Graham
D ark clouds fill the sky, bringing in a much needed reprieve from the unforgiving summer sun that reflects off the asphalt and towering structures of the city. I step out of the car, buttoning my suit as I run my eyes over the building in front of me. The entrance is roped off and security stands across the barricade with people gathering on either side, curious about what’s going on. The location is well known for filming, so the intrigue is high.
The sound of thunder rumbles in the distance as the smell of rain assaults my senses. I lean back inside the car, getting Will’s attention. “I’ll text you when I’m ready. If it’s raining, use the garage.”
“Aw, afraid of a little rain? Think it might wash away the shine and everyone will find out you’re just plated and not twenty-four karat.”
Fucker. “Remind me to fire you when you get back.”
His boisterous cackle rings out as I slam the door. Halfway to the entrance, I hear my name called. From over my should I see Will’s wide grin as he leans across the car to the open window, and I prepare for the smart ass comment. “Don’t forget to fire me when I get back.”
My lips curl with annoyance as I roll my eyes and walk toward the building. One day, I really will fire the asshole.
The curious onlookers standing outside of the ropes get louder as I approach. One of the security team, clearly belonging to Henry’s company, lifts the cordon, allowing me through. A few bystanders call out my name, recognizing me from one article or another no doubt, shouting for me to tell them what’s going on here today.
Another guard nods at me as he opens the heavy, tinted glass doors for me. The clap of my shoes is muffled by the sounds of chatter and the moving of equipment. I appreciate seeing every busy and hustling.
Once I’m inside, my attention wanders over the elaborate sets that take up the fifteen thousand square foot space. To the left is a staged dance studio complete with a mirror and barre, a couple to look like someone’s apartment, one to look like a coffee shop, and even one set up with a green screen behind it. Directly ahead, an elaborate as fucking hell mock theater has been built, complete with seating and filled with bodies ready to watch the show.
The premise of the video is a dancer meets a guy and falls in love, but she has a stalker constantly lurking in the shadows. She never sees the stalker, only senses their presence. The end of the video is when the twist is revealed. The dancer died in an accident, and the stalker is death.
My steps are light as I try to be discreet as possible. I take a seat in the last row of the makeshift theater just as the lights around the building go down, and the stage lights come on.
Music spills through the sound system. The heavy sounds of a guitar moan fill the place with an ominous, dark vibe, and Maverick’s deep voice comes through the sound equipment as dancers fill the stage with quick graceful movements.
My brows dip low as I lean forward in the seat, placing my elbows on my knees and pressing my steepled fingers to my lips. Irritation slithers over my skin, threating to turn to anger that she’s not up there. They better not have fired her for missing a few rehearsals. Not without discussing it with me first. Except for school, she’s done nothing but this for weeks to the point of injury and exhaustion.
Then my anger turns to worry. I bought her new dance shoes. Every single kind because I figured if her toe shoes were worn out, the others must be too. She argued with me for a minute, but eventually relented and accepted them.
She promised me this morning she was doing much better, but what if she got here and couldn’t do it?
I’m reaching in my jacket pocket for my phone, ready to call her, when the stage lights go down and a spotlight shines on the ceiling as the girl I would recognize from a million miles away appears. She was supposed to the in the mix on the stage with the other dancers. Not the girl gliding from thirty feet in the air.
She sits on a swing made of red and yellow aerial silks as they lower slowly. My breath catches when she flips backward, legs outstretched in a wide V as she spirals toward the floor. My heart thunders in my chest when she stops herself halfway, wraps the silk around her ankles and spins upside down the rest of the way until she rights herself in a graceful turn, and lowers herself to the floor.
As if she didn’t just spin until a normal person would be dizzy from thirty feet in the air, she comes up on her toes, leaping across the stage. Her back bends as she rolls her body in swift, sharp movements, done so elegantly and effortlessly, it’s as if she’s still suspended in the air.
I’ve seen Casey dance many times. She’s stunning on stage as she floats with unmatched grace and strength with passion spilling from her while she gets lost in the music. But it wasn’t until this moment I appreciated how strong she is.
My eyes never leave her. A bomb could explode and it wouldn’t tear my attention away from the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’m not just captivated. I’m enthralled.
Sadness tugs my spirit when the music ends and the lights lower. I could watch her all day.
Having seen what I came for, I stand from the seat and walk toward the side to avoid the ushering of the audience out of the building. Directions are being yelled and people are chattering as they prepare for the next portion of the day. The staged ballet was the longest part, having filmed the entire ten-minute performance despite knowing parts would be cut in editing, but it went off without a hitch from what I could see.
My eyes are sweeping the area, watching for Casey. Since she apparently became the lead dancer, I’m no longer sure if she’s done for the day like I thought she would be. When I see the other dancers, no longer in costumes, exiting the building, I realize she’s become the lead in the video. While my chest is swollen with so much pride it could burst, I can’t help but wonder what happened to Ariel Vega.
A dark presence appears beside me, dressed in black from head to toe. I turn my attention toward him and nod, acknowledging him. “Came to watch your girlfriend dance?” Masters asks, his tone mocking.
“I did,” I clip. He hums, and I feel his eyes penetrating the side of my face. I can see his grin from my peripheral, but he remains silent. Annoyance crackles in my veins as I roll my head to alleviate the tension building. “What?” I snap, knowing I’m giving this asshole exactly what he wants.
“I just didn’t expect you to admit it. I figured I’d get some bullshit about her being your sister.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I’ll bet my last dime Liam doesn’t know. I’ll sign the company over to you right now if you say I’m wrong.”
I look at him with a raised brow and a grin. “Would you like to have this conversation again in a few days?” He laughs and shakes his head. “We’ve established why I’m here. Why are you here? And what happened with Ariel?”
“Ariel and Maverick…” He presses his lips together and rolls his eyes. “They didn’t get along. She quit a couple of weeks ago. Andre,” he nods toward Peter Andre, the director of the video. “He liked Casey, and I didn’t disagree.”
“Well, at least you save that money.” Ariel’s wasn’t a cheap hire by any means, but this entire production has been expensive. I thought it was excessive for a music video. Especially for a somewhat new artist, because when the idea was pitched, Maverick had one song released. But Masters has a sixth sense about these things, I suppose, because since his second song released, Maverick has exploded on a massive scale.
“The money was in the budget for the female lead, so it will go to Casey.”
“Why? You could save it.”
“Someone whose name rhymes with frilly told Josephine that Casey was going to let her apartment go, but she couldn’t afford a new place. Josephine asked… Well, actually, she demanded Casey get what we negotiated for Ariel because,” his hands lift and he does air quotes, “Casey deserves it more than that holier-than-thou diva who only got where she is because she stays on her knees.”
“Okay then,” I laugh because it’s true. “But Casey was never moving.”
“I guessed as much, but we—and by we, I mean Angel—weren’t going to argue.”
“And the second question?”
“I’m bored and going stir crazy,” he laughs. “It doesn’t take much, but with the tour canceled and we’re not currently recording, I’m getting antsy. It’s not good for me to become restless.”
“So you’ve been coming to watch them rehearse?”
“Among other things. Quinn is ready to drag me back to the lake house. I find more to keep me occupied there. We’ve just stayed in the city for the label, but you’re here now, right? I’ll go back to the lake house for a few weeks, take care of the animals, ride the four-wheelers… whatever the hell I can find to fuck up.”
“Four-wheeler?”
He rolls his blue eyes. “Quads. ATVs. Whatever. I’m from Louisiana. We call them four-wheelers.”
“I forgot you’re not from here.”
“ Laissez les bon temps rouler, coullion.”
“Right.”
Masters’ wife appears and wraps her arms around his waist. “Ready?”
He kisses the top of her head and nods, then looks at me. “Just do me a favor. When you tell Liam, don’t do it in the office?”
“Why? You can’t possibly be afraid of a little scandal.”
“No. But all that glass is a bitch to replace.”
He leaves just as they begin filming the other scenes.
Casey playing the role opposite Maverick means she’s the love interest of the production. Which also means he has to touch her. It takes me about five seconds to realize, acting or not, I want to rip his arms off and beat him with them. But I can’t—won’t ruin this for her, so I slip away to a far corner to answer emails.
After a couple of hours, I run out of emails and anything else I can do from my phone. Of course, the moment I step out of the shadow where I can see what’s going on, Casey steps out of a double pirouette to Maverick right in front of her. My teeth grind, knowing what’s coming, the scene from the script playing out in front of me.
Even though the person in the hoodie is meant to be death in the form of the female love interest, in this scene, death tricks her, appearing as the man she loves. Though the audience only sees a dark figure, never his face. It’s supposed to be hot and seductive.
I tell myself to calm down. It’s only acting. It’s not fucking real.
Then, as my feet propel me forward, I convince myself it’s not white-hot jealousy. It’s business. It’s an interest in production, not Maverick gripping her wrist and pressing her into the mirror as he hooks my leg over his hip. I’m ensuring we’re getting the quality product we’re paying for. It has nothing to fucking do with Maverick burying his goddamn face in her neck.
“Now kiss her,” the director calls out.
Nope.
I take it all back.
This is absolutely fucking jealousy.
This is a chronic fucking case of mine .
I’m going to punch someone in the goddamn face.
“We… That’s not what we rehearsed,” Casey says, pushing Maverick away before their lips meet. “I have a boyfriend.”
Well damn.
My steps stall behind the boom tech when she makes the declaration. Sure, she didn’t say my name, but she said she has a boyfriend. I’m not sure how to feel about the way my stomach just somersaulted and the way my heart stuttered over something so simple. I don’t love the phrase. It doesn’t feel like a good enough—a strong enough word, but fuck, it makes me giddy as a damn fourteen-year-old boy.
But this is Casey, and that one word from her mouth is a big damn deal.
“It’s acting,” Andre tells her. “He’ll get over it.
She shakes her head, taking another step away from Maverick, and looks the director in the eyes. I’ve always loved how she does that. She may be trembling on the inside, but she tries to keep her head high. I will give Liam credit for that because I know if Krista had her way, Casey would always be cowering in a corner.
“I’m not an actor. I am a dancer.”
“Today, you’re an actress, and you’re going to kiss Maverick.”
Maverick bumps her shoulder with his and grins at her. “I promise to make it suck, so you don’t decide to ditch your boyfriend for me.”
Maverick is shortening his lifespan, never mind his career, and he doesn’t even realize it.
“All right, from when Maverick hooks her leg. This time I want a kiss, and I want it to be good Maverick. Set my cameras on fire.”
Casey shakes as she tries to hide the fact that she’s trembling. “N-no. I don’t w-want to.”
“It’s just a damn kiss!” Andre bellows from his seat.
Maybe I should let Casey handle it. Perhaps it would be best if I let her learn to fight her own battles.
The problem is Casey is always trying to fight her battles alone. She suffers without telling anyone a thing.
It’s time she has someone fight for her and with her.
She flinches while her eyes jump around. Everyone stares at her, waiting for her to just give in to the director’s demands.
Andre’s chair clammers to the ground when he stands, no doubt hoping to intimidate her. He manages one step before I step from behind the boom and clamp my hand on his shoulder. His head jerks toward me, but my eyes stay on the girl.
She swallows hard when she sees me, a violent shudder rippling through her body. I want to grab her and pull her into my arms, but now that my focus is on her and not my possessive jealousy, I know I can’t. We haven’t told Liam yet because he’s been out of town. Making a move now would blindside him. Considering how moments ago she was a breath from falling apart, I won’t do that to her.
Turns out, I don’t have to. She clears the few between us in less than a second, throwing her arms around me.
“I’m sorry. It’s silly, I know, but I can’t kiss someone else,” she whispers against my neck.
“Good thing,” I chuckle low. “I would’ve removed his lips if you had.”
I pull her away from me, tucking her to my side, and face Andre. “We’re not in the business of forcing the cast to do something because you want a last-minute script change.”
“That’s exactly what my business is.” He gestures his hands down his body. “I am a director. I want the script changed… I want them to kiss they do. It’s in my job description, and it’s in hers. If she weren’t your damn sister, you wouldn’t care.”
Casey’s entire body goes rigid next to mine when he says sister. I could correct him. I want to, but at this moment, sister, girlfriend, or total stranger doesn’t matter. She told him no, and the asshole pushed anyway, trying to bully and embarrass her into doing what he wanted.
Maybe last-second changes are expected, but if she—or anyone else—doesn’t want to, they shouldn’t be expected to.
“I would care because she said no . Lawsuits for sexual harassment and accusations of sexual misconduct are how fortunes are lost and careers die.”
“This is my production. If she won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”
“Except it isn’t yours. This is a Sin Records production. We are paying you to do a job. You might be accustomed to getting your way elsewhere, but here, common decency and respect for other people are required. You won’t replace her or anyone else without our consent. The video is almost finished. We’re not paying for you to start again.”
His jaw works back and forth as his eyes swing around the room. The entire set is silent. You can’t even hear breathing. They’re all watching, waiting to see what happens. “I’ll walk.” His chin juts in a feeble attempt to make me back down, but the way it wobbles tells me he knows it’s weak.
I laugh at how fucking cliché this douche is. Where the hell did they find him? “Go ahead. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, but be warned: I will drown you in breach of contract suits. I’ll let every investor from here to China know how problematic you are. I’ll make sure not a single production company in Hollywood touches you. I have connections in things you’ve never heard of. When I’m done, they won’t hire you to fill the Slurpee machine at 7-Eleven.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t make threats, Andre. You will do well to remember that.”
The truth is, I’ll probably do most of that, anyway. And from what I’ve learned about the owners of Sin Records over the last several weeks, when they hear about today, even if I don’t, they will.
His nostrils flare. The desire to fight is evident by the clenching and unclenching of his fist at his side.
But I already taste defeat.
Then, just as I predicted, with a disgruntled nod of his head, he surrenders and filming continues.
I stay close. Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t because Casey turned those doe eyes on me and asked me to stay. So I watch with an aching jaw from clenching my teeth and a pounding headache from keeping my temper in check. The shit I’ll do to make sure she is okay is borderline masochistic.
But for her, there’s nothing I won’t do.