Chapter 8
ANYA
It only takes a few days for Danny and I to find a rhythm. The disastrous first day (not including the train ride that shall never be mentioned again) has at least eased into some sort of routine. Every morning, I wait by the car outside his hotel with a cup of hot coffee. Then I accompany him — in silence — to base where I pick up the sides from production and ferry him to the makeup truck, then to costume, then to the set and then safely return him to the hotel at the end of the day.
If anything the job is well…boring.
Danny never even really acknowledges me except for when I speak to him directly, like he’s an Alexa just waiting to be told to turn on. He’s like a lifeless puppet on set, waiting for the director to call action before he wakes up. This morning, however, it seems Danny is determined to break the status quo.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I bite back a groan and slap a hand against the heavy wood of his hotel room door. I’ve never been inside the hotel, usually electing to meet him by the car, but today he hasn’t emerged and I’m forced to approach the lair.
He must sleep like the dead. Unless he’s just ignoring me. Unless he’s…busy. Maybe there is someone in there with him, and he can’t bring himself to get away.
The thought infuriates me even as it causes a strange twist in my gut at the thought. Not that I’m jealous of whoever is in there with him, that would be ridiculous. If anything I’m jealous that he’s able to have a slow morning rolling in the sheets instead of waking up to a blaring alarm and multiple texts from Sarah.
Now more than a little frustrated, I start to jiggle the handle before hissing through the wood, “If you’re not out here in thirty seconds I’m going to kick this door down.”
“Go on then.” Whirling, I see Danny sauntering down the hallway, headphones looped around his neck. So he wasn’t inside with a lover. Swallowing my tongue, I take him in. Tendrils of hair stick to his forehead and my fingers twitch with the desire to brush them back. His gray t-shirt clings to his broad shoulders as beads of sweat drip down his neck.
Pulling my eyes away before I follow the droplet down to his collarbone, I glare at him, “Where have you been?”
He gives me a side eye as he comes closer, waving a hand to his attire and drawing my attention back to his tight chest. I will not to count the abs.
Still pressed against his door, he comes up close. Holding my breath doesn’t stop me from breathing him in. Ugh, even his sweat smells good.
Reaching around me, he unlocks the door before pushing it open behind me.
“We have to be out in ten minutes, I don’t have time for games,” I say as I cross the threshold of his room.
“It’s called exercise, you should try it.”
I bristle, he did not just say I need to work out . “Excuse me?”
He starts emptying his pockets on the desk, glancing up at me through the mirror. “I’m just saying, freckles. You’re very tense. I think you could do with some endorphins. ”
“I am not tense.”
He steps towards me. I hold my ground with a glare.
“It’s not good to hold onto all that tension,”he says, his tongue wetting his lips. “Maybe you need a release.” I curse myself as my heart pounds and my belly swoons. His head tilts forward and I raise my chin defiantly, refusing to look away from his eyes, even as I swear his drop to my lips.
He pulls away from me and I inhale a shaky breath.
“I’m not kidding about the ten minute warning,” I say, regaining my composure but not looking up from the carpet as my feet tail him across the room. “The car is already waiting.”
“Are you coming in with me?” He asks. I look up sharply and my heart stops. Mortifyingly, in my tirade I have followed him into the bathroom. Smirking, he holds my eye as he whips his t-shirt off.
Refusing to look at the muscles I already know he was hiding under his shirt, I glare at him.
“I mean offer’s there,” he says with a glint in his eye, his hands playing with the waistband of his shorts. My gaze drops to follow the motion and my mouth goes dry at the sight.
Swallowing, I say, “What offer?”
“For that release ,” he says with a smirk.
“Pig.” I spit as I throw a rolled up towel from the bathroom counter at him. He dodges with a laugh as I spin on my heel and slam the door behind me.
My hand comes to my forehead with a less than gentle slap. Why did I do that? Now he probably thinks I’m a lunatic, desperate to catch a glimpse of his naked body. Although, he didn’t exactly seem annoyed at the intrusion. If anything what just happened could be construed as…flirting?
Pretending to be engrossed in my phone, I wait the torturous five minutes for Danny to finish. I can hear the water running and will my mind to not picture his wet, naked body standing under the spray.
I need to get a handle on my hormones. I’m supposed to doing my job, not ogling my boss. Even if he does look really good shirtless. Even if it has been a while since I’ve had any kind of release.
By the time he emerges, fully dressed, my heart rate has yet to return to normal. Without looking at him I snap, “Lets go,” and swing the hotel door open.
The car ride is silent. Logically, I know the tension filling the car and making my thighs press together is just in my head, remnants of Danny’s mini strip show. If I don’t look at him I don’t have to worry that my dirty thoughts will be voiced. It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes from lingering on his slightly damp hair, or his soft lips or the tight t-shirt that clinging to the abs that I definitely did not count.
“You okay over there?” he asks, dryly.
“Hm?” I reply. “Uhuh.”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
“I’m looking at you.”
“You’re looking at my ear.”
“It’s part of you isn’t it?”
“I’m sure it’s irresistible but I’m sure I haven’t had someone so interested in it before.”
My eyes snap to his with a glare.
“You’re insufferable, do you know that?”
He grins impishly.
“ Ici , ” Jaques says from the front seat.
I fling myself out of the car, desperate for fresh air instead of the lingering scent of Danny’s shampoo and what I can only assume is some sort of aphrodisiac. “I’ll get your sides.” I slam the car door behind me.
The production truck is busy which is my first warning. I sidle up to Sarah who is frantically typing on her phone.
“Morning,” I say. “Busy in here today.”
Sarah grunts, “Yup. Bigwigs are here.” She gestures with her head to the door separating the office to the rest of the truck.
I raise my eyebrows but before I can say anything the door swings open and a tall middle aged man walks out. His intimidating presence steals the air from the truck, his self satisfied gaze assessing the room. I try to mold into the wall to avoid the attention of who I quickly realize is Charles Covington, Danny’s father. Although they don’t look alike, I can see enough of Danny in his hair and frame that the relation is unmistakable.
He makes polite conversation with Sarah and Brian, or at least what I’m sure he considers polite. I pretend to be engrossed in the schedule hanging on the wall behind him, desperate to escape his notice.
“You’re Danny’s girl right?” the booming American voice sounds. I jump, bristling at the moniker.
“I’m his assistant, Anya,” I say, stumbling over the term. Even to my ears it sounds inaccurate for my job. From his raised eyebrow, I know Mr Covington feels the same.
“How is he doing?” he asks, not quietly. I can see everyone in the small truck barely hiding their eavesdropping.
“Uhm, yeah good,” I say. “He’s very passionate about the role.” I know that’s an outright lie. It’s a struggle to get Danny to care about the job at all, but at least he’s trying.
Mr Covington barks a laugh, “That’s good to hear. Just make sure he shows up, alright?”
I nod. He gives me a long lingering stare, his beady eyes glistening and his tongue licking his lower lip. My skin bristles under his attention but thankfully Sarah presses Danny’s sides into my hands and I’m able to make my escape.
Danny is in his trailer, leaning on the wall opposite the door as if waiting for me. I jump at his presence.
“Are those the sides?” he asks, taking them out of my hands before I can reply.
His brow furrows as he reads them, turning away from me. I shift my weight from foot to foot as I wonder how to approach the topic.
“So, uhm,” I start. “I think your dad is here.”
Danny freezes, his shoulders seizing up.
“I mean, he’s definitely here. I just spoke with him.”
Danny straightens, “I know,” he says, in a way that convinces me that he probably didn’t. He turns to me and runs his fingers through his hair. “How long until I’m needed on set?”
I glance at the call sheet, “Forty five minutes?”
Danny nods, “Will you run these with me?”
Huh?
I see a faint trace of red on his cheekbones. “This is an important scene and I just need to go over them with someone.”
“Oh, uhm,” I say. Read lines with Danny Covington? “I can see if Adriana is available?” Adriana is the female lead, and definitely more qualified for this than me.
“Freckles,” Danny says softly, “Please.”
Biting my lip, I gently take the sides out of his hands. “Okay, but don’t laugh, I don’t think I’ve read out loud since school.” I plop on the couch in front of him, clearing my throat before I begin.
I immediately feel stupid, the lines coming out stilted and forced. It’s like I’ve completely forgotten how humans speak. I clear my throat and try again.
“ The risk is too high, no one can know.”
“Is that supposed to be a Scottish accent?” Danny cuts in.
“Do you want my help or not?” I snap, flustered.
His lips shake and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Sorry, please continue.”
I make a show of smoothing out the paper and we start again.
Danny knows every word of course, and the scene runs seamlessly until I trip over my words. It’s worth it though, to see Danny grin at my fumbling and to see calm wash over his tense shoulders.
We finish the scene and I slap my thighs, pushing to stand up. “All done.”
Before I can take a step, Danny’s hand catches my arm, his large palm nearly twice the size of my wrist.
“Can we do it one more time?” He looks up at me pleading. With a huff, I sit back down.
“Fine, but I’m going to go for a Scouse accent next.”
Danny makes me reread the scene until I’ve nearly run out of accents, so when I get a text saying the car is ready to take him to set, I’m confident he’s ready for the scene.
That confidence quickly evaporates once we arrive on set and find Mr Covington lounging next to the directors chair.
The scene starts off strong, mainly because Danny refuses to look at his father. Until after the first reset, which has Danny and Mr Covington sharing a tense, loaded glance from across the room.
From that point on, disaster strikes.
I know Danny can do it backwards. He should be able to do this scene and following the run through in his trailer, nothing can really explain his need to bark “Line!” every five seconds.
Lauren, the 3rd AD is trying to be patient but I can tell by the vein popping in her forehead that she’s getting frustrated. And a better word for frustrated would be pissed.
“ We need to take this to Fraser, you know he isn’t part of this, ” Lauren feeds him, calmly.
Danny clenches his jaw and nods, shaking his shoulders out.
“Okay guys, let’s try this again,” Lauren shouts to the crew.
I watch as his cue comes and goes, the flush in his cheeks and the tick in his jaw a pretty clear sign that this isn’t going too well. In case anyone wasn’t aware.
I glance around at the crew and notice more than a few eye rolls and scoffs.
My role on set is really quite bizarre, I’m not expected to do any of the jobs of the harried runners corralling crew and keeping the food stations topped up but I’m also not in any position of authority. The only authority I have is over the lead actor currently floundering under the watchful spotlight of his smug father.
I’m there to stand quietly in the corner until Danny needs me. He hasn’t asked but screw it. He knows the lines, it’s the goddamn shadow lingering in the back of the room and eating all the craft pan au chocolates that’s responsible for this mess.
When the 1st AD yells action and I see the stubborn flush in Danny’s cheek travel down his throat, choking him, I decide enough is enough.
I tiptoe to Lauren and whisper in her ear, “Can we give him five?”
I have no right to make the request but I hold firm, clenching my fingers into a fist as if I can physically stop the cameras rolling.
Lauren sighs and glances at me and nods. The next time the cameras cut she calls out, “Let’s take five everybody.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Make sure he’s on top form after the five, I can’t keep people behind much longer.”
I grab a water bottle from the snack table and hurry over to Danny, who is clutching his sides so close to his face his nose is brushing it.
I tap his shoulder and offer the water. He takes it without looking at me.
“Okay, what gives?” I ask softly. “We ran these earlier and you know it, I know you do, you could say it in your sleep. Hell, we ran it so many times even I could say it in my sleep at this point.”
“I know,” he snaps, his attention drifting to the back of the room. Mr Covington isn’t even paying any attention, instead laughing loudly with the producer.
“It’s because he’s here,” I say, gently.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s too damn hot in here,” he snaps, tugging at his collar.
I look around at the airy room, the high ceilings relieving any trapped heat.
“There are a lot of people in here I suppose,” I placate.
“One less if you leave,” he says, not looking up from the crinkled paper in his hands.
I glare at him “ The risk is too high, no one can know. ” I’ll be saying these lines on my deathbed in 70 years time, most likely.
He takes a deep breath and spits “ We need to take this to Fraser, you know he isn’t part of this.” and suddenly he’s off, reciting his lines perfectly. He speaks the lines so quickly, he hardly even realizes he’s done it until I can’t stop the smug smile spreading across my face.
I laugh, “I told you you could do it. Ignore him, the sooner you calm down, the sooner we can get this scene wrapped and he can be on his first class flight back to LA and out of your eyesight.”
He blinks in surprise and then rolls his eyes, holding up a hand. “I’m not thanking you.”
I pretend to think about it, “That feels suspiciously like a thank you but sure.”
He shoves me playfully, gratitude shining in his eyes. He doesn’t look to his father once as he crosses back to his position.
I wander back to Lauren, “He’s ready.”
Lauren is immediately back in action, “Okay everyone back into positions were going to run it again.”
Danny does it in one take.