Chapter 7
Marissa
The film set is abuzz with activity, cameras rolling, and actors rehearsing their lines.
On set, Bryce looks like a dream dipped in honey, all suave and dashing, effortlessly stealing the spotlight.
He's got that classic leading-man vibe. You know, the kind that makes you want to swoon and simultaneously roll your eyes at how ridiculously perfect he is.
It's no wonder the ladies are constantly chasing after him.
One of the actresses keeps staring at him like he's dessert, looking for excuses to touch him and feel his ripped chest beneath her fingertips. With her dyed platinum blonde hair and breasts that look too good to be true, she keeps giggling at everything he says, like a high school girl.
Is that jealousy?
"So, what do you guys think is the greatest movie of all time?" I ask my colleagues, stirring the pot of debate to distract myself from the fact that Bryce only goes for supermodels. Not plain Janes like me.
Jack, a seasoned assistant director with a penchant for classic films, is quick to chime in. "Without a doubt, The Godfather. It's a masterpiece in every sense—iconic performances, intricate storytelling, and unforgettable cinematography."
I nod, acknowledging his choice. "Solid pick, Jack. But what about you, Sam? Any thoughts on the greatest movie ever made?"
Sam, the youngest member of our group and a fervent fan of modern blockbusters, grins enthusiastically. "For me, it's gotta be The Dark Knight. Christopher Nolan's masterpiece. It's not just a superhero movie; it's a gripping crime thriller with complex characters and moral dilemmas."
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his choice. "Interesting. And what about you, Mike? Any contenders for the top spot?"
Mike, our resident cinephile and self-proclaimed film buff, strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Ah, that's a tough one. But if I had to choose, I'd go with Casablanca. It's a timeless classic—romance, drama, and intrigue set against the backdrop of World War II. Plus, it gave us one of the most iconic lines in cinematic history."
I chuckle, appreciating the diversity of opinions among my colleagues. "Well, it seems we've got quite the range of tastes here. The Godfather, The Dark Knight, and Casablanca—three very different films, but all equally worthy of the title of the greatest movie ever made."
"And you, Marissa," Jack says, turning to me with a playful glint in his eye, "what's your pick?"
I pause, considering my options carefully. "Well, it's tough to narrow it down to just one, but if I had to choose, I'd go with The Shawshank Redemption. It's a timeless tale of hope, friendship, and redemption that never fails to move me."
The guys acknowledge my choice with nods of agreement. "A classic pick. Can't go wrong with The Shawshank Redemption," Sam says, echoing their sentiments.
In a world where egos and ambitions often clash, it's refreshing to find a group of colleagues who share my enthusiasm for the art of filmmaking.
It's moments like these—bonding over our love for cinema—that remind me why I fell in love with this industry in the first place.
The director announces a break, and everyone disperses to go for lunch, but I'm not that hungry. I had a heavy breakfast, so I sit back and relax. Bryce approaches me, his expression unreadable.
"Mind if I join the party?"
I gesture to the empty chair beside me. "Of course, pull up a seat."
"Saw you with some guys."
"We were just discussing the new Tarantino film."
Bryce takes a seat, his face unreadable. "Quite the lively discussion you were having there."
I raise an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs. "Just an observation. You seem to have a lot of male admirers."
"They're just friends, Bryce. Besides, it's not like I'm the only woman on set."
He nods. "True, but not all of them have your ... charm."
I roll my eyes. "Please. They're just being friendly. It's not like they're trying to sweep me off my feet."
"Just be careful, okay? I know you can handle yourself, but I still worry sometimes."
"I think I can handle myself, thank you very much. Besides, I trust my instincts."
"I know they seem harmless, but you never know. I just want you to be cautious, that's all."
Bryce is now leaning in with an unreadable expression, his voice low and urgent. These guys are harmless, and I don't see why he's going on and on about such a trivial matter.
"I appreciate your concern. But like I said, I know how to take care of myself."
He shakes his head, frustration is evident in his tone. "I know you like to see the best in people, Marissa. It's one of the things I admire about you. But sometimes, it's okay to be a little guarded."
I bristle at his words, feeling a surge of indignation rising within me. I'm not the same little girl he knew years ago.
A distant memory flashes through my mind. I remember a time when we were kids, and a group of older boys were bullying me. Bryce stepped in, putting himself between me and them, ready to take on the world to keep me safe.
He's always been my protector, even back then.
He runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching slightly. "It's just ... I know how guys can be sometimes, you know?"
His words catch me off guard, and I can't help but furrow my brow. "What do you mean? They've always been perfectly nice to me."
Bryce scoffs, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Yeah, I'm sure they have. Guys like that, they're always nice when they want something."
I step closer, my eyes searching his face for answers. "What are you trying to say, Bryce?"
He looks away, his gaze fixated on some distant point. "Nothing. Forget I said anything. I just ... I don't want you to get mixed up with the wrong crowd, that's all."
The way he says it, the slight hesitation in his voice, it sends a flutter through my chest. I'm suddenly aware of how close we're standing. The air between us crackles with an energy I can't define.
But I can't let myself get swept away, not when there's so much left unsaid between us.
I take a step back. My voice is soft. "It's okay. I know you're just looking out for me. But you don't have to worry. I can handle myself."
With that, he sighs and walks away.
Bryce is acting weird.
The day winds down, and the producers call it a day. I gather my belongings, ready to head home after another long day of work.
But before I can make my escape, Bryce appears at my side, a determined glint in his eyes.
"Hey, Marissa," he says, his voice tinged with an unusual seriousness, "want a ride home?"
Bryce wants to drive me home? I hesitate, taken aback by the offer. The idea of spending more time with him feels ... out of place, to say the least.
But part of me enjoys his company, even now. Before I can overthink it, I nod. "Sure, thanks. I appreciate it."
We make our way to his car, the comfortable silence punctuated only by the sounds of the production team cleaning up.
"Actually, I was thinking ... instead of going home, would you mind accompanying me to my family's house for dinner?"
I blink, taken aback by the sudden change in plans. "Your family's house? Bryce, I'm not family. I don't think it's appropriate for me to intrude on your family dinner."
He sighs, his gaze focused on the road ahead. Even in such a distraught state, he still looks so freaking edible.
"I know, I know. But the truth is, things between me and my dad have always been ... strained. I just ... I don't want to go alone, you know?"
I pause, my heart aching for Bryce. I know that strained relationship with a father all too well.
He may look calm, but I can see the storm in his eyes. His knuckles are white from the pressure of holding the steering wheel.
"I understand, but I'm not sure if I'm the right person to bring along. Your family probably won't appreciate me showing up uninvited."
He shakes his head, a persistent gleam in his eyes. "Trust me. My parents adore you. They've always treated you like a daughter anyway. And having you there might actually make things better."
I chew on my bottom lip, torn between my sense of propriety and my desire to help a friend in need. I want to help him in any way I can, but what will his parents think if we show up together?
What will Cindy think of me coming to her house with her brother? She knows nothing about our history, and I can't let her find out that I have a secret crush on her brother.
He gives me a pleading look, his eyes earnest and vulnerable. I rarely see him in this state, and his defenselessness yanks at my heartstrings.
"Please, Marissa. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me."
What's the worst that could happen?
"Okay. I'll come with you. But only because I know how much this means to you."
A sense of relief washes over his features, and he offers me a grateful smile. "Thank you."