Not How I Pictured It

by Robin Lefler

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy; Humorous Fiction

Synopsis

Not How I Pictured It has descriptive copy which is not yet available from the Publisher.

Release date: April 23, 2024

Publisher: HarperCollins Canada

Print pages: 304

Sample

A SIDE FROM THE CAMERAS. THE HOTEL BATHROOM WAS NICE.

Ness Larkin tried to glare the creases out of her flimsy coral-colored dress. Sweat trickled between her freshly spray-tanned shoulder blades as she attempted to ignore the not-so-sneaky pictures being snapped by the pair of women two sinks down. She gave up on making the dress presentable and heaved her beat-up duffel bag into one of the spacious stalls.

She was wrist-deep in crumpled T-shirts, dog-eared romance novels, and a month’s income worth of travel-size skin care products when her phone rang. She mashed it between her ear and shoulder, cursing herself for the ten thousandth time for leaving her earbuds on the plane. And cursing the airline for misplacing her luggage. And cursing the hotel for losing her reservation. And why was it so humid? Her chocolate waves had gone from (relatively) smooth and glossy to pure chaos in the two hours since she’d landed in Miami.

“Good morning, Bethany. How are you?” She stifled a creative expletive as high-heel-clad feet pitter-pattered to a stop just outside her bubble of faux privacy.

“That cat. It’s doing it again.”

Ness stared at the toes outside the stall, daring the woman to knock on the door.

“I spoke to them last week,” she said. “They’re working on it, but these things take time. It seems cats aren’t easily trained.”

“Did you give them the name I provided? The veterinarian who can perform the silencing treatment?”

Ness tugged a mostly wrinkle-free black shirt and a pair of denim shorts from the depths of her duffel, sat back on her heels, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She dragged the pad of her thumb up, smoothing the deep furrow between her brows, vaguely wondering if she should have gone for the fillers she’d so adamantly refused.

“I mentioned there are options they could explore.” She would rather be roasted like a succulent forty-two-year-old pig on a spit than suggest poor Bixby have his vocal cords . . . permanently remedied.

Bethany sighed dramatically. “I’m going to have to take this up the chain.”

Bethany, a primary school teacher who dressed like an investment banker, was among the worst of Ness’s tenants. Not because she had a beagle who howled like a deranged werewolf yet persisted in complaining about the cat upstairs. Not even because she refused to close her windows while maxing out the air conditioning in the summertime.

No, Ness hated Bethany because every time she had to go into that apartment to address a (usually fabricated) issue, her photo would surface, featured in What Ever Happened To . . . articles, or upvoted on Reddit threads about celebs of yesteryear. There Ness would be, bungling her way through hanging a new door or, her personal favorite, wielding a plunger, an expression of great determination on her sweating face.

Ness pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to check the time and confirm that she was definitely going to be late.As she heaved herself to standing and started the circus act of getting changed, a phone edged under the door of the stall.Taking a split second to mute her end of the call, Ness flicked the lock and flung the door open with a bang, yanking the fresh shirt down as she went.

“Are you serious?!” she blurted, but the women were already halfway out of the lobby bathroom. She considered trying to catch them, or at least making a report to security, but Bethany’s voice rose in pitch to a nasal whine usually associated with teenagers or nearly-dead car engines, dragging her attention to the phone in her hand.

Back in the bathroom stall, she leaned against the cool metal of the partition and closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. She muttered some choice words for Bethany, and the world at large, then unmuted.

“Bethany, I am the chain. You’re welcome to send another formal letter of complaint if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Perhaps I’ll send formal notice that I’m vacating instead.”

Ness inhaled deeply through her nose, the artificial citrus scent of the bathroom tickling her sinuses. She couldn’t afford to lose a tenant. As horrible as Bethany was, she did pay her rent on time.

“I have a two-bedroom unit available in another, cat-free house. It’s being updated now.” Or would be, once she got home and started the work. “Why don’t we arrange for you to see it when I’m back in town in a couple of weeks?”

Silence.

“I would happily match your current rent for the first six months.” And cry a little bit as she watched her bank balance creep ever lower.

“Fine. But you’ll also be seeing that complaint.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Ness ended the call and checked the time again: 9:54. Shit.

In the Bleu on the Sands lobby, Ness hit the elevator call button repeatedly and with unnecessary but satisfying aggression. The shiny silver doors slid open, revealing an empty car. Thank god.

She retreated to the back corner, not really believing she’d made it. A full twenty-four hours later than she’d planned—thanks to a leaking washing machine in one of her rental units, a missed flight, and a tornado warning that temporarily grounded all planes at the Toronto airport—she was here. Was she sure she wanted to be here? For sure. Mostly. Probably.

Ness smoothed a hand over the high bun she’d quickly twisted her Florida-humidity-accosted hair into, wishing for the hundredth time that her luck wasn’t such garbage.

The hotel had apologized profusely for “temporarily misplacing” her reservation, and she’d graciously accepted their promise to coordinate with the production staff on site to get her accommodations sorted out, but she would have happily emptied her bank account for a shower. At least she’d been able to leave her duffel at the front desk instead of schlepping it with her.

She tried not to think about rolling into one of the most important days of her adult life looking like she’d run here from Canada.

Sure, the others had seen her at her less-than-best, but that was nearly twenty years ago, when she’d had the dewy skin and pep of a well-hydrated twenty-two-year-old. Now, she’d been subject to years of forehead-crinkle-inducing stress, summers spent reading on her back deck with too little sunblock, and, well, then there was gravity, which was doing her no favors.

Pulling out her phone, she scrolled to distract herself from what was about to come. Her surprise reentry into The Biz was like starting a new fitness program—it felt good, but it also hurt in surprising new ways when she least expected it.

The top email was from a publicist she’d spoken to earlier in the week, detailing her monthly rates.

Ness felt her green eyes widen in shock at the number on the screen. She choked on her own spit and let out a squeak-turned-cough as the elevator bounced gently to a stop to admit a couple so pretty it hurt her eyes to look at them.

“Are you sure we need to do this?” the tanned blond man asked the equally tanned, leggy blond at his side. She draped a toned arm over his shoulders and dropped a kiss onto his stubble-covered cheek. They smelled like coconut sunscreen and vitality.

“I told you, babes, we’re just taking a quick peek. Ocean Views was, like, all I watched in high school. Mindy may be full of shit, but if she’s right about them shooting the reboot here and I don’t check it out I will never forgive myself. Ever. I will wallow for an eternity—” Her words were cut off as the man turned and planted a slow kiss on her lips.

“Got it,” he said, forehead pressed to hers, big, strong hand cupping her jaw. “We’re making dreams come true.”

She sighed, nuzzling his palm. “You already did that, babes.”

Ness concentrated on her phone and tried not to gag too loudly. Resigned to her fate, she waited for the moment of recognition, for the woman’s eyes to widen in shock and excitement. The door dinged open on the hotel’s top floor and the couple stepped out, heads swiveling, looking for signs of washed-up TV stars of decades past.

Looking for her.

Ness hurtled down the faux-barnboard-lined hallway toward the boardroom on the top floor of the hotel. It was Miami’s premier destination for those seeking a decadent, Instagram-worthy getaway. It was also the setting for the first table read of Ocean Views: Turning Tides, and Ness’s big return to showbiz.

Her purse kept slipping off her shoulder. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating.

She could hear voices floating toward her, see PAs buzzing around like highly caffeinated bees, stacks of printed scripts clutched to their chests. Ness paused outside an unmarked door, closed her eyes, and reminded herself she had chosen to be here. She was, in fact, incredibly lucky to have this chance. She was confident. She was grateful and graceful. She was—

A hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking her through the doorway into a fluorescent-light-drenched room the size of a large shower.

Ness started to scream, but a single, gel-nailed finger was pressed to her lips. Hard.

“Shhhhh. For fuck’s sake, Agnes. They’ll hear you.”

“Coco?” The finger pulled back and Ness pressed a hand to her chest, sucking in air, trying to slow her racing heart. “What the hell ?”

The woman leaned back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Her skin was as pale as ever but shimmered with the pearlescent glow of thousand-dollar moisturizer. She took a deep draw on a vape pen, exhaling a minty cloud. The harsh lighting glistened off her perfect slicked-back, bleached bob. Not a gray hair in sight. It also crash-landed in every delicate crack and crevice carved into her beautiful face over the past two decades. Ness ignored the little spark of satisfaction that ignited in her belly.

She hadn’t talked to Coco—born Kathy McGrubin, of Boise, Idaho—or any of her Ocean Views co-stars in two decades. Not since she’d left L.A. after ... Well, suffice it to say she hadn’t stuck around for long goodbyes.

“You haven’t been in there yet, have you? It’s terrible. Like a high school reunion without the dim lighting or booze.” Coco inhaled again, holding her breath for an impossibly long time. Ness could feel her own chest getting tight as she waited. Finally, Coco blew out, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“Bradley and Libby are either about to murder each other with ballpoint pens and broken coffee cup shards or fuck on the table.” She held up her hand, fingers extended, and ticked off each one as she ran through the list. “Ian is holier-than-thou to the extreme. Like we aren’t the ones who rescued him from passing out in puddles of his own puke more times than I can count.”

Ness winced at the clouded memories. Ian hadn’t been the only messy one.

“And Daisy. Jesus. Daisy . . .” Coco considered her next words, looking affronted. Ness refocused her attention. Daisy Payne. Her new on-screen daughter.

Coco’s voice was low. “You know when someone looks so perfect that you want to erase them from the earth because just seeing them makes you feel every one of your flaws?”

“Um. You mean murder or, like, a comically large pencil eraser?”

“Either.” She paused. “Both, maybe.” Coco stared at the ceiling tiles like they held all the answers to life’s biggest problems.

Folded linens lined the walls, stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling. Bins of tiny toiletries were tucked into a corner. Ness checked the time: 10:10. They were definitely late. She hated being late. She shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“Simmer.” Coco tap-tap-tapped her brown leather brogues on the linoleum. “They’re still waiting on half the network bigwigs. You didn’t expect this to actually run on schedule, did you?” Her plain white, ribbed tank top was tucked into loose-fitting trousers reminiscent of 1950s menswear. Leaning against the door, wrists draped over her bent knees, she could have been mid photo shoot for a high-end editorial.

Ness crossed her arms over her chest.

“If they can’t start yet, why am I suddenly your captive alibi?”

Coco shot her a sheepish grin. “Old habits die hard.”

Ness’s lips pressed together, suppressing her own smile, despite the mild panic building in her chest. The good girl image she’d hauled along with her for years had gotten Coco out of more tricky situations than she could count, purely by association. Surely the responsible, trustworthy Ness Larkin wouldn’t lie about why they were late—though eventually more than one showrunner suggested she get a new car.

She dropped her arms to her sides and ran a hand through her hair. Checked her phone yet again. Groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Coco rose effortlessly to her feet and pocketed the vape, ran a hand down the front of her shirt as if to check that her abdomen was still completely flat. It was.

“What’d you think of the revised script?” Coco asked, hand on the door handle.

Ness’s stomach flipped as she pictured the missed FedEx delivery notice stuck to her door at home.With everything else going on, she’d totally forgotten to pick it up. She breathed through the urge to crumple to the floor in the fetal position.

“Honestly, I haven’t had a chance to do a full read. What did you think?”

Coco’s eyes widened slightly. She cleared her throat. “You haven’t read it?”

Ness squirmed. “It’s been a wild couple of days.” She ran through the flight delays and delinquent hotel reservation, deciding to skip over how she’d left hours later than planned when, shortly after she’d finished with the leaking washing machine in one unit, another of her tenants had called to report a clogged toilet. The joys of property management. She reminded herself she was “in real estate” if anyone asked what she’d been up to for her entire adult life.

“No wonder you look like that.” Coco fished a key card out of her back pocket. “Here. I have a three-bedroom suite. You can crash in there. Heads up, though, I’m right next to Libby.”

Ness winced.

“Yeah, well. Maybe get my assistant to make sure the coast is clear before you leave the room.” She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. “You know, maybe she’s going to take the high road and kill you with kindness instead of, like, arsenic.”

“Cool. Thanks for that.” Ness gingerly accepted the key card. “But really, thanks, Coco. I appreciate this.” She looked at the beige linoleum floor. “I wasn’t sure how everyone would feel about me being here . . . You’re being very, um, chill about it.”

Coco shrugged. “You did what you thought was necessary. Plus, twenty years of therapy and convenient access to a wide selection of cannabis edibles have really brought out my easygoing side.” She hauled the door open, stuck her head out, and looked up and down the hallway before sliding out.

“Well, at least Hayes isn’t here to blind everyone with his Big Time Movie Guy shine,” Ness said as she followed, forcing lightness into her voice, despite the fact that saying his name still (still!) tied her tongue in knots. Not to mention her heart and . . . other parts. It was embarrassing.

Coco’s brow crinkled as much as the Botox would allow. “Mmhmm,” she murmured. “Right.”

THEY SWEPT INTO THE SPRAWLING, OVER-AIR-CONDITIONED MEETING room, nabbing blessedly cold water bottles from a sideboard dotted with fruit bowls and mini candy bars. Ness’s hand hovered briefly over a tiny Twix but retracted before making contact. She jammed her fingers into the insubstantial pockets of her shorts, trying to look casual as she took in the room.

Tables had been set up in a large U shape, with chairs for today’s audience—primarily crew and network stakeholders—arranged in front. Giant windows presented a view of a packed beach, perfect blue skies, and pretty waves rolling gently onto the sand far below.

“We’ll get started in a couple of minutes, folks!” a cheery voice boomed. Morris Wagner, producer, former model, and, if the rumors were true, all-around nice guy, standing on a chair, beaming down at everyone. “Just waiting on a couple of stragglers, but if you can start making your way to your seats, we’ll be underway soon!”

Around Ness, executives and harried-looking staff were alternately chatting, frenetically texting, or shaking hands with enough prolonged force to cause lasting damage. She eyed the table, trying to pick out her seat, wondering how long it would take for the rest of the cast to notice her. Or had they banded together in collective snubbing? That would be, um, neat.

As promised, Bradley (never, ever Brad—at least, not to his face) and Libby were nose to nose, having what appeared to be quite a passionate conversation. Ness winced as Libby repeatedly stabbed a long fingernail into his chest for emphasis. Edging closer to the murder end of the scale than table sex, it seemed.

She wondered how many hours a day Bradley was spending in the gym to maintain his Thor-esque muscle tone. It couldn’t be easy looking fifty in the eye and still making your pecs dance.

Suddenly, as one terrifying unit, they turned toward Ness across the table. Libby’s eyes narrowed. Her plump lips curved into an expression of disapproving scorn. Ness couldn’t figure out where to direct her eyes or what to do with her hands. She’d been expecting a confrontation with Libby but had really, really been hoping to put it off for a day or twenty. One didn’t ghost one’s (presumably now former) best friend for a couple of decades without expecting some kind of comeuppance, but she could try to avoid it as long as possible.

Bradley, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents literally right under his nose, ran a hand through his shoulder-length, perfectly tousled curls and flexed his triceps in what could be loosely interpreted as either a neutral greeting or an oddly specific threat.

Without thinking, Ness pulled a quick Hulk Hogan double-arm flex before wincing at her own awkwardness and rotating away from the danger zone toward potentially more friendly territory. Libby wouldn’t attack her while her back was turned. Right?

It was hard to believe she was actually here. Coco wasn’t wrong—it did feel like a high school reunion. Awkward, exciting, and like everyone had something to prove. Ness tried to project confident professionalism and not stare like a wide-eyed newbie.

It had been impossible, of course, to fully avoid any mention of her former colleagues since she’d left L.A. She’d hear radio spots talking about their current projects, or see one of them (usually Bradley or Coco) on the cover of a fitness or fashion magazine at the grocery store checkout. Ian had been riding the fame wave after his bestselling memoir, Just One Bump, had rocketed to number one only a few months earlier. Ness couldn’t walk past a bookstore without seeing the cover—a close-up shot of his gray-blue eyes, emphasizing the fine lines snaking out from the corners.

And, of course, every year or two she’d be driving somewhere innocuous only to be faced with a fifteen-foot image of Hayes’s face on a billboard.

She’d grown up with these people. And then, when her dad-slash-manager had peaced out with her life savings and left her to fend for herself, he’d taken her dignity and capacity to trust with him. Ness had felt like an idiot. How had she not seen what he was doing? Libby had been telling her to get more involved in her finances for years.

“You’re an adult now,” Libby had said over more than one Sunday brunch, in the know-it-all tone usually reserved for people other than her bestie. “Don’t you want to know where your money is going?” But it had felt like a tomorrow problem, and besides, it was her dad. Surely, if anyone had her back, it was him.

Well, that turned out to be laughably incorrect.

Ness had tried to ignore the pitying looks, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was not only the world’s dumbest human, but also that she must be deeply and utterly flawed for her own parent to turn his back so easily. She’d suddenly found herself deep in debt and entirely incapable of digging herself out. It was humiliating. After a few months she couldn’t take it anymore. The collection agencies, the whispers behind her back, the lowball offers for roles she previously would never have considered.

Navigating the minefield of showbiz and media attention without the guidance of the person who’d shielded her for so long was beyond shocking. Sure, she’d wanted some freedom, but being thrown directly into the lion’s den without even a year’s worth of savings to protect her? Disaster.

Slowly at first, and then with concerning frequency, people had started pulling away. She’d given the rest a hefty shove.

Ness left and didn’t look back. She wanted a fresh start far, far away from every single person who served as a reminder of what her life had been. It was ridiculous, looking back. Even completely destitute, if she’d been able to work past the humiliation she could have found doors to open and a way forward that didn’t involve abandoning her life’s work and the only thing she’d ever been truly passionate about.

Over the following years, it had become increasingly clear to Ness that what she was lacking, in addition to her purloined millions and self-confidence, was closure on that chapter of her life. Sprinting north had seemed like the only option then, but now, with the benefit of time to (mostly) heal and the perspective a little age brings, Ness wanted the chance to tie those loose ends into what might end up being a sloppy but emotionally fulfilling bow. She wanted to stop asking herself “what if” on repeat. She’d never know what her life could have been if she’d chosen a different path all those years ago, but she could forge a new one now. A path she could look back on and be proud of.

Seeing her Ocean Views co-stars online or in print had always made her heart stutter and her stomach flip. She’d spend the rest of the day replaying scenes from her past in her head and imagining scenarios in which they were reunited, sometimes in a sprinkling of happy tears, but usually . . . not that.

And now, here they were. All of them. Well, almost all. Ness wasn’t sure she could make it through a face-to-face with Hayes emotionally unscathed. His inability to participate in the reboot had been the final sign she’d needed that this was an opportunity she had to take.

She took a deep breath and visualized a light switch (her therapist was really into visualizations). Then, with a quick prayer to the gods of fortune, she flipped the switch from Agnes Larkin, mediocre landlord and unblocker of sinks, to Ness Larkin, self-assured woman of the world and Extremely Prepared Actress.

When someone launched themselves onto her back, enveloping her in a bear hug to rival the attack of an actual, mid-size, largely hairless bear, she barely stifled her screech of terror.

“Nessinator! You made it!” Strong arms spun her around and she found herself face to face with a still stunning Ian James.

Ness’s heart stuttered as long-buried Ian-tinged regrets danced through her mind, but she shoved them aside. If he was going to act normal, so could she. She felt her lips spread into a wide smile. “Hoooolyyyy smokes. It’s good to see you.”

Ian slung an arm across her shoulders, the cool silk of his pineapple-print shirt brushing against the back of her neck.

“Can you even believe this? The whole crew together again! This is going to be a blast.” He steered her toward their table, head swiveling as he looked across the room. “I need to talk to Stella about the coconut water sitch, but for real, Ness, I’m pumped you came back.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before bopping across the room.

Ness pushed away the burn of emotion that felt uncomfortably like happy tears and went to find her space at the table.

Coco had plopped into her seat, two folding chairs to the left of center, and was flipping through the script, smirking as she made notes in the margins.

Ness scanned the name cards propped in front of each spot. Daisy Payne. Bradley Isaksson. Coco. Ian James. Morris Wagner. Libby Kim. Ness Larkin. Ah. She headed toward her spot, wondering who’d had to dig deep into the archives to figure out how they’d been seated during the original Ocean Views readings. It was a nice touch.

Traditionally, Hayes would have been next to her. Curious, her eyes darted to the next seat down. Hayes Beaumont. Her heart pounded. Her stomach performed nausea-inducing acrobatics. Ah, she thought after a moment of panic. It’s a gesture. An homage. She pulled out her chair and slid in, shaking her head at her overreaction.

Morris was glad-handing a sixty-something exec in rumpled khakis and a Hard Rock Café golf shirt, but he took a moment to smile warmly at her. “Ness! Welcome!” Was that relief on his face? She wasn’t that late. She smiled back, letting some of her excitement show.

Hard Rock slapped Morris on the shoulder, making him wince, and meandered over to the coffee station. A gangly, pale man in khakis and a mint-green collared shirt that did nothing good for his complexion sidled into the now vacant space, clipboard in hand. He gave Ness an inquisitive glance, then trained his eyes on Morris, like an attentive puppy waiting for a command.

“Oh, hey, Tyler. Did you get the—”

In a practiced movement, the man freed a stack of paper from his clipboard and placed it gently in Morris’s hand.

“Awesome, thanks.” Morris rolled the paper into a tube and slid it into his back pocket. He focused on Ness. “This is going to be a great day.” He seemed to really mean it. “You have the updated schedule for tomorrow? It’s going to be a bit frantic, but it’s important to take advantage of these early press opportunities, right?” His smile tightened. “And then we’re off to paradise! Small change there.” His eyes darted sideways. “Core cast will be going to Eclipse Island by boat once we land on Grand Exuma.” He gave an apologetic half shrug, like, What can you do? “I think we tried to send the details to your assistant but. . .” He trailed off. “Anyway”—he nodded, scanning the room—“it’s going to be epic.” He drifted away from her to continue glad-handing.

Episode one had the Ocean Views gang reuniting for the funeral of Theo Osgoode, teen bad boy turned tech billionaire, played by Hayes Beaumont. Word on the proverbial street was that Hayes had a conflicting big-budget movie shoot and couldn’t make the scheduling work. Or didn’t want to. It was to be a closed casket event.

Someone on the other side of the room laughed loudly. Outside, the sun shone between scattered puffy white clouds onto the glittering water below. Ness jolted as the air conditioning kicked on, dumping cold air through the vent above her. She shivered and wondered if she should get up and try to go make conversation with someone. Her eyes drifted from face to face, but she stayed put.

She looked at the script in front of her. Running a hand over the first page, she realized this felt right. She . . .