3. Aurora
3
AURORA
"I'm fucked," I drum my fingers against the polished wood of the bar, waiting on the second espresso martini. "Totally, completely, irreversibly fucked."
My pulse hasn't slowed since that speech.
"You're overthinking this." Hannah pats my arm. "He's clearly into you. Which means you?—"
"You don't understand." I cut her off, the words tumbling out faster than I can filter them. "I told my boss's boss's boss's boss that the script he's invested millions in is ridiculous. I criticized the romance, the dialogue, the character motivations, the costuming. Everything!"
The bartender slides our drinks across the bar. I grab mine and take a desperate gulp.
"And did you see how he looked at me during that speech?" I focus on my drink as I talk faster and faster. "He quoted me. He literally quoted what I said outside, Hannah. Word for word. In front of everyone."
"Aurora…"
My stomach twists itself into knots. "God, I'm going to get fired. I'll never find work in this town again. All because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut about a stupid script that isn't even my business."
"Aurora…"
"And the worst part?" I lower my voice to a hissing whisper. "For a minute there, I actually thought he was interested in me. How pathetic is that? As if someone like him would?—"
"I was interested."
The deep voice behind me stops my heart.
No!
I close my eyes briefly, willing the floor to open up and swallow me. Please don't let this be real. Please. Please. Please.
Slowly, I open my eyes, see the wide-eyed expression on Hannah's face, and know that there's no way out. She takes hold of my shoulders. Spins me around.
And there he is.
Oh God, this is real.
Ruslan is standing so close that I can smell his faint scent of mahogany and cedarwood. His eyes, light gold and intense, are fixed directly on mine, and there's a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.
"In fact," he continues, "I still am."
Hannah rises to her feet, practically glowing with delight.
"Would you look at the time?" She presses a hand to her forehead with dramatic flair. "I absolutely must go... check on that thing. You know the one."
Before I can grab her arm, she whispers, "He's even hotter up close. And you better close tonight."
Then she vanishes into the crowd.
Traitor.
My cheeks burn as I turn back to Ruslan. Words stack up in my throat like a traffic jam, jumbled and impossible to untangle.
"I'm so sorry about what I said earlier." The apology finally tumbles out. "I had no idea who you were, and I just. I mean, I shouldn't have?—"
"And as I've said earlier, there's nothing to apologize for." His eyes hold mine, steady and unwavering. "I meant every word I said up there, Aurora."
The way my name sounds his lips stops me cold and sends another rush of excitement along my spine.
"But..." I twist my hands together, still expecting the axe to fall. "I practically tore apart your entire production."
"So what? You were being honest." Something shifts in his expression. Interest? Approval? "Something refreshingly rare in this town."
I exhale, not realizing I've been holding my breath. "So I'm not in trouble?"
The corner of his mouth curves upward.
"Far from it." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "But what I want to know is how I've never seen your name as a part of the writers’ room until today?"
I let out a small laugh. "Because I'm in props."
"Props?" His eyebrow arches. "For a woman of your talents?"
"It's a way to still be in the industry without being noticed."
"Interesting." He steps a little closer until he's the only thing in my vision. "In my experience, it takes trauma for someone to understand it like you do."
My pulse quickens. "You understand trauma?"
"Enough to recognize it in others."
I look up and wonder just what sort of trauma those eyes of his have seen. If his struggles are similar to mine, or if they're something I could never hope to understand.
But my thoughts are interrupted when I notice the glint of a camera lens rising beside us.
My heart slams against my ribs as the familiar panic at the thought of being photographed wraps itself like a noose around my throat.
My face. In print.
Ruslan reacts before I can.
"No pictures." Ruslan's voice cuts through my panic with unexpected sharpness.
I watch the transformation happen in real time. The warm, attentive man beside me straightens to his full height, shoulders squaring as something cold and dangerous flashes across his features.
The photographer hesitates, camera still half-raised. "Are you sure, Mr. Dragunov?"
"I am." Ruslan's voice hardens into a command that leaves no room for argument. "I believe you've already fulfilled your contractual obligations for the night. Go see my assistant about getting paid, and keep that camera lowered."
"Of course." The photographer's face pales as he lowers his camera. "My apologies, Mr. Dragunov."
He retreats into the crowd so quickly he nearly trips over himself.
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still shaking. "I really don't like having my picture taken."
Ruslan's eyes soften as they return to mine, that dangerous edge receding like a tide pulling back from shore. "I noticed. Yet you still want to be in this industry?"
"I've always wanted to be in films," I admit. "Even as a kid."
"But not on camera?"
I swallow hard. "Once upon a time, maybe."
"Is that why you chose props? So that you can still be close to the camera without ever appearing on it? And is that why you were hiding in the alleyway earlier?"
"Yeah." I nod, my voice smaller than before at the admission.
"What happened, Aurora?" he asks gently.
For a split second, I'm back on stage with the spotlight warm on my face, my parents smiling proudly from the audience and my little brother clapping, loudest of them all.
And then all of that came crashing down.
The smell of blood. The awful words on the walls.
Look what you made me do .
"The dream died seven years ago." I manage to say.
"Was that when you came to L.A.?"
I nod, not surprised that he made the connection. "It was supposed to be my fresh start."
He reaches forward and tips my chin up gently until I'm looking into his eyes. I expect suspicion and curiosity.
But instead, all I see is sympathy.
"And has it been what you've wanted?"
The question hangs between us. The truth would be that it's been an unmitigated disaster. I want to tell him that I've spent every single day looking over my shoulder. I want to tell him that apart from this moment with him, I haven't felt a single second of true safety.
I haven't ever escaped my past. I want to rip away the layers I've built around myself and scream out the truth until he sees the real me.
But I can't.
In the end, practiced caution barely ekes out a win over my burning desire.
"I don't know," I finally answer. "I honestly don't know."
I'm aware of how his finger is still keeping my chin tipped up. For a heartbeat, I imagine him pulling me close, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that would shatter every wall I've built.
I can almost taste him, warm and insisting. I can almost feel his hands sliding down my back, pulling me against him.
But the moment never becomes reality.
Ruslan's hand falls away, returning to his side. The absence of his touch leaves an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest, like something precious has been snatched away before I even had the chance to hold it.
"I'm getting out of here," he says. "And I'd like you to join me."
My heart skips at the offer. "Join you? Why?"
"Because you've piqued my curiosity, Aurora Castellanos." His eyes dance with something that sends a current through my entire body. "And I'd like to find out more somewhere private where we can hear each other."
Danger signals flash through my mind at the mention of somewhere more private. But the warning feels hollow against the steady pulse of want beating beneath my skin.
I glance over his shoulder and catch Hannah watching us from across the room. She mouths "FUCK HIS brAINS OUT" with such exaggerated emphasis I almost laugh.
I look back at Ruslan, at the possibility of... something.
Something that I haven't had in a long time. Something that I'd been terrified of for seven years.
Something that I've never stopped fantasizing about for seven years.
I should say no. I should tell him that I have other responsibilities. I should tell him that it's a kind offer but I can't accept it.
But instead, I hear myself say:
"Sure. Why not."