Hot Set (Art of Love #2)

14. Alex

Chapter fourteen

Alex

W hen the FBI called, I stared at my phone one heartbeat before answering. I’d already memorized their number and the numbers of the two people I’d been interviewed by. The interview with Michelle had gone well, obviously, or there wouldn’t have been a second interview. But the interview with James Weis was more difficult to tell. He was a blank-faced man whose expression didn’t change the entire time we’d spoken together, and when I’d left, he called me Allen instead of Alex.

But I’d had two interviews and a phone call. This was further than I ever thought I’d get. And this call had to be it. Everything. I curled one hand around the kitchen counter to steady myself before sliding my finger across the familiar phone screen. “Hello?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“Yes, is this Alex?”

A woman’s voice. Michelle’s, I realized.

“This is he,” I said, making sure the grammar was right.

That seemed like such an absurd, stupid thing to worry about. Either the FBI was going to hire me or not. How I answered the phone wouldn’t matter in the slightest. I swallowed, miserably trying to act professionally.

“Oh, good! This is Michelle—”

“From the FBI,” I said quickly, unable to help myself in my eagerness.

“That’s right,” she said. I heard the hint of a laugh in her voice. “I was calling you back to tell you that you’ve been offered a position on our art forgery team.”

It felt like the world stopped and sputtered around me. I’d been accepted. I had a job with the FBI. My childhood dream had just materialized here in front of me.

“We’ll get in touch with more information for you, but we’ll need you to go to D.C. for training.”

Washington, D.C. It sounded so exciting…and far away. The rent would be expensive. I’d have to start making plans now if I wanted to pursue this.

“That sounds great,” I said. “Thank you. I’m so excited to hear that.”

I wanted to scream in excitement, but I forced myself to sound professional. As best as I could, anyway. I sensed that Michelle wasn’t fooled, though. Through the phone, she sounded as if I amused her.

“Welcome to the team!”

“Thank you!”

I waited for her to end the call, and after the telltale click, I stared at the phone for a few minutes, half-convinced it was all a dream and that I’d wake up any second to the alarm on my phone. But that didn’t happen, and when I went back to my recent calls, Michelle was still there.

Hot, cha, cha!!

I let out a short breath of air. I needed to tell everyone at work that I’d gotten the job. They’d be happy for me. Delighted, even.

I went to the movie set group chat. Despite it being eight in the morning, I’d already missed twenty messages. Seth and Bioncia were sniping at one another over vintages of wine of all things. I typed in the message, but before I sent it, I froze.

My mind went to Brandon, seemingly for no reason at all. I hadn’t seen his name or his number in the group chat. But he was there. I sucked in a deep breath and forced down the fluttering feeling that rose in my chest, threatening to overwhelm me.

I loved him. And suddenly, all my elation at being offered this job, my dream job, deflated. If I accepted it, I’d have to quit being a make-up artist. I’d have to move away, and I couldn’t possibly ask Brandon to come with me. That was too selfish and too much pressure to put on someone. And I didn’t even know if he was or wasn’t in love with me, anyway.

Even assuming he was, surely it would be too quick for me to just spring this on him. I could only imagine how that would go down.

“ Hey, Brandon, I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but I’m in love with you. Will you abandon your life here and move to Washington, D.C. with me right away?”

Yeah, right!

I sighed and tucked my phone back in my pocket. The other option would be to stay, and I couldn’t do that, either. No, the best thing to do was tell everyone that I’d been offered a job and would be moving, and I would just keep the rest of it to myself. What would be the point in telling Brandon that I liked him if I was just going to move away and leave him? That sounded cruel. Sure, I’d get to avoid all the problems Seth had pointed out—like having to deal with potential awkwardness at work—but what point was there in some elaborate love confession?

I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter and headed out. It seemed grossly unfair that I couldn’t be wholeheartedly excited about this wonderful offer I’d just gotten. I was excited, of course, but that excitement was tempered by thoughts of Brandon. I’d only just realized that I loved him, and before we’d even been anything, before I’d even had the courage to tell him, we were already done.

Entering the set always felt a bit like entering a circus. I’d never been to a circus, but from what I’d seen on TV, it seemed to always be an explosion of chaos and color, with only the slightest hint of control. I took my usual place with Bioncia, halfway through what looked like some sort of fantasy, snow queen make-up on Celeste. I couldn’t remember what scene that was for. I hadn’t even realized that Celeste was set to appear in any more scenes. Maybe I’d missed a round of rewrites.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Bioncia said, swatching vivid turquoise eyeshadow onto her wrist and comparing it to an emerald green. “You look happy to be here.”

“The FBI called,” I said.

Brandon probably ought to be the first person to know I was leaving, but I hadn’t seen him. My stomach sickened slightly when I thought of having to look into his friendly blue eyes and confirm that, yes, I was leaving. Worse, I feared Brandon would treat the event as insignificant. There was no way he’d feel the same uncomfortable jolt of pain that I kept feeling every time I thought of leaving.

“Do we call you “ Special Agent” now?” Bioncia asked.

Celeste grinned, unleashing a tiny burst of silver glitter into the air.

“Not yet,” I replied, “But I did get the job.”

Bioncia pulled me into a hug. “Congratulations!” she exclaimed.

“So, you’re going to get to hunt down forged artwork now?” Celeste asked. “It sounds terribly glamorous. Try to avoid all the femme fatales .”

Somehow, I doubted working for the FBI’s art forgery team was going to be quite that exciting, but it would be a job where all my hard work and degree would pay off. It had a good salary, too, with dental and health insurance, both of which I’d never had.

“So, when do you start?” Bioncia asked.

“I don’t know yet,” I replied. “They’re going to call me with details. I’ll have to move to Washington, though.”

“The state or D.C.?” Celeste asked, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

“D.C.”

“Darn! No pot for you!” Celeste exclaimed, laughing.

“I don’t really think the FBI wants their agents getting high,” I replied.

“Well, you have to have some days off,” Celeste said.

Bioncia held up a finger, smeared with blue body paint. “Quiet, you,” she said. “We finally got Seth to show up on time. We have to finish before he decides to leave or something.”

Celeste wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue before growing obediently still, submitting her half-done face to Bioncia’s brush and pigments.

“That’s wonderful, though,” Bioncia said, grinning at me. “I saw Brandon earlier, but I think he had to make a coffee run. I’m sure he’ll be excited to hear the good news.”

He probably would be. I could already imagine Brandon grinning, his blue eyes lighting up, as he offered his congratulations. Because Brandon was gracious. Or maybe it was just that Brandon wouldn’t be heartbroken, so it was easier for him. Sure, we were friends, but losing a friend wouldn’t be as bad as this deep ache that had taken up residence in my chest.

“Okay, cool,” I said. “I’ll let him know when he gets in.”

With that, I went ahead and set up shop, checking my brushes and pigments as always. Absentmindedly, I stroked the palm of my hand with a highlighter brush, letting the silky bristles caress my skin. I would have to downsize for D.C. I wouldn’t have any use for this bulky make-up kit anyway. The only reason I still had it was because I’d helped in the occasional theatrical production, and all the make-up had been too expensive simply to throw out. And now, it had been replenished with new and expensive make-up, to look good on camera.

“So, what’s with the make-up today?” I asked, trying to distract myself.

“Brandon thought it would be more theatrical if the zombies attacked a ballet company. All the mirrors, you know,” Bioncia said, “So we really have an opportunity to do some new things. Finally, some fantasy make-up that isn’t all blood and gore. If I had it my way, I’d have everyone looking like this.”

Bioncia gestured to Celeste, now airbrushed with a silvery sheen. I took a few seconds to admire how Bioncia had blended the blue eyeshadow with the white, layering it on thick. It looked like too much make-up, but I knew the camera would flatten it out. Bioncia seemed to have a perfect sense for just how much pigment to apply. Despite my best efforts, I still wasn’t there.

“Even me?”

I shivered at the voice behind me. It was so pleasant and warm, the effect seemingly magnified by all the butterflies twisting in my belly.

“I don’t see why not,” Bioncia said. “As long are you’re paying for the airbrush spray.”

When I turned to look at Brandon, his smile seemed to falter for just an instant, but it snapped back just as quickly. “I’ll buy you a whole truck of it if you want,” Brandon said. “I can have a cameo—like Hitchcock does in his films.”

I’d never seen a Hitchcock film in my life, but I didn’t mention that. It was one of those things that I probably should have had exposure to, like Star Wars , which I’d also never seen.

“Except people know Hitchcock,” me trying to be funny.

“Hey, Alex,” Brandon said, graciously overlooking the jab.

“The FBI called,” I said. “I got the job.”

And as expected, Brandon looked like it was the best news he’d gotten all week. He was happy for me. My stomach churned. Why couldn’t I be happy for me? I had to go, obviously. I’d spent years earning a degree just for the slim chance that I’d ever get this job. Now, I had; I’d managed to achieve what most students only almost achieved.

“So, when are you going?” Brandon asked.

Right. He’d have to replace me. Of course, he wanted to know that.

“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “But I doubt the FBI takes their time with things like this.”

Brandon ran a hand through his hair. “Probably not,” he said.

“I’ll miss working with you,” Bioncia said. “You have a real talent for this, Alex.”

“I’m not nearly as talented as you,” I said. “Besides, it’s mostly because I’ve practiced a lot.”

“Practice doesn’t diminish your talent,” Bioncia said, carefully closing her powders and pigments. Already, she had some more ready for the next cast member.

“I agree,” Brandon said. “Smart and artistic. A deadly combination if there ever was one.”

It was a weird compliment, but I still felt heat rush to my face. Now that I was leaving, the compliments were…uncomfortable. I felt like a traitor for leaving them, especially in the middle of all this. Maybe the FBI wouldn’t want me right away. I didn’t really know how quickly they did things, after all. It might be weeks…or months. It would have to be enough time to get a new apartment and move, at least.

But if I really wanted to join the FBI so much, why did I want them to take their time?

Someone swore loudly, and Brandon winced. “I think I’ve found our missing needle,” he said, bounding away.

Despite this being a desperate, last-minute job to earn some cash, I’d grown to enjoy it. And it wasn’t just Brandon I’d be leaving. It was everyone. Maybe I’d be fine. I’d been without friends before, and I always made them again eventually. D.C. wouldn’t be different.

And yet I kept pulling out every excuse in the book not to take my dream job.