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Seaside Pictures Series

From New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Rachel Van Dyken comes the Seaside Pictures Series.

Welcome to Seaside Oregon, where star sightings are as common as Malibu. It’s Hollywood’s biggest known secret, the place where rockstars and actors alike go to get away from it all, only now that filming has started on what’s said to be the newest blockbuster hit, it’s getting harder and harder to get some privacy.

Age Rating: 18+

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.


Seaside Pictures Series by Rachel Van Dyken is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.



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Book One: Capture

Losing your ability to speak at the age of seventeen; it’s not normal or fair., but trauma, has a way of throwing normality out the window. Dani lives anything but a normal life. Her sister is married to one of the biggest names in Hollywood. Her best friends are rockstar duo AD2 and she has more love around her than most people experience in a lifetime but that doesn't change the fact their parents are dead or that it's her fault.

It seems her new normal is being a mute. That is until Hollywood’s newest heartthrob Lincoln Greene hires her as his assistant. He's gorgeous, unavailable, and unobtainable. But that doesn't stop her from wondering…if things were different…would he want her?


The elevator jolted to a stop. With sweaty fingers, I pounded the button to the penthouse floor.

A groaning noise filtered in from somewhere outside the elevator.

I gripped the side railing, then slowly sunk down until I was on my haunches, breathing in and out and telling myself it wasn't a big deal. Elevators stall all the time, right?

They'd laugh.

I'd pretend to laugh.

And we'd forget about it.

Or they'd forget about it, and I'd have nightmares later that night about being stuck in an elevator while it plummeted twelve stories.

Two minutes went by, maybe three, and the elevator still wasn't moving.

Please let there be no weightlessness.

Logically, I knew I was fine. Knew I would be fine.

But logic had taken a long vacation from my brain — and had yet to return ever since my parents' death a year ago.

Because logic was that thing that kept me sane, the voice in the back of my head that said, “Hey, it's fine.

Logic would have asked about the odds that I got in a car accident? Furthermore, what were the odds that I'd be the only survivor? Apparently, my odds were pretty damn high.

Just like I'd done with every other paranoia I had.

Anaphylactic shock via bee sting? Forty percent.

Getting trampled by a hippo? Higher than getting eaten by a shark. Yeah, let's just say I'm not going to be going on an African safari anytime soon, no matter what my sister's husband thought.

And that was another thing. What were the odds, out of all the people for my straight-laced sister to marry, she'd fall for action hero Jamie Jaymeson?

Yeah, you couldn't Google that crap.

Not that it would matter.

The odds of that were next to one in a billion.

So it made sense that my parents were dead, right?

I mean logically?

I hated logic.

I shivered as the elevator made another weird warning alarm. The lights were still on, so at least we hadn't lost power — yet.

Another jolt, like the elevator was caught on something, and then it moved fast, too fast for my comfort, nearly sending me toppling forward into the doors.

It made a dinging noise, then stopped at the top floor.

With a strangled cry, I leapt mindlessly from the elevator.

And made contact with warm, muscled flesh.

The doors closed swiftly behind me, the air tickling the back of my bare legs.

But, of course, the words died on my lips.

Because in a world full of odds, mathematics, calculations, and logic, I'd just managed to accost Hollywood's newest heartthrob.

Lincoln Greene.

Smoldering gray eyes, wild reddish-brown hair that reminded me of that Outlander guy, and a body that you could sharpen knives with, all matched together making the perfect male specimen.

And… I was still clinging.

With jerky movements, I released my hands and tucked my long blonde hair behind my ears.

He towered over me.

I took another cautious step back. At this rate, I was going to end up back on the elevator from hell.

His smile was wide, friendly, totally unaffected by my clammy fingers and trembling body. “Dani, right? Your sister's been looking for you.”

Ha, so she sent a movie god after me?

Thanks, Pris. Really. It's not like I've been having trouble having complete conversations with a shrink or even our mailman. You had to send him?

My tongue felt thick in my mouth as I managed a weak whimper and a nod. His attractiveness had nothing to do with my inability to speak. It was me. I was at fault.

Speaking meant attention, attention meant people would ask me about my feelings, ask why I didn't smile, or why I looked tired all the time.

Pris had sent me to so many shrinks I was starting to feel like nobody could help. It wasn't normal for a girl at seventeen to suddenly stop talking.

But I had.

A woman walked up behind him and wrapped a possessive arm around his chest. “Oh good, baby, you found her!”

My eyes honed in on a perfectly sculpted, model-thin Barbie doll with bright blonde hair and hypnotic green eyes. Red nails tapped against her chin as she tilted her head in mock amusement.

I might not talk, but I wasn't stupid. She was staking her claim.

If I did talk, I would have told her not to waste her energy or whatever tiny brain power she had left.

I wasn't a threat.

Maybe a year ago I would have been.

“Does it speak?” She giggled.

Lincoln continued to stare at me. “Why don't you give us a minute, Jo-Jo?”

What the heck kind of name was Jo-Jo? And why did I suddenly want potatoes?

With ranch.

Jo-Jo huffed out a breath that made her hair scatter around her face before she pounded the elevator button, sashayed in, blew him a kiss, and disappeared.

Maybe we'd all get lucky and that would be the time the elevator really would plummet.

I inwardly winced. When had I become such a bitch?

“So…” Lincoln's voice jarred my attention away from the elevator doors.

Slowly, I met his gaze, my eyes blinking slow enough to take in his gorgeous smile.

It was one of those smiles that showed both rows of teeth — a smile that by all intents and purposes should have actually looked frightening but was endearing instead, like his whole face lit up with that one simple gesture.

He was happy.

And immediately I was stabbed in the chest with jealousy because he had what I had somehow lost.

And had never been able to get back. No matter how hard I tried.

I didn't speak. He probably thought I was a freak. But embarrassment had gone out the window long ago when it came to my speech.

The words formed; I could feel them rolling around my tongue, but it was impossible to blurt them out. An invisible wall kept me from saying hi.

I blinked twice.

“Why don't I walk you back into the suite? Since this involves me too?”

Curiosity piqued, I frowned and walked with him to the door. He didn't knock, simply let himself in.

I followed.

We'd been in Portland for the weekend while Pris and Jaymeson did publicity over the second movie in his latest blockbuster series — one that also starred my sister.

It was as if Christmas had thrown up on them and missed me completely. Jaymeson had helped Pris get over our parents' death.

And he'd tried to help me.

Along with Demetri and Alec, the rock duo of AD2. Honestly, if there was any hope of me coming out of this, my money was on Demetri saying something ridiculously out of line and me responding.

They were also in Portland shooting the music video that went along with the theme song for the movie.

“Dannae Garcia!” Pris charged toward me, her hands on her hips. She looked like my mom so much it hurt.

Pain washed over me brand new as I braced myself against the granite counter and hung my head.

“I was worried sick about you! You said you were going to go for a walk four hours ago!”

I winced then offered a shrug.

“Dani…” She licked her lips and touched her softly rounded stomach. ”… you have a phone. Use it.”

Guilty, I reached for my phone and quickly typed in a message.

Sorry? I'll buy you ice cream and try really hard to find a real live unicorn for my new niece.

I added a smiley with a halo for good measure.

With a laugh, she lifted her head. “Yeah? Well you better.”

Jaymeson sauntered out of one of the back rooms, his cell pressed against his ear as he made sweeping gestures with his hands. “Just get it done!”

What's that about?

Pris eyed Lincoln, who I'd conveniently ignored but hadn't forgotten about. “Directing your own movie is harder than he originally thought.”

Lincoln snorted.

Pris smirked as Jaymeson made his way over to me slowly, then picked up speed.

I backed up, holding my hands in surrender and shaking my head violently as a no built up in my chest.

He said he'd charge me like a bull until I was man enough to yell stop.

And since I still wasn't speaking…


I laughed as he lifted me into the air and twirled me around. At least I still had that, my laugh.

“How's my favorite sister-in-law?” Jay set me back onto my feet.

I licked my lips and shrugged, then held up my finger and typed out a message to him.

He was already reaching for his phone before anything had been sent.

Getting in trouble. Pris is going to be a great mom, has that mom look down scary good.

The emoji that followed was a picture of Pris doing the exact face I'd been talking about.

Jaymeson burst out laughing. I'd always loved his sense of humor, and his slight British accent paired with his newly shaved hair just made him look too attractive for his own good.

“She gives it to me all the time.” He winked then nodded once toward Lincoln. “You tell her yet?”

My skin started tingling.

“No chance,” Lincoln said smoothly as he crossed his large arms and leaned against the wall. “Not with Pris scolding and you attacking.”

Jaymeson rubbed his hands together. “Oh good, because I want to see her face.”

I itched to ask what they were talking about.

“Dani, meet your new job.”

I felt my eyes go wide as Lincoln took a step forward. “I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Lincoln Greene, and Jaymeson offered me your services during filming.”

I shook my head a few times. Services?

“Words,” Jaymeson challenged.

Jerking away from him, I typed vigorously on my phone, making sure that the smiley I sent also had a middle-finger salute.


“See, that's just it.” Jaymeson shrugged. “You can't hole up in the house forever, especially since Pris and I are going to be on set so much. It's not healthy.

“You finished your GED, and you refuse to do anything but work out, watch Bravo, cook, and stare at the ocean like it's going to eat you. Therefore, I got you a job.”

I threw my hands into the air and typed.

I don't need a damn job!

“Oooo.” Jaymeson showed his phone to Lincoln, “You're going to love her colorful language.

“She also has an affinity for every emoji on the planet, though none of them make sense with whatever she types. She just likes sending them. Her number should already be in your phone.

I stomped my foot to gain Jaymeson's attention.

He didn't look.

I stomped again.

Then texted.

Six a.m.? Are you out of your freaking mind?

“Never drops the F-bomb though.” Jaymeson showed Lincoln my next text. “Pastor's daughter and all that.” He hesitated, then seemed compelled to add, “You'll know when she wants to say it though.

I groaned.

“So, I think this is going to go really well.” Jaymeson let out a breath and eyed Pris. “Don't you, love?”

She grinned. “If they don't kill each other first.”

I raised my hand.

Jaymeson's eyebrows rose as I quickly fired off another text.

Do I not get a vote?

“Nope.” He was smiling, but it was one of those smiles that was laced with concern… pity.

I hated them.

“But if it makes you feel better, neither does Lincoln.

I can't do laundry!

“She can do laundry, right?” Lincoln asked.

“Could have operated her own dry cleaners in another life.” Jaymeson nodded encouragingly.

“Great.” Lincoln looked relieved. “And she can keep her cool on set?”

Dude. Last time you were talking to NFL star Wes Michels I passed out, into the pool — needed to be revived.

I added a doctor sign.

“Ah…” Jaymeson waved in my direction. “She's used to being around celebrities. Hell, she puts up with me. She'll be fine on set.”

Lincoln rubbed his hands together. “Well, great!”

No. Not great! Not great at all!

“I'll just text you later then.”

I stared down at the counter, trying to figure out how to actually maneuver time, space, and matter so that I could jump into the small crevices and make myself one with the granite.

“Dani?” Jaymeson repeated.

My head jerked up.

“Lincoln was talking to you, not me.”

My mouth dropped open. I managed a tight nod in Lincoln's direction, then held up my phone as if to say, “Yeah, text me.

I must have looked convincing because that devastating smile was back, and then he was gone.

“This will be good for you,” Pris whispered in my ear, giving my body a tight squeeze. “Promise.”

That's what she had said about cheerleading.

And look how that had ended?

Our parents' death — all because I'd wanted to compete.


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She had to be the most awkward person I'd ever encountered in my entire life. Granted, I was only twenty-two, had hardly lived, but I was Hollywood through and through.

I knew weird.

I was surrounded by it on a daily basis.

And that girl? It wasn't the fact that she didn't talk because she was nervous or just didn't give a flying rat's ass about me — I could get past that. It was the simple oddity that she wanted to.

But chose not to.

And because I was running on two hours sleep, I'd spent the past few minutes fantasizing what her voice would sound like.

Jo-Jo was waiting for me in the lobby when I jumped off the elevator.

“There you are!” she screeched loudly, enough so that my ears rang a bit while my skin crawled like I was having an allergic reaction to something. “Where have you been?”

Unlike Dani, Jo-Jo talked. A lot. And her voice? Well, the only way I could relate the sound her lips emitted was to think of the nearest butcher knifing a pig.

She laughed.

Maybe two pigs.

Another laugh.

Or five.

Why was she here again?

“So…” Her nails dug into my forearm. ”… my agent says we just need a few pictures to circulate. Then I'll be out of your hair, baby.”

Oh, and she called everything and everyone baby.

It wasn't cute.

Or endearing.

Or even slightly funny.

It was irritating, like her voice, and there I was again wondering about Dani. The girl with bright eyes and soft lips.

The girl who was mute.

“I hate the ocean, fish, crowds of people, and coffee shops that try too hard to be local and quaint.” I was getting jerked toward the door, and why the hell was she listing things she hated?

“Oh…” Another tug on my arm as my arm hair rebelled and pulled back as if repelled by her touch. ”… and I hate any restaurant that claims to be organic yet still cooks with non-organic oils.”

I was going to speak — would have, but she just kept talking.

“And I think it would be extremely off-putting for us to take a few pictures at the mall. I mean, what about the poor people?”

Because poor people had no need for food or clothing? Where else did she think they bought and paid for their daily needs?

“Listen…” I pried myself free. ”… I think I forgot something back in Jaymeson's room. Why don't you text me where you want to go, and I'll meet you there.”

She began to pout again, her Botoxed lips pressing together in one giant, swollen blur.

“Besides…” I coughed into my hand. ”… my truck still has all my shit in it so—”

“Truck?” She spat the word loud enough for the bellhop's head to turn in our direction.

His eyebrows rose and he took a few steps back, out of the line of fire. Smart man.

“You drive a truck?”

“Yes.” I nodded slowly.

Jo-Jo held up her hand. “You know what?

“I think I will meet you, later today, maybe tomorrow even, I have a really busy schedule over the next few days, and since you'll be shooting some of your first scenes on Friday…” She kept walking backward, shoving her large Prada sunglasses onto her face.

I waited until she disappeared, then nodded to the valet.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in my truck.

Not an old jalopy junker.

But a brand new, fully loaded Ford with enough bells and whistles that I actually preferred sleeping in it over my trailer.

“Will that be all, sir?” the valet asked.

“Yup.” I handed him a twenty and got in the truck but didn't take off because I saw a flash of blonde hair.

Dani was walking out of the hotel lobby. Her white Converses were clean — too clean — giving off the idea that she didn't do anything outside.

Her skinny jeans were ripped at the knees — not in a fashionable way, but almost like she'd taken scissors in an attempt to make shorts, then decided against it.

Shoulders slumped, her black T-shirt hung loosely against her body. Did the girl eat? Did she do anything at all? And why the hell was it suddenly bothering me that she looked too skinny?

That black circles marred the skin beneath her eyes.

I didn't obsess over women.

Because women surrounded me. Constantly.

If I wanted one, all I needed to do was speak up and take my pick — it wasn't arrogance speaking, just a simple fact of life — which is why I stayed blessedly single and kept any relationship I had on a twenty-four-hour basis.

Fun was shared, and then the shared fun ended. Both sides satisfied. Story over.

I frowned and looked at my watch. It was nearing six at night. Technically she wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow, but my schedule had just freed up.

I quickly sent off a text.

How good are you with packing?

Dani reached for her phone and stared at it, then texted back.

Who is this?
Your new boss. Look left.

She glanced up.

I waved.

Slowly, she walked over to my running truck, her eyes on the tires rather than my face as she methodically typed a message.

Hmm, I was told never to get into a car with strangers.

I burst out laughing. “Thank God you have a sense of humor.”

My phone buzzed. I looked down.

I wasn't kidding.

I slumped forward just as a smile teased her lips, transforming her face from sad to triumphant.

“Alright…” I laughed softly. ”… get in. Promise I won't bite, nor will I tell.”

My text alert went off as she climbed into the passenger seat.


I tossed the phone into the cup holder and waited for her to buckle her seat belt before I answered. “That you have a really pretty smile.”

Her high cheekbones flushed with color as she quickly averted her gaze.

“What?” I pulled out of the hotel and into downtown traffic. “No text?”

When we were at the stop light, my phone buzzed.

Don't text and drive, asshole. Stop reading! The light's green!

Naturally, the light had turned green. I cursed and dropped the phone, then stole a glance at her. “You're going to be a handful, aren't you?”

She shrugged innocently.

“I'm onto you, you know.”

She didn't answer. I didn't expect her to, but the yearning was still there. Maybe because she was a challenge. And God knew I hadn't had one of those in forever.

“Just because you aren't talking doesn't mean your brain isn't firing on all cylinders. I'm sure you have some killer conversations with yourself, and, lucky for you, I'm an expert at body language.

She froze.

“I made you smile,” I announced with a cocky grin. “Which means, today? I win.”

The drive to the small apartment I was renting downtown was silent and awkward. I'd expected awkward.

“Do you like music?” I blurted, turning up the volume.

She shook her head no.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel as nervous energy swirled around me. Silence wasn't something I was used to. Who didn't like music?

I must have said that aloud because she shrugged.

Something about my driving was making her anxious — either that, or my one-sided conversation skills needed work.

Every time I looked at her, she had her hands clenched in her lap, draining all the blood from her fingers.

“So…” I gripped the steering wheel with my fingers, sweat from my palms made a sliding sound across the leather. I needed some sort of noise to keep me from going insane. ”… you like Jaymeson?”

A nod.

“Right.” I hissed out a breath of air between my teeth just as I pulled up to a spot on the street and turned off the truck.

Dani's seatbelt nearly smacked her in the eye as she hurriedly hit the buckle and jumped out of the truck as if it was on fire.

And I was left wondering if it was my truck, the company, or both.

“Can't say I've ever had that kind of reaction before,” I whispered under my breath.

My phone buzzed.

I'm mute, not deaf, you idiot, and I don't like trucks.

“Why?” I frowned looking up from my phone.

Hand shaking, she typed fast and started walking away from me toward the apartment building.

Because that's what hit my parents' car the night they died. A truck. It was red.

“Shit.” I glanced back at my cherry red truck, feeling like an ass for making her ride in it. But it wasn't like I'd known. Damn it, Jaymeson! He should have sent the girl with a manual or something!

I jogged after Dani and opened the door to the building lobby. She walked through, her eyes void of emotion.

So, clearly she wasn't impressed that we were in one of the nicest apartment complexes in Portland.

Then again, she was probably used to it.

The opulence.

She was Jaymeson's sister–in-law. The guy on his way to owning Hollywood.

We rode the elevator in silence.

We walked down the hall… in silence.

I opened my door — yup, you guessed it — in silence.

The silence was going to kill me.

Thank God I'd left the sound system on. We walked in on the newest Ne-Yo release.

I tossed my keys onto the table and nearly swallowed my tongue whole as Dani started tapping her foot, and then moving her hips to the left, right, and back again. It was cute as hell.

“So?” I cleared my throat.

She stopped dancing.

“You hate music, huh?”

Blushing, she lowered her head and lifted one shoulder.

“Only certain types of music?”

A head nod.

“Shit,” I muttered, running a hand through my shaggy hair. “We have to do something about this talking.

“I'm not one of those guys who likes silence, probably why Jaymeson thought this would be a good idea.

“Hell, I'm a heckler, I hate libraries, and if I have to sit and listen to myself swallow — or breathe for that matter — for five more minutes, I'm going to lose my shit.

I reached for my phone.

Like this?

I glanced up as she grunted out loud, making a noise that sounded a hell of a lot like some farmer after he inspected a cow and deemed it worthy to butcher.

“You're a shit grunter. Tell me you can at least sigh? Or moan?”

She flushed.

“Ah, so which one is it? Or both?”

You'll never know, Hollywood.

“Ha.” I barked out a laugh at the random unicorn emoji that accompanied the text. “Fine, I'm turning up the music since apparently Ne-Yo is good, but for some reason Wiz-Khalifa is out.”

Her rosy cheeks went pale.

I wracked my brain then cursed aloud. “It was the new song, wasn't it?”

Don't worry about it.

“But…” I leaned against the counter. ”… you see, that's like the opposite of my personality — I care, I worry. I'm like a girl, only in the body of a really hot guy.”

That had her smirking.

“I'm sorry…” At this rate, I was going to talk enough for the both of us and probably go hoarse. When had I ever tried this hard to communicate with a girl? Never. ”… I know it must be hard to—”

Her head jerked up while she maniacally typed something in her phone, then slammed her hand against the countertop.

Cheeks red, eyes wild, she stared at me then pointed to the phone in my hand.

I glanced down.

You don't know. You never will. Nobody does, yet everyone says it. I'm here to work. You're my boss, not my therapist.

Swallowing, I lowered my phone to my side, then shoved it into the back of my jeans. “Fine, packing it is.”

She exhaled, her body going from tight with rage to relaxed, while I was strung up like a drum.

I wasn't used to being reprimanded by anyone.

I'd like to think that, considering I grew up in a house with two very emotionally detached parents, it was saying a lot that I even knew how to pick up on social cues, let alone care about another human being.

But I'd never complained.

I felt stupid having even opened my damn mouth because I'd come from fame, money. I'd been born privileged. Lucky. Even though my parents sucked.

My sister hadn't gotten off as easy.

One addiction after another had finally landed her in rehab, thanks to Alec Daniels, one of the guys from AD2.

AD2 was doing the soundtrack, and Jaymeson was semi-related to the guys.

A throat cleared.

Dani put her hands on her hips then held them wide as if to say, “So? Are you just going to stand there like an idiot or actually tell me what to do?”

The voice I had her using in my head wasn't near as sexy as it needed to be, because the girl was sexy, from that cute blonde head all the way down to her ankles.

My eyes lowered.

What was it about her ankles?

Two claps in front of my face.

My eyebrows shot up. “You can't talk, but you can clap in front of me like I'm five?” I slowly pushed her hands away, the contact brief.

She didn't answer.

I hated it.

I pointed to one of the boxes. “So, I guess we can start with the living room.

No answer.

“I move a lot…” I seriously couldn't stop myself from talking. It was a really unfortunate nervous habit while in the company of someone who suffered from muteness.

My money was on her stabbing me before the end of the night. ”… you know, because of the films.”

Idiot. Of course I moved because of the films. I was an actor for shit's sake. Maybe I should take a cue from her and just not speak. Ever.

Dani started packing one of the boxes, then held up a small, blue pig that I'd gotten from my very first commercial when I was about ten, for a savings and loan company.

“That's Wilbur.”

She held the pig out as if it disgusted her. Then again, it had somehow gone from a really nice aqua to more of a dingy white with weird black marks that had suddenly appeared.

I'd cried over that when I was little. My mom, bitch that she was, had said my pig must have had cancer — and then had laughed.

“He always gets prime real estate while traveling.”

My phone buzzed.

I like pigs.

I burst out laughing, not expecting that, and glanced up at her shy smile. “Is there a reason?”

My phone vibrated with a text and an emoji pig sitting in mud.

They have cute tails.

I nodded. “I think we're going to get along just fine, Dani.”

She quickly turned around and continued packing the box — but not in complete silence. Because if I listened really carefully, I could hear a slight hum coming from her lips.

Thank God for common ground.

Thank God for pigs.


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