Chapter 29 It’s a biological imperative.
It’s a biological imperative.
Josie
AT WORK THE following week, I’m applying Chelsea’s makeup, but I can’t stop looking at the door, waiting for Sean to pop in.
It’s been four days since our Vegas trip, and I know he’s been busy with work, training, and Seamus, but the main cast is taping here today, and the whole studio is abuzz with rumors of contracts being signed and new cast members being introduced.
Sean already told me they’re sending him, Amanda, and Jason Ramirez to Mexico to do some taping there.
(Jason Connor isn’t going because Emmy is too close to her due date.) Miguel hinted at some news that he couldn’t tell me. That must be it.
Speaking of Miguel, he’s been pinging me all morning.
I haven’t had a moment to check our messaging app, but I’m guessing it’s about how excited he is to get to meet the members of the Lost Star cast. They aren’t going down there for another few weeks, but he probably just got the okay to share the news. I’ll get back to him soon.
I hurry to apply the final airbrush layer on Chelsea.
When I’m done, I might take a break and find Sean.
Photos of us at his dad’s party and flitting around Vegas are all over the internet.
As a result, nobody has shut up about us, but, like Sean said, they’re all focused on how good we look together and don’t care where I come from or what puppet-related crimes I might have committed in my past. Apparently, “Josie Days, the ex-nun who stole Sean O’Sullivan’s heart” is enough of a bio for them.
Have I stolen his heart? I think so. As for me, I’ve pretty much handed mine over.
“Good morning!”
Speak of the right sexy devil, and he’ll appear. In the doorway. In his Captain Footwork uniform, one eyebrow raised.
“Josie, may I see you outside for a moment?”
My colleagues play it cool as I place the airbrush gun on my tray with forced nonchalance and saunter toward the door.
On the way, my hip bangs into an empty chair, and I ricochet off it, sending a tray full of supplies flying.
I can’t bear to look at the stifled laughs on my friends’ faces as I mutter, “I’ll clean this up later” and lurch for the doorway.
“What the hell was that?” Sean asks, straight-faced.
“Shut up. I was running on adrenaline.”
I follow him through the extra-busy hallways. Every room, every area of the set is crowded with people. Finally, he stops in front of the prop closet where I ambushed him with our first kiss. He pulls open the door and gestures for me to go in first.
“Wow, chivalry’s not dead after all,” I say, squeezing inside.
He steps in after me and pulls the door closed.
“Chivalry missed you.” He kisses me, and why, why, why am I never prepared?
My whole body is like an electromagnetic roller coaster—one second sitting placidly in the loading area, the next careening off at breakneck speed.
His cologne is triggering me in ways that are not appropriate for the workplace.
Our thwarted interlude in the jet taunts me.
I break the kiss. “Did you bring me into the closet for a reason? Because I’m about to make my own reason.”
“By all means.”
God, his mouth. I just want to kiss it and kiss it and never stop, but we’re at work.
“How’s Seamus?” I ask, pulling myself together. “Any midnight police raids since I last saw you?”
“He won’t go to the therapist I set up for him.”
“I could talk to him,” I offer. “I know a thing or two about making life-altering mistakes and then punishing yourself for them for the rest of your life.”
“At least you’re allowing yourself a big reward these days.” He tugs me in closer.
“I’m guessing you’re the big reward?”
“Yes, I’m the ginormous reward. Although, you know, I don’t want to oversell it.”
“You literally referred to it as a space shuttle the other day.”
He glances sideways. “I was running on adrenaline.”
A grin splits my face, and his mirrors it. “You don’t really have a reason for dragging me into this closet, do you? Other than you’re obsessed with me.” I grab his face and start kissing him again.
“Not obsessed,” he murmurs around my lips.
“Admit it. You want me so bad you can’t even stand it.” I nip at his bottom lip, dropping my voice to a husky whisper. “In fact, you need me. I’m a biological imperative. If you can’t have me, you’ll go crazy. You’ll die.”
The breath stutters out of him. My limbs go weak at the sound, and, for the second time in a month, I’m about to rip off all my clothes and have sex in a closet, which is impressive since I’ve managed to go the previous thirty years without being remotely tempted.
Of course, that’s not going to happen. We’re keeping a low profile, and the door has little slats in it for ventilation so every sound we make will be broadcast to the entire building.
But how can I be expected to care about such things when a guy who graced the cover of the Sexiest Men Alive magazine twice in the past five years is ready to let me climb him like a set of monkey bars?
A muffled shout from the hallway interrupts our tryst. “Meeting on the bridge! Everyone!”
“I wonder what that’s all about,” Sean says, his voice gravelly with desire.
“Who cares?” I reply, going for his mouth again.
“Maybe we should go.”
I groan.
“Chain of command, babe.” He cracks the closet door, and a blast of cool air from the hall makes it clear how steamy it was getting in there.
We funnel into the crowd on the bridge where our lead director, Miles Gautier, stands in front of the captain’s ready room door in his HEYDUDEs, dad jeans, and Andor T-shirt.
When he sees Sean, he waves him over to stand at the front with the rest of the Lost Star cast. Sean throws me a wink and pats down his yellow lock of hair as he takes his place in the lineup between the two Jasons, while I hang back with the rest of the support team.
“Okay, have we got everybody here?” Miles looks around.
There are about a hundred of us crammed onto the bridge.
One of the marketing people sneaks behind Miles with his phone raised to take a shot of the room.
I start to take a discreet step out of his line of sight but then stop.
Sean is right. I’ve got to stop worrying so much.
“Next week, we’re gonna start filming season seven,” Miles begins, “and as you know, we’ve been talking about ways to freshen up the show.
Make it more relevant. More diverse. More updated.
We’ve got some great ideas, which I think you’re all going to like, and we’ve got some new people coming on board.
Are any of you familiar with a sci-fi TV show out of Mexico called Beyond the Stars? ”
I hold up my hand along with several others.
“Great. Well, they’ve been doing some really exciting stuff with their plotlines and characters.
They don’t have the musical element that Lost Star does, but it got us thinking.
Why don’t we do a few crossover episodes between the two shows?
They’ll be bilingual. We’ll tape parts here; they’ll tape others down there.
And we’ll also use the episodes as a bridge to introduce some of our new characters. ”
So, they really did go with my idea! I add a whoop to the smattering of applause. I’m sure Kelly never mentioned me when she brought it to Miles, but it’s probably better that way.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Miles says.
“Anyway, no need to belabor this any longer. I just wanted you all to know where our heads are at, and I wanted to introduce two new people to you. These are a couple of the folks you’ll be working with over the next week or so, and a couple more will be joining us tomorrow. Let’s give them a warm welcome.”
Miles starts clapping, and the rest of us follow suit as the ready room door slides open. We crane our necks to get a look at the actors who step out, costumed in white, squishy uniforms.
“Hola,” the first guy says with a wave. I can barely see him through the people in front of me, but he’s tall and lean, and kinda familiar. So is his costume, for that matter.
That’s when it hits me. Miles said these were crossover episodes.
These actors aren’t new recruits—they’re actual cast members from Más Allá de las Estrellas.
I recognize this guy—his name is César Castano Cortés, and he plays an engineer named Salvo.
He wasn’t on Club Bilingüe with me; I just know him from watching the show.
I struggle to get a glimpse of the second person through the swaying, applauding throng in front of me, and make out a shorter dude shooting jovial finger guns at everyone. My stomach drops out.
“?Qué onda! How’s everyone doing?”
His voice is the same. His energy is the same. Everything about him is the same. It’s like I’ve been thrust backward through time.
Miguel, my childhood best friend, is here.