Chapter 9 Sadie
NINE
SADIE
“Do you have any extra translucent powder?” Devi asked, wandering over to Sadie’s station. “Mine fell, rolled into the tall grass, and I’ve decided it’s officially gone forever. Nature owns it now.”
“Let me see,” Sadie said as she crouched and dug through her makeup case, shuffling past compacts, palettes, and an unreasonable number of products she definitely did not remember packing. Then she felt it. A shift in the air. A Quentin-shaped disturbance in the force.
The second she realized he was close, her entire body braced like she was about to be tackled.
She didn’t need to look to know he was there; she could feel him.
The heat radiating off him, the annoying way her skin tingled like it had just remembered she was, in fact, a human with nerve endings.
Even with several feet of distance between them, her heart decided now was the perfect time to hammer against her ribs like a trapped squirrel.
Her fingers fumbled for a moment before landing on the small compact of translucent powder. She pulled it out quickly and handed it to Devi with a smile that felt more forced than usual.
"Here you go!" she chirped, her voice just a little too bright, a little too casual like she hadn’t just been seconds away from throwing herself into the tall grass for cover, next to Devi’s rogue translucent powder.
For the past week, she had been avoiding Quentin with the kind of dedication usually reserved for jury duty notices and exes at the grocery store.
The second he entered the makeup trailer or even breathed too close to her work station, she would suddenly find herself deeply invested in brush organization, double-checking color palettes, or running incredibly urgent errands that no one had actually asked her to do.
When she had to interact with him, like when she was trapped in the personal hell of doing his makeup, she redirected all conversation to Avery, his production assistant.
Oh wow, Avery, how’s your family’s dog? Your plants?
Your emotional wellbeing? Your credit score?
Anything to avoid acknowledging the very large, very distracting man sitting three inches in front of her.
Avoid. Avoid harder. Avoid like it was a competitive sport. So far, that plan had been working beautifully. Until last night.
He had somehow worked himself into her subconscious like a subliminal message and she’d had the most wicked sex dream about him.
The kind that had her waking up in a sweat, heart pounding, body betraying her like a damn turncoat.
It had been too real. Quentin pressing her up against the wall of her cabin, his hands everywhere, his mouth doing sinful, ridiculous things that made her want to scream into a pillow just thinking about it.
She practically had to do penance when she woke up, staring at the ceiling and mentally filing a list of regrets in alphabetical order.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d spent the morning avoiding eye contact with literally everyone, as if they could somehow sense that she had spent the night mentally defiling the very man she was now actively pretending did not exist.
All because of that kiss. If it could even be called a kiss.
It had been more of a drive-by. A blink-and-you-miss-it brush of lips that barely qualified as contact. She had gotten more action pressing her face against boy band posters in middle school.
And yet, somehow, it had set her entire body on fire.
A few damn seconds of contact, and her nervous system had been fried like a cheap toaster.
It rearranged her brain, sent heat rushing through her veins, left her standing there like an absolute fool, wondering what the hell had just happened.
How could something so brief feel so overwhelming?
Every time she thought about it, her heart raced, her cheeks flushed.
And the worst part was after Quentin kissed her—kissed her like his mouth was made of fireworks and her body was dry kindling—she had to stand there and watch him kiss Tessa. On camera. Over and over again.
And if she thought their kiss had been intense.
This was next-level torture. Because yeah, she knew they were acting, but seriously?
They were acting way too well. The way he leaned in, the way his hand slid up Tessa’s back, the way their bodies pressed together.
It was all so convincing. There was more passion, more heat.
And the tongue. Why was he giving her so much tongue?
Was that in the script or just a personal choice?
Sadie clenched her jaw, crossing her arms so tightly she was surprised she didn’t snap in half. She wanted to puke and throw things. Possibly at Quentin’s stupid, kissable face. Or maybe at Tessa, just for being there, existing, and getting paid to make out with her problem.
So, yeah. Easiest thing to do was to pretend it never happened. Shove it into the mental vault, lock it, throw away the key. Maybe set the vault on fire just to be safe. Possibly salt the earth around it.
“What the hell is going on with you two?” Devi asked, leaning in and lowering her voice. “Because the vibes have been aggressively weird lately. And that’s saying something, considering your usual vibe is already weird. Like… professionally weird.”
"What? Nothing’s going on," she muttered, her voice cracking slightly.
"Uh-huh. Sure. Except, he’s circling you like a shark, and you’re just lying there like a dead fish. What’s the deal?" Devi asked, eyebrows raised so high it looked like it was trying to escape her face.
Devi hadn’t seen the non-kiss a few days ago.
She’d been caught up with Tessa and her so-called "makeup emergency," which, surprise surprise, turned out to be just a pimple. The tragedy. The irony wasn’t lost on Sadie.
How something so small had done an Olympic gymnast-level flip of her entire world.
Sadie had half-expected an interrogation from the crew, but no one said a word. At least, not directly. Still, she felt it. The side-eyes. The curious glances the second the director waved her off frame.
She’d caught snippets of jealousy. How lucky she was. How unfair it was that she got to kiss him. Poor them.
“Well, the director wanted me to step in for a shot setup,” Sadie started, glancing down at her hands as she fiddled with a makeup brush. “And Quentin and I, well... we kissed?” It sounded like a question, even to her own ears. Devi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but her smirk was knowing.
“Oh, I know. You think I didn’t hear? It was the only topic of conversation for two full days. You couldn’t escape it. Craft services? Kiss. Hair trailer? Kiss. Someone sneezed and three people whispered, Was that before or after the kiss?”
Sadie groaned.
“You should’ve seen the wardrobe girls,” Devi continued, delighted. “One of them almost fainted from secondhand jealousy.”
“But people moved on,” Devi added breezily. “Some poor PA slipped on a banana peel in front of Tessa, and now he’s a legend. So congrats, you’re yesterday’s scandal.”
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you ask?”
Devi shrugged. “To watch you panic. It’s a hobby. Right up there with contouring and pretending I understand taxes.”
Sadie snorted. “Remember when we were friends? That was, what? Four chaotic weeks in January?"
“A magical time,” Devi deadpanned, hand over her heart. “So, was the kiss that bad? Or are you just emotionally repressed?”
Sadie opened her mouth to argue, but Devi steamrolled on. “Actually, no. Scratch that. I know it was hot. When two hot people kiss, it's like... sexy math. Hot plus hot equals hotter. Carry the smolder, divide by tongue.”
Sadie stared at her.
Devi waved a hand. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a makeup artist, not a mathematician.”
“Yeah,” Sadie said dryly. “I watched you chase setting powder down a hill like it was the last helicopter out of a war zone.”
“That was limited edition!” Devi gasped. “You do not abandon Fenty in the wild.”
Sadie burst out laughing. “You nearly face-planted into a stream. For setting powder.”
“Beauty is pain, Sadie,” Devi declared solemnly. “And occasionally, mild concussions.”
Devi smirked but then tilted her head, her gaze turning more thoughtful. "So, what are you gonna do? About him?"
“Pretend it never happened,” she muttered, but Devi cut in without missing a beat.
“Kiss him again,” she countered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
“Devi!” Sadie’s eyes widened, though a reluctant smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
"What?" Devi laughed, her voice bubbling with mischief. "Please do it. If not for me, do it for America. It’s your civic duty to kiss the man that every straight woman in America has been drooling over."
“I never knew you were so patriotic,” Sadie said with a laugh, shaking her head.
“Life, liberty, and the pursuit of hot men,” Devi declared with a dramatic eyebrow waggle, twirling her makeup brush. “That is what my ancestors immigrated to this country for. Don’t disappoint my Nani.” She pointed at Sadie with the brush. Sadie snorted.
"Yeah, totally right. I’ll just forget that I don’t even like the man and kiss him again. Throw caution to the wind, abandon all sense of decency, and forget my morals."
“Now you’re getting it, my friend. It’s not about liking him—it’s about fulfilling a duty, a—"
“—A complete lack of self-preservation?” Sadie cut in, still laughing.
"Devi, touch up!" one of the production assistants called, waving her over. Devi straightened, holding her translucent powder and makeup brush.
"Duty calls," she said with a wink before strutting off, her grin wide. As she moved away, she called back over her shoulder, “And don’t forget your civic duty!”
Sadie exhaled, rubbing her temples. She turned back to her station, rearranging brushes that did not need rearranging. Unfortunately, no amount of organization could quiet her brain. Because it kept circling back to one thing. That damn kiss.