23. CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 23
C lara nodded to Taylor when he and Devon strolled into the operating theatre arm-in-arm, but he barely spared her a glance; all his attention was focused on the pretty actress.
Despite all the text messages he had sent her over the last twenty-four hours, the FaceTime call the evening before and knowing it was ; it still stung badly to see them look so smitten.
“Good morning.” The assistant director, Charlie, spoke, and everyone in the room fell quiet. “First, an update on Mr Atrosky. He wants me to let you know that he’s doing well, and we can expect him back at work on Monday. He’ll be watching the rehearsal today via video link. We’ll start on page thirty-one. Positions everyone.”
Clara glanced around the room, noticing no one had a camera. She sidled up to one of the crew to distract herself from staring at Taylor and Devon flirting.
“Where’s the camera?” she asked quietly as Charlie positioned the actors.
“What camera?” he hissed back, glancing nervously towards the assistant director.
“The one that Mr Atrosky is watching through?”
“Up in that corner. He likes to film all the rehearsals.” He pointed up, and once she looked, she could see the camera mounted in the corner, capturing everything.
Clara’s eyes widened. She had spent a lot of time with Taylor in the operating theatre, not imagining they were being watched.
“Does he film when he’s not rehearsing?” Her voice was a little bit squeaky.
“Not since he got sued,” the crew member replied.
“What happened?” she whispered as Charlie was glaring over at them.
“Let’s just put it this way: they were naked.”
Charlie called for quiet before Clara could ask more about that story.
By the end of the morning, Clara was thoroughly sick of watching Taylor and Devon pretend to be in love.
Not only did they play characters in the movie who were falling in love, but between scenes, they were unbearably sweet together. And when she saw Taylor push Devon’s hair behind her ear, she had to look away as it was a gesture he had done to her. Something that she had thought was real, but to see him do it to another woman made her doubt everything.
Turning away from them, she opened the drawer next to her again, double-checking that she had replaced all the equipment she had used to save Mr Atrosky.
“That’s everything for this morning. Actors, you won’t be required until Friday,” Charlie called out to the room.
Clara stood there, watching Taylor, who didn’t even spare her a glance as he strolled out the door with Devon. Her already fragile heart sank a little bit more. If it hadn’t been for the money the job was paying, she would have just gone home, back to her boring life where movie stars didn’t pull her into their arms in dingy stairwells.
Lacey approached her, breaking her train of thought.
“Hi. I have a message from Mr Atrosky for you.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” Clara stuttered, blushing hotly. She was almost sure the young woman would know she had been thinking of her crush on the film’s star.
“As you’re not required on set this afternoon, he was hoping you could visit him in the hospital.” Lacey looked expectantly.
Clara glanced up at the camera, which she knew was watching them, before she answered, “Absolutely. What ward is he on? What time does he want me to visit?”
Lacey held a piece of paper out to Clara, who hesitated, then reached out to take it.
“This is Mr Atrosky’s personal phone number.” Lacey didn’t let go of the paper. “He NEVER gives out his personal phone number, so don’t lose it,” she said fiercely.
“I won’t.” Clara tugged again to get the paper out of Lacey’s hand, then pulled her mobile out of her pocket and took a photo of the page.
Lacey snatched the paper back. “Here, let me dispose of that; we wouldn’t want the wrong person to get hold of his number.”
“Of course,” Clara said, managing to keep a straight face. She had no idea who the wrong person was, but Lacey sounded so serious that she figured she should agree.
At this point, Clara wouldn’t have been surprised if the younger woman had put the paper in her mouth and chewed it up, but instead, Lacey carefully folded it up and put it in her pocket, saying, “He said to text him and arrange a time.”
“Sure. I’ll do that now.” Clara nodded as Lacey spun away from her and strode out of the room.
She texted Mr Atrosky. Then, she hesitated in the operating theatre, debating whether she should go and eat lunch with everyone. Eventually, she decided it would be better for her to leave, figuring she might throw up her food if she had to watch Taylor and Devon stare into each other’s eyes.
Standing at the door to Mr Atrosky’s private room, Clara was suddenly overcome with nerves, which was ridiculous; it was literally her job to save lives and follow them up afterwards.
With a final deep breath, she reached out and knocked, half hoping that he would be asleep and that she could sneak away.
“Come in,” a woman called out.
Clara frowned in confusion and double-checked the number on the wall; it was definitely the one she had been given. She slowly poked her head around the door and saw a very beautiful and well-put-together woman sitting in a chair beside Mr Atrosky’s bed, holding his hand.
“Hi, Mr Atrosky,” Clara said as she stood nervously by the door.
“Clara,” he exclaimed, a broad grin splitting the director’s face, an expression she hadn’t seen before. He had been so serious when he was on set.
Clara was about to answer, but the woman who had been next to the bed was on her feet and across the room in only a couple of strides and had pulled her into a hug, clutching her tightly, which stunned her into silence.
When the woman pulled away, Clara could see the redness in her eyes and the exhaustion clouding her beautiful face.
“Thank you so much,” the woman said as she gripped Clara’s hands.
“This is my wife, Louisa,” Mr Atrosky supplied from the bed.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Louisa. I’m so glad I was there to help.” Clara squeezed her hands back. “Mr Atrosky, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well.”
She nodded her head towards the director, unable to move any further into the room, as his wife didn’t seem to want to let her go.
“My name is Damien. When you save a man’s life, you earn the right to use his first name. Darling, let go of the young lady; her hands are quite white from you holding onto her,” the director told his wife.
“Oh yes, sorry.” Louisa dropped Clara’s hands and stepped away.
“Thank you, Mr—“ Clara hesitated and corrected herself. “Damien. It was a team effort. The crew did everything they could to help.”
Damien made a dismissive gesture from the bed. “I’ve watched the replay. It was quite something. It’s not every day that you get to see yourself brought back from the dead. Don’t undersell yourself. There was no team without you. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be sitting in this bed talking to you. It took the ambulance twenty minutes to arrive, and in those twenty minutes, I saw you not only save my life but work hard to stabilise me after the shocks. So yes, I owe you my life.”
Clara inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Like I say, I’m grateful that I was there.”
“That’s a lovely blue handbag you have,” Damien observed, suddenly changing the subject.
She stood there blinking back at him, confusion pulling at her brows, until he carried on talking.
“It’s very similar to the one that Taylor picked up that day and left with.” Damien’s face was blank when he said that.
Clara blinked a few more times before she muttered, “Really?” While hoping her cheeks weren’t as bright red as she feared they were.
“Anyway. These flowers are for you,” Damien said, gesturing to the huge bouquet sitting on the floor beside his bed.
“Those are beautiful. You didn’t have to.” Clara didn’t step forward to pick them up, feeling a little awkward.
“We did have to,” Louisa said firmly. “My husband is not the easiest man in the world.” She strode back over to the bed, sitting on the side and gesturing for Clara to take the seat. “But I’ve loved him for twenty-five years, and hopefully now I will get to love him for twenty-five more, and that’s all thanks to you.” She reached up and wiped at a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.
Clara looked at the two of them, and her heart hurt. She wanted what they had—love—love that would last her a lifetime. Her mind flickered to Taylor, and she dragged it away. He wasn’t someone who could be her forever.
“Clara. I get the feeling you’re the type of person who won’t take this next bit seriously, but I owe you my life, and if there is ever anything you need, I want you to call me. Make sure you have my number saved in your phone,” Damien stated firmly.
Clara nodded to keep him happy, although there was no way she would ever ask him for anything.
Clara lay on the bed in her hotel room, gazing at the flowers, which were more beautiful than anything she had ever been given before.
Jack had always told her that flowers were a total waste of money. She had once replied that the craft —expensive—beer he was so fond of was also a waste of money but had never said anything again, as that time he had shoved her so hard into a wardrobe door that her head ached for a week.
Sniffing hard, she appreciated the floral aroma that filled her room and pushed any thoughts of her ex back into the tiny box at the back of her mind. The problem was that this allowed the box she had shoved thoughts of Taylor in to spring open.
Picking up her phone, she opened the messages from Taylor and began to scroll through them, laughing at some of the silly things they had sent to each other.
She nearly dropped her phone in surprise when a new message from Taylor appeared at the bottom of the screen.
‘Hi.’
She chuckled. That was short and sweet, so she replied with the same. ‘Hi.’
She watched the screen as he typed his reply.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’ve just got back to my hotel from the hospital. I was summoned by Mr Atrosky—who now wants me to call him Damien.’
‘Wow! He never asks anyone to use his first name. So I just have to save his life, and I’ll get to use his first name too!’
‘Exactly.’ She took a photo of the flowers and attached them. ‘And he gave me these.’
‘Nice!’
‘What are you doing this afternoon?’
Clara watched as the bubbles on the screen appeared and disappeared, as he was obviously stopping and starting typing. Her heart sank; it meant he must be doing something with Devon.
After what felt like forever, his message arrived.
‘I’m going to a late lunch with Devon at a waterfront café. Brian has arranged with local photographers to get some shots of us together.’
Clara gazed at his message and was close to throwing her phone, as the thought of him and Devon made her feel nauseous. She stared up at the ceiling for a while, debating what to say in reply. What was wrong with her? How had she managed to fall for a man who things could never work out with.
In the end, she typed a polite reply. ‘I hope the food’s good.’
It was the best she could muster when all she wanted to do was tell him she was wrong and that they should give themselves a chance to see what would happen between them.
‘It’s supposed to be the best in the area.’
‘Nice.’ Staring at her phone, Clara debated trying to say more but left it, thinking their exchange was over until a final message popped up on the screen.
‘I wish I could take you instead. I’ll message you later.’
“Shit,” Clara cursed, and this time she did throw her phone.
She could avoid him, but she wasn’t going to block him on her phone, so she couldn’t escape him and knew that every time he messaged her, she would reply, and her heart would fracture a bit more.
Later that day, she couldn’t stop herself from checking social media for new pictures of Taylor. He was plastered everywhere with Devon, and there were rumours and speculation about the hottest new couple in Hollywood. The rest of her time on set was going to be torture.
Clara was right. The next day on set was awful. She hated the emotional whiplash of the joy that the messages she exchanged with Taylor gave her and the jealous, roiling feeling that churned in her gut every time she saw Taylor and Devon together.
But somehow, when she was on the set, she managed to keep it together, act professionally, and hide her total infatuation.
Because that’s what it had turned into, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She had started dreaming about him, from dreams that made her blush to dreams about a lifetime with him, which also made her blush every time she saw him.
Sadie had phoned her in a rage, having seen the photos of Devon and Taylor, convinced that the actor had been stringing along her best friend. Clara had explained the situation, after asking permission from Taylor, as it wasn’t her story to tell. Sadie was mollified, although still very annoyed on behalf of her best friend. She had been convinced that Clara spending two weeks in close proximity to Taylor would be the opportunity they both needed to see if there was something between them (Clara hadn’t been able to admit to her best friend that there were definitely too many feelings already on her side for a relationship that hadn’t yet gone beyond texting, Face Timing and a little bit of hand holding), and the situation with Devon had ruined it.
Clara didn’t allow herself to get lonely over the weekend, choosing to reframe her thoughts and use her time to relax, which was something she rarely got to do at home. She slept Friday and Saturday nights for over fourteen hours and made time for the exercise that was always the first thing to go when she got too tired. And Clara would be the first to admit that the deep circles under her eyes were less than they had been the previous week, and the colour of her skin was better after the exercise.
‘I wish I could have taken you to Sunday lunch at Tony’s.’
Clara snatched her phone up. She had been trying hard not to think about Devon sitting by Taylor’s side in her place. She quickly corrected herself: It wasn’t her place by his side, but it was her invitation to lunch.
‘Did she hate it?’
‘No, she loved them all. Nonna taught her how to make perfect garlic bread. She had a great time.’
Clara clenched her fists as the waves of jealousy washed over her. ‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah. She’s surprisingly good company.’
Clara’s fists clenched tighter. This was what she had been afraid of; she was just a novelty to a man who had so many options. It was time to pack her heart back into the box that kept it safe and not let it get broken again.
Flopping back on the bed, she tried, she tried so hard. But every time she nearly had the lid closed, another nice memory with Taylor pushed its way out until she gave up and went for a run, leaving her phone behind.
When she got back to her hotel, a parcel was waiting for her at the front desk. Clara assumed it must be another present from Damien and Louisa; however, when she opened it, she found that the note wasn’t from them; it was from Taylor.
‘I saw this and thought you might like it. Taylor.’
Examining the stunning blue handbag that was in the package, she felt the box that held her heart, that she was trying so hard to close spring back open again.
It wasn’t a designer bag, but it was absolutely perfect for her. With a place to put her laptop, a section with a removable cool brick to keep her food, and a pocket to keep all the crap she seemed to always carry around. It was exactly the bag she would have chosen for herself.
“Oh crap.” She snatched her phone up off the bed and sent Taylor a message.
‘Thanks, it’s perfect. You didn’t have to.’
His reply was immediate. ‘I know I didn’t have to. I saw it and knew you needed it.’
And with his message, the box was not only open; it was burnt to the ground.
She put her head down and avoided him for the rest of the shoot, reminding herself that soon she would be home and back to reality, and she wouldn’t see Taylor again. She knew his interest in her would soon wane, and she would have to accept that and move on with her life.