Red Carpet Kiss - Melissa Brown Page 0,1

affair was her inspiration.

Her muse.

The hidden scar that sat tucked beneath her chest.

And because she didn’t know where he was, having avoided social media like the plague, and because he might be sitting on a couch somewhere, snuggling up to a girlfriend or wife who insisted they watch her show week after week, Elle knew those scenes needed to be just right. Every last one.

If he was watching, he had to know she was strong, that she didn’t need him—or anyone, for that matter—to make her whole, fulfilled, or satisfied.

And that, despite the scar, her heart was, and would continue to be, just fine.

Thick, white buttercream frosting covered the tips of Elle’s fingernails. She popped each finger in her mouth for one last lick and savored the sugary-sweet, intoxicating taste of celebration.

Solo celebration.

Aside from Linus, her sweet terrier, who lay next to her on the couch, and the soothing sound of her beloved Beatles in the background, Elle was celebrating her birthday alone. Her parents raised her on Beatles records, and they quickly became the soundtrack of her life. She listened to different albums for different moods, and her birthday was no exception. She was thirty-five years old and single. And for reasons all her own, she preferred to commemorate this day completely by herself.

Ten years ago, on this very day, she had married. But it didn’t last long.

Thirty-six hours, to be precise.

Because of that impulsive decision, her birthday would be forever linked to him. She didn’t speak his name, especially since moving to California. No one knew him here, their past, their history. Their mutual friends and classmates knew not to bring up his name or ask how long it had been since she’d seen him. She was able to control her curiosity if no one mentioned him. If she caved and learned about his life, inevitably she’d learn he’d moved on when she still could not.

And she preferred it that way.

Her best friend, Whitney, the casting director for Follow the Sun, simply referred to him as “Vegas,” knowing that Elle couldn’t handle discussing her past with Troy Saladino. Even her best friend was on a need-to-know basis about that chapter in her life.

“That was delicious,” Elle said, wiping her mouth and hands with a napkin. She then placed the cupcake liner back into the box from Sprinkles Cupcakes. “Totally worth the money.”

Linus peeked out from the nook he’d created in the pillow next to Elle and tipped his little head to the side.

Elle shrugged before petting him on his snout and giggling. “Okay, fine, maybe not.”

Her laptop beckoned from across the room. She needed to get a head start on the new season, but the impending love scene between Desmond and Molly was stressing her out. She and the network rarely agreed on a suitable level of steam for prime-time television. Elle was all about pushing the envelope, allowing her characters to act on their sexual impulses in what Rob, her director, called “interesting” locales such as utility closets, parking garages, and even a hotel day spa. But the resistance she received often muzzled her creativity. “Do you think I should write that love scene, Linus?”

Linus tipped his head to the side again, looking adorable. She loved when he did that.

“I didn’t think so.” She smiled. “No one likes working on their birthday.”

Elle laughed and reached for the Entertainment Weekly on her coffee table. She smiled as she stared at the cover, savoring the photo of Gina and Nolan, standing back-to-back, with arms crossed. Pride stretched from her head to her feet, knowing her characters were sitting on thousands of coffee tables across the country. Her characters. Her show. Her creation. For just a moment, her normal birthday sadness drifted away as she paged through the magazine and landed on the article devoted completely to Follow the Sun. Her moment was interrupted when her purse began to ring. She retrieved her cell phone and reluctantly answered the call.

“This is Elle,” she said, pressing the phone to her ear.

“Elle, listen, it’s Rob. We’re having a little trouble down at the studio. Any chance you can come down and help us out?”

Elle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rob was a terrible liar. Between the cracking and hesitation lingering in his voice, all signs pointed to some sort of surprise birthday celebration at the studio. Which was nice. Really nice, actually.

But she didn’t want to be around anyone. She wanted to waste away in her own disconnected memories, which