Chapter 9
NINE
M arcus has a serious problem, and it’s not up to me to tell him.
All it’s gonna take is a good look in the mirror for him to realize he’s fucked himself over. He wants this movie done in two months? He just took out his main star.
There’s no replacing Greg this late in the game, and the majority of the scenes left to film have him in them. There’s only so much his stunt double is going to be able to do because, let’s face it, the action scenes all take place between Greg and me. And he needs to be there to do his lines.
Everything on set went downhill fast.
Faster than I would have thought. But Marcus and his outburst really put a damper on things for the rest of the day, and it takes way too long to reset and regroup. What the hell was he thinking?
A knuckle against my pussy isn’t the end of the world. I can handle myself now, especially once I see how well the set is organized. This isn’t the same space it was when Parker Heath headed things. The intimacy coordinator is a friendly woman around my age who talked me and Greg through everything.
Where is the trust?
Where is the faith in me?
The security guards standing by took Marcus out of the building once the lighting men handed him over. I watch their retreat with fractured attention, and it doesn’t come back together once he’s out of sight.
“It’s going to be fine,” Belinda, the director, says with a strained grin. Her red hair is pulled up in a ponytail and threaded through the back of her baseball cap. “Everything is going to be fine. The next scene we have on the docket is Alicia at school with her friends, so let’s switch to the other set and go from there. Are you good?”
Just like that, she switches direction with the ease of a seasoned professional.
I nod, swallowing over a lump in my throat, my body throbbing. The words are there in my head, and pulling them out feels natural in the moment, but if I actually stop to think about it…nothing.
Shivering, I tighten my hold on my robe, girding myself for the next scene.
Marcus is nowhere to be seen, but things flow better with him gone. I hate to admit it. The pressure eases without him watching me, and my body is much looser.
That’s what happens when the object of your desire isn’t constantly within ten feet of you. The sexual tension eases, and you finally breathe again. And with the rest of the actresses playing Alicia’s high school friends milling around between takes, it’s almost enough to make me forget about what happened.
Almost .
Once we wrap for the day at ten at night, I rush off set with my knees quaking only to find a car waiting for me. The driver, a man I don’t recognize, inclines his head and opens the back door for me.
“Miss Stone, if you’ll please.”
“Who are you?”
“Mr. Ortega hired me to take you home. He sends his apologies for not being here himself.”
I resent Marcus sending a car to take me home. My own sedan is in his parking garage. I’m more than capable of driving myself, but Marcus is once again making the decisions for me.
“Miss Stone?” the driver presses gently.
I’m pooped. Every part of me hurts, and honestly, the leather seats look comfortable enough to sleep on. Instead of arguing, because I know exactly who sent the driver, I let him hustle me inside.
“For now,” I clarify.
The driver nods, shutting the door, and soon we’re peeling out of the lot. I’ve got my phone out in an instant, but there isn’t a single damn text from Marcus telling me to expect a chauffeur.
I throw the cell back in my purse with a growl, my stomach taking up the thread and adding its voice too.
My knee bobs the entire drive back to the apartment. Not home. It will never be home, but the sight of the doorman is a welcome comfort. I pause at the door with the man at my front and the driver at my back, both of them stuck in place and their smiles pinned like they’re nothing but marionettes with someone else pulling the strings.
My stomach grumbles again.
Okay, it’s not that I’m unappreciative of what Marcus did, I realize.
Greg was getting handsy when he didn’t need to be, and he took advantage of a situation. Which is unlike him, but I’m getting off topic. Marcus defended me when I deserved to have someone defend me.
Great, thanks.
I nibble my lower lip, my gut twisting. Defending me is one thing, but he had no right to get violent about it and go way beyond what he needed to do. A heated talk would have probably done the trick. Instead, he beat the shit out of Greg and jeopardized the entire picture and my reputation along with it.
“Miss Stone?” The driver politely says my name to get me to move, but I’m not budging. “We’ve arrived.”
Marcus is no stranger to violence. I’ve known it for a long time, even before I had the words to put to him. He’s always kinda been the dangerous type, and after a while, the fascination with that side of him shifted from curiosity to arousal.
It stayed there for the longest time.
I’m still aroused by his nature, the black cloud of him, how easily he maneuvers in what other people classify as the dark side of things. It’s like watching all those serial killer documentaries. You find it interesting, and you can’t stop watching, but you don’t want to be a part of the story.
Except I’m a part of the story now.
I watched Marcus shoot a man to death right in front of me, without hesitation.
Finally, the protests in my stomach are too loud for me to ignore, and I allow the two men to escort me to the elevator. The doorman presses the button to the apartment and tips his head again.
“I really didn’t need an escort,” I murmur to the driver.
Stoic, dark eyed and dark skinned, he stares straight ahead like he’s carved from onyx. “Mr. Ortega gave strict instructions not to leave you alone.”
“Do you always do what your employers tell you to?” And do I not count?
He glances down at me with a single swoop of his eyes before returning to the stoic visage of the perfect employee.
Great . I’ll never be able to do anything on my own again. There’s always going to be someone sniffing around my ass on his orders.
Once the doors ding open, I thank the driver, but he escorts me to the front door. Shit, I don’t have a key.
I’m still feet away when the door flies open and a ruddy-faced Marcus stares the two of us down.
“Thank you,” I call back to the driver.
Silently, the two of them wait for me to cross the threshold before Marcus slams the door shut. The air crackles with tension, going hot and then cold. The same chill lodges itself at the base of my spine and turns my tongue numb. My fingers flex at my side.
“I hope you ordered food.” Crap, of course I’m the first one to break the silence on my way to the kitchen. “I’m starving.”
“They didn’t feed you on set?”
I wince at the sharpness of those tones and the barbs in every syllable. Okay. He’s still furious.
“Don’t take your shitty mood out on me.” I let my bag drop to the floor and lift a hand to rub the ache in my shoulder. I’m still in full hair and makeup, although I’m wearing my own clothes. “There wasn’t enough time to eat even though there were snacks.”
“If you don’t make time to eat—” he begins, going into manager mode.
I whirl on him and point a finger. “Don’t,” I say, low and threatening and so not me. “There’s no time to eat with your new schedule.” And he wasn’t there.
Things are definitely not what I thought they’d be, though, on set or otherwise. It isn’t the first time I’ve felt like I’ve strayed far off the path where I’m supposed to be. But standing in the foyer of the apartment with Marcus, a black hole just ahead, the strangeness of the place… I’m at a loss.
The set isn’t the friendly place of wonder it used to be when my mom and dad were under the spotlight.
I push a lank piece of hair behind my ear. “Now, did you order food or not?”
He sweeps a hand out toward the coffee table. “Chinese. I waited for you.”
A knock sounds at the door, and the shock of the sound blasts through me, all the way down to my tingling toes.
A glance at Marcus shows him confused, glowering, and he narrowly avoids me on his way past.
“Are you expecting someone?” I want to know, already ticked off and getting worse.
“What in the fucking world…” He yanks the doorknob hard enough to loosen the screws.
My breath catches. The woman standing in the hallway is the prettiest blonde I’ve ever seen, her face flawless. Scandinavian, if I had to guess from the tone of her icy hair. She’s got the lithe, willowy figure of a prima ballerina, and without waiting for Marcus to stop growling, she shifts past him.
Her gaze immediately narrows on me, and although her smile is a flash of white teeth and red lips, it’s anything but friendly.
“Get the fuck out of here, Celeste. You have no right to show up at my apartment.”
I’m rooted to the spot, a deer in the headlights in front of this woman who already looks at home. A woman Marcus knows. And the way he glowers at her has me wondering if it’s a relationship gone bad.
What do I really know about his past? About the ladies he’s seen and slept with?
Anxiety prickles along each vertebra.
“Both of you, sit. Take a seat somewhere comfortable.” The woman—Celeste—breezes past Marcus, practically ignoring him, and stalks down the hall toward me.
I stumble back a step before catching myself and clearing my throat.
“I know who you are, Miss Stone,” Celeste says. “There’s no need for introductions.” She sweeps her arm out toward the leather couch and waits.
Marcus and I don’t move. Neither one of us takes our eyes off her, this powerhouse. If he’s slept with her, then I’m going to drop right through the floor and die. No joke.
After a way too tense heartbeat, Celeste lifts a single shoulder. “Suit yourselves.” She turns to Marcus, and the civility slips from her features. “What happened on set today? You made a mockery of yourself.”
He slinks forward, and the air is thick with tension. My lungs struggle for every molecule of oxygen as the two of them face each other, and something dangerous threatens to crack. Okay, so someone may actually end up dead, but I’m not sure it’s me.
“Good news travels quickly,” he mutters.
“And bad news is faster,” Celeste quips.
They stare each other down, and unlike me, neither one of them is anywhere close to cracking. How in the world did Celeste know what happened today? Or where Marcus lives? Who the hell is she?
“Empire, go to your room. I need to talk to our new friend.”
I jump at my name. He wants me to go where ? Shunned. Not to mention, he’s talking to me like a child. Or worse, a pet, who did something naughty and is being punished.
The look he gives me leaves no room for argument.Rather than making a fuss in front of Celeste, I slink off down the hallway and pause at the door.
Rather than disappear, I crouch low, holding my breath until their words become clear. Because there is no way I’m missing whatever is about to go down.