’re sexy. Women want them caught and put behind bars, but they also want to fuck them.

  My co-star in the commercial had never been the clean-cut Hollywood boy. He didn’t have a nice boy face. Which is why he landed the role of a comic book villain. And why he milked that on-camera persona. Our business is our body and face. We sell it, and worry about the soul part later.

  I’d been excited to work with Tristan Kane. He was beautiful, an Oscar contender, and his father was a legend. I knew any connection I had to him would benefit me. I thought so anyway. Time would eventually turn everything between us bitter and grey.

  We were on the beach for the first shoot, tents erected for hair and makeup, extras mingling in the sand.

  Tristan was being touched up for the camera, and we had yet to meet officially. So I made my way to him when I was camera-ready to say hello. But his words as I approached stopped me, and I hid behind the curtain separating us.

  “What’s she been in?” Tristan asked. I could see him scrolling through his phone.

  “Just some indie stuff. Lower-level modeling gigs,” the man next to him said.

  Tristan laughed, glancing at the beach. “What did she do wrong?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What did she fuck up? Why her for the villain?” Tristan leaned to the side, giving the makeup artist access to the other side of his face.

  The man next to him spoke again. “You listen to any of that kid Sean das Dores’ music?”

  “That pretty Canadian kid? I saw him on Corden last week. All teeth?”

  I shiver at my ex’s name.

  “Yeah. That’s him. She’s his ex. Canadian too. She slept with his uncle.”

  I blew out a breath, covering my mouth quickly.

  “Oh shit. Yeah, I think I saw something about that on Twitter.”

  “Bad publicity is still publicity, right?” The man laughs, and Tristan joins him.

  “Should my manager be telling me that? What if I get some ideas?” Tristan raises an eyebrow.

  The manager arches a brow. “You’re on the straight and narrow now. Steady girlfriend? That’s the angle we’re working at now. Don’t hit on the girl.”

  Tristan shakes his head, and the makeup girl walks away. “Don’t worry. I’ll never involve myself with that kind of trash. My father raised me better than that.”

  EVERYONE LOVES A SCANDAL

  TRISTAN

  She’s almost here. I can feel her.

  Beside me, my manager Clarke, who arrived a few hours before me, sighs. “Don’t go down memory lane already,” he warns just as his phone rings. He takes the call, walking down the front steps of the house.

  And I do exactly what he told me not to. I allow myself this rebellion.

  She was breathtaking the first time I saw her. Standing on the beach, arms crossed, looking out at the waves. She was about 5’7. Maybe 110 pounds. Her hair was nearly white as the sand, skin pale as the white caps of the waves. The makeup they put around her eyes was black. Lips were red. She had a Cruella Deville thing going on, except no black hair.

  I walked to her, a confident smile on my face. She turned to me as I approached. “Hi,” I said, offering my hand. She didn’t take it. Just nodded. And that’s how we introduced ourselves.

  I’ve met plenty of people unimpressed with the idea of Tristan Kane. I wasn’t my father. But none to that degree. Especially someone who had only done some indie work and a few modeling gigs. She was more well known for her scandal than anything.

  “This is going to be a long day. At some point, you’re going to have to open your mouth and speak to me,” I said.

  “Hi.” She bit.

  I didn’t flinch. “Bad day?”

  I saw the white of her eyes. “Nope. Easy money day.” She flipped her hair.

  Something stirred in me. “Keep rolling your eyes at me, and I won’t make it easy.”

  She looked at me dead on then. Again, I didn’t blink, looking for whatever it was about her that hated something about me.

  I smiled. My cheeky British smile. The one that melted hearts and made panties wet.

  In return, she smiled. It was creepy as hell, and my smile dropped from my face until we were forced to pretend for the camera.

  “Wrap your arm around her waist! Yes! Like that!”

  I pulled Jo closer to me, my mouth by her ear. “Like that?”

  She dug her nails into me. “I’ll like the paycheck that comes from this job. That’s about it.”

  “Most women would kill to be you right now.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  “You feel like most.” I nuzzled into her hair, eyes closed. The camera flashed around us as the sun slowly descended on the horizon.

  We were both sweating and had been shooting for hours. It was the bloody heat getting to us. Mostly.

  Every time the director yelled cut, we broke apart like we’d been caught doing something wrong.

  I didn’t know why she hated me so much, but eventually, the truth would find me. And I would be ashamed.

  But at that moment, I only felt a strange mixture of arousal and something like hate.

  I still don’t know what feeling defines us.

  She’s here. You can feel her.

  I shake my head, willing the past away as the sound of gravel crunching wakes me up.

  I’m glad I made it to set sooner than her. I like to see Jo coming; otherwise, she’s at an advantage. She typically is no matter what I do, but I need the upper hand with her.

  A black car pulls onto the property, down the long driveway to the farm’s main house.

  Our trailers are on the other side of the tree-line in front of me.

  I prefer to be in town instead of being right on the land I’ll be filming on for months. But there isn’t much of a town here. I’ve certainly been on more challenging sets. A farm in the sticks of Missouri will be no big deal, though I like to blow off steam. And I don’t think the town nearby has much to offer in that way. I think just one small hole in the wall bar. Bloody hell.

  Clarke ends his call, walking back up the steps as the car pulls to a stop.

  The tinted windows obscure her face from me. I always said Jo looked like a heart. Heart-shaped body, heart-shaped face. What she brings? Heartbreak. That’s for bloody sure.

  “Tristan, please tell me you’re going to be able to do this,” Clarke says under this breath.

  “Do what?” I ask, running a hand over the stubble of my face.

  “Get along with her. Because if not, it’ll make this whole thing a nightmare for all of us. The director. The other actors. Just, everyone. And how will it look on film?”

  “How will it look? People are going to eat this up. Seeing us together again after all the shit she’s talked on me, and the way she’s painted me and my role in her personal life. The entire world is filled with gossips. They want to see this, trust me. It’s the reason I agreed to it.”

  Clarke rolls his eyes. “You agreed to it because you’ve wanted to see this film made for a decade.”

  “If I wanted her gone, she would be. But I allowed it.” I have become entirely too good at lying to myself lately, especially concerning Jo.

  “Is that true?” Jo’s voice cuts through the air, reaching us on the porch.

  I look down at the car, seeing her perfect heart-shaped body and the scowl on that perfect heart-shaped face. “You allowed me to be in this film? Because,” she shrugs, looking around, “I believe the studio begged me to do it.”

  I grin, the white of my teeth always doing the work for me. This isn’t the first time she’s caught me talking about her in a bad way before a shoot. And like last time, I’ll try to charm this snake, win or lose. But to be honest, she has me smiling genuinely because this is laughable. “Begged? You truly seem to have a complicated relationship with the truth, Jo. I’ve fought for this story to be told. This film is happening because of my blood, sweat, and tears. My passion.” I point to my chest, edging closer to her.