Chapter 9
Victoria
I breatheout a sigh of relief as I step out of Hayden Maddox’s trailer. He’s altogether too potent for my sanity. Between the way his eyes follow me every time we’re both on set and being closed up in a tiny trailer with him while he’s repeatedly undressing, touching him, following the lines of his body to make the clothes fit perfectly … it’s difficult to remain professional, but I managed it.
Barely.
To be fair, it’s really not that tiny of a trailer. But it sure feels minuscule when you’re closed in there with a guy who’s been named People’s Sexiest Man more than once. A movie star with raspy stubble growing along his angled jawline, just inviting my fingers to caress it.
And what right does he have to ask questions about my daughter? Like he’s actually interested?
It’s bad enough being closeted away with a half-naked man—or at least partly naked half the time—that I know is A) way out of my league, and B) probably used to women fawning all over him, but to have him seem like an actual caring human instead of the arrogant asshole I’d like him to be?
Too much. It’s just too much.
Okay, I’m glad he’s not actually an arrogant asshole. But a little standoffish would be helpful, because while I’ve always thought he was attractive and enjoyed watching his films, my hey-that-guy’s-hot level of crush is quickly blossoming into full on I-really-like-this-guy-and-want-to-spend-time-with-him-and-kiss-him-and-maybe-more level of crush.
Especially after dating a string of guys who seem to tolerate the fact I’m a single mom more than see it as a defining part of who I am. How sad is it that Hayden Maddox seems more interested in getting to know that part of my life than my last three dates combined?
It’s not fair. Not fair at all.
When I get back to the costume trailer and set down my armload of clothes, Mia looks me up and down, her dark eyebrows—a contrast to her bottle-blond hair—raising toward her side-swept bangs. “Everything go okay with the fitting?”
“Yup!” I chirp, not elaborating.
“Ookaaay,” she says slowly, helping me hang the clothes on the rack designated for Hayden Maddox. “Did something happen with Hayden? He’s usually a sweetheart, but if?—”
I cut her off with a firm shake of my head. “Nope. Nothing happened. He was great. Super great.” In a soft voice, I mutter, “Really, really great.”
When I chance a glance in Mia’s direction, I catch her smirk, and she leans against a table, crossing her arms. “Did he flirt with you?”
Sighing, I flop down on the couch in the corner, raising my hands palms up. “I mean, not really? I don’t think that’s what normal people consider flirting?”
Her eyebrows lift again. “And you’re not a normal person because …?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’m a mom. And he asked about my kid. And seemed genuinely interested in my answers.” I layer my hands over my heart, letting out a sound like I’ve been struck. “It’s just …” Dropping my hands, I shake my head. “I dunno. Nice, I guess? Different than I’m used to from men around here, anyway.
Mia hums, her brows drawing together and her lips pursing.
I hold up my hands palms out. “Look. I know. You probably see this on every film set—the new, small town girl starstruck by the beautiful actor. Don’t worry. I’m not going to go crazy or anything. I can manage his costumes and keep my emotions to myself. I promise.”
Shaking her head, Mia gives a rueful chuckle. “You’re not wrong. I have seen that a time or two, though you don’t quite fit the stereotype. Hayden on the other hand …” She trails off with another soft laugh. “Let’s just say he has something of a reputation. And while it’s not entirely unearned, it’s not entirely accurate either. Just … be careful you don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Pushing to my feet, I cross to gather another round of costumes for fittings. “I promise, I don’t plan on biting or chewing anything.”
Exhaustion drags at me as I schlep the armload of costumes from my car back to the costume trailer. I was up late last night making the adjustments to the costumes needed for tomorrow’s shooting schedule, and I came here straight from work, Erin in tow, much to her dismay.
“Ugh, these are heavy,” she complains, hefting her armload, and I glance back to see a sleeve nearly dragging on the ground.
“Erin, watch the sleeves,” I hiss, not wanting anyone to catch me reprimanding my daughter. I’m tired and cranky and I want to shout, but I can’t because it’s not fair to anyone if I do.
“I’m trying!” she snaps, and I pause and force myself to take a deep breath so I don’t respond in kind. “I didn’t ask to do this,” she grumbles as she stomps up beside me.
“Fine.” I reach over and grab the load of clothes out of her arms and pile it on top of the already teetering costumes I’m carrying. “Come on,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
She huffs but doesn’t say anything, and I assume she’s trudging along beside me. She better be, anyway. And if she’s not …
Well, if she’s not, she’ll probably still be right there once I’m done dropping these off.
But Mia has other ideas. Her face brightens as soon as I get in the trailer. “Oh, perfect, you’re finally here.”
Finally, I mouth, my back to her as I drop my load on the couch then set to work hanging them on the appropriate racks. As though she doesn’t know my schedule. As though we didn’t have multiple conversations about that very thing in the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday she tried to insist I needed to be on site at six a.m. When I protested, she tried to act like she’d fire me, but backed down when I wished her luck finding someone else with even half my experience on short notice.
That was when she helped me carry this large bundle of clothes to my car so I could make the necessary alterations—mostly just hemming and taking things in here and there—and said she’d handle the stuff for today, though she didn’t sound too happy about that.
Mia takes out a tablet and taps on the screen. “Okay. Hayden’s in his trailer, so take his costumes for tomorrow over to him and make sure they fit.”
“What? No. I was just supposed to drop these off. My daughter?—”
Mia’s head snaps up at my protest, and her eyes dart to where Erin sulks by the door. “Oh, is this her?” Her next question is directed at Erin. “What’s your name?”
Erin mumbles her answer, and Mia beckons her over. “Alright. You ever wanted to work on a real live film set? Now’s your chance. While your mom takes the costumes to Hayden”—she shoots me a glare—“you can help me organize the costumes from today and pull the ones for tomorrow. It’s like we have a big, giant closet here. And if you’re good, I’ll let you play dress-up.”
The sullen expression slides from Erin’s face and her eyes light up at the prospect of playing dress-up. “Can I wear that hat while I help?” She points at a black hat with a giant peacock feather coming off it.
“Of course,” trills Mia, reaching for the hat. “This’ll be your official helper hat. How’s that sound?”
Erin claps, trying to perch the hat on her head, but her ponytail is in the way.
“Here,” says Mia reaching for Erin, and even though I open my mouth to protest that Erin doesn’t really like people messing with her hair, I close it again when Mia deftly twists Erin’s ponytail up, uses a clip to hold it in place, then sets the hat on top and pins it. “There!”
Rubbing under the edge of her hat, Erin looks back at me, her expression happy and hopeful. “Well, Mom? What do you think?”
“It looks fabulous, sweetie.” Directing my attention at Mia, I ask, “You’re really okay with this?”
Mia acknowledges my question with a dismissive flick of her fingers. “Go. You know the stars hate to be kept waiting.”
Sighing, I check the sheet posted next to Hayden’s rack with the handwritten list of costumes he needs each day this week. Pulling the ones for tomorrow, I gather them up carefully so they don’t drag on the ground and head back out into the chilly spring evening. It rained this morning, so the ground is still squishy, but the clouds broke right before the sun went down, leaving the air crisp and cold as the sky turns from a dull blue to the navy of full dark.
I take in several deep lungfuls of the fresh air, hoping it can brace me against the effect I know Hayden Maddox always has on me. His trailer’s not far from the costume trailer, so it doesn’t take long before I arrive at his door.
Knocking firmly, I call, “Mr. Maddox? It’s Victoria. I have your costumes for tomorrow.”
He opens the door, once again dressed casually in a white V-neck undershirt and gray sweatpants. I make a concerted effort to keep my eyes above his waist, despite the fact that I’m at eye level with his crotch. But I’ve seen the zoomed-in pictures of him in gray sweats online—Brittney made sure to show them to me—and I do not need to come face-to-face with his manaconda.
His eyes crinkle as he smiles down at me. “Miss Victoria. Call me Hayden, please. Mr. Maddox sounds far too formal, especially for someone who’s responsible for dressing me.”
His low, sultry voice sends a shiver skittering up my spine, but I ignore it, stepping up and into the trailer, painfully aware of where my shoulder brushes against his chest as he holds the door open for me.
“Um.” I clear my throat, lifting the clothes in my arms. “I have your costumes for tomorrow. I just brought them back from altering. I think Mia wants you to try them on so we can make any last-minute adjustments if we need to before I head home for the night.”
His eyebrows jump. “Head home? I haven’t seen you today. How long have you been here?”
I wave a hand. “Oh, not long. I just came by to drop off the costumes for tomorrow and pick up any more Mia wants me to work on. I wasn’t expecting to bring these to you myself.”
He gives a noncommittal grunt in response, and somehow it seems like he’s disappointed, though I’m not sure if he’s disappointed I brought the costumes or that I won’t be around for longer. Turning away, he picks up a decanter of amber liquid and pours some into a tumbler. Then he pulls out another glass tumbler and pours an inch of liquid in it as well. He nudges that down the counter, picking up the first glass and taking a sip. “Sit.” It’s a command, not a request. “Have a drink while I try these on. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s gone before I can get any words out. With a shrug, I settle on the couch and take a sip of what I assume is whisky. It’s smooth and a little smoky, warming my throat on the way down.
Taking a minute to just sit is so welcome right now. Today has been a beast. Staying up too late working on the costumes didn’t help, but it was compounded by a whiny kid who nearly refused to get out of bed this morning—only the threat of losing time on her iPad got her moving—a boss who managed to find fault with everything I did today, and then the same whiny kid throwing a fit about having to come with me out here. To be fair, I did make a few mistakes today, likely the result of sleep deprivation. But it wasn’t anything serious, certainly nothing that jeopardized patient safety, though from Dr. Banks’s reactions, you’d think I’d suggested poisoning the toothpaste or stabbing patients in the gums instead of just scraping their teeth. And don’t even get me started on Erin …
I thought she’d be excited about getting to see where a movie’s being filmed, but instead it was just more whining and fussing and humphing and arm crossing and refusing to talk to me or actually help me at all.
Sighing, I rub my fingertip between my eyebrows and take another sip of my whisky, then another. I probably don’t need the alcohol for lots of reasons, but a couple of sips won’t hurt, and something about it is taking the edge off my stress. Though it’s probably the fact that I’m sitting here in relative silence for the first time all day, no one demanding anything of me, that’s taking the edge off.
“Everything okay?” Hayden Maddox murmurs, and I almost jump out of my skin, because he’s right there in front of me.
Breathing hard, my hand over my chest like a church lady clutching her pearls, I can’t help laughing. “Oh my god, you scared the bejeezus out of me.”
His lips quirk in a smile. “The bejeezus, huh?” His laughter follows. “Who even says that anymore?”
Shaking my head, I lean back on the couch, laughing. Not hard, not the kind that doubles you over and steals your breath, but rolling giggles that just don’t seem to want to stop. Hayden Maddox laughs along with me, though I’m not sure if he’s caught in the same giggle trap or if he’s just laughing at me, but I don’t mind either way. It’s nice to share laughter without worrying someone’s going to bust in and get mad at me.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I dab at them with my fingertips, but after a moment the tears seem to be taking over, so that I’m crying more than laughing, and oh, god, now I’m just being ridiculous. Sitting up, I lean forward, covering my face with my hand, sniffling loudly, and blindly reaching out with the cup in my hand, hoping to find the counter.
It’s plucked away from me, and I know Hayden Maddox has taken it—probably to keep me from bashing it into something or dumping his likely expensive liquor all over the place—then he tucks a tissue into my hand. Something about the simple gesture breaks the dam all the way, and I dissolve into full-on tears, no hint of laughter left.
The couch cushion sinks, strong arms wrap around me, and I find my face pulled against a firm chest covered in smooth cotton. He holds me, rubbing my back and making soft, nonsensical shushing noises, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything will be okay,” over and over, as though he has any idea what’s wrong or why I’m crying.
Which would be miraculous, really, because I’m not even sure I know why I’m crying.
Eventually I manage to pull myself together, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I scoot away from him, not letting myself acknowledge how good it felt to be held like that—and if I do acknowledge it, I tell myself that it’s just about the comfort of a hug, not anything to do with the way his body feels against mine. “I’m sorry,” I manage, a burst of defensive laughter coming out with my apology. I wave one hand, dabbing at my face with the tissue in the other. “I don’t know?—”
The feel of his hand on my back, rubbing in small, gentle circles, cuts me off. “No need to apologize. It happens to the best of us.”
I risk a glance in his direction, giving him my best sardonic look. “You make a habit of showing up in movie star’s trailers and turning into a blubbering mess for no reason?”
Leaning back, he scratches his chin, his five o’clock shadow rasping under his fingers, his face scrunched in thought. “Well, okay, I can’t say I’ve done that. But I have gone to my friends’ trailers—some of whom are movie stars”—he points at me when he says that—“and ranted and raved about whatever’s pissing me off.” He waves a hand in my direction. “You clearly have a lot going on and needed to let it out.” Leaning closer, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “I promise I won’t tell.” Then he pretends to zip his lips, and that has me laughing again.
His eyes go wide, almost panicked looking, and he holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not start with the giggling again. We know how that ended. And as much as I don’t mind letting you sob on my couch?—”
“I wasn’t sobbing!” I protest, as though that’s the important thing here.
He gives me a pointed look. “As I was saying, I don’t mind you being emotional in here, but if you stay too long, people will talk, and if you stay a long time and then come out in tears, people will talk even more.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes. “So you’re saying I need to pull myself together and leave?”
He cringes at that. “Not quite.”
Laughing, I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not offended. Besides, I need to get back to my daughter soon.”
Patting the seat next to him, he jerks his head, indicating I should scoot over. “She’ll be fine for a few more minutes, right?” I nod. “Then come here and let me hold you a bit longer while you finish pulling yourself together. You seem like you could use a nice, long hug.”