James

"Nothing says single like black Versace," Eve, my best friend, said from behind me as I stood in front of the mirror. "It's like the dress was made just for you."

I turned to check out the whole outfit, starting at the bottom where the fabric lay several inches above my knees, rising to hug my ass, molding across my sides, and finishing around my breasts. It was so tight; it pushed them high and gave me plenty of cleavage.

I smiled as I glanced at her reflection. "That's because it was."

"I thought your stylist dropped it off this morning?"

I shook my head. "That was Tom Ford. Versace sent this a few months ago for my eighteenth birthday."

Before choosing to wear this one, I'd tried on the Tom Ford and several others. They weren't right for tonight.

This one was.

Eve started fixing the back of my hair, and a sly grin came over her face.

"Spill it," I said.

"Abel who?" She laughs. "Seriously, once everyone sees you in this dress, they'll forget you two even dated."

The trouble was, I hadn't forgotten.

I'd met Abel on the set of my first sitcom when I was only thirteen. We were the same age, casted to be siblings, and we'd kept those roles until the series finale five years later. Our relationship had started almost immediately and ended six months ago when I caught him in our bed with Sophia Sully.

I turned toward her. "He's on location, right?"

We shared friends. Favorite bars. A house that I no longer wanted.

I would die if he and Sophia were there tonight since the only reason I was going out was to make it look like I was completely over him and had moved on.

"Let me check." Eve slipped her phone out of the top of her dress and opened a social media app. She held her cell in front of me, and the screen showed a picture that had been taken a few hours ago of Abel riding a fake bull. "He's at some bar in Nashville. We're safe."

I took a few steps closer to the glass, so I could get a better look at myself. There was loose powder under my eyes that my makeup artist had missed. I caught it with my fingers and then smoothed out the chunks of curls to frame them around my face.

I'd been filming in Toronto for the last four months, and this was my first night back. While I'd been away, Abel and Sophia had made their relationship public. He'd moved her into the house we'd purchased together. They'd bought a puppy and named it Country, as though they needed to be reminded of the kind of music Sophia sang.

Because the LA crowd had barely seen me since the breakup, I was going to be hit with questions, and the paparazzi would be snapping my picture as soon as I got to the bar. So, I had to get it all right—the answers everyone wanted to hear, the dress, and most importantly, the smile. The same smile that the whole world loved. The one that earned me leading roles. The one that acted like a mask, so no one could tell I was hurting.

I could do this.

"Fuck Abel," I whispered.

"Yeah, fuck Abel," she repeated. She grabbed my clutch off the bathroom counter and looped her arm through mine. "Now, let's go find you a rebound."

"I tried that once, don't you remember? I'm all set."

Since ending things with Abel, I'd been with only one guy, and it was three months ago. I'd flown home from filming in Toronto to move out of the house I shared with Abel. Sophia had watched me the whole time I was there and again at the party I'd seen them at later that night. The guy was someone I had just met, and he was supposed to make me feel like I had moved on. I had gone with him to a hotel in Malibu, and after the next morning, we never spoke again.

"Then, let's go get wasted," Eve said.

"I can do that."

She pulled me through the house and out the door, knowing I'd never feel fully ready to face this and dragging me was probably the only way she'd get me there. Once we got outside, the SUV was waiting in my driveway.

"Where to, Miss Ryne?" the driver asked as we settled and put on our seat belts.

"Chateau Marmont," I told him.

As we made our way to West Hollywood, Eve filled me in on the gossip I'd missed while I was away, things that hadn't made the celebrity news sites. None of the people she spoke about were good friends even though most of their numbers were saved in my phone. Not one of them had checked on me after the breakup, although they'd texted me tonight to ask if I was going out.

They wanted to be seen with me.

That was the way Hollywood worked, and I'd been playing this game since I was a kid. Except, when I had been with Abel, there wasn't this pressure to go out and be seen in order to stay relevant. The public had loved our relationship, and that was enough to keep the paparazzi on our asses. But, without him, the media wanted to see what the single version of me looked like.

I was about to give them that visual.

The driver pulled up in front, and the backseat door was immediately opened. A hand was extended to help me out, and I waited for Eve, looping her arm through mine as she reached me.

We walked toward the entrance, and hundreds of cameras flashed in our direction.

Questions were being thrown at me.

"How are you feeling after the breakup?"

"What's the next movie you'll be starring in?"

And, "Should your fans stop listening to country music?"