Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
M y phone alarm drills holes straight into my eardrums.
I need the time to get ready, but damn, I barely slept, even when I got promoted from couch to mattress.
River let me stay in her room and share a bed with her. While not easy because she starfishes like crazy, being close to someone who wasn’t going to change their mind about me on a dime is a small measure of comfort.
Once the alarm goes off, I leave her sleeping and grab a quick shower.
We’re not the same size clothing-wise, but I manage to scour her closet for a cute little maxi dress that will work to get me to set. From there, wardrobe will take over. Same with makeup and hair. I don’t want to show up to the set looking like a complete idiot, but there’s no sense in painting on a face when it will get wiped away.
River looks like a little pixie sleeping with her arms and legs splayed.
I’m not waking her up at this ungodly hour.
I scribble a note, leaving it near her French press where I know she’ll see it. Although the thought of coffee makes my mouth water, I know there’s going to be some on set. It won’t be nearly the same, but—shit—I’ve got less than thirty minutes—hopefully traffic won’t be bad.
The driver is waiting for me outside, and we show up to the studio promptly at six. It’s a miracle.
My stomach flips.
“Do you need me to go inside with you, Miss Stone?” The driver is unruffled, dignified, poised behind the steering wheel as he navigates the lot.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Except I’m not really fine because there’s Marcus, waiting for me at the studio door.
Looking like he’s sucked the very sun down from the sky and swallowed it whole. Although he’s dressed impeccably in a dark suit, no tie, it’s impossible to notice the way the others give him a wide berth.
They part around him like he’s the stone in the middle of a river, and his attention is latched onto me.
I never answered his text.
If he thinks I’m going to bow down at his feet and have the conversation he desperately wants to have, he’s delusional.
Sniffing, I square my shoulders. He pushes away from the door and steps from the long shadows, striding toward the car before we’ve had a chance to stop.
Without waiting for the tires to slow, I’m out the opposite door and scurrying around the side of the car.
He growls, and the sound scores my back like claws. “Empire, for fuck’s sake—”
I’m not standing around to hear the rest of whatever garbage he’s about to spew. Not when I can see a hint of red lipstick on the darkness of his collar.
He saw her again. Celeste.
A chill slides over me, and my lungs go still, suddenly paralyzed.
Did she come over to the apartment the second I was out the door? Maybe she never left. She might have been lurking in the hallway waiting for me to bolt, knowing I’d run like the scared child she called me, the spoiled brat.
The second I took myself out of the picture, she pounced.
His determined footsteps dog me all the way into the studio, but the second the director turns toward me with a grateful grin, I shove Marcus out of my mind. He isn’t going to ruin this for me.
Only, ignoring him won’t be easy.
Belinda snaps her fingers. “Over here!”
I feel him there watching, like his gaze is a physical touch. And I know exactly how his fingers feel when they trail fire along my skin.
He memorizes my every move and makes sure I’m toeing the line.
“Let’s get you into hair and makeup, Empire, and then we can get started with scene one hundred nine,” Belinda says. She’s got her baseball cap on again, her eyes bright, cup of tea clutched in her hand. “You can study your script while you’re in the chair. You good?”
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” At least someone is here to greet me with a smile.
What have I done to deserve it, though?
The makeup artists stop their chatter at my approach, their smiles pinned in place. It’s the kind of forced quiet where you know exactly what subject they’ve been discussing: you.
They’re talking about me.
None of them say anything to my face, of course. They’re all chipper and rainbows and shit by the time I’m in the chair and through the hour of prep work to turn me into my character.
They know as well as I do: I’m not special.
The second I step out onto the X marking my spot, a row of school lockers at my back and the extras milling around, awkwardness clenches my hands into claws. The other actresses throw tight looks at me over their shoulders. They aren’t the headliners here.
I am.
We all think the same thing.
I don’t deserve this part. I’m inexperienced and strange compared to their practiced ease. Even my lines don’t feel right as I run through them. Once the director calls action , I launch ahead too fast for them to follow and choke on my words.
Every second of this is torture.
Will it ever get easier to handle?
Will I ever feel comfortable in my skin around these people? Things have changed so much since I used to haunt the sets. Being in front of the camera turns me into this troublesome and confused person who needs to rehearse for years before anyone starts filming. It’s time we don’t have to waste.
“Cut. Let’s start from the top,” Belinda calls out after I fudge my last line. “Empire, is something wrong?”
I shake my head and blow out a careful breath, mouth rounding. “No, everything is fine.” I gnaw on my lower lip because, damn it, but I don’t remember the next line at all.
It’s fallen through some kind of black hole in my brain and disappeared.
I shift my weight from foot to foot.
“Do you need to go over things?” Belinda asks gently.
One of the girls snickers, and I glance over at her sharply. “No, I’m fine,” I reply.
The actress pointedly shifts her head around to avoid meeting my gaze. Shit, if I’m not perfect on this next take, if I don’t get this right, then things are only going to get worse.
I’ve got a strange tick in my veins that doesn’t belong.
“Actually, give me a minute.” Marcus cuts in smoothly. He’s a predator crossing the set toward me, everyone else moving out of his way, although I catch several sets of sighs from the extras at my back.
I swallow hard, my mouth desert dry, and I can’t pry my eyes away from him.
His fingers curl on my forearm, and he yanks me off the X .
“We need to talk.”
He found a way to get to me and make it look coincidental. There’s no way I can refuse now without coming off like a prima donna. Spoiled brat.
Marcus pulls me aside but doesn’t drop his hands. He’s got them on me, and now he’s afraid of what will happen if he breaks contact. He tugs me around to the back of the set where the others won’t hear us.
“I’m not the only one who needs to get myself together. You’re acting like you’re a step away from falling apart. It’s not like you.” He glares at me, through me, gripping me hard. “Sell this part. We’ve got no choice.”
“I’m trying,” I insist, back to sniffling. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m clearly not the best person for this part. I have no idea how many times I have to tell you the same thing before you believe me.”
“Which is why you need to work harder than the rest of them to prove it to yourself. We don’t have the luxury of recasting at this point. Get your shit together, learn your lines, and deliver them like you are Alicia.”
He punctuates the demand with another growl. We really are the wolf and the bunny. I’ve never felt so weak or helpless.
“This is what you’re being paid for.”
I wrench my arm away from him, and he lets me. No sense making another scene for everyone to gossip about. They’re already tiptoeing around him.
They’ll watch us like we’re the show instead.
“Scolding me is going to make me feel worse about everything,” I hiss back. “You want me to do my best? Then back off. Stop looming over me. People are talking about us.”
His smile tells me exactly what he’s thinking about, but I’m not sticking around to listen to the rest of his lecture.
The rest of the day is smoother, but not by much. Tomorrow has to be better because this is what experience looks like. Every hour I spend under the lights, in front of the camera, hones me into a better actress.
The starlet the press claimed me to be .
If any of the paparazzi saw me now? They’d rethink all their stories.
The truth is so much harder to swallow than their ugly lies.
Marcus corners me after rehearsal and darkens the door of my dressing trailer. “We have an event tonight. You need to go home and get ready, and I’ll be there to pick you up at nine. Have you eaten?”
After a full day of shooting? My nose lifts into the air on its own. “I have no interest in any event.”
“Too goddamn bad.”
The bite in his voice has my assistant on set yelping before she gathers her nerves. Exhaustion practically glues me to the chair. The only thing left for me to do is glare at him like he’s the devil himself come to claim my soul.
“This is the kind of thing I need advanced notice about. It doesn’t matter what kind of event it is. I’m not going.” I force myself to turn to face him. To meet his gaze in challenge. “What are you going to do if I don’t go?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, bringing the gloom with him. He’s the dark cloud blotting out the sun. “I’ll dress you myself and drag you out if you can’t accomplish it on your own.”
I scoff. “Been there, done that. It seems the only thing you’re capable of doing is dragging me around.”
“Then you already know I’m a man of my word. If you’re not willing to do your part, I’ll do it for you,” he replies. “This is nonnegotiable.”
A shiver trails along my spine. Heat curls between my legs. What the hell is wrong with me? Staring at him now, the only thing I want is to feel his mouth on my breast and his fingers between my thighs.
“Watch your step, sweetheart.” His voice darkens. “You know what happens if you try to push me too far.”
“And you know what I’ll do if you try to force me to do something against my will,” I toss back. “You’re not my guardian. You might have leverage over me, but I don’t have to dance when you tell me to anymore.” I slowly shift back to the mirror and ignore the twin dots of red blushing my cheeks. “Get fucked.”
Surprise jolts through me when he bends down close to my face and nips my earlobe. The angle of his head hides the motion from my assistant, but the touch alone is enough to send my stomach spiraling.
“Ditto, sweetheart. Now, don’t make me wait any longer. Get your ass home, get changed. Be ready at nine.”
“My ass isn’t your concern.”
“The fuck it is. Nine. And eat because we can’t have you going jelly kneed.”
Then he needs to keep his distance because with him around…I’m at my best and my worst.