Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Ramona had never been so tired in her life.
Eight-hour shifts on her feet at Clover Moon—and sometimes longer—were nothing compared to the exhaustion of being Noelle Yang’s assistant. Ramona rarely stood still, ate her lunch standing up with a tape measure hanging around her neck, and had taken so many trips to every neighboring town, she’d had to use Noelle’s studio credit card to fill up her gas tank twice.
And all this in just one day.
She never had time to think about Dylan. Or Jocelyn and Dylan. She never even caught sight of the blond starlet, and half hoped Jocelyn Gareth had simply decided not to come by the set. Still, Ramona barely had time to pee, let alone to talk to her girlfriend’s ex.
Her girlfriend .
For once, she didn’t correct her train of thought. It was what she wanted, and she was ready to tell Dylan she wanted it too.
Now, as she stood in the main bedroom of the Bonner lake house—Mallory’s family home—sifting through ties for one to match Mallory’s brother’s cream linen suit, she smiled at the idea. It was dark outside, and they had one more scene to film at this house, an evening party that actually led to the third-act breakup for Mallory and Eloise, preempted by the revelation in front of the partygoers that they’ve been faking their relationship.
“How about this one?” Ramona said, holding up a purple silk tie with tiny darker purple leaves all over it. “It’ll complement his eyes and drive home the point that he’s into appearances.”
Noelle lifted a brow from where she was sitting on an armchair, her iPad in her lap. “And why’s that?”
Ramona considered the tie. “It’s unique. And Hunter likes being rich. Likes being a man who people underestimate. This tie will go well with the cream and emphasize that he’s a bit of a snob.”
Noelle tilted her head. “Very good.”
Ramona beamed, but tried to hide it. Yes, she was exhausted, and her feet were killing her, and she was worried about Dylan, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a sip of water, but she was happy .
This job was thrilling.
It was everything she wanted. Well, not everything. She’d much rather have her own assistant while she sat with her iPad and planned out costumes, but she knew this was the way to get there, and she loved every energy-draining second.
“Why did you drop out of RISD?” Noelle asked.
Ramona’s smile vanished. She cleared her throat, set the tie on the bed, and started looking for a shirt to go with it. “I had some family obligations.”
“Like what?”
Ramona had learned quickly that Noelle was blunt and didn’t really care about crossing personal lines. Not when it came to doing her job well.
“My mother left when I was young,” Ramona said. “And my father had an accident that put him out of work when I was nineteen. I had to come home to care for my little sister.”
Noelle nodded. “Noble.”
“No. Just necessary,” Ramona said, fingers skimming a row of dress shirts on a rack.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t finish,” Noelle said, tapping at her screen with her stylus. “Though something tells me you don’t regret it.”
Ramona smiled softly. “I could never regret my sister.”
Noelle smiled back. “Fair enough.” Then she snapped her stylus into its holder, sighed as she considered Ramona. “I think you should come work for me.”
Ramona froze, an off-white silk shirt in her hands. “As in…after this film?”
Noelle stood up and took the shirt from Ramona. She laid it on the bed next to the tie, nodded. “You’re smart. You’re hardworking. And you’ve got a passion for the work. You’re me twenty years ago.”
“But…you…I’ve only worked for you for, like, two days.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes.” Noelle straightened, looked at Ramona over her glasses. “I’m based in LA, so you’d have to relocate, but I can help find you a place to live, and I pay a decent wage. You’d work with me on films, some plays from time to time when I get tired of Hollywood bullshit. Work your way up.”
Ramona could only stare.
Noelle smiled. “A shock, I see. But I can tell you want this. Like I said, you’re me.” She squeezed Ramona’s shoulder, just once. “Think about it. Talk to your family. This film wraps in two weeks—Vee is more interested in the makeup side of things, so they’re moving on once they’re up and about—so I’ll need you in LA by the end of the month. I’d like an answer in one week, and I don’t expect you’ll give me the wrong one.”
Ramona could only nod.
“I’m not sure if Dylan factors into it at all, considering, but feel free to talk to her too,” Noelle said. Then she went back to the chair, back to her iPad, immediately lost in her work, while Ramona stood there, processing.
She processed for what felt like hours, just standing by a clothes rack in the middle of some rich guy’s bedroom doubling as a wardrobe, Noelle’s words filtering back and over and through her brain.
LA.
Work.
Film.
Plays.
Dylan…
…considering…
“Noelle,” she said, turning toward the designer. She held a floral skirt in her hand she didn’t even remember picking up. “What did you mean considering ?”
Noelle glanced up. “What?”
“You said you weren’t sure how Dylan factored into it, considering . Considering what?”
Noelle didn’t even blink. “Considering your arrangement.”
Something in Ramona went cold, a warning.
“Arrangement?” she asked.
Noelle slipped off her glasses. “Yes, arrangement.” She sounded impatient, but Ramona just waited for her to go on. “Dating to smooth over her image? Isn’t that what you two are doing? At least, that’s what Gia wanted.”
The cold spread now, radiating out from her stomach to her limbs, her heart. “Gia.”
“After you two got caught at that miniature golf place,” Noelle said. “Gia said you’d agreed to date for publicity and you might be on set here and there. Happens all the time. Did you know Ryan Locke and Fiona Whalen’s entire marriage was a stunt? I get dating, but a legal bond?” She shook her head and slipped her glasses back on. “Hollywood needs therapy.”
Ramona closed her eyes, squeezed them hard until color exploded behind her lids. Opened them back up, but Noelle was still there, she was still here, and Noelle’s words still echoed against the spa-blue walls.
“Hang on,” she said, holding on to the bed’s fabric footboard. “Are you…What are you saying?”
Noelle glanced up, alarmed. “Oh, shit.”
“Are you saying Dylan has been fake dating me for…what? A publicity stunt?”
“Fucking hell,” Noelle said, standing up. “You didn’t know.”
“Wait. You’re really saying…Dylan…fake…me…” Ramona’s words tripped and gasped, the air thin, her lungs rebelling.
“Sit down,” Noelle said, grabbing Ramona’s arms and easing her down onto the bed. Then she hurried into the bathroom and emerged with a glass of water. Ramona held it, but didn’t drink. She was too busy trying to breathe, trying to get the words that were tumbling through her brain to slow down.
“You really didn’t know?” Noelle asked.
Ramona could only shake her head. No need to ask, Know what? or What do you mean? Noelle had been clear enough. And Noelle wasn’t prone to gossip. She hated that shit—was famous for her no-nonsense approach when it came to Hollywood drama, especially on one of her projects. She wouldn’t have said any of this if it weren’t true.
Ramona’s memories swirled back a few weeks ago to Dickie’s, then the photos of her and Dylan online, how riled Dylan was about it, and then…
“Just casual,” Dylan said. “You know…fun. Not so different from what we’ve been doing, really. Just, you know…it’s like…different because, I might, I don’t know. Hold your finger.”
“Finger?”
“I mean hand. Jesus.” Dylan rubbed her forehead. “I’m very bad at this.”
Except she wasn’t. Apparently Dylan was very, very good. God, Ramona had thought it was all so adorable, how Dylan had tripped over her words when she’d asked her out. How romantic it was when she’d taken her to the Earthstars Museum.
How she’d waved at the phones pointed in their direction.
Fucking waved .
When only the day before, she’d nearly lost her mind over the three paparazzi at Dickie’s.
“I didn’t know,” Ramona said quietly.
“My god,” Noelle said, pressing her hand to the base of her throat. “I’m sorry, Ramona. It wasn’t my place. I thought you—”
“No, no,” Ramona said. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”
Noelle sighed. “What do you need right now?”
Ramona looked up at Noelle. The Noelle Yang, Oscar winner and so tough and smart with her no-bullshit attitude. But here she was being kind, asking Ramona what she needed after learning that her girlfriend was actually her fake girlfriend.
A single laugh burst out of Ramona. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but it was all just so absurd. And right now, if Ramona didn’t laugh, she’d cry or scream or storm out of the wardrobe and onto the set and do something that would certainly make her famous in Hollywood for reasons she didn’t care for, and that’s not what she wanted.
That’s not who she was.
She was strong. Resilient. And she did what fucking needed to be done, no matter the condition of her heart.
She always had.
She took a sip of water, then kept going and gulped the whole glass down.
“I need to work,” she said once the cup was empty. She stood up, rolled her shoulders back. “Thank you, Noelle. For everything. But right now, I just want to do my job.”
Noelle nodded, a glint of admiration in her eyes. “Fair enough.” She took the glass from Ramona and set it on the dresser, then walked over to her iPad and started tapping. “I’m sending the brief for the scene at Eloise’s house to your phone. Make sure everything’s ready.”
“Of course,” Ramona said as she took her phone from her back pocket. She tapped on Noelle’s AirDrop, ignoring her shaking hands, ignoring the sting in her eyes.
Then she did the only thing she knew to do right now and got to work.