Chapter 9

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"They know where you are, Camila. They have found you, and they'll be coming for you soon."

Camila rolled her eyes at Harry's dramatics.

"People accept that you're on a vacation," Harry continued, "and not having some kind of alcoholic, drug-induced breakdown, thank God, but they want pictures. They want the whole story. Those two guys on the beach the other day are nothing compared to what could be coming."

Camila rubbed her hand over her face and sighed. Harry had been doing all the talking since she'd answered the phone five minutes ago-in the middle of the night, again, because Harry refused to respect the time zone difference.

"And what could be coming, Harry?" she asked reluctantly, staring at her reflection in the sliding glass door.

"We're going to keep playing this like a vacation. You're meeting up with old friends."

Camila smiled slightly. That was sort of true.

"So everything you do needs to support that story." Harry dragged out the statement, spelling it out for a child. "Always assume somebody's taking a picture. Assume they're listening and watching, because they will be."

"Harry, come on." Camila glanced around her hotel room, paranoid.

"I'm serious, Camila. I don't exactly know this Lauren Jauregui,"

Camila could hear the smile in his voice.

"But I know that you know to keep whatever you're doing with her out of the light." Harry paused. "Right? I'm right, right? Tell me I'm right. I need to know if Ally's feeding me false information again."

"Lauren and I aren't..." Camila shook her head. "I mean, you're not wrong."

A muffled shriek came through the phone.

"But it's not like we're having sex on the pier and planning out our future together."

"Good." Harry said resolutely. "I could do without the mental image, but good. Because I need you home in two weeks."

Camila's breath hitched. She blinked at her reflection in the sliding door- sweats and a t-shirt, curly hair, eyes wide.

"You have an audition." Harry plowed on. "A twisted romantic comedy, sort of dark if you look in the right places. I sent you the script in case you pass on Anything Goes."

"I..." Camila tangled a hand in her hair and groaned silently. "That's not-"

"Oh, and I'd love a decision about Anything Goes within the next ten years, please."

"I still have four weeks left here, Harry." Camila spun in an anxious little circle by her bed. "I'm not coming back early."

"Are you doing Anything Goes?"

Camila paced towards the door and searched for her shoes. "I don't know. But I'm not doing some silly little rom com in its place."

Harry sighed like he'd expected nothing less. "If you came home sooner I'd have a lot less to deal with, you know. We could put all this bad press behind us. I wouldn't have to spin every single story that crosses my desk. Talk about future projects, get your fans excited for something. Please think about it."

Camila clenched her jaw, grabbed her room key, and headed out the door.

"Two weeks." Harry repeated. His voice softened. "You two still have some time."

"Maybe." Camila mumbled. It was all she could get out without throwing her phone against the wall or breaking down in the elevator. She'd been counting on four more weeks. The thought of cutting that in half made her throat close up.

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