There was no middle ground.
“It can work,” Noah said, as if he could will a simple, uncomplicated friendship into being. “But only if you give it a shot.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. “Don’t throw in the towel on me, on us.” A pause that held like a dewdrop on a spider web, caught between sparkle and shatter. “I need you.”
Her chest ached.
She apparently still had a mile-wide weak spot when it came to Noah exposing his need. He showed it so rarely, asked for something even less. And she had promised to be his friend. She owed it to who they’d once been to give the attempt this one chance at least. “Let’s go watch the sunrise.”
That sunrise was spectacular, coming over the San Gabriel Mountains and bathing the world in a deep gold kissed with pink, but it didn’t hold her attention, not with Noah beside her. He was competent and efficient at the controls, a haunting lightness to him.
“You really love this,” she said, her voice soft with realization.
“Up here, it doesn’t matter who you are, what your sins.” His gorgeous voice poured into her ears through the headphones, made her stomach flutter, her thighs clench. “It’s total freedom. No expectations. No judgments. Just endless sky.”
Kit had never understood why Noah was so deeply unhappy. On paper, his life seemed picture-perfect. Born to a wealthy couple, his father a powerhouse lawyer and his mother a political lobbyist, he’d had the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth since the day he was born. He also openly adored his younger sister, Emily, had invited her along as his plus one to the music awards last year.
Even if it was about shitty parents, that was no cause for such deep anger at life.
Kit knew countless people with parents who couldn’t care less. Some grew up and dealt with it, others were constantly badly behaving teenagers trying to get their parents’ attention, but no one she’d ever met had been this angry—least of all anyone who’d found a passion in life and followed it. Her acting had been her lifeline, but while Noah lived for his music, it didn’t seem to penetrate the hard shell of his anger.
“Look.”
Chapter 8
Following Noah’s pointing finger, she saw the tiny figure of a lone hiker waving up at them before the man continued on his journey and they flew on. Noah was right—it was stunningly peaceful and freeing up here.
“I heard about your cosmetics deal. Congratulations.”
Fisting a hand against the impact of his voice so intimately close, her pulse rapid, she said, “It’s not a sure thing yet. Papers still to sign.”
“You know they won’t back out. They’d be idiots if they did.”
“I feel like such a fraud.” It was the first time she’d admitted her fears aloud. “I’m no model.” All of Adreina’s closest friends were fellow supermodels, so Kit had grown up around inhumanly perfect people, knew without a doubt that she wasn’t one of them.
“But,” she added, “it’s such an amazing opportunity that I couldn’t turn it down. Harper says it’ll grow my brand, and the money will be welcome.” Kit had earned a good amount with Last Flight, thanks to the profit sharing deal she’d signed in lieu of payment in advance; at the time, no one had expected the movie to turn into a blockbuster, so the contract had been generous.
Unfortunately, being forced into a premature property purchase by the combined efforts of her stalker and the paparazzi had put her in a deep financial hole. She now had a monster of a mortgage; her security team didn’t come cheap either. Neither did the gardening team she’d had to hire to maintain the property. The instant she let things go, rumors would start, and right now she needed to fake it until she made it.
“The cosmetics deal will get me mostly out of my mortgage hole unless something goes horribly wrong—like if I break out in a sudden case of acne.”
Noah snorted. “That’s what airbrushing is for.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “I’m not kidding, it’s in the contract.”
He shot her a disbelieving look. “Acne?”
“Not that specifically—any facial injury or outbreak or general hideousness,” Kit said, her shoulders shaking. “They can airbrush the ads, sure, but if a paparazzo gets a real-life shot of me looking unacceptably rough, there goes my value as a promotional asset.”
If Kit hoped for a renewal after the initial one-year term, she had to make sure she looked good even if she was heading to the gym or popping out to grab groceries. “There’s also an ‘unacceptable weight gain’ clause, but hey, at least my lawyer got the ‘moral turpitude’ one struck out.”