Chapter 4
Bryce
The decision to rent the apartment next to Marissa's wasn't just an impulsive move. It was a calculated move, although I'd never admit that out loud.
It's been years since we crossed paths, and the reunion has stirred a curiosity that demands to be satisfied. Plus, being close to her will make working on the film project a breeze. It's purely practical, nothing more.
So, here I am, trying to play it cool as I watch the stunned look on her face.
"Yep. Just moved into the apartment next door. Thought I'd give the penthouse at The Plaza a break and enjoy the charming neighborhood vibes."
Marissa sputters out a laugh. "Charming neighborhood vibes? Bryce, this isn't a Hallmark movie. It's real life!"
A grin tugs at the corners of my lips, and I let it breakthrough. She's always been able to make me smile like that.
"Well, real life just got a bit more interesting, don't you think?"
A slight flush colors her cheeks. Could she be blushing?
She shakes her head as if she is still trying to process everything. "I can't believe you're my neighbor."
"Believe it. I'm just a regular guy who needs a place to call home. Plus, I'm told this area has the best coffee shop in town. I'm sold."
"Seriously?"
I raise a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Well, it seems like someone is not enthusiastic about her new neighbor."
Marissa lets out an awkward laugh and turns her gaze to the ground. A curtain of hair falls across her face, but not before I glimpse the pink staining her cheeks. She's flustered, shy, even.
I resist the urge to sweep back those blonde strands and meet her averted gaze.
Maybe she needs space to adjust to having me as a neighbor. I don't want to push her too fast, but I can't help missing the time when I can see her smile light up her delicate features once more.
I gesture towards the building. "Anyway, I should probably get settled in. Need any help finding your keys, neighbor?"
She blushes, realizing she's been standing there in a daze, keys still in hand. "Right, keys. I guess I'm a bit disoriented by the Hollywood star who just invaded my humble abode."
"Invaded? More like upgraded. Your life just got a whole lot more interesting."
"Why would you choose to live next to me?"
"That's no way to welcome your new neighbor."
"Right. I'm ... I'm sorry."
"But sometimes a change of scenery is just what a guy needs. A chance to experience life beyond the glamour of the red carpet."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying the vague explanation. "And why here? In our quaint little building?"
I decide to play the charming neighbor card, leaning in conspiratorially. "Well, between you and me, I heard rumors of the most amazing homemade cookies in the building. Couldn't resist the temptation."
Her laughter rings out, and her cheeks turn a faint shade of red. I love how cute she looks. She used to make the best cookies, and I really enjoyed them.
"Cookies, huh?" One delicate eyebrow arches playfully as she regards me. "I think you're confusing our building with a bake-off competition."
"A man can dream, can't he?" My smile turns wistful. "But seriously, it just felt right. Sometimes you have to trade the glitz for something a bit more ... real."
As the words leave my lips, her expression softens. Her eyes shine with empathy, as though she truly sees me and understands me. Of everyone, Marissa has always accepted me as I am.
"I get that. Real life has its own kind of magic."
I nod, leaning against the railing. "Exactly. So, what's the verdict, neighbor? Am I a welcomed addition to the building, or should I start shopping for earplugs now?"
Marissa chuckles. "Well, I haven't heard of any wild parties yet, so you're off to a good start."
I feign innocence. "Wild parties? Who, me? I'm just a simple guy who enjoys a good cup of coffee and the occasional movie premiere. No wild parties here."
"We'll see about that. Good night, Bryce."
"Good night, Marissa."
She might be wondering about the real reason behind my move, but for now, I'm content to let the mystery linger.
A heavy stillness filled the hallway after Marissa left. It hummed with a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time.
Marissa's familiar smile and laugh had stirred something in me. It might just be the familiarity of our friendship. She's my little sister's best friend, after all. We've known each other for years.
***
The role assigned to me demands raw vulnerability, which is a stark contrast to the tough exterior I have cultivated over the years. As the cameras roll and the lines flow, I lose myself in the world of make-believe.
The set is buzzing with activity, and I dive into the intensity of the scene, channeling the emotions required for the character.
I'm aware that Marissa is watching me from the sidelines, and the thought of her being here soothes me in some kind of way.
The director eventually calls for a break, and I take a moment to breathe. That's when Marissa appears, holding a cup of coffee like a beacon of sanity in the chaos of the film set.
"Coffee break," she announces with a smile, handing me the steaming mug.
I take it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my hands. "You're a lifesaver, Marissa."
"Well, someone has to keep the brooding actor fueled and functional."
I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips, and Marissa joins in, looking more radiant than usual under the glow of the sun.
It's a wink of levity amid the serious business of filmmaking, and I'm glad I made the decision to have her as my assistant.
As I sip the coffee, I catch the eyes of one of my more annoying colleagues, Jake, shooting daggers my way. The guy has never been a fan, always looking for an opportunity to sabotage me.
When I found out we would be working together, I didn't want to go through with the movie, but Ellen insisted.
"Look who decided to show up today," Jake sneers, approaching with a smug grin.
I raise an eyebrow, uninterested in his attempts at provocation. Marissa looks between the both of us, no doubt wondering what's going on.
"What's your problem, Jake?"
He smirks. "No problem. Just wondering if Daddy's money is still funding your Hollywood dreams."
The jab cuts deeper than I care to admit. My relationship with my father has always been strained, and people like Jake never miss an opportunity to trash me for it.
The cameras might be off, but the set is still a stage, and I won't let him take center stage in my head.
Marissa, sensing the tension, steps forward with a calm determination. "Erm ... I think we should just keep things professional."
He laughs, a grating sound that makes my patience wear thin, and I fight the urge to bury my fist in his face.
"Professional? I don't know who you are, sweetheart, but you're too kind. But some people," he glances at me, "can't escape their true nature."
I clench my jaw, battling the impulse to engage in the verbal sparring match he so desperately craves. Marissa shoots me a subtle glance, a silent plea to rise above the taunts.
It's a familiar routine—other people painting me as troubled and rebellious, and Marissa serving as my silent anchor.
But today, something in me snaps. Maybe it's the vulnerability I channeled for the scene, or perhaps it's the pressure of the ongoing scrutiny. Either way, I can't let Jake's words slide.
"You know, Jake," I say, my tone deceptively calm, "I may not have had the perfect family or the silver spoon you seem to think I did. But at least I don't go around tearing people down to feel good about myself."
He scoffs. "Tough words from the troubled movie star."
I take a step forward, the pressure escalating as my blood pumps through my veins. Marissa places a hand on my arm, a quiet appeal for restraint. Her touch stirs something within me, an alien emotion I can't place my finger on.
"Bryce, don't let him get to you."
I go quiet, my gaze locking with Marissa's. I find a steadying force in those familiar eyes, and taking a deep breath, I step back, letting the anger subside.
Jake smirks triumphantly, thinking he's won this round. Her unspoken support reaches through the tumult, and I decide to disengage from the pointless confrontation.
Turning away, I walk off the set to distance myself from the unnecessary drama. Marissa follows, her presence a balm to the lingering frustration.
Marissa’s eyes search mine. "Hey, you know you can't take whatever he says to heart, right?"
I offer a tight-lipped smile. It's so sweet that she has always been worried about me like this, ever since we’ve known each other.
"I'm fine. Just need a moment."
She bobs her head in a nod and returns to the set, giving me the space I asked for.
She’s the only person who effortlessly diffuses the storms that brew within me. She knows the grumpy, rebellious persona is a defense mechanism, a shield to protect the vulnerability hidden beneath, and for that, I'm endlessly grateful.
Later that evening, after wrapping up the day's shoot, I decide to thank Marissa in my own way.
I find her at the craft services table, engrossed in conversation with a fellow crew member.
"Hey, Marissa," I greet, slipping an arm around her shoulder casually.
She looks up, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey, Bryce. How was the rest of your day?"
"Better, thanks to you."
"Glad I could help."
I lean in conspiratorially. "You know, I owe you for that. How about dinner? My treat."
Marissa’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t say anything either, and the longer the silence goes on, the more I start to doubt myself.
I wipe my hands on my jeans under the table. My heart pounds in my chest as I await her reply.
This was a mistake.