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THE MAN I ONCE HATED

GRUMPY BILLIONAIRES SERIES

LAUREN WOOD
Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Wood
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
 CONTENTS

1. Cara
2. Edward
3. Cara
4. Edward
5. Cara
6. Edward
7. Cara
8. Edward
9. Cara
10. Edward
11. Cara
12. Edward
13. Cara
14. Edward
15. Cara
16. Edward
17. Cara
18. Edward
19. Cara
20. Edward
21. Cara
22. Edward
23. Cara
24. Edward
25. Cara

The Unlucky Waitress (Sneak Peak)

Chapter 1
Also by Lauren Wood
About the Author
Exclusive Offer
 1

CARA

I ’ve just finished my last class of the day and the juniors file off
the stage in their usual hub of senseless talking at the same
time. There’s a part of me that feels bad for rushing through it,
but I haven’t been able to get the upcoming meeting off my mind.
Of course, Zoey and the others were only too happy to drop the likes
of Edward Spencer in my lap…
“Cara?” Elise comes up to me where I’m packing my bag. She’s
nervously twisting the sleeve of her hoodie. The very one she’d been
chewing for most of our class.
“What’s up, honey?” I lean against the baby grand piano and
give her my full attention. I know how rare that is for most of the
young teens who take acting and dance classes at the theater with
us.
She glances around to make sure there are no other dawdlers on
stage with us and steps closer. Her voice is barely above a whisper
when next she speaks, her sandy blonde hair hanging like stringy
curtains over her face.
“I, um, I just…” Elise does another check over her shoulder
before continuing, with, “You know how you said, uh, you said you
wanted me to, um…”
She forces the air out of her lungs in a harsh sigh, her frustration
with herself showing in her pained expression. My heart goes out to
her, the way it always does, and I place my hands on her shoulders,
rubbing them gently.
“I want you to audition for Elizabeth because I believe you can
bring this house down,” I say with an encouraging smile.
Elise’s eyes are round saucers in her head. “But… I can’t. It’s the
lead role.”
“Exactly,” I pat her back and sling my purse over my shoulder.
“Now, I have to head out but what do you say we run lines together
tomorrow? Just you and me…”
Her face lights up and I’m even lucky enough to see an almost
smile before it quickly fades. Elise gives a stiff nod and says,
“Thanks, Cara,” before hurrying off the stage to catch up with her
friends.
“That’s the story you take to him.” Zoey’s doing a slow clap, her
sudden appearance from stage left making me jump.
“Yeah?” I ask, clutching my heart to try and force it back to its
natural rhythm. “Keep sneaking around in shadows like that and I
won’t be alive to take him anything.”
She sniggers, hoisting herself onto the back of the piano where
she crosses her legs. Half her braids are pulled up on top of her
head, but she brings the rest over her shoulder and starts fidgeting
with them - twisting them into knots and back out again.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Zoey fixes me with an incredulous
grin.
I look down at my moth-eaten sweater I’d picked up at Goodwill
when I first got to LA, and tug the hem uncertainly.
“Well, it covers the paint stains on my jeans,” I reply, meeting her
gaze. She’s biting back her laughter but I can tell that won’t last for
very long. “Zoey, please, I wasn’t in the mood when you talked me
into this, and I’m even less in the mood for it now. If you’re saying I
have to go home and change-”
She holds up both her hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m not
saying anything. You do you, and all that.” She pauses for a
moment, giving me the once over, then adds, “I think the blonde
hair and baby blues will do it for him, though. According to the
tabloids, our bad boy can’t resist a hot blonde. Luckily for us, you’re
both of those things.”
“None of that matters. Not what I’m wearing, or the color of my
hair.” I wave my folder in front of her. It had taken me no less than a
week to compile my pitch for donations. “This is what it comes down
to. I’ll blow him away with my speech and he’ll have no choice but
to throw a fraction of his billions our way.”
Zoey averts her eyes, fingers tapping conspicuously on the
weathered surface of the piano.
“What?” I fold my arms across my chest, bracing for what’s about
to come. She only ever gets that look when it’s something bad. “Spit
it out, Zoey…”
“I wasn’t going to say anything until after your meeting,” she
starts, meeting my eyes again.
I don’t know why, but she looks guilty. Something twists in my
gut and I suddenly don’t want her to finish what she’s saying. She
does it anyway, unaware of how I’m feeling because I don’t tell her.
I rarely do.
“My meeting with Brighton bombed,” the words tumble from her
mouth like a freight train on speed. She stares at me, studying my
expression for any hint of a reaction.
I stare back, the muscles in my face strangely devoid of
animation. I’m pretty sure it’s because all the blood in my body has
rushed to my gut, where my heart has suddenly dropped.
“What do you mean, it bombed?”
Zoey sighs heavily, shaking her head as she goes back to the
braids in her lap. “I don’t know, I guess they weren’t into the pitch,
or whatever. But they said they’re not interested in donating toward
saving the theater.”
I take a moment to let her words sink in. We’ve been at this for
so long, I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t have a ‘Save
Community Arts’ flier in at least one of my pockets. There are at
least fifty in my purse at all times, and god forbid someone ever
finds themself in an elevator with me for more than three seconds.
I’ll be chewing their ear off about our community theater and what
they can do to help us save it, and I won’t stop until they get off.
 And we are still fighting the fight. Nothing has changed.
Exhausted doesn’t begin to describe the way I feel. Defeated is a
way better start…
“Well, Brighton was supposed to be one of our bigger sponsors,”
I say, fixing my purse on my shoulder. “If we’ve lost them, that
means we’re gonna need more than a fraction of Spencer’s billions.”
“I’m sorry, Car,” she slides off the piano. Zoey wants to take my
hand but I bury them both in the pockets of my jeans. Not
surprisingly, each of them brush against the well-worn folds of a
flyer.
“It’s not about sorry,” I shrug. “We just regroup and try again.
Like we’ve been doing.”
I don’t wait for her response, because it’ll likely be more
platitudes that I don’t care about. As the wings swallow me up, I
hear a faint ‘Good luck’ behind me. I know it’s a peace offering more
than a wish - because Zoey of all people understands that this isn’t
about luck. Edward Spencer, like all the other bigwigs we’ve
approached, is either going to care about what we’re doing, or he’s
going to tell me to shove my cause where the sun doesn’t shine.
My heart sinks as my cab pulls up to the location. Surely, he
wouldn’t. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts on the drive over that
I didn’t realize where the Uber was taking me. I pull out my phone
and bring up the email his secretary sent me.
“Oh, this is just great,” I mutter, grabbing my purse with more
than a little irritation. I’ll have to take that out on inanimate objects
since I’m going to have to be on my best behavior once I get inside.
Inside the strip club. “Just typical.”
Upmarket and exclusive, members only… but a strip club
nonetheless. And should I have expected any different from the likes
of LA’s resident playboy? Probably not. His reputation for coming
from one of the richest families in the world is superseded only by
his reputation for having a penchant for partying and supermodels.
And partying with supermodels.
“Did you get mauled by a rogue bear on your way here?” Edward
considers me closely. He’s wearing a mischievous grin that reaches
his breathtaking gray eyes, making them gleam in the dim light
awash with hues of purples and blues.
I don’t immediately take my seat in the booth opposite him,
holding his gaze the entire time. Because I have to. Because if I
don’t look directly in those hypnotizing eyes, that means I’ll have to
look at the half naked woman gyrating in his lap.
“If this isn’t a good time…” My voice is firm and professional, but
I inwardly curse the flush that’s creeping onto my cheeks.
Edward slaps the woman’s ass a few times and, with his eyes still
on me, says, “Why don’t we take a break, sweetheart?”
She pouts, or at least I think that’s what she’s doing as she slides
off him. Her lips are so heavily enhanced it’s difficult to tell whether
it’s an expression or just the way they look by default.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long, Eddie,” she glides a manicured
fingernail along the length of his chiseled jaw. “You know you’re the
highlight of my day.”
Edward swats her hand away in annoyance. “Make yourself
useful and get me another round. And one for the lady,” he nods in
my direction.
If looks could kill, the one she gives me would’ve stopped my
heart on the spot. I’ve obviously become the bad guy in her story -
keeping her from her highlight, or whatever.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I slide into the booth, holding my purse
securely in my lap. God only knows what kind of apocalyptic-level
microbes are crawling on every surface in this place.
The self-satisfied smirk never leaves Edward’s face. I’m beginning
to think it can’t.
“Okay, now that you’ve sucked all the fun out of this place, I
guess you can get to the part where you ask me for money.” He
makes himself comfortable, like he’s settling in to watch a movie, his
arms outstretched along the backrest on either side of him.
Goddamn Zoey for putting this on me. For everyone in our admin
group, in fact. Some of them took on three additional contacts to
avoid having to go through this. If it was worth it, I wouldn’t have
been this upset. But Zoey has already lost Brighton, which falls in
the category of ‘You had one job’, and leaves me with even more
pressure to seal the deal. With a giant man-child. In the middle of a
strip club.
Not exactly what I had in mind when I came here to launch my
acting career.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I pull the folder from my purse.
And only once it’s lying untouched on the table between us do I
realize it was a bad move. The lighting in here is so bad, there’s no
way he’ll be able to read the fourteen point heading, let alone the
reams of information I’ve put together.
Edward’s gaze flickers to the folder and then back to my face.
“You’re an actor, right?”
“Yes, but I’m here in my capacity as-”
“I can tell.” He leans in, clasping his hands in front of him on the
table. “A woman as beautiful as you… You belong on the big screen.”
I know I’m supposed to be professional, representing the
community theater and all that bullshit. But I roll my eyes anyway.
Because are you kidding me right now?
“Thank you,” I choke out the words for the sake of politeness. “-
but I’m not here to talk about acting.”
“Good,” he jumps in without hesitation. “Because I want to talk
about how hot you are. And what time I should pick you up for
dinner tonight.”
Those eyes. The shock of dark, sleek hair that’s perfectly mussed
up. His entire six-foot frame that, even under the guise of his
designer suit, I can tell is perfectly toned.
Goddammit. I drop my gaze and try to regain my composure. I
wasn’t even aware of him fucking with it in the first place but here I
am, fighting to keep from blushing under his unwavering scrutiny.
He’s an ass, I remind myself, like a mantra, over and over in my
head. A drop dead gorgeous ass, sure. But no amount of brooding
and smoldering can make up for the fact that he’s a dickhead of the
lowest order.
I clear my throat and flip open the folder. I know he won’t read
anything in it, but I need something to do, somewhere to look that
isn’t his five o’clock shadow and the way it frames his lips.
 “As you know, we’re collecting donations to save the community
theater from being shut down.” That firm, professional tone I so
confidently wielded a moment ago has deserted me. I take a breath
and try again. “Since the early 60’s, our theater has been home to-”
“I don’t give a shit about your theater, Miss Ford. But I would like
to.” He cocks his head to the side, a slight smile tugging at the
corners of his mouth. “And I want you to convince me over dinner.
Preferably in a different outfit.”
“Excuse me?” The heat in my face no longer has anything to do
with being flustered. Edward Spencer is lucky there’s a solid piece of
furniture between us right now, because I swear to God…
“I mean no offense, of course,” his tone is patronizing at best.
“All I’m saying, is that this could be a very lucrative partnership for
you… and your theater.”
I rip the folder from under his hands and shove it back into my
purse with probably more dramatics than is called for. But fuck this
guy and fuck his money.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Spencer, but this isn’t going to
work.” I’m about three feet from the table when I feel his hand close
around my arm, spinning me back around to face him.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, his grin twitching.
I’m sure the great and esteemed Edward Spencer hasn’t
experienced being shut down in his life. It’s a small reward in the
face of losing his much-needed donation.
I square my shoulders, stubbornly sticking out my chin as I try to
ignore the way he towers over me. The way his presence seems to
absorb everything in the vicinity, leaving us the only two people on
the whole planet.
“Actually, yes,” I say to him. “Everything you’ve said since I got
here. All of it. I don’t want your money and I definitely don’t want
dinner. In fact, I’d rather sever my arm from my body, shove it down
my throat, and slowly choke to death. Please let go of me. I need to
leave.”
Surprisingly, Edward drops his hand from my arm and blinks at
me, saying nothing. It’s like I can see his brain processing the
rejection he’s just received. If he were an android, the words ‘Does
not compute’ would’ve been flashing behind his eyes.
 2

EDWARD

I t was third grade. We were playing tag during recess when

Savannah Benson picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it in
my face. All because I tagged her and yelled to everyone that ‘I
got the pretty one’. That was the last time I got rejected by a girl.
For a second, I’m dumbstruck by the gall of Miss Cara Ford. It
passes quickly though, standing in the middle of my favorite strip
joint, and is replaced with plain and utter intrigue.
“You’re as fascinating as you are beautiful,” I tell her, enjoying
the way my words make her squirm.
It’s either my words, or the fact that I’m standing far too close
for comfort. Her scent is fresh, like she’s just stepped out of a hot
shower. Makes me want to run my tongue up the length of her
slender neck. And as the thought occurs to me, it becomes my
number one priority.
I’m not about to let Cara join the ranks of Savannah Benson and
break my streak.
“We’re done here.” She swings her purse and begins to storm off.
Goddamn, she’s so hot when she’s angry.
I’m still enjoying the view from behind when Cara suddenly turns
back.
“You know what? No, we’re not done yet.” She jabs her index
finger at me, her milky complexion flushed with her furious
contemplation. I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy her immensely.
 “You people are all the same,” she says, a distasteful grimace on
her face. “All the money in the world but you have no clue what to
do with it. You’d rather throw it at- at strippers, and- and fancy cars,
and other mindless, meaningless things, like Aliens Out West than do
some actual good in the world.”
My ears perk up at her last mention. She’s gotten to the end of
her tirade, chest heaving in her irate state. I’m briefly distracted by
the state of the chest she’s packing underneath her ratty old jumper,
but it’s only briefly.
“You seem to have people like me pegged.” I’m careful to keep
my excitement at bay, giving her only enough to reel her in.
Cara scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Well, there isn’t much mystery to
your world. You all go about your lives, balls out for the whole world
to retweet about.”
I take another step forward and to my surprise, she lets me.
Curling a lock of her soft blonde hair around my finger, I lower my
voice and utter the phrase that always gets me going…
“How about a little wager?”
She pulls back, but only a smidge, and considers me for a
moment. Her big blue eyes are so transparent I can see the wheels
turning behind them. I’m pretty sure this woman hasn’t told a single
lie in her life. Something sparks in my gut at that realization.
Something dark and warm that wants to corrupt the fuck out of her.
Make her scream my name while I do it.
“Don’t touch me.” She flinches away from me and shifts
uncomfortably on the spot.
But the reaction comes a little too late to be believable. I know
she liked it. I can tell by the fluster in her voice.
Good. We’re off to the perfect start. I’m getting hard just thinking
about the delicious chase that’s just presented itself to me. All I can
say is, thank God for bad lighting.
“So touchy…” I raise my hands in a sign of surrender and bury
them in my pockets. “Better?”
“I don’t even know why I’m still here.” She looks around as
though she’s expecting someone to pop up and give her an answer.
 As always, I’m happy to oblige when it comes to a pretty woman.
“I’ll tell you why… You want to hear what I have to say, don’t you?”
Cara doesn’t respond. Folds her arms across her chest, shaking
her head at what I can only imagine she thinks is my insolence. And
yet… she’s still standing here.
I hold out, letting the moment simmer. I’m familiar with this
game, and know that in a few short seconds-
“Well, are you going to tell me, or not?” she drops her arms to
her sides in irritation.
I can’t help but laugh. God, I love it when I’m right.
“Come here.” I curl my forefinger to beckon her closer.
She hesitates, her gaze moving to my finger and then back to my
face. My mouth, to be exact. Something she notices me noticing,
because she looks away immediately, shaking her head like she’s
trying to rid herself of unwanted thoughts.
I’m about to go a little harder with my command, but Cara
suddenly makes a move. Totally unexpected, I’ll admit. She steps
closer to me, painstakingly avoiding eye contact.
“Say what you have to say,” she sounds bored and so over it, but
we both know that’s not the case.
“What I want to say is this,” I cut right to the chase, relishing in
her absolute attention. “My wager, if you choose to take it… Land a
role in the movie and I’ll give you a blank check to save your
precious little theater.”
Her gaze shoots up to mine, those baby blues searching my face
for any hint of a lie. All she gets is a smug grin, because what Miss
Ford is yet to learn, is that I live and breathe for these kinds of
games.
“What movie?” A slight frown creases her perfectly sculpted
brows.
I bite back the snigger that bubbles up inside me. It’s good to
know I haven’t lost my touch.
“The one you just insulted. Aliens Out West,” I reply. “Word on
the street is they’re still casting.”
She makes to walk away, shaking her head at me. “You’re
insane.”
 “You’re an actor, aren’t you?” I call out, my words getting her to
stop her exit yet again.
“Yes, a serious one,” she bites back. “I wouldn’t be caught dead
working on a movie like that.”
Oh, the righteousness from this one. I can already taste the
sweet nectar that’ll come oozing out of her when I take my first bite.
“Well, if you’re as serious as you say you are, then it wouldn’t be
that hard to do. Would it?” I’m ready. I’m locked and loaded for
whatever she’ll throw at me. Practically jumping out of my pants to
lay it all on her.
But patience is key in these types of things. I have every
confidence that she’ll take the bait, I just have to keep it cool. It’s
how I reeled in good old Ethan, after all. There’s no reason my
tactics won’t work again.
“Any role?” She tilts her head to the side.
Yes! And just like that, ladies and gentlemen, Edward Spencer lll
claims another victory. The crowd goes wild, Savannah Benson’s ears
start to burn wherever she is in the world, and God himself bows
down to the greatness…
“Any role,” I shrug, expertly hiding the triumph I’m feeling.
Cara narrows her eyes at me. She’s going to do it, but she’s
trying to convince herself that she’s being sensible. Thinking it
through. It’s so fucking adorable.
“So all I need to do is land a big part on some loser movie and
you’ll give me a blank check to save the theater?” she asks.
I fight the urge to laugh in her face. “Sweetheart, I don’t care if
you take the check and buy a small island.”
“Please don’t call me that,” she says sternly.
“Whatever you say…” I wink at her. I know she likes it. They all
do.
“I don’t get it.” She gives me the once over as though she’s really
looking at me for the first time. “What’s in it for you? I get a paying
gig and you lose millions…”
Oh, a feisty one. It gets me even more riled up.
“He’s in it for the game, can’t you tell?”
 Zachary West. Ole buddy, ole pal. Always the worst fucking
timing. I plaster a smile on my face just to stop the annoyed groan
from coming out.
He throws his arm around my shoulder–easy for him because
we’re pretty much the same height–and pats my chest. It looks like
a show of affection, but I know he’s shooting the shit. Probably got
bored with his whore and saw me over here with Cara, who’s the
exact opposite…
“This is a closed business meeting, Zach,” I jerk my shoulder to
get him off me. It works, but only because he obliges.
He grins at me, eyes almost closed under the weight of it. His
usually slicked back blonde hair is all out of shape, bangs flopping
around his face as though he isn’t the CEO of one of the country’s
leading tech companies.
He’s obviously had far too many. Just my luck. There’ll be no
reining him in now.
“Business? Yeah right,” he sniggers. “Olympia sent me over here
to come get you. It’s time for your close up.”
Olympia. That’s her name. I glance over his shoulder and see her
staring at us. She waves seductively, but I’m already bored
senseless. How could I possibly be satisfied with her after the juicy
offering that just landed in my lap?
“Why don’t you take her and go get started.” I’m giving him
every signal to leave us the fuck alone, but Zach isn’t even looking at
me.
Not surprisingly, he can’t tear his eyes from Cara. I can’t blame
him. She’s the hottest woman in this place, hands down. And she’s
not even trying. I think… maybe it’s because she isn’t trying that
makes her so hot.
“You shouldn’t trust this man.” Zach pokes me in the chest with
his stubby finger. “He spends all his time playing games with people,
which makes him the best at it.”
“And who’re you?” Cara gives him an incredulous glare. At least
she has sense enough to question a blazing drunk.
“He’s nobody.” I shove Zach back and step between them. “He’s
just messing with you.”
 “No, that’s what you’re doing,” Zach speaks up from behind me,
trying to force himself over my shoulder.
I give Cara my most winning smile while fending him off with one
arm. “You’re going to trust the guy who’s drunk in a strip club while
the sun is still out?”
“I don’t trust either of you,” she says, hugging her purse closer.
“But…”
Ah, there it is. When Zach crashed our little soiree I felt a little
nugget of doubt crawling into my mind. Cara is a sensitive creature
and who knows what could set her off and send her running? But
that little nugget is dissolving quickly now that I can see the look in
her eye. The one that tells me I still have her right where I want her.
“Don’t do it. He’s better at this than you are.” Zach refuses to
give it up. Asshole. I nudge him hard with my elbow, and he recoils
instantly, holding his ribs. “Ow, fuck off, Bear. That hurt.”
“Good. It was supposed to. Now, are you going to let me finish
up here, or what?” He may be plastered, but Zach knows the look
I’m giving him. What it means.
He laughs, shaking his head as he straightens back up.
“Everyone’s so goddamn thin-skinned today. You better fix that
attitude before you get back there.”
Cara shifts her weight from one foot to the other, deliberately
avoiding Zach’s gaze as he saunters by.
“Bear?” she asks, once she’s sure we’re alone again.
I wave it off. “Stupid nickname from back in the day when I
jerked around on Wall Street. But let’s not get sidetracked. You were
saying?”
“Blank check…?” she tilts her head, giving me what she thinks is
a no-nonsense stare.
And the way the stage lighting swirls around those pools of
crystal blue nearly knocks the air out of my lungs, it’s so captivating.
Jesus Christ, and she’s walking around with no fucking clue about
any of it. How did I get this lucky?
“Blank as a newborn baby’s rap sheet.” I go in with the closer–
the billion dollar smile that brings every woman to her knees.
 I’m not surprised when it works like the fucking charm it is, too.
Even in the low light, the soft pink blush that spreads across Cara’s
cheeks is unmistakable. The way she shyly dips her head? Textbook.
Biting the corner of her lower lip, another check mark for the win.
“Fine.” When she looks back up there’s no sign of the flustered
spiral I just flung her into. She’s all business, totally in control. Like
the pro she knows she’s not.
It gets me so hot I have to physically restrain myself from
throwing her over the back of the nearest chair and having my way
with her.
“Fine? So, it’s a deal then.” I extend my hand to her. All business.
Totally in control.
She doesn’t have to know that the second her hand touches
mine, it sends blood rushing to my crotch. All that matters now is
that the deal is done. She’ll find out what exactly she signed up for
soon enough.
 3

CARA

I ’m fifteen minutes into my shift and already so fucking over it.

A couple of days ago, Suave was just an exclusive club where I
was likely to run into influential billionaires who may have some
impact on my career. Now it’s the place where I have to hide in the
back kitchen because I’m afraid if I go out there and do my job, I’ll
run into the magnanimous Edward Spencer.
What a dick.
“Hey, Ford! The place is pumping and you’re sitting here chewing
your nails?” Cameron, my manager, scowls at me, hands on his hips.
I swear the only reason he has that stupid badge at all is
because he can’t cut it as a waiter. That would require basic gross
motor skills.
“Just taking a breather.” I smooth over my apron, continuing my
pep talk in my head while Cameron goes off.
“You wannabes are all the same… Think you can come in here to
pay the rent until you make it big, but half-ass the job and still want
a full night’s pay.” He takes out his docket and starts writing me up.
Fucker. He knows that every strike takes nearly a dollar from my
check, and it’s not like waiters are rolling in it to begin with.
“My mom’s been sick.” It’s out of my mouth before I knew I was
thinking it. I haven’t seen my mom in years, but he doesn’t need to
know that. He also doesn’t need to know that my imaginary mom’s
cancer just happened in my head a second ago. “Stage four…” I let
my voice trail off, nodding tragically.
And three, two… Yes! My eyes mist over on cue. The look on
Cameron’s face is priceless. It’s like he’s already forgotten that I’m
an actor first, waiter second. His shoulders droop, along with his
cheap ballpoint pen and he stows the docket back in his pants.
“Oh, geez, I’m so sorry, Cara. I didn’t know.” He advances toward
me, arms open like he’s coming in for a hug.
Every nerve ending in my skin shrieks in horror as I graciously
sidestep the gesture.
“That’s okay. It’s not like I’m broadcasting it. I’m a private
person, you know.” His eyes light up at this news. So creepy. But I
lean into it, because whatever points I can score with him the better.
“In fact, Cameron, you’re the only person I’ve told here. The only
one I trust with it. I hope that’s okay?”
Big, doe eyes with only a slight downturn of my lips. That should
do it. I blink, and it’s in the bag. Cameron smiles softly at me,
nodding his understanding.
“Of course it’s okay,” he says. “I’ll give you five more minutes
back here but then you’re going to have to get on the floor. Sorry,
but it’s policy.”
“I’m ready now.” I shove my pad and pencil in the front pocket of
my apron and start to make my way out. “I don’t want to take
advantage of your kindness.”
“You can take however many breaks you need,” he calls after me.
I’m practically out the kitchen, so he doesn’t see the grin on my
face as I push through the swing doors and into the club. Slam
dunk, dickhead. And it’s exactly this arrogance that gets punched
out of me when I walk slap bang into the last person on the planet I
need to see.
“It smiles. I never would’ve guessed.” Edward flashes his
signature smirk, blocking my path with the way he’s leaning against
the wall.
I try to push around him but, despite his tall, muscular build, his
reaction is lightning fast and he blocks me again.
 “Mr. Spencer, please, I’m working.” His gray eyes bore into mine
and it’s like I’m sucked in, held in place, with nothing more than the
way he looks at me.
He plucks the black tie I’m wearing from where it’s tucked into
my skirt and plays with it, tugging ever so lightly, making me close
the gap between us. Making me. Because of course I don’t want
that at all.
“Cute uniform,” he says, his eyes raking over the length of my
body. That alone sets me on fire and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. “I
think I’d like you better out of it.”
That wink again.
It’s infuriating, the way he thinks he can get whatever the hell he
wants with his money and charm and nothing else. More infuriating
still, that he’s having this effect on me. I know better, dammit.
“Too bad.” I snatch back my tie and fix what he’s ruined.
“Because you’ll never get to see it.”
He chuckles softly, and I’m drawn to the lined dimples that
appear. The way his smile crinkles his eyes. I’m a dreamer, but not
delusional. There’s no arguing that Edward is gorgeous. But another
thing I’m not, is a trophy for some billionaire to parade around for as
long as it takes the novelty to wear off.
He takes the knock in his stride, like a true playboy professional.
“You ready for the big audition tomorrow?”
“How do you know that?” I ask, aware that he’s no longer
keeping me in place. Also aware that I haven’t tried to back away
from him yet.
Edward shrugs innocently. “Live where I live, and you hear
things. News has a way of fluttering to the top, if you get my
meaning.”
I groan out loud. Because fuck this guy and his over-inflated ego.
The top? Meaning that people like me, the non-billionaires of the
world, are at the bottom. I mean, yeah, that’s kind of how it is. But
I’ve never heard one of them actually say it out loud. That they
actually go around thinking that…
“I’m ready to cash that check, if that’s what you’re asking.” My
retort amuses him, I can tell.
 But I’m not getting paid to entertain arrogant assholes, and this
time when I move to pass Edward, he lets me.
“I’d tell you to break a leg, but we both know you don’t need it,”
he says with a sarcastic laugh.
His pompous ass doesn’t deserve acknowledgement and I don’t
give it to him. Cameron’s been enough tonight already, I just want to
get through my shift so I can run my lines with Zoey one last time.
More than anything, I want to land this role just to stick it to
Edward. The money for the theater will only be a bonus.
Despite getting off to a rocky start, the rest of the night goes by
swiftly with nothing other than the usual drama. Men with money
are always too handsy, too demanding, and too privileged to give a
fuck about treating service staff with any kind of respect. But it’s
nothing I’m not used to and nothing I can’t handle.
What I’m most proud of is that I’ve managed to avoid Edward for
the rest of the night. I swear to God, that man thinks he’s the
answer to every woman’s question. What’s worse is that unlike with
the other loaded men in Suave, he’s the one I fumble. All of that
control and ‘nothing I can’t handle’ attitude goes out the window the
moment his eyes are on me.
This conundrum is swirling in my head as I’m heading back to off
load my tray of empty glasses when I hear a familiar voice. The one
that belongs to those stormy gray eyes I was just thinking about.
Edward is talking and laughing with two other men, one of whom I
recognize as his partner in crime at the strip club.
I sneak up to the dividing wall that’ll hide me from sight but
leave me within earshot. My serving tray still poised perfectly on top
of one hand, I press my back flat against the wall without so much
as a twinge of guilt.
“She’s in over her head. I tried to warn her.” That’s the blonde.
He’s not as drunk as the last time I saw him, but I’d know that
gravely voice anywhere.
“Maybe I should try talking to her.” That must be the other guy,
by process of elimination. “I mean, I fell prey to your propensity for
a good wager not too long ago. She’ll have to believe me.”
 Edward’s laughter rings out loud and clear. I’d never heard him
actually laugh before, but the way my stomach flips tells me it’s him.
Only he makes my body do things of its own accord.
“If I remember correctly,” Edward starts, the ghost of his laugh
still floating in his tone. “My wager is the reason you’re happily
married today. So…”
“That’s right,” blondie comes again. “Bear Spencer lll, handing
out fairytale endings left and right.”
They all break out in laughter again, and a pit settles in my
stomach now that I know I’m the topic of their amusement. And that
the blonde one had been right this whole time–that making bets
with people’s lives is something Edward does for entertainment.
Unfettered anger rises up the back of my neck. Elise’s face swims
into my mind’s eye - hers, and every one of the kids who depend on
the work we do at the theater. For so many of them, we are the only
beacon of hope in their lives. What kind of person would think it’s
funny to play around with that?
“A blank check, though?” the other guy asks, his voice filled with
uncertainty. “I know things are going well for Spencer Holdings, but
that could backfire on you fast.”
Edward scoffs loudly. “Nothing to worry about, Ethan. I have no
intention of handing over that check.”
My blood runs cold. I knew it. Well, I didn’t know it, not really.
But I should’ve known he was lying about the money. What a creep.
“What are you talking about?” blondie asks. “A deal’s a deal, and
you’re no flake. If that’s what you told her, then-”
“No, I mean that there’s no way she’s landing any role in the
movie,” Edward cuts him off. “Those were the terms, and I know for
a fact that Cara Ford won’t get so much as a janitor gig on set.”
The ice in my veins sets alight with a raging fire. Because fuck
him for underestimating me. For thinking that I didn’t stand a
chance on some dumbass movie when I’ve lived and breathed acting
for as long as I can remember.
And now that I know he’s planning on me bombing, I’m more
determined than ever to knock it out the park.
 By the time I walk into my audition the next morning, the fire has
subsided but only enough to be swirling lava. I’m depending on my
anger for Edward Spencer to propel me through what I hope to be
the audition of my lifetime. I use it to stoke up the emotions I’ll
need. I let it take over, blinding me as I push through the door when
they call my name.
“Reading for the lead?”
I blink at the panel in front of me. I’ve done this so many times
before, have stood in front of countless producers, directors, and
casting directors. I’ve got this. I was born for it.
“Cara?”
I hear my name being repeated, but it’s coming from somewhere
a hundred miles away. Another galaxy even. Because I’m no longer
in the small audition room anymore. I’m flung out into space without
a tether, not a star in sight. Nothing but blackness.
Blackness and Edward Spencer, grinning at me from behind the
panel.
 4

EDWARD

“C ara, are you okay?” I’m using my professional executive

producer voice, but inside I’m laughing my ass off.
Her face! It looks like she’s seen a ghost and been hit
by a bus at the same time. Exactly how I wanted it to happen. I
wasn’t planning for her to clean up so well, though.
She looks hotter than ever in a fitting white tank and denim cut-
offs. I was right about the rack I imagined under that jumper the
other day - she’s gifted in that area too. Her long blonde hair is
pulled up on top of her head, with just a few loose pieces framing
her soft features.
Tall, slender… Lithe is the word I’d use for it. Her legs go on for
fucking miles and I can just imagine what they’d feel like wrapped
around my waist…
She snaps out of her shock eventually and plasters the fakest
smile on her face. Ear to ear, like the good little actor that she is. I
can’t help but wonder if she’ll be faking her moans when I finally
sink my teeth into her.
No. That never happens with me. When I make her come it’s
going to be all too real.
“It says here you’re reading for the lead?” Miranda, the director
has a go.
Cara nods stiffly, her shoulders heaving with the size of the
inhale she takes. Holds it for a count, then slowly releases it.
 “Take your time,” Miranda helps her along, obviously used to the
onslaught of audition nerves we have to navigate through.
“I’m fine,” it comes out a little strangled and Cara clears her
throat and tries again. “I think I- think I had a bad bagel for
breakfast, that’s all.”
The others chuckle, playing right into her plan to defuse the
situation. But I’d rather not.
“As long as it isn’t nerves. So many auditions fail because would-
be actors can’t get a hold of their anxiety. So many good ones who
slip between the cracks.” Cara’s look of alarm is all the satisfaction I
need.
For now.
“Don’t listen to him,” Miranda chides, giving me a threatening
sideways glance. “I’ve been in this business long enough to see
through the nervousness. Just… give it your best try.”
Cara stares down at her pages, her lips moving along silently to
what she’s reading. Those lips. Full and luscious with a hint of pink
that has nothing to do with make-up - she doesn’t have a smudge
on her, in fact - but more a natural coloring.
It makes me want to bite them. Bite down and then run my
tongue along that same spot. Feel her breathy moan that’ll
undoubtedly float into my open mouth. The way her body will tense
up beneath me.
She takes another deep breath, looks up and opens her mouth to
begin.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I announce loudly.
Everyone, including Cara, glares at me. I cover my mouth with
my hand so they don’t see my smirk, signaling with the other for her
to continue as if I didn’t just ruin her start.
She steadies herself, and goes again. This time, I let her get
through the first sentence before I trip her up.
“Really? You’re going with that accent? Interesting…” It’s so hard
to keep from laughing at this point, but I manage. Maybe I should
try my hand at this whole acting thing.
“Would you, uh, like me to try something else?” she asks. Not
looking at me, but Miranda.
 The director shakes her head and shrugs. “He’s the EP,” she hikes
her thumb at me. “What did you have in mind, Ed?”
Ed. I cringe inwardly. God, I can’t stand it when they do that. My
father was never Ed a day in his life. He somehow found himself
surrounded with people who knew to give him the respect he
deserved. But me? I get Ed, Eddie, Edster…
“Well, the movie is set in the old west. So I’m thinking…
something southern.” I lean back in my chair, arms folded across my
chest. This is going to be good.
Cara gets right back into it without hesitation, slipping into a
velvety southern accent like a belle who was born and bred. Not
exactly what I had in mind.
“Deep south,” I call out.
And again, even though she’s mid-sentence, Cara switches it up
without missing a beat. Miranda’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly
impressed. The producer and casting director are also both enjoying
what Cara’s bringing to the table.
“But you’re supposed to be an alien,” is my next note. “Can we
hear some of that in there too? Really sell it.”
This one gives her pause and I bite back a smile. I’ve got her
now. The incredulity on her face is worthy of a thousand paintings.
Cara looks questioningly at Miranda for confirmation and
thankfully, my director knows where her movie’s funding is coming
from. She simply nods for Cara to continue. In an alien voice.
Finally flustered enough, Cara starts stumbling over her lines,
which is exactly where I wanted her. I get up, scraping my chair
unnecessarily so that it drowns her out.
“Here, I’ll help.” I grab a copy of the day’s pages and walk
around to where she’s standing. “People sometimes find that having
a partner to read with makes it easier to get into character.”
Cara’s cheeks are burning scarlet at this point, but she simply
says, “Okay.”
“You know what, Ed? I have an idea.” I bristle, hide it quickly,
and turn to Miranda, who goes on with, “Since the romance is a big
part of the lead, why don’t you and Cara take us through scene
seven?”
 She holds out two copies of the scene in question, and both Cara
and I stare without taking them, unmoving. I don’t know what Cara’s
hesitation is about, but I hadn’t exactly read the script for the movie
I’m funding. I just thought the title was hilarious.
Not a big deal, under any other circumstances. But if Cara
actually went ahead and got the lead, that would mean she’d be
getting hot and heavy with her co-star on set. Which is a way bigger
deal.
I haven’t had her yet. But I already know that I don’t want to
share her. Even if it’s pretend.
Cara moves first and takes her copy from Miranda, her eyes
hungrily scanning the script. I watch her closely, the way her lips
part slightly, the sharp intake of breath, fingers slightly trembling on
the page. So I already know before I look down, and when I see
‘They kiss’ printed in bold in the middle of the page, my heart makes
this little flip thing that I haven’t felt since… God… college?
Sierra Grace. She fucked me up something bad.
But I put on my best game face and get into it, sending Sierra to
the badlands with Savannah Benson.
“Ready?” I ask Cara, my voice low and intentional. I lick my lips
for added value.
Her eyes flicker down to my mouth and I’d be lying if I say I
don’t enjoy the way her eyes widen slightly. I glance down and
notice her quickening pulse thundering rapidly under the thin, tender
flesh on her neck. What I wouldn’t give to have my head on her
chest so I can hear it close up.
“I’m not who you think I am, Alistair,” she gazes into my eyes.
It takes me a second to realize that look isn’t for me - the deep
southern accent and slight alien squeak giving it away. I clutch the
script, mad that I’m shaking, to read what I have to say.
When I look back at her, the longing that meets me nearly sends
me for a loop and I draw a complete blank. Checking my lines again,
I chastise myself silently and get back into it.
“I know exactly who you are, Tallulah.” I wrap one arm around
her waist and pull her roughly into me. This is how I regain the
upper hand. Keep her guessing. Keep catching her off guard. She
gasps, not expecting the sudden move, her hands pressed flat to my
chest. “My body knows your body,” I growl.
I lower my head, bringing my mouth within a hair’s breadth of
hers. Her nervous panting on my lips drives me nuts. The warmth
from her body radiates into me, awakening something I haven’t felt
in so long, I almost forget we’re acting.
Almost.
“My body wants your body,” I whisper, brushing her lips with
mine.
She sucks in a breath and the hands on my chest become fists as
she takes hold of my shirt, clinging to me. It feels like my brain is
glitching, unable to discern what is real and what isn’t. There’s no
questioning the growing hard-on, but the electric jolt down my
spine, the warmth that spreads from my gut all the way up to my
chest… It’s confusing.
Is she acting or reacting to me? Is her body going through the
same torment as mine?
I falter, pausing with my mouth against her parted lips. Unsure
for the first time in my life about what comes next. Where did Cara
Ford come from, and who the hell does she think she is to play with
me this way? I’m supposed to be the game master.
My confusion lasts long enough for Cara to make a decision.
She’s determined as fuck to save her stupid theater, because her
tongue comes out and flicks my upper lip.
“Oh, Alistair,” she murmurs.
Then, taking my face in both her hands, she pulls me in for a
dizzying kiss. Fuck me, the taste of her. No bad breakfast bagel,
that’s for sure. All I get is sweet citrus and a tongue I could never
get tired of sucking.
“That’s great, thanks,” Miranda clears her throat loudly.
I’m not the only one out of breath when Cara and I break apart.
I look over at her, standing like a marine on duty, actively avoiding
my gaze as she keeps her attention trained on the panel in front of
us. All eyes are on her, in fact, and I’m glad for it.
I need a second to regain my composure. To get back to acting
like all of this has been part of my grand plan and that I’m no way
blown away by this woman.
“Your work is impressive, to say the least.” Miranda looks to her
left and gets agreeing nods from the producer and casting director.
“We’d like to have you back for a chemistry read once we decide on
our male lead. Keep your phone on.”
“Thank you. That’s… I’ll do that,” Cara says. But her smile is still
fake.
Weird. I would’ve thought she’d be ecstatic about getting
through to another round. After all, it’s one step closer to saving her
theater.
I bail on the rest of the auditions to catch up with her as she’s
leaving the building. Racing down the hallway, I have no idea what
I’ll say once I get to her, but that doesn’t make me slow down even
a little.
“Cara!”
She whirls round on me like she’d been waiting for it, her eyes
blazing with a fury that stops me dead. I know I should be taking
this seriously, but goddamn she’s so hot when she’s mad. Cute, too.
“Fuck you, Edward! Fuck you and your fucked up games, and
your fucking blank check.” The anger that’s raging through her
springs into her eyes and mists them over. Something akin to guilt
spikes in my gut but I know it’s not that. I don’t feel things like that.
“Name the time and place, Sweetheart.” I tower over her, holding
her in place with my unwavering glare. Instead of scaring me off,
her rage makes me want her even more. “I’d be more than happy to
have you fuck me.”
A sound spills from her lips that I can’t quite pin. Something
between a whimper and a laugh. A shadow passes over her features
but like the talent she is, Cara tucks it away before it can take hold.
“I don’t want any of it,” she says, steady as a sunset, cool as a
fucking cucumber in an ice bath. “I don’t want to be in this movie,
and I especially don’t want anything to do with you.”
“What about The Princess Pauper?” My failsafe. I’ve had it in my
back pocket for just this scenario. And just like I knew it would, it
blindsides Cara into shutting up and listening for a change. “Yeah, I
thought so. All those kids with their dreams pinned on you. Do you
think you’ll be able to live with yourself if you walk away from this?”
She’s fuming, I can tell, nostrils flaring with the anger she’s
keeping at bay for the time being. But in all of that, I can also tell
that my words have given her food for thought. It’s never been
about the theater for Cara, and I knew that going into this. I knew
that if it ever came down to it, all I had to do was tug on her fragile
little heartstrings and it would snap her back in line.
And like a master puppeteer presenting his magnum opus on
stage, she obeys.
“You’re the scum of the earth, Edward Spencer.” She’s not yelling
anymore, but the rage is still tightly packed in her tone. “Don’t think
you own me because I’m playing along with your little game.”
“Own you? I would never,” I raise my hands innocently, palms up
so she can tell what a stand up honest guy I am. Honest to hell and
back, as the fates would have it.
She shakes her head, gracing me with one last look of disdain
before she turns to leave.
“Oh, and by the way…” She stops walking away from me, but
doesn’t turn around. That’s okay, though. My imagination fills in the
scowl she’s likely wearing, and I continue. “There’s a mixer
happening Friday night. If you want this role, you’ll be there.”
Cara hikes her purse higher on her shoulder and carries on
walking. In her mind she’s making a stand. She’s obliging me but
only insofar as it benefits her. What she doesn’t know is that
everything she’s doing is exactly what I want.
Let the games begin.
 5

CARA

“J erk is putting it lightly, and asshole is a compliment.” I

toss another dress on the floor with the growing pile of
discarded outfits. “What Edward Spencer is, is an
arrogant, egotistical, self-serving-”
“Super dreamy… You can’t forget dreamy.”
I turn around to find Alex batting her lashes at me. She and Zoey
are sprawled on my bed, heads resting in their hands as they offer
no help at all while I try to find something to wear to this stupid
Hollywood mixer.
“And billionaire,” Zoey adds. “We can’t forget that part either.”
They descend in a fit of laughter, probably spurred on by the
unimpressed look on my face more than anything.
“Good, go ahead. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Another dress
makes it onto the floor and I try to ignore the fact that my ‘no’ pile is
beginning to resemble a ‘no’ mountain.
For a struggling actor working three jobs just to keep my head
above water, I’ve accumulated a lot of clothes. And yet, the world to
choose from and not a thing to wear…
“Lighten up, Cara,” Alex says in her dry Louisiana drawl. “Do you
know how many women would kill to be in Edward Spencer lll’s
crosshairs?”
I lock her with a deadpan stare. It’s times like this when she
gives away her age. Bright-eyed and naive at a mere twenty years
old, she sees no wrong in the world and believes all her dreams are
going to come true. I don’t have the heart to break it to her, but it
doesn’t matter how good she gets with that acoustic guitar she
wields like a broken-hearted weapon… Record deals these days
belong to nepo babies. Bottom line. She’ll be lucky to retire playing
her intimate little gigs in hole-in-the-wall bars.
Unless…
My hand freezes over the blue silk dress I wore to the opening of
one of our plays a couple of years ago. Because up until a week ago
I was sure that I’d fade away into anonymity with nothing to my
credit except a string of Chinese make-up ads and that one direct-to-
DVD slasher flick I did when I first got to LA. Girl number two in the
diner. My face was on screen for all of three seconds, and I’ve never
felt happier in my life.
I unhook the dress from the rack and hold it up against me,
turning back to face them. As much as I loathe him, Edward has
given me the shot of a lifetime. And as much as Aliens Out West
sucks all kinds of balls, it’s the kind of movie that I can use to launch
me into bigger and better projects.
So maybe it isn’t all that bad to keep believing that dreams come
true.
“She’s the one.” Zoey’s face lights up and Alex proceeds with
slow, dramatic applause.
“And with those strappy silver pumps,” Alex says, giving a chef’s
kiss. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
She and Zoey share a look. They’ve obviously heard the full
breakdown of my audition, and although at the time they were really
sympathetic about it, I knew the backlash would come. The way
they’re biting back their laughter tells me that time is now.
“Correction: the alien belle of the ball,” Zoey snorts with laughter,
Alex following close behind.
“You guys are the worst.” I take down my hair and consider my
reflection in the full-length mirror on the inside of my closet door.
Turning this way and that, I decide the search is over. Blue is my
color, after all. No sense in messing with what works. I bite my
bottom lip as another thought sneaks into my mind, and I quickly
turn my back on my roommates who can both read me like an open
book.
It’s a thought about Edward, and how he’d probably like what
I’ve picked out. The way it makes my eyes pop. And that I’ve
decided to wear my hair down for a change.
Ugh, I’m pathetic. I just gave Zoey and Alex an unending list of
what’s wrong with him, and yet I can’t help myself. There’s
something about him that draws me in. Some kind of magnetism
that I haven’t felt in anyone else.
And that kiss… thank God he thought it was all an act, because
I’m sure he’ll have a field day if he knows how much of me was in it.

M y acting skills come in handy as I mill around Miranda’s swanky

mansion in the hills, looking like I totally belong here. Like this is
how all my Friday nights go, in fact–rubbing elbows with Hollywood’s
elite, seeming as though I’ve crawled from the pages of Vogue. Not
my description, but the words Alex used when she finished my
make-up and Zoey gave my hair a final spritz of holding spray.
“Champagne?” A serving tray filled with crystal flute glasses gets
shoved in my face.
I grab one and I’m still muttering my thanks when the waiter
moves on to his next unsuspecting victim. The bubbles go down like
little pin pricks of courage, warming me up from the inside out. A
few more rounds and I’ll be relaxed enough to join in the fun.
“You know the point of tonight is to talk yourself up, right?”
Edward’s billboard smile is the first thing that catches my eye when I
turn around.
“There are easily three hundred people here,” I say, motioning to
the room at large. “How is it that you pick me out and I’ve only been
here for five minutes?”
“Fifteen. I saw you come in.” He winks at me.
A simple gesture. People wink at people every day, all around the
world. That’s why it’s very strange to me that upon this particular
wink, my knees decide to turn to jelly.
I do an inward scramble to get a grip, and fast. “So you were
watching the door?”
He cuts a striking figure in a navy pinstriped suit and gray shirt–
to match his eyes, of course. The first few buttons are open to show
everyone what a chilled out, fun character he is. I know better. But I
don’t miss the beginning sprayings of chest hair peeking out at me
and instantly want to know, more than anything else, what it would
feel like to run my fingers through it.
Shit.
Fuck.
Goddamn this man.
Edward chuckles and gives a nonchalant kind of shrug.
“Company here isn’t the greatest. Let’s just say I was looking out for
potential.”
And he chose me. Because he thinks I’m potential? A sprawling
warmth creeps up my neck and spreads onto my cheeks.
“And as has been proven,” he adds, “-you’re so much fun to fuck
around with.”
Just like that, my bubble bursts. Not that I should’ve expected
anything different from him. Edward was just a straight up schmuck.
No dress, or make-up, or hairdo was going to change that. And why
would I want it to?
I promised myself when I got on that bus almost seven years
ago that I wasn’t going to quit until I made it. I wasn’t going to let
anything or anyone sidetrack me from my acting career. If it was
worth leaving behind the first boy I ever loved, and then going on to
be chronically single for so many years, it was worth ignoring
whatever curiosities Edward Spencer awakened in me.
I want to act more than I want to know what it would feel like to
have his hands all over me. What he sounds like when caught up in
the throes of-
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before,” he lifts
his glass in salute, his eyes gleaming with his self-satisfied smile. “I
think I like you best when you’re like this.”
 “You’re an ass.” I clink my glass against his with as much
sarcasm as I can muster. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He’s a lot of things, but a mind-reader isn’t one of them, and I
thank my lucky stars for that. If he only knew…
I can feel his eyes on me as I mosey through the throng of
people, none of whom I recognize. But I smile when it seems fitting,
and throw a nod of acknowledgement here and there to make it look
like I’m totally fine.
I’m not. I wish I could be anywhere but here.
“It’s Cara, right?” the casting director asks. She appeared out of
nowhere and has a half-eaten shrimp canape in her hand.
“Cara Ford, yeah, hi!” I’m not sure if I’m supposed to shake
hands or not, or if these people even touch other people in passing.
It leads to a rather awkward almost-but-not-quite of a greeting
that nearly sends me into a full-on panic attack. Eventually, the
casting director gives up and waves my hand away.
“Fuck it,” she says. “I’d hug you but I wouldn’t want anyone to
think I’m playing favorites.”
“Favorites?” a little spark of hope flickers to life in my gut.
She leans in closer, glancing around to make sure we didn’t have
anyone eavesdropping. “I like your look, and I like what you brought
to Tallulah.”
“Yeah, she really fucked up that start, though. Am I right?”
Edward’s laugh grates my insides.
“Ed. You made it.” She doesn’t even try to sound pleased. I like
her more already. “A rocky start, but Cara pulled it back. Miranda’s
on the same page.”
He nods sincerely, finger to his chin like a modern depiction of
the Thinking Man. All bullshit, of course, He’s being patronizing.
“How are the kids?” he asks. I do a double take, because what?
“Enjoying their new private school, I hope.”
The casting director’s expression drops and she stands back. And
I get insight into what’s going on. The movie isn’t the only thing
Edward’s thrown money at. It makes sense, with his need for control
and all. He’d want to make sure he has a final say in everything, and
the best way to do that is to buy it.
 “They’re happy, thanks for asking, Edward.” It pains her to say it
but she does it with a smile. “I have to go. Great work, Cara. Best of
luck.”
“Was it something I said?” Edward asks, utterly amused.
I can’t take it anymore. I wish I could wipe that stupid smile from
his face. “You’re so pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
“Oh, come on, she doesn’t need your pity. Trust me.” He makes
to leave but I’m smaller, so a lot faster, and block his path.
“She’s not the one I’m pitying, Edward.” He narrows his eyes at
me, his smile faltering for a split second before springing back to its
default infuriating position. “You play with people as if the only
reason they exist is to entertain you. How empty and vapid do you
have to be to get off on that?”
“Really fucking empty,” he responds without missing a beat. “But
it doesn’t get me off.” His eyes grow cold and a storm starts brewing
in them. The chill runs up my arms in a rush of goosebumps and he
steps in close to me, sending my battling emotions into overdrive.
“I’m more than happy to give you a demonstration of the thing that
does, though.”
His voice is a thick, arousing rasp in my ear, hot breath making
the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. And breathing? My
body goes ahead and forgets how to do it completely. All I have is
his intoxicating, woody scent seeping into my pores and a deafening
heartbeat hammering in my ears. There’s no escape.
And if I have to be honest with myself, even if my feet
remembered what they were good for, I wasn’t so sure they’d move
away from him. Not with his face this close to mine. Not when all it
would take to taste his lips again is for me to tilt my chin, lean in…
In a sea of nameless faces who don’t care about anything other
than themselves, it would be so easy to get away with it. To do the
thing I most wanted without anyone noticing.
So I tilt my chin. Edward’s head snaps back a fraction of an inch,
surprised by the move but not scared off. So I lean in…
“There you are!”
I shrink from Edward like I’ve been zapped with a taser,
schooling my features to greet Miranda with the biggest smile. “Here
I am,” I say with a nervous laugh.
She’s not alone either, which definitely helps to make the
situation a whole lot more of exactly what I was hoping for.
“This is Andy,” she practically puts my hand in his. “He’s got
some exciting stuff in the works that I think you’ll want to know
about.”
“Miranda can’t shut up about you.” Andy rolls his eyes playfully,
and takes back his hand. “I agreed to meet you so that she’ll
hopefully change the topic.”
He laughs, Miranda laughs, Edward glowers at them both.
 6

EDWARD

“I s this it?” Doug, my contractor, scratches his head

dubiously. “It’s a piece of shit.”
I meet him on the sidewalk, hands in my pockets, as I
stare at the community theater Cara’s so hellbent on saving. He’s not
wrong. It’s a piece of shit, alright.
“Won’t be for long,” I pat him on the shoulder and motion for him
to follow me in. He waves over his guys, too, and we all troop
forward like men on a mission.
A shithole in a shithole part of town. No wonder the place is on
its last legs. I’m surprised it made it into the twenty-first century at
all.
“Location, location, location,” Doug says, circling on the spot in
the spacious entrance hall. “This ain’t it, Eddie.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself to overlook the
annoying bastardization of my name yet again.
“It will be after we’re through with it. I’ll have my people vet the
renters personally–only high end stores in the mall.” I hold up my
hands like a movie camera to help him envision it.
But Doug only shakes his head. “High end? Nobody in this area
can afford that.”
“Then low end,” I snap at him. “And we’ll throw in a low-end
arcade and a low-end cinema to rake it in. What I’m saying is this…”
I go over to him and throw my arm across his shoulders. “...Let’s not
get caught up in the weeds when a majestic rain forest is waiting to
be discovered.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles, and I push him away,
no longer interested in sharing any kind of space with him. What a
waste of a perfect analogy.
“Look, take your guys around and do your damn inspection,” I
sigh. “I’ll be inside.”
Doug nods, puts two fingers in his mouth, and lets off an ear-
piercing whistle. His guys come to attention like trained attack dogs.
If they had them, their pointy ears would be pricked, tails wagging
as they await their next instruction.
I leave them to it and amble on through to the theater, hoping to
find the person I’m here to piss off. If I play my cards right, we’ll be
smack dab in the middle of our usual banter when Doug and his
men come in. She’ll ask me what the hell is going on, and I’ll have a
front row seat to her face when I break the news.
I stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside me. Because who am I
kidding? I always play my cards right and man, I can’t wait to see
Cara’s face.
“You’re not allowed to be in here.” Her arms are folded tightly
across her chest and she’s eyeing me like some bum who crawled in
off the street.
Behind her, there’s a bunch of kids on stage doing vocal warm-
ups with some chick with braids. Hot chick with braids. I feel her
gaze burning into the side of my face and I turn my attention back
to Cara.
“Funny, the agent said potential buyers were welcome to drop by
during hours.” First shot. I land it perfectly.
Cara’s mouth drops open. It takes her a second to gather herself
and she snaps it back shut again. “What do you mean? You’re not a
buyer.”
My response is an extended shrug as I move slowly past her,
scoping out my surroundings. The Oscar is in the bag the way I’m
selling my part. And I know I’m selling it because Cara’s hurrying
after me, chomping at the bit for more details.
 “Edward, answer me. Are you buying the theater? I thought we
had a deal. Auditions are still in progress. You can’t just go back on-”
“You’re rambling,” I cut her off, pausing my fake perusal of the
auditorium. “I don’t find it attractive at all.”
Her expression pinches into an incredulous frown. “Right. And
that’s all I’m here for, I keep forgetting. I exist to be pleasing to you
and nothing else.”
“You’re finally getting it.” I tap my temple with a finger, throwing
in a smile that I know will just send her through the roof.
“Cut the shit and tell me what you’re really doing here, or get
out,” she points to the doors I just walked through.
There it is. There’s my girl.
I hook my finger around hers and give it a slight tug, pulling her
into me. The voices on the stage hush down–the audience has
become the show. Cara tries to free herself from my grip but I
tighten my hold and snake my other arm around her waist for extra
measure. Unfortunately for her, I rather enjoy a little limelight.
“I’m here to finish what you started at the mixer the other night.”
I look down at her lips, slowly, so she’s guaranteed to see it, then
meet her eyes again.
Her pupils nearly crowd out the baby blue of her eyes the way
they’re blown open. I knew it. She’s just as into this dance of ours as
I am.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cara pushes against my
chest with both her hands.
She’s a wimp, though, and the only thing she achieves is more
friction. Which, she quickly realizes, has one rather telling outcome.
“How’s that for a reminder?” I slide my hand a little lower on her
back, pressing her hips into me. Into my growing hard-on. “Does
that jog your memory at all?”
She sucks in a breath, her slightly parted lips practically begging
me to take them with my own. With all my mastery in restraint, it
takes everything not to do just that. Not yet. There’s still a way I
have to push her before that happens, and it’ll be no fun if I don’t.
“Edward, let go of me,” Cara demands through gritted teeth.
“They’re kids, for Christ’s sake.”
 A bitter laugh pushes out of me. “Half of these kids had to walk
by people shooting up on the sidewalk just to get here today. The
other half? They go home to watch their parents use each other as
punching bags. If they have parents, that is. You can’t save them all,
Cara.”
The tension in her body dissipates and I feel Cara soften in my
arms. But it’s not surrender, no. Not by the look in her eyes as she
searches mine. It’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
“You’re a heartless bastard,” she says, a tone of awe in her voice
as though she’s just discovered the thing that makes time tick by.
“You may be right,” I lean in even closer, my breath sending
wisps of her hair fluttering as I speak. “But even so, you still want
me. And you hate that, don’t you? Because if I’m this vile,
despicable specimen of a man, then what does that make you?”
I release her with a sudden push that sends her stumbling a few
steps back, her face an open expression of shock-horror, cheeks
burning red. That’s how I know I’m right.
But just as my victory comes into sight, something unexpected
happens. I’ve played my cards perfectly with Cara from start to
finish. I’ve primed her and prepped her for my final takedown, like
with all the others. And just as I’m ready to make my move-
Cara laughs derisively. “You’re something else, Edward. I’ll give
you that.”
All of a sudden, the limelight I was enjoying before becomes an
annoyance. It’s like I can feel them all gaping at us from the stage.
Confusion renders me useless for a moment, but it’s not long before
I find some kind of footing.
“I know. That’s how I got the cover of GQ,” I snap back.
She shakes her head with another laugh, and her displaced
amusement causes me to do another double take. I’m more
intrigued than ever.
“I’m not doing this with you,” Cara says then, making her way
out of the auditorium.
I give the stage one last glance before hurrying after her. “Might
I remind you that a deal’s a deal…”
 She makes a sharp left turn through the doors and ascends a
dark, narrow stairway. She knows I’m following and keeps going,
which means she’s deliberately leading me away from everyone.
Taking me somewhere private. Something twists in my gut but I
fight it back. She’s way too furious with me to be going there right
now.
Speaking to me over her shoulder, she says, “The deal became
null and void the second you walked in here to buy the place.”
Moving quickly, we reach the top of the stairs at the same time.
Cara pushes me into the small room there and whirls around, arms
folded tightly across her chest as she glares at me.
The lighting room is about a third of the size of my closet, with a
rectangular cutout on the far wall where the spotlight rig is placed.
Dingy and dark, everything from the equipment to the furniture
looks like it hasn’t been replaced since the early 1900s.
I pick up a dust-covered lamp that has seen better days and let it
fall to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. “I don’t get why you’re so
hellbent on saving this dump.”
“You wouldn’t,” she says. “Because you haven’t had to fight for
anything in your perfect little privileged life. You can’t know what
this place - this dump - means to people.”
I chuckle softly to myself. The room we’re in is nowhere near big
enough to contain the self-righteousness radiating off this woman.
“You think you’re better than me,” I lock eyes with her and slowly
cross the floor to close the distance between us. She doesn’t move.
“But you and I are more similar than you think, and that scares you.”
Hesitation. A flicker of something behind her big blue eyes. She’s
trying to figure it out but of course, Little Miss Perfect could never…
“You’re wrong,” she finally manages to say.
But I don’t miss the way her eyes dart to my mouth before
finding my gaze again.
I shake my head slowly. “No, Cara, I’m not. If I were wrong, your
body wouldn’t tense up when I do this.” My fingers come up to
lightly brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. A
touch that lingers a little longer than it should. “And your heart
wouldn’t start to race when I lean in.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 The abdomen is full of oil, and is much prized as a delicacy by the
natives, who tell many strange legends about the creature, but the
philosopher may well find its structure more strange than fiction,
and the consideration of its morphology an intellectual feast.
The appearance of the thorax and of the thoracic limbs is
thoroughly Pagurid; the structure of the abdomen is highly peculiar.
From the ventral surface (Fig. 119) we can see at the tip of the tail
three small calcified plates, which represent the fifth and sixth terga
and the telson. Attached to the sixth segment are the much reduced
and rudimentary pleopods of that segment, and on the left hand side
of the body in the female are three well-developed pleopods of the
first, second, and third segments, which are used for carrying the
eggs. The extraordinary asymmetry of these limbs compared with the
complete symmetry of the abdomen itself is only explicable on the
hypothesis that these animals are descended from Hermit-crabs
which had lost the pleopods on the right side.
 Fig. 119.—Birgus latro, ♀, × ⅙, ventral view. Ab, First pleopod; T,
last pereiopod.

These appendages are entirely absent in the male. The ventral

surface of the abdomen is curiously warty and rugose, and is very
soft and pulpy owing to the immense store of oil which it contains.
If we look at the dorsal surface of the abdomen we find that, unlike
that of the Hermit-crabs, it is completely protected by a number of
hard plates (Fig. 120, B). Beneath the carapace can be seen a number
of small plates belonging to the last thoracic segment; following
these there are four large plates (1–4) representing the terga of the
first four abdominal segments; the fifth, sixth, and the telson are, as
has been stated, carried on the under side of the abdomen, but they
are represented diagrammatically (5, 6, T) in the dorsal view. Besides
the large terga, there are a number of small plates laterally, usually
 two to each segment, but they
show a tendency to subdivide and
increase in the largest specimens.
This condition of affairs is very
different to that in the naked
fleshy abdomen of an ordinary
Pagurid, but it can easily be
deduced from that of the genus
Cenobita, ordinary Hermit-crabs
found in the Indo-Pacific Oceans,
from which the Robber-crab has
evidently descended. In Cenobita
Fig. 120.—Dorsal view of abdomen, A, (Fig. 120, A) we see the same
of Cenobita, sp.; B, of Birgus latro. T, system of plates upon the dorsal
Telson; 1–6, 1st–6th abdominal surface of the abdomen, but they
segments.
are much smaller, and the lateral
plates are not so numerous;
indeed, the greater part of the abdomen remains fleshy and
uncalcified. The under surface of the abdomen shows the same
rugosity as is found in Birgus, and from a number of other
anatomical characters it is evident that the Robber-crab is a highly
modified Cenobita that has deserted its shell and developed a
symmetrical abdomen protected by expanded and hardened plates
which represent those found in a reduced condition in Cenobita. The
species of Cenobita although they inhabit shells and have normal
branchiae, live on the shore, and have not been seen to descend
actually into the sea.
The Lithodidae, which are found in temperate seas, especially on
the Northern Pacific coasts (though Lithodes maia occurs in the
North Sea, and certain species inhabit deep water in the Indian
Ocean), have a deceptively Brachyuran appearance, the thorax being
much shortened and the abdomen being much reduced and carried
tightly flexed on to the ventral surface of the thorax. They live a free,
unprotected existence, and are highly calcified. They are, however,
certainly Pagurids, as is evidenced by a number of anatomical
characters, but most clearly by the asymmetry of the abdomen,
especially in the female, which is not only markedly asymmetrical in
the arrangement of its dorsal plates (Fig. 121), but also in the
presence of three pleopods upon the left side only, as in Birgus. The
male is without these appendages, and the sixth pair of pleopods is
absent in both sexes. The remarkable calcified plates upon the
abdomen bear a superficial resemblance to those in Birgus, but their
evolution is traced, not from a Cenobite, but from an Eupagurine
stock.[144]

Fig. 121.—Lithodes maia, ♀, in ventral view, × ¼. The abdomen is

flexed on the thorax, so that its dorsal surface is seen. l.3, Lateral
plates of third abdominal segment; l.5, left lateral plate of fifth
abdominal segment; m, marginal plate; T, brush-like last
pereiopod; Te.6, telson and sixth abdominal segment.

In some of the Eupagurinae, e.g. Pylopagurus, feebly calcified

plates are present upon the segments of the abdomen (Fig. 122, A).
In the most primitive of the Lithodidae we witness the reduction
(Fig. 122, B) and disappearance (C) of these original plates, their
place being taken first by a number of irregularly situated small
spines and warts, which, however, subsequently fuse up to form
definite segmental plates. In Lithodes maia, ♂ (D), there are a series
of lateral and marginal plates, while in Acantholithus (E) a number
of median plates appear, presumably by the fusion of the small
spines present in the median line in Lithodes maia; finally, a fusion
of the marginal and lateral plates may take place, so that each
abdominal segment is covered by a median and two paired lateral
plates.

Fig. 122.—Diagrams of abdomen: A, of Pylopagurus, sp.; B, of

Hapalogaster cavicauda; C, of Dermaturus hispidus; D, of
Lithodes maia, ♂; E, of Acantholithus hystrix. c, Central plates; l,
lateral plates; m, marginal plates; T, telson; 1–6, 1st–6th
abdominal segments. (After Bouvier.)

It is to be noted that the males and females of the various species

do not follow a parallel course of development, the plates in the male
being symmetrical, while those of the female are often highly
asymmetrical (compare Figs. 122, D, and 121), thus giving the
strongest evidence of a Pagurid ancestry.
 Birgus and the Lithodidae, then, are Pagurids which have given up
living in shells, and have become adapted to a free existence,
protecting their soft parts by the development of hard plates, and re-
acquiring, to a greater or less degree, a secondary symmetry of form.
But the story of Pagurid evolution does not apparently stop here. The
genus Paralomis, from the West Coast of America, superficially
resembles Porcellana, and is held to be descended from such forms
as Pylocheles, while isolated species are known (though not well
known), such as Tylaspis, described in the Challenger Reports,[145]
which appear to be Pagurids that have deserted their shells.
 Fig. 123.—Four stages in the development of Eupagurus
longicarpus or E. annulipes, × 20. A, Ventral view of Zoaea; B,
lateral view of Metazoaea; C, dorsal view of Glaucothoe; D, dorsal
view of adolescent stage. Ab.6, 6th abdominal appendage; Mxp.1,
Mxp.3, 1st and 3rd maxillipedes. (After M. T. Thompson.)

The metamorphosis of the Hermit-crabs has recently been studied

by M. T. Thompson.[146]
The Zoaea (Fig. 123, A) differs from that of the Galatheidea mainly
in the absence of the long spines. It possesses the usual appendages
characteristic of the Zoaea, namely, the first and second antennae,
mandibles, first and second maxillae, and two pairs of biramous
swimming maxillipedes and small third maxillipedes. In the
Metazoaea (B), as in the Anomura generally, the third maxillipedes
develop into biramous swimming organs, a thing they never do in the
Brachyura, and the rudiments of the thoracic segments put in a first
appearance. The abdominal segments are already fully formed in the
Zoaea stage, so that here as in all other Zoaeas, the order of
development from in front backwards is disturbed by the precocious
differentiation of the abdominal segments. The next stage is the
“Glaucothoe” (Fig. 123, C), which corresponds to the Megalopa of
Brachyura (Fig. 125, p. 183). It differs from the adult Hermit-crab in
the perfect symmetry of its body, the segmented abdomen, and the
presence of five pairs of normal biramous pleopods. At this stage,
which lasts four or five days, it resembles closely a little Galatheid.
The asymmetry of the adult (Fig. 123, D) is now imposed upon this
larva by the migration of the liver, gonads, and green glands into the
abdomen, and by the shifting of the posterior lobes of the liver on to
the left side of the intestine, which is displaced dorsally and to the
right. The gonad lies entirely on the left side. The pleopods of the
right side now degenerate, more completely in the male than in the
female, and this degeneration is not completed until the little crab
has found a shell and lived in it for some time. If a shell is withheld
from it, the degeneration of the pleopods is much retarded, so that
although the Hermit-crab assumes its asymmetry without the
stimulus of the spiral shell, yet this stimulus is necessary for the
normal completion of the later stages.
Fam. 1. Pylochelidae.—The abdomen is macrurous and
symmetrical, with all the limbs present. Pylocheles (Fig. 118, p. 173).
Fam. 2. Paguridae.—The abdomen is asymmetrical, with some
of the limbs lost. The antennal scale is well developed, and the
flagella of the first antennae end in a filament.
Sub-Fam. 1. Eupagurinae.—The third maxillipedes are wide
apart at the base, and the right chelipedes are much larger than the
left. Parapagurus from deep-sea, Eupagurus from temperate,
especially north temperate seas. Pylopagurus.
Sub-Fam. 2. Pagurinae.—The third maxillipedes are
approximated at the base; the chelipedes are equal or subequal, or
the left is much larger. Chiefly in the warm and tropical seas, but
Clibanarius and Diogenes also in the Mediterranean.
 Fam. 3. Cenobitidae.—The abdomen is as in Paguridae. The
antennal scale is reduced, the flagella of the first antennae end
bluntly. The members of this family are characteristic of tropical
beaches, where they live on the land. Cenobita, with about six
species, in the West Indies and Indo-Pacific, living in Mollusc shells;
Birgus (Fig. 119) on Indo-Pacific coral islands.
Fam. 4. Lithodidae.—The abdomen is bent under the thorax,
and the body is crab-like and calcified. The rostrum is spiniform, and
the sixth abdominal appendages are lost.
Sub-Fam. 1. Hapalogasterinae.—Abdomen not fully calcified,
and without complicated plates. Hapalogaster and Dermaturus in
the North Pacific littoral.
Sub-Fam. 2. Lithodinae.—Abdomen fully calcified, with a
complicated arrangement of plates. Lithodes (Fig. 121) practically
universal distribution, littoral and deep sea. Acantholithus, deep
littoral of Japan; Paralomis, west coast of America. This last genus
should probably be placed in a separate family.

Sub-Order 3. Brachyura.[147]

The abdomen is much reduced, especially in the male, and is

carried completely flexed on to the ventral face of the thorax so as to
be invisible from the dorsal surface. The pleopods in the male are
only present on the two anterior segments, and are highly modified
as copulatory organs; the pleopods in the female are four in number
and are used simply for carrying the eggs; the pleopods of the sixth
pair are always absent in both sexes. The first antennae and the
stalked eyes can be retracted into special pits excavated in the
carapace.
 Fig. 124.—A, Zoaea, × 24, and B, Metazoaea, × 13, of Corystes
cassivelaunus. Ab, 3rd abdominal segment; An, 1st antenna; E,
eye; G, gills; M, 1st maxillipede; T.8, last thoracic appendage.
(After Gurney.)

The larva hatches out as a Zoaea[148] (Fig. 124, A) very similar to

that of the Anomura; it is furnished with an anterior and posterior
spine on the carapace. It is characteristic of the Brachyuran Zoaea
that the third maxillipede is fashioned from the beginning in its
definitive expanded form, and is never a biramous swimming organ
as in the Anomura. The only exception to this rule is found in the
Dromiacea, the most primitive of the Brachyura, to be soon
considered, in which not only the third maxillipede, but also the first
pair of pereiopods may be developed as biramous oars, a condition
taking one back to the Mysis stage of the Macrura. The Metazoaea
(Fig. 124, B) has the rudiments of the thoracic limbs developed and
crowded together at the back of
the carapace; they are all laid
down in their definitive forms,
and the abdomen has the
pleopods precociously developed.
These Zoaeal stages are of course
pelagic, but the Metazoaea next
passes into the Megalopa stage
(Fig. 125), in which the little crab
forsakes its pelagic life and
assumes the ground-habits of the
adult; the Megalopa, which
corresponds exactly to the
Glaucothoe of the Pagurids,
resembles a small Galathea or
Porcellana, the abdomen being
still large and unflexed and
furnished with normal pleopods.
From this stage the adult
structure is soon achieved,
though, owing to the continued
growth of the Crustacea even
after maturity is reached, there is
often a slight progressive change
in structure, especially in the
male, at each successive moult of
the individual. The Megalopa of
Corystes cassivelaunus is Fig.
the
125.—Later stage (Megalopa) in
development of Corystes
peculiar in the immense cassivelaunus, × 10. A, Antenna; Ab,
production of the second 3rd abdominal segment; C, great chela;
antennae, which act as a T.8, last thoracic appendage. (After
respiratory tube (Fig. 125). Gurney.)
The Brachyura must be
considered under the following subdivisions:—

Tribe 1. Dromiacea.
 All authorities are agreed that these[149] are the most primitive of
the Brachyura. In them the abdomen is much less reduced in both
sexes than in other Brachyura; there is a common orbitoantennary
fossa, into which eyes and antennae are withdrawn, instead of a
separate one on each side for each organ; the carapace is often much
elongated as in the Macrura and Anomura, and a number of other
anatomical characters might be mentioned which characterise the
Dromiacea as intermediate between the true Brachyura and the
lower forms. There are, however, two views as to the relationship of
the Dromiacea; Claus held that they proceeded from a Galatheid
stock, and hence that the development of the Brachyura ran through
an Anomurous strain; but Huxley, and latterly Bouvier,[150] adopt the
view that the Dromiacea are descended, not from the Galatheidae,
but direct from the Macrura, and especially from the Nephropsidea.
Special resemblances are found between the Jurassic Nephropsidae
and certain present day Dromiacea, e.g. Homolodromia paradoxa,
the detailed form of the carapace in the two cases being very similar.
It is, however, a little strange that in the Dromiacea we meet with the
same reduction and dorsal position of the last, or last two pairs of
thoracic limbs which we saw to be such a characteristic feature of the
Anomura, especially of the Galatheidae. In the Dromiacea these
limbs may be chelate, and they are used for attaching shells and
other bodies temporarily to the back. Must we suppose that this
resemblance to the Anomura is due to convergence, or that the
Nephropsidae, which gave rise to perhaps both Galatheidae and
Dromiacea, had this character, and that it has been subsequently lost
in the Macruran stock? We have already mentioned that the
Metazoaea of Dromia has not only a well-developed swimming third
maxillipede, but also a biramous first pereiopod, a character which
speaks strongly for Macruran affinities.
Fam. 1. Dromiidae.—The eyes and antennules are retractile into
orbits. The last two pairs of thoracic limbs are small, and held
dorsally. The sixth pair of pleopods are rudimentary or absent.
Homolodromia from West Indies, deep-sea. Dromia, widely
dispersed. D. vulgaris (Fig. 126) occurs on the English coasts.
Fam. 2. Dynomenidae.—Similar to the preceding family, but
only the last pair of thoracic limbs is small, and held dorsally. The
 sixth pair of pleopods are
reduced, but always present.
Dynomene in the Indo-Pacific.
Fam. 3. Homolidae.—The
eyes and antennules are not
retractile into orbits. Only the last
pair of thoracic limbs are
reduced, the sixth pair of
pleopods altogether absent.
Fig. 126.—Dromia vulgaris, × 1. (After Homola and Latreillia, widely
Milne Edwards and Bouvier.) distributed, occur in the
Mediterranean. Latreillopsis
[151]
from the Pacific. L. petterdi, a magnificent species, with the
carapace nearly a foot long, and with very long legs like a Spider-
crab, has been dredged from 800 fathoms east of Sydney, New South
Wales.

Tribe 2. Oxystomata.

This group comprises Crabs whose carapace is more or less

circular, while the mouth, instead of being square as in the
remaining Brachyura, is triangular with the apex pointing forward,
and the third maxillipedes are not expanded into the flattened, lid-
like structures found in other Crabs. There is the same tendency in
some of the genera for the posterior thoracic limbs to be reduced and
carried dorsally, as in the Galatheidae and Dromiacea. The well-
known Dorippe from the Mediterranean has this feature, and
frequently carries an empty shell upon its back, and Cymonomus[152]
presents the same peculiarity.
 Fig. 127.—Cymonomus granulatus, × 1. A.1, A.2, 1st and 2nd
antennae; E, eye-stalk; S, extra-orbital spine of carapace. (After
Lankester.)

Cymonomus granulatus (Fig. 127) is an abyssal form that has

been dredged from the Mediterranean and North Atlantic, in which
the eye-stalks are curiously tuberculated, and the ommatidia of the
eye are entirely unpigmented and degenerate, though a few corneal
facets are still recognisable. This species is replaced by C. quadratus
in the Caribbean Sea and by C. normani on the East African coast, in
which the alteration of the eye-stalks into thorny, beak-like
projections becomes progressively marked, and all traces even of the
corneal facets disappear. This remarkable genus was mentioned in
the excursus on Crustacean eyes on p. 149.
The Oxystomata, like the Cyclometopa, to be considered later, live
in sandy and gravelly regions, and burrow to a greater or less extent,
and we find in both groups admirable adaptations for securing a pure
stream of water, uncontaminated by particles of sand, for flushing
the gills. Perhaps the most remarkable of these adaptations is
afforded by Calappa.[153] This animal has the chelipedes wonderfully
modified in structure, and when it is reposing in the sand it holds
 them apposed to the front of the
carapace, as shown in Fig. 128, so
that the spines upon their edges,
together with the hairy margin of
the carapace, form a most
efficient filter for straining off
sand and grit from the stream of
water which is sucked down
between the closely-fitting
Fig. 128.—Calappa granulata, from in
front, × ½. C, Hand of chelipede; T, chelipedes and carapace, to enter
walking legs. (After Garstang.) the branchial chambers at their
sides. The exhaled current of
water passes out anteriorly
through a tube formed by a prolongation of the endopodites of the
first maxillipedes. The exhalant aperture is shown in Fig. 128 by the
two black cavities below the snout in the middle line.
A similar method is pursued by the related Matuta banksii[153]
(Fig. 129), a swimming and fossorial Crab found in the Indo-Pacific.
In this Crab the chelipedes also fit against the carapace to form a
strainer, and their function is assisted by the enlargement of the
posterior spine, which acts as a kind of elbow-rest to keep the
chelipedes properly in position. The inhalant openings are situated
just in front of the chelipedes. It is a most remarkable fact that
among the Cyclometopa, Lupa hastata (Fig. 131) has an exactly
similar arrangement. Apparently we have here another instance of
convergence, similar to that of Corystes and Albunea, but the case is
complicated by the fact that some of the Oxystomata, and among
them Matuta, show a certain amount of relationship to the
Cyclometopous Portunids, so that it is just conceivable that the
resemblances in the respiratory arrangement are due to a common
descent and not to convergence.
 Fig. 129.—Dorsal view of Matuta banksii, × 1. (From an original
drawing prepared for Professor Weldon.)

In the Leucosiidae, of which the Mediterranean Ilia nucleus (Fig.

130) is an example, the inhalant aperture is situated between the
orbits, and leads into gutters excavated in the “pterygostomial
plates” flanking the mouth, which are furnished with filtering hairs
and are converted into closed canals by expansions of the exopodites
of the third maxillipedes. Thus these Crabs possess a filtering
apparatus independent of the chelipedes and of the margin of the
carapace.
Fam. 1. Calappidae.—Cephalothorax rounded and crab-like.
The abdomen is hidden under the thorax, the antennae are small,
and the legs normal in position. The afferent openings to the gill-
chambers lie in front of the chelipedes. Male openings on coxae of
last pair of legs. Calappa (Fig. 128) circumtropical, and extending
into the warmer temperate seas. Matuta (Fig. 129) from the Indo-
Pacific.
Fam. 2. Leucosiidae.—Similar to the above, but the afferent
openings to the gill-chambers lie at the bases of the third
 maxillipedes. Male openings on
the sternum. This family contains
a great number of forms, with
headquarters in the tropical
littoral, but extending into the
temperate seas. Ilia in the
European seas. I. nucleus (Fig.
130) common in the
Mediterranean. Ebalia in the
Atlantic, North Sea, and Indo-
Pacific. Leucosia in Indo-Pacific.
Fam. 3. Dorippidae.—
Cephalothorax short and square.
The abdomen is not hidden under
the thorax; the antennae are
Fig. 130.—Dorsal view of Ilia nucleus, × large, and the last two pairs of
1. (From an original drawing prepared legs are held dorsally, and have
for Professor Weldon.) terminal hooked claws. Dorippe,
littoral in Mediterranean and
Indo-Pacific. Cymonomus (Fig.
127) from deep-sea of Atlantic and Mediterranean.
Fam. 4. Raninidae.—Similar to Dorippidae, but the
cephalothorax is elongated, and the legs usually have the last two
joints very broad. Several genera, chiefly in the deeper littoral zone.
Ranina dentata in the Indo-Pacific.

Tribe 3. Cyclometopa.

In these Crabs the carapace is circular rather than square; its

frontal and lateral margins are produced into spines and there is no
pointed rostrum. The mouth is square, and the third maxillipedes are
greatly flattened and form a lid-like expansion over the other oral
appendages. This group includes the common Shore-crab of our
coasts (Carcinus maenas), the swimming Crabs with expanded
pereiopods (Portunus, Lupa, etc.), the Edible Crab (Cancer
pagurus), and many others.
 Corystes cassivelaunus is a Crab of doubtful affinities. It is
sometimes placed among the Oxyrhyncha, but, as Gurney[154] has
pointed out, the Megalopa shows Portunid characters, and the
resemblance to the Oxystomata in the front of the carapace and in
the mouth may be secondary. The respiratory arrangement of this
Crab has already been mentioned in comparing its structure with
that of the Mole-crab Albunea. The form of the antennal tube can be
gathered from the figure of the Megalopa stage (Fig. 125, p. 183). It
should be noted that when the Crab is buried in the sand with only
the tip of the antennal tube projecting, the water is sucked down and
enters the branchial cavities anteriorly, the antennal tube being
continued by a tube formed from the third maxillipedes and the
forehead; the water is exhaled at the sides of the branchial cavities
beneath the branchiostegites. Thus in Corystes the normal direction
of the current is reversed, but when the Crab is not buried, and is
moving over the surface, it breathes in the usual manner, taking in
the water at the sides of the branchiostegites and exhaling it
anteriorly by the tube. The related Atelecyclus, found like Corystes
very commonly at Plymouth, uses two methods of breathing: when it
is in the surface-layers of sand it makes use of its antennal tube,
which is, however, much shorter than in Corystes; but when it
burrows deeper, where the antennal tube is no use, it folds its
chelipedes and also its other legs, which are densely covered with
bristles, so as to form a reservoir of pure water underneath it free
from sand, which it passes through the gill-chambers in the usual
manner (see Garstang, loc. cit. p. 186).
The respiratory adaptations in Lupa hastata and their
convergence towards those of the Oxystomatous Matuta have been
already touched upon (pp. 186, 187).
In this connexion must be mentioned the interesting experiments
of W. F. R. Weldon[155] upon the respiratory functions of Carcinus
maenas at Plymouth, since these were the first noteworthy
observations directed towards the exact measurement of the action
of natural selection upon any animal, a field of observation in which
Weldon will always be looked upon as a pioneer. An extended series
of measurements by Weldon and Thompson on male specimens of
Carcinus maenas of various sizes between the years 1893 and 1898
showed a steady decrease in the ratio of carapace breadth to length;
the Crabs appeared to be becoming steadily narrower across the
frontal margin, and the same thing, though not to the same extent,
was happening in female Crabs. Weldon supposed that this change
might be correlated with the silting up of Plymouth Sound and the
consequent fouling of the water. To test this hypothesis he kept a
very large number of male Crabs in water to which fine porcelain clay
was added and kept in continual motion. In the course of the
experiments the survivors and the dead were measured, and it was
found that the mean carapace breadth of the survivors was less than
that of those that succumbed. The experiment was repeated with the
fine sand that is deposited and left at low water upon the stones on
Plymouth beach, and the same result was observed. It was also
noticed that the individuals which died had their gills clogged with
the sand, while those that survived had not. As a further
confirmation, a great many young male Crabs were isolated and kept
in pure filtered water, and they were measured before and after
moulting; these measurements, when compared with measurements
of the frontal breadth in Crabs of the same size taken at random
upon the beach, were found to show a greater breadth than the wild
Crabs, thus indicating that a selection of narrow Crabs was taking
place in Nature which did not take place when the Crabs were
protected from the effects of fine sand in the water.
The whole chain of evidence goes to show that the carapace
breadth in Carcinus maenas in Plymouth Sound is being influenced
by the rapid change of conditions occurring in the locality. Various
objections have been urged against this conclusion, but, though they
merit further investigation, they do not appear very weighty.
The fresh-water Crab, Thelphusa fluviatilis, common in the South
of Europe and on the North coast of Africa, belongs to the
Cyclometopa, and is interesting from its direct mode of development
without metamorphosis.
Fam. 1. Corystidae.—The orbits are formed, but, unlike all the
other families of the Cyclometopa, are incomplete. The body is
elongate and oval, and the rostrum and front edge of the mouth
rather as in the Oxyrhyncha, in which Tribe they are sometimes
included. Corystes, with a few species in European seas. C.
cassivelaunus at Plymouth.
 Fam. 2. Atelecyclidae.—Perhaps related to the foregoing. The
carapace is sub-circular, and the rostrum short and toothed.
Atelecyclus, European seas.
Fam. 3. Cancridae.—The carapace is broadly oval or hexagonal,
and the flagella of the second antennae are short and not hairy as in
the foregoing. The first antennae fold lengthwise. Carcinus maenas
on English and North European coasts. This crab has become
naturalised in some unexplained manner in Port Phillip, Melbourne.
Cancer in North Atlantic, North Pacific, and along the west coast of
America into the Antarctic regions. C. pagurus is the British Edible
Crab.
Fam. 4. Portunidae.—The
legs are flattened and adapted for
swimming. The first antennae
fold back transversely. Portunus,
Atlantic and Mediterranean.
Neptunus, Indo-Pacific.
Callinectes, C. sapidus, the edible
blue Crab of the Atlantic coasts of
America. Lupa (Fig. 131).
Fam. 5. Xanthidae.—The
first antennae fold transversely,
but the legs are not adapted for Fig. 131.—Dorsal view of Lupa hastata,
swimming; the body is usually × 1. (From an original drawing
transversely oval. This family is prepared for Professor Weldon.)
especially characteristic of the
tropical littoral, where it is very
widely represented. Xantho, Actaea, Chlorodius, Pilumnus, Eriphia,
with E. spinifrons, common in the Mediterranean.
Fam. 6. Thelphusidae (Potamonidae).—Fresh-water crabs,
with the branchial region very much swollen. Thelphusa (or
Potamon) has nearly a hundred species distributed from North
Australia, through Asia, Japan, the Mediterranean region, and
throughout Africa. Potamocarcinus in tropical America.

Tribe 4. Oxyrhyncha.