Chapter 33
ANYA
Danny wraps on set with an awkward tension. The film has another week or two before the official wrap, but as far as Danny and I are concerned, our time on Accordance is over. I’m a little sad that my first film job is over, but I’m mostly relieved. It’s not a hardship to walk off the set of a film that Charles Covington is behind.
The day Danny finally told me what happened with Callum, it was like all the puzzle pieces slotted together. It’s pretty clear to me that Callum is a pathetic fame chaser, but I can’t ever forgive Charles for orchestrating this whole ordeal just to get some publicity. Of course, an anonymous source has already leaked that a fight broke out on set, halting production. Danny was quiet the day that came out and not even me waving the guitar in his face was enough to snap him out of it.
Danny hasn’t left his trailer much since his return. I can’t blame him and haven’t done much to encourage him out. I collect our final catered lunch and bump into Jess at the craft table.
“Hey Anya.” Jess greets me with a smile, piling bread onto her polystyrene plate. “It’s so sad you won’t be around anymore.”
“Well you know, I go where Danny goes.”
Jess laughs. “Hey you should come out tonight, a bunch of us are going to this bar in the tenth.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sure, that sounds fun.”
“Nice, we’ll be there from nine. I’ll text you the details.”
“I’ll see you there.”
After Danny’s final scene, there is a polite smattering of applause. Gwen makes a small speech praising his performance, which he ducks his head for. Danny hands out a few gifts to the crew. And that’s it. Danny is officially wrapped.
We bundle into Jaques’ car once he’s freed from set. When we pull up outside Danny’s hotel, he stops at Jaques’ window and hands him a wrapped box that I know contains a very expensive watch that he spent hours choosing. Jaques beams and we say our goodbyes.
In Danny’s room, he collapses onto the bed, exhausted. I climb up next to him and rest my head on his chest. It’s almost second nature now to go to him. To lay beside him as if I’m supposed to be there.
“So,” I start. “All done.”
We haven’t discussed what happens to us after the film wraps. What happens to this . Production hasn’t booked a return ticket for me yet, but I’m sure I’ll get one soon.
“Yeah.” His hand plays with my hair, twirling it through his fingers.
I can’t bear the thought that this is it, that this is the last time I’ll have him like this.
He clears his throat but before he speaks, I blurt out. “Let’s go out tonight.”
His brow crinkles, “Out?”
I sit up, “Yeah, Jess mentioned the crew are going for drinks and she invited me. We could go out with them, it won’t be suspicious if everyone we’ve worked with for the past two months will be there.”
“Oh.” His eyes catch on my lips as I lick them. “Am I invited?”
“I’m inviting you. It will be a little weird, probably.” Definitely. “But once people start drinking they’ll get over it.”
“You want to?”
“Yeah.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear with a sigh.
“Let’s do it.”
***
The bar the crew have arranged to meet at is down a small side alley alongside the Canal Saint-Martin. The minute we walk through the crowded bar and find the corner commandeered by the crew, I know this is a bad idea. The group have pushed tables together in a haphazard horseshoe shape, surrounded by mismatched chairs and half empty glasses.
“Hey guys,” I say to the group. Comically, everyone does a double take at the figure awkwardly hovering behind me like a socially inept shadow. “Can we join?”
Jess, bless her, jumps up, eager to ease the awkward, pregnant tension. “Of course, grab those chairs over there.” Danny looks around and grabs the two chairs, dragging them into position.
We sit, glancing around the room. The atmosphere is tense, the crew unused to socializing with the grumpy, celebrity talent. I silently beg for a return to normal conversation.
“Olivia was just telling us about the hotel for the party scene.” I’m going to nominate Jess for the OBE. Olivia launches into a rant about the grumpy hotel owner who kept adding charges and limiting rooms they could film in.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Danny’s jaw clench. Not one to be too upset by difficult location department situations, I can read his tension as embarrassment. But from the wary glances from the crew, I know his attitude is being mistaken for contempt.
I stand. “I’ll get the next round in.” A chorus of cheers respond.
Danny grabs my sleeve. “Don’t leave,” he hisses.
“I’ll be two minutes. Just say something funny.” The icy glare he gives me makes me smirk. I’m half tempted to sourly pat him on the head as I pass, and I can’t resist running my fingers quickly through the fine hairs at the back of his neck. Cursing myself a fool and praying no one notices my lack of judgment, I wander towards the bar. It would be just my luck to accidentally expose our relationship to the whole crew right at the end of it. Maybe this is why we’ve never really ventured further than my apartment or his hotel room. The easy tactile relationship we nurtured in the dark is hard to hide in the light.
At the bar, I quickly remember the state of my bank account now I no longer have an income and curse myself for my generous plan. Still, I order two bottles of wine and a tray of tequila. As I rummage in my bag for my purse, I glance over my shoulder and see Danny slumped in his seat, playing on his phone.
My phone chimes.
Danny: Come back right now
I roll my eyes.
Another chime.
Danny: And bring wine.
Pocketing my phone, I tell the bartender in French, “Start a tab. My friend will pay.”
He nods and passes me my drinks.
Triumphantly returning to the table, loud jeers sound as I place the tequila on the table.
“On a school night?” Devon asks.
“Not for me,” I reply.
“We’re in at one tomorrow Dev,” someone says. “You’ll make it.”
I hand a shot to Danny.
“I think this is a bad idea,” he mutters.
“Too late, you’ve got a tab.” I cheerfully clink my shot glass to his and we throw the alcohol down our throats.
He holds eye contact and I feel heat lick down my spine with the tequila.
“Ah, of course, you’re welcome.”
I grin impishly and lick a drip of tequila from the corner of my lip. His eyes track the movement.
“Let’s play a drinking game,” Charlie, one of the camera guys, suggests. There are some mumbles of discontent, but I remember that Rosie’s fool proof plan for diffusing awkwardness at a party is a good drinking game.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
Drinks are poured and seats are rearranged as Olivia announces we’ll play Never Have I Ever.
“Never have I ever…” Olivia says, “broken a bone.”
Glasses raise.
Someone else pipes up. “Never have I ever stolen anything from set.”
One of the art department guys takes a guilty sip ignoring the annoyed gasps of his team. “What! I wanted those cinnamon bon bons and we scrapped the scene anyway.”
“Never have I ever…” The sound guy says, “been in a fight.”
Everyone freezes and whips their head to Danny. He gives a self-deprecating laugh and makes a show of taking a drink. The sound guy laughs and claps him on the shoulder, the tension dissolving into friendly ribbing.
“Oh, I love this song!” Sadie says. “Let’s dance.”
Jess jumps up and grabs my hand tugging me onto the dance floor. I feel Danny’s eyes on me as I sway to the music, the song so different to the romantic jazz from the club the night we got together. If I sway my hips a bit more than necessary, that’s the tequila not me.
The night gets significantly more lax, with the lights turning dim and the music getting louder. People mingle between the seats and as more people arrive, the crew spreads out and creates a barrier against the general public. Maybe that is why Danny has eased up. He’s even started a conversation with the camera guy next to him.
I sit close to Danny’s side, having barely left his eyesight without him texting me and demanding I return. Despite trying to hold a conversation with one of the costume girls next to me, I keep an eye on the various crew. Every now and then, I spot the telltale signs of gossip, as people look at him and whisper to each other.
It’s not uncommon for cast and crew to mingle after wrap, but it was a given that Danny Covington is too famous for it to not be talked about.
The man in question hasn’t looked at me for a while, too engrossed in his conversation, but my whole body is burning in anticipation — or stress — that any second one of us will slip and all our colleagues will twig that I’ve been shagging the talent.
The leg I have pressed against Danny’s starts to fidget as I sip my wine. Lightly, the side of his pinky finger grazes my bare leg and I freeze. Glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, he hasn’t moved, just brushing his finger against my twitching knee, a silent command to still. My heart begins to pound, but I plant my feet firmly on the ground still entertaining Eva from costume’s story about her girlfriend.
As I nod at Eva, the pad of his fingers slowly travels across the flesh of my thigh.
I stop breathing.
No one else has noticed, packed into this tight corner in the dark. Goosebumps raise where his finger traces.
I don’t even have to look at him to know he’s noticed the effect he has. His minute actions increase, until he’s blatantly rubbing my thigh. A wave of heat floods me, pulsing with every brush of his fingers. The crowded bar, with all our colleagues surrounding us, makes my head rush. If his hand continues to move upwards, those strokes would eventually reach the place between my thighs…
“I’m getting a drink.” I announce to the group standing on unstable feet, cutting off Eva.
I catch his eye as I turn for the bar, the heat in his eyes unmistakable despite the smile he’s biting back. I glare and flounce to the bar, my half full wine glass still in hand.
I reach the bar and down my glass as I wait for a bartender.
Suddenly, I feel heat on my back and know he’s followed me. I want to lean backwards onto his chest but I’m hyper-aware of all the eyes in this place.
Leaving the sanctuary of the group, he is much more vulnerable to being recognized. No one has asked him for an autograph yet, thank God, but it’s only a matter of time.
A tingle shoots down my spine as his hand rests on my hip, out of view of the crowds around us.
He leans closer, “Something got you worked up?”
Gulping, I look into his piercing blue eyes. “We’re in public.”
His eyes flutter as he bends closer to my face.
“I think that’s working you up more, isn’t it baby?” he whispers. “Such naughty thoughts to have out in the open.”
I release my breath slowly, a blush spreading across my cheeks.
He chuckles. The bastard knows exactly what he does to me.
Turning his body inwards, pressing me against the bar and shielding me from view, he bends to my ear, his breath making me shiver. “Meet me in the bathroom.”
Before I have a chance to reply, he stalks off into the crowd.
“ Pour vous ? ” the bartender asks.
“ Ne t’inquiète pas .” I mumble, glancing back at the crew. No one looks in my direction.
Placing my empty glass on the bar, I follow Danny through the crowd, anticipation tight in my belly.
As I push the bathroom door open, hands grab me and push me against the wood. My whimper of surprise muffled as his lips crash onto mine.
I attack his lips in a frenzy, the heat in my body overwhelming as I taste the tequila on his tongue.
He lodges a thigh between mine and I gasp at the pressure. My hands reach the hem of his shirt and wander up, tracing the warm skin of his toned back.
“Is this what you want, baby?” he groans, as he kisses along my jaw and down my neck. Pressing open mouths kisses along my collarbone and across my chest, he pulls my top down and takes a nipple between his teeth.
I whimper and grind down on him, my head rolling back on the door with a thump. My skirt rises up until it’s resting scandalously around my hips leaving just the small material of my soaked underwear rubbing against his denim clad thigh.
I wonder if there’s anyone on the other side of the door, if anyone can tell what Danny’s doing to me. My heart races as I squeeze my thighs around his leg, the pressure almost making me black out.
“That’s it, baby,” he says, as I run my hands through his hair and tug, pulling his face back to mine.
He grabs my thigh and wraps it around his waist, his hands reaching around to clasp my ass to help grind me into him.
“I’m close,” I whisper in disbelief.
He huffs a laugh, “Good girl, grind on my leg. Come with all your friends outside waiting for you.”
I can’t help the moan that escapes at the thought, tumbling me over the edge. He puts his lips back on mine and squeezes my thigh with his fingers as I crest the wave.
As I come down, he pecks kisses across my face. I can’t catch my breath, I don’t want to.
I reach for his buckle, eager for more, but he grabs my hands. “Not here. Let me take you home.”
I take a calming breath and it’s all I can do to nod my head. The bastard has robbed me of the ability to speak.
Furious, I grab his perfect face and press kisses to his lips, tugging again at his belt.
He laughs. “Freckles, I want to make tonight last but I won’t if you keep this up.”
Nodding, I raise my hands to my flushed face trying to catch my breath. “You go out first, I’ll meet you outside.”
He shoots me a wicked grin as he adjusts himself in his jeans.
“I’ll get your stuff,” he says, pressing a final kiss to my lips and reaching for the door.
“And pay your tab,” I say, unable to stop my dopey grin.
He rolls his eyes and shoots me a wink as he pulls the door open.
I turn to the sink and run my hand under the cool water, futilely attempting to calm the heat burning me from the inside out. I imagine him heading back to the crew, lips swollen from my kisses, and making my excuses as he grabs my bag from my chair. I stamp down on the part of me swooning at the gesture.
Taking a steadying breath, I pull the bathroom door open and run to the exit, keeping my head down so no one notices me.
When I step outside, he’s across the street looking out at the canal, my small shoulder bag clenched in his large hand. Biting down my smile, I cross to him and gently pull my bag from his clasp. He flashes me a small smile, the light of the canal reflecting in his eyes. I blink away the surge of affection at that simple gesture.
The sounds of the crowded bar drifts away as we wander up the street. I was ready to fish my phone out to order a car but I want to stay in this moment for a little bit longer.
Our fingers play together by our sides.
“You’re really hot when you dance,” Danny tells me, smirking.
I laugh, “Ah yes, the good old two step.” I jump to the side and start swaying on my feet whilst rhythmically clicking my fingers. “How irresistible.”
He chuckles, “Nah, more like when you did a bit of this.” He steps closer to my body before spinning around so his back is to my front. He shakes his hips in a poor imitation of twerking and throws his arms wide.
I cackle and playfully swat his ass. “Get off, I didn’t do that!”
“Oh yes you did,” Danny says, throwing an arm around me, pulling me close and tucking me against his side. “It was very tasteful. I enjoyed it immensely.”
I laugh again and pull back, looking up into his face, “You’re just saying that because you can’t dance for shit.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know that I have been known to throw some shapes,” he says, affronted but with a laughing glint in his eye. That night in the Jazz bar proved that he definitely knows what he’s doing on the dance floor.
“Throw some shapes? Are you a middle aged dad at a wedding?”
“Ha ha ha,” he mocks as I choke on my own laughter. He slows and turns to me. His long fingers gently tilt my head until his lips are on mine and my laughter is swallowed on a sigh. My belly coils as he playfully bites my lip.
“Let’s go home,” he says quietly. I nod quickly, my body eager to be close to him.
“I need to see what kind of shapes you can make,” I say cheekily and I can taste his smile on my lips.