Chapter 2: Eli

“So, Violet sent you, huh?” I grin at Blondie as she appears at the end of the booth, balancing a tray of three shot glasses. 

“Violet?” 

“The purple streaks in her hair.” 

Blondie giggles. “Got it. It’s nothing personal. Zoe just knows I’m a huge fan.” She places the glasses down one by one. 

But I’ve already cut my gaze back to the hot bartender.  She leans over the far side of the bar and I take in the swell of her ass, my hands itchy to palm her curves. Her body is fit in a way that speaks to long hours working out and eating well. Her dark hair, streaked with violet, is pulled back into a ponytail, the ends curling from a damp sweat. Her sweetheart face is beautiful, even without makeup. But her eyes, golden-honey, bright and burning, are her most defining feature. 

A lesser man would gladly drown in those eyes the way a drunk drowns himself in whiskey. Violet’s got that extra something that naturally attracts people to her. Then, she opened her mouth, words tumbled out, and I found myself more intrigued by her banter than her beauty. 

She’s relaxed and nonchalant, and something about her playful rejection fills me with excitement. It’s been too long since I had any type of challenge. Violet is unreadable, flirty and fun but distant in a way that would make fucking around with her just as good as fucking her. I bet there’s not a single guy in Shooters who’s looked at her and not fantasized about taking her right here on top of the damn bar. 

“And she isn’t?” I dig for more information, not caring that it makes me look pathetic. Not everyone likes your movies, dickhead. As one of Hollywood’s favorite tastes of man-candy, I’m not exactly known for playing deep and contemplative roles. 

But that’s about to change. 

I kick back in the booth, stealing another glance at the bar. Why the hell does her brush-off spur me on? Who cares what hot bartender Zoe thinks?

The blonde giggles again. At least she’s a fan. “I swear it’s not personal. Zoe’s super focused and doesn’t read Gossip or spend hours on social media. She’s too busy working.” 

“Here?” 

Blondie nods. “Here and at a gym in the city. She’s a trainer, works with some of the MMA guys, and has her own YouTube channel, That Fit Bitch Life.” 

MMA guys? I gotta ask Connor about her. I glance at my watch; where the hell are my best friend and brother anyway? 

“Cool. Well, thanks for the shots.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back with your beers,”  Blondie calls over her shoulder. Moments later, she drops off a bucket of Heinekens. “Holler if you need something.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I pick up a shot glass and glance back at Zoe, hoping she’ll look up,  but she’s too busy wiping down liquor bottles in between filling pints of beer from the tap. Blondie was right — all it takes is one look at Violet to know she’s on her grind. 

Good for her. I lift my shot glass, tip it in her direction in a silent cheers, and down it. 

My phone buzzes with a call from Natalie but I silence it as Evan’s voice rings out. 

“I swear, you do more in one day than I do in a week.” My brother flicks me behind the ear and slides into the booth across from me. He deposits his winter coat and scarf in the corner of the booth and shrugs out of his suit jacket. 

“Fancy.” I pull a beer from the bucket of ice at the end of our table and slide it to him. “About time you got here.” 

“Fuck, man.” He taps the neck of his bottle against mine. “Billable hours are a bitch.”

“Shoulda become an actor. Can’t beat that job security.” 

Evan grins, taking a swig of his beer. “Only if your name is Eli Holt. How was New York?”

Shaking my head, I lean back in the booth, the tension in my shoulders relaxing a notch now that my brother’s here and I’ve got a beer in my hand. Glancing around Shooters, the familiarity of the place coats me in nostalgia. 

Sure, the cracked red vinyl covering the booth seats has been updated with a respectable green, and the burnt-out neon signs no longer decorate the walls, but the smell of beer and peanuts is the exact same.

The back corner where some guys are throwing darts is the first place I ever kissed Natalie Beck. 

We were sixteen, drunk, and breathless. 

The spot next to the pool tables is where she broke my heart. 

The first time. 

And the second.

It seems masochistic to come back to a place that holds so many awful memories. 

And yet, it feels strangely good, one of those bittersweet aches, to breathe in something dependable after months of being in LA, a place I can’t seem to call home even though I live there.  

“I signed the contract.” 

“No fucking way.” Evan leans forward over the table and stares at me. “You sure you’re going to be okay working for him?”

I shrug, scrubbing my hand down the length of my face. “Look, Gray Preston is one of the best directors of his time. He’s creative, not afraid to push boundaries, a goddamn visionary. I don’t have to like him to work with him; I need to respect him. And I do.” 

“I know, I know.” Evan nods in agreement but his gaze is still hesitant. “It’s just that with Natalie—” 

“That was a long time ago. Preston was nothing but professional, claiming I’m a perfect fit for the role. What am I supposed to do? Turn down a role that could define my career? Pass up the opportunity to work with a director who is revered in the industry just because he married my ex-girlfriend?” I swallow half the contents of my beer, my rhetorical question hanging between Evan and me as agitation works through my body the way it always does at the mention of Natalie. 

“I get it.” Evan blows out a large breath. “Plus, if you turned down the role, you’d cause a media frenzy.”

“A goddamn shitstorm,” I agree, imagining the headlines that would paint me as a lovesick puppy, pining for my high school sweetheart. Snubbing Gray Preston would be petty, not to mention stupid. Besides, I’ve been over Natalie Beck for a long time, years, even though the wounds she inflicted have barely scabbed over. “It’s a phenomenal role. A chance for me to break with the general clichés I’ve been playing and do something bigger, deeper.” 

Evan nods, reaching over to slap my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, man. You did it. In four years, you’ve achieved your dreams.” 

Shaking my head from his heartfelt congratulations, I blow off his honesty. Evan and I are similar in so many ways but when it comes to voicing our feelings, he’s always been able to do so freely while I turn inwards, uncomfortable with all the mushiness. Holding up my hand, I remind him, “I’m not there yet.”

“Come on, Eli. Enjoy the moment. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve something good. This next film, the challenge, the opportunity to work with Preston, it’s all positive.” 

“Yeah.” I drain my beer and reach for another. “I just wish I had more time here in Chicago before flying out to the Seychelles. Especially to kick it with Ollie.” I reference my only nephew, Evan’s son, who may as well be mine for how much I love the little shit. 

“He’s excited you’re coming to his game tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ollie is hands-down the best player on his soccer team and I catch as many of his games as my schedule allows. Knowing I won’t see him play for the next four months makes tomorrow’s game extra important. 

“I had to show him where the Seychelles is on the globe. We also looked it up in the Encyclopedia Britannica.” 

“You still have those?” I frown. “No wonder the kid doesn’t know who Kawhi Leonard is.  I thought they stopped printing those the year I was born.” 

Evan flips me off. “Ollie’s very excited for you to meet some sea turtles.” 

“I’ll send him a hundred pictures.” I slide another beer over to my brother and flag down a server. “Is Connor still coming?” 

“Yeah, he’s finishing up at the gym. He’s got a fight coming up soon.” 

“Too soon,” Connor adds, stepping up to the booth, faint bruises on the side of his face and a nasty cut below his left eye. 

“You sure you ready for it?” I joke, standing as much as I can in the booth to pull him into a one-armed hug. Yes, the bromance is real. 

“Shoulda seen the other guy,” Connor jokes, turning to wave at Violet and Blondie. “We’ll take six shots of Patron when you have a second, Zoe.” 

“Sure thing, Con,” Violet answers  with a cheery grin that punches me in the gut. 

When she smiles, her face brightens like the goddamn sun. She literally glows, spreading her warmth to everyone in her orbit. It sucks me in, radiant and cheerful, and irritates me at the same time. Does she smile like that at everyone?

Connor shoves into the booth next to Evan. 

“What’s the deal with her?” I flip my chin toward Violet. 

“Zoe? She’s cool.” Connor says slowly, his eyes assessing the reason for my interest in the hot bartender. 

Moments later, the vacant space fills up again with Harlow, my assistant. Short, spunky, and  the opposite of shy, Harlow Reid shakes her head at the three of us, a genuine smile blooming on her face. 

“Gang’s all here. It’s good to see y’all reunited,” she quips, her southern roots wrapping around her words in the softest drawl that has Connor shifting in his seat. 

“All good, Low?” I ask. 

“Wanna beer?” Evan offers. 

“I think so. I just need to talk to you about one thing regarding your trainer for location.”  She wrings her hands. “And I’ll pass on the beer, but thanks.” 

“Jake’s coming,” I answer, lifting my beer to my lips. 

Harlow shakes her head. “I just got off the phone with him. He has some family emergency and won’t be able to join you on location.” 

Two heads swivel in my direction.  I don’t miss the soft “shit” mumbled under Evan’s breath. 

I sigh, dropping my bottle back to the table. “Fuck. Seriously?” 

Harlow nods. 

“But Jake knows my routine, my schedule. Not to mention, where the hell am I going to find a trainer on short notice who can drop everything to come to the Seychelles for four months?” 

An awkward silence settles over the table as Evan and Connor stare at their hands or beer bottles. 

“You could ask Zoe,”  Connor offers, breaking the silence. 

“The bartender?” Incredulity drips from my tone, condescending and harsh. “I want to fuck her, not work with her,” I admit, throwing my cards on the table. 

Harlow flinches, turning around to make sure Violet didn’t hear me. 

“Jesus, man. Lower your voice.” Connor urges, giving me a look. “Zoe’s a really good trainer. She’s got a decent following on her YouTube channel and —”

“YouTube? Connor, this is the film that’s going to define my career to date. And you want me to task a bartender I don’t even know with —” 

“She’s talented, man. Really fucking talented. Trains a few guys at the gym. Can hold her own in the MMA circuit. One of her guys is really up and coming. She blends her workouts, pulling in aspects of MMA and traditional weightlifting with cardio circuits. She’s respected around here.” His voice is hard, his nostrils flaring with irritation for my dismissiveness. A UFC fighter who co-owns a nearby gym, Connor knows everything about who and what is trending in the fitness circle. 

I’m being short-sighted, and everyone around this table knows it.

Next to me, Harlow stiffens, her gaze catching on Connor as the corners of her mouth dip. 

Interesting. 

“You think she’d just pack up and follow me to an island?” 

“I think she’d consider a job offer that would allow her to expand her business.” Connor’s tone is measured but the look he flicks toward Harlow is filled with acknowledgement. 

Harlow clears her throat, a slight blush working up her cheeks. 

“Hey, what’s going on between you guys?” Evan stage-whispers, his eyes cutting between Connor and Harlow. 

“Nothing.” Connor shuts it down immediately, his voice low, his expression severe. He chances a glance at Harlow but she looks away, tipping her chin up. 

Damn, what the hell did go down? 

“You’re sure about her, Connor?” 

“Yeah, man. She’s your best bet on short notice. Plus, she’s local,” he says, knowing that in this neighborhood, we try to help our own when we can. 

I nod once, facing Harlow. “You check her out?” I refrain from calling her out for being awkward around Connor. Girl’s been with me for the past four years, since my first year in LA.  While she’s endured a lot of bullshit being my assistant, she’s also become like an annoying little sister to me. So, while I can mess with her, I don’t let anyone else. Even my brother and best friend. 

“Her YouTube Channel, That Fit Bitch Life, is legit. She’s also got an insane Instagram following.” 

“Who does she train?”

“Three guys at my gym. Plus, she does a weekly self-defense class for women,” Connor supplies. 

Harlow stares at him, nearly in a trance. He holds her gaze, neither one of them wanting to blink first. 

For fuck’s sake. 

I clear my throat, garnering their attention. Connor downs a shot and slams it back on the table. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, split knuckles and all, he downs a second, hissing as the alcohol hits the back of his throat. 

“Zoe’s not on the Hollywood scene, but I think she’d be a good addition to the team,”  Harlow adds, her voice strained. 

“Whatever,” I wave a hand, ready to be done with this conversation. Who the hell cares who trains me as long as I step onto set each day ready to own my role? “Talk to her. And, make sure the offer is fair.”

“Of course.” Harlow gives me a dirty look as if I offended her. 

But the way Connor highlighted that Violet is local bothered me. The truth is, outside of my family and friends — my parents, Evan, Ollie, and Connor — I rarely give back to my neighborhood. I got out of here four years ago and ran headfirst into the opportunity that awaited me. Looking back never held the same appeal as moving forward. For these past four years, I’ve been sprinting like an Olympian. “Anything else, Low?”

“Nope. Have a good night, guys.” She turns and unbuckles the belt on her winter coat as she walks up to the bar, stopping in front of Zoe. 

My chest tightens and I clench my shot glass. Ripping my gaze from the interaction unfolding between Harlow and Zoe, I distract myself by turning toward Connor, ready to rake him over the coals for crushing like a prepubescent boy on Harlow. “What the hell is up with you and Low?”

He shakes his head, his expression hard, his eyes darkening to black. 

Blowing out a breath, I tilt my head to the bar. “She’s staying for drinks.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home okay.”

I raise my eyebrows. 

Connor stares back, his face blank, his eyes burning. “Not like that, just that she gets home okay. On her own,” he adds, causing Evan to chuckle. “What time is Ollie’s game tomorrow?” Connor ignores the suspicious and skeptical glances he’s getting and directs his question toward my brother. 

Taking a swig of my beer, I let him change the subject, knowing now isn’t the right time to get into whatever is going on between my friend and my assistant behind closed doors.

Now, more than ever, I need to focus on my career, on my role in Dangerous Devils. 

My gaze flits back to Zoe. She’s a distraction I don’t need even though I’m stuck with her. Zoe the hot bartender/YouTuber better know what the hell she’s doing. Even though I’m drawn to her, body and mind, her flirty quips and amused grins aren’t going to cut it in the Seychelles if she doesn’t show up to work.