“No, we’ll need some time,” Grant said, taking off his sunglasses. Apparently he recognized Donavan or realized we were basically the only people in the restaurant. We’d passed one other couple, but they were across the room. “What’s good here?”

Donavan opened the menu in front of me and pointed to a few dishes. “These are the most popular.”

Ash returned with the drinks, and Donavan helped her pass them out.

“I’ll give you a couple of minutes,” he said, then left.

My phone buzzed again, reminding me that something was happening online. I brought my phone back out and clicked on one of the links. It directed me to a big entertainment site. Dread took over my chest. The title of the article read: “Zombies Are Chewing Up Grant James’s Career.” My eyes skimmed past the title to the words written beneath. Reports out of filming for Grant James’s latest movie say that it is off to a rocky start. While most leading ladies would risk being infected by zombies to have a chance to act opposite Hollywood’s hottest hunter, Lacey Barnes, a no-name actress, has reportedly said she is having trouble connecting to Grant. That might not be Grant’s fault though. An undisclosed source says she’s a mess on set: misplacing items, knocking over set pieces, and showing up late. Perhaps she’s too green to star alongside a well-seasoned actor like Grant James. Time will tell.

Amanda was saying something beside me, and I looked over, my eyes stinging.

She took my phone from me and read through the article. “What the . . . ?”

“What’s going on?” Grant asked.

Amanda passed the phone to him and turned to me. “It’s just talk,” she said, but I could tell that this time even she didn’t believe that.

I shook my head. “Someone called and reported that. Someone who’s obviously been on set and knows what’s been going on. Who would do that?”

“You think someone is purposely messing with you?” Amanda asked.

Grant handed me back my phone. “It would be a pretty poor attempt.”

“You think?” I asked.

“It’s just a stupid article,” he said.

“But it’s not just an article, is it?” I said, realization coming to me. “Someone has been trying to sabotage me on set too. Knocking over lights, ripping my wardrobe, stealing things.” I paused. “Someone was on my phone too. I think they changed my alarm that day I was late.”

“Who would do that?” Amanda asked.

“I have no idea.”

Grant didn’t seem to think this was a big deal. “Even if any of that was purposeful, what would be the point? You’re overthinking this.”

It was hard not to worry about it. Just because I finally realized what was going on didn’t mean that the sabotage—if that’s what it was—would stop. I held up my phone. “Will you call them for me, Grant? Tell them we have all sorts of chemistry? Maybe they’ll write another article about it.”

“I think we should just let it die. If I call, it will just draw attention to it.”

“Grant,” Amanda said.

“It’s true,” he said defensively.

Donavan came back to the table, a notepad in hand. “You ready to order?”

“Yes,” Grant said, like nothing at all had just happened.

He put in his order, followed by Amanda. I managed to swallow down my feelings over the article and point.

“You want the sampler?” Donavan asked. “It’s three different entrees. It’s pretty big.”

“Oh, then whatever is good.”

He slowly nodded, wrote something down, and walked away.

Grant said, “That’s your tutor, right?”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “And her future boyfriend.”

“Shh,” I hissed. I watched Donavan stop at the other table and talk to them for a moment, then I said, “I’ll be right back.”

“You going after him?” Amanda asked with a smile.

I didn’t answer, just slid out of the booth and walked down a long hall where I saw Donavan disappear through a set of double doors. When I reached them, I pushed my way through as well, finding myself in the kitchen. Donavan picked up a plate of salad off a metal counter, then turned around. He jolted to a halt when he saw me.

“Hi,” I said. “Is this okay?”

He looked at a guy who stood behind the stove, stirring a big pot of sauce. “Is what okay?”

“Us being here.”

“Customers aren’t typically allowed in the kitchen.”

I smiled at the cook, who gave me a nod.

Donavan smirked. “Of course the rules wouldn’t apply to you.”

“I meant us being at your restaurant.”

“Yes, it’s fine, Lacey.” He held up the salad in his hand. “But I do have to work.”

He started to brush by me when I said, “Wait.”

He stopped, inches from me. Now was the time where I told him the realization I had today about him, but my crushed spirit was making everything feel all wrong.

I caught my breath and tried to concentrate. I met his eyes, thinking that would help, but his seemed guarded, and I found myself saying, “There was an article written about me today. It talked about all these things that have been happening on set. Things nobody off set would know about.”

He seemed to calculate what that meant, just like I had. “You think the person who was talking to your director the other day tipped off a reporter?”

“You tell me,” I said. He was a journalist, after all. He had to know something about tips and sources.

“I’d guess yes.”

I quickly filled him in on the other things that the article had said. “Do you think it’s all related?”

“One too many accidents begin to look a lot like evidence,” he said. He wasn’t acting like this was all in my head, like Grant and Amanda had.

“Will you help me try to figure out who’s doing this?” Because whether it was a case of absentminded crew members or someone with ill intent, I didn’t want to be caught off guard if someone really was trying to sabotage me for some reason.

“Absolutely,” he said, then left the kitchen in a hurry.

When the door swung shut behind him I whispered, “And I really like you.”

Twenty-Three

“Lacey,” a voice called from behind me as we were walking out of the restaurant. I turned to see Donavan, so I slowed down to wait.

“Thanks for being our waiter tonight,” I said. “You were awesome.”

He had three twenties in his hand and held them out to me. “Tell Grant that a hundred-dollar tip is excessive.”

I hadn’t realized Grant left that much. “Just take it. Grant can afford it.”

“It feels weird.”

Grant must’ve overheard what we were talking about, because he joined us, putting one arm around my shoulder. “I don’t need people calling me cheap online.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Donavan said.

“Well, maybe now you can brag about how three actors sat at your table tonight and tipped you well.”

“I wouldn’t do that either,” Donavan said.