Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE B-LISTER IS RIDING HIS HIGH UNTIL THE FLAME EXTINGUISHES. BUT HIS CO-STAR ISN’T TOO HAPPY
GREER
Tripp was kind of right, after all.
The afternoon was boring.
Not all of it.
Watching him do the little promos and intros was entertaining. He had a great presence that filmed incredibly well. In my eyes, he nailed every reading on the first shot.
But I clearly wasn’t the expert because they did more than one.
Way more than one.
Lighting changes. Position changes. Tone changes. Emphasis changes. Little tweaks to wordage. Swapping out streaming service names.
It was a lot.
And those lulls between while someone did whatever to prepare were boring.
I must not have been the only one who thought so because every time there was a break, Tripp came over to me.
At first, I’d thought it was to get his phone to scroll, but he never took it when I offered.
After noticing the strained smiles as they situated him back on his mark, I started going to him instead.
The videos for social media might’ve been more entertaining, but just as much work went into making sure his movements and words synced up to whatever viral trend they were doing.
Most were cheesy—and they would probably be outdated by the end of the week with how quick the tides changed—but he still gave it the same level of attention and effort as he did everything else.
Even if he was very noticeably over it.
As more direction was given between filming, I channeled Tony’s assistant in my quest for efficiency and crept away to grab Tripp a water.
Only, I had no clue where to find said water. I knew there had to be some because he’d been offered drinks and snacks throughout filming, but I had no idea where I was going.
“You look lost,” a guy around my age said, taking pity on me as I neared one side of the room.
“Water?”
“Other side.”
What is it with me and going the wrong direction here?
He gestured outward. “I’ll show you.” We started walking before he asked, “New job?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only because I know you weren’t Mr. Carter’s assistant during filming. What’s your name?”
Mr. Carter. So official.
It was a stupid thing to be struck by. I was literally there because Tripp was an actor. But for whatever reason, it was easy to forget he was famous.
I belatedly realized he’d asked a question that I hadn’t answered. “Greer.”
“I’m Alfie.” He guided me out of the room to a long hallway. “Are you looking to get into the business?”
I bit back a laugh and shook my head. Even if I had an interest in dealing with the drama, two-faced people, and the intense lack of privacy that went along with fame, I had no acting ability. Zero. Less than zero, honestly. I would exclusively book roles as a zombie with as stiff as I was. “You?”
“Yeah. But after a million auditions and only two bookings, my true calling might be grunt work.”
I gave him a more thorough look. He was tall. Not Tripp tall, but around six feet. His body was leaner, too, but his buzzed blond hair brought out his blue eyes and his cheekbones.
He was cute enough to be on TV. Even if he had the same nonexistent acting ability that I did, there was always print work. Or background characters.
Or dead bodies on crime shows.
I could add those to my acting repertoire, too. Dead bodies and undead bodies.
We re-entered on the other side of the room, right next to a table that had a small spread of snacks, fruit, and drinks. I grabbed a water bottle and a protein bar, making a mental note to ask Tripp more about his preferences.
“How’s working for—” Alfie started before someone called his name.
I turned around to see that everything was back to chaos.
“Can I—” he tried before his words were again cut off by a shout. “Shit. I hope to see you around, Greer.”
“And maybe I’ll see you on screen soon. Good luck with auditions.”
He walked backwards as he pointed up. “From your mouth to the casting gods’ ears.”
My efficiency might’ve been decent, but my timing needed work because when I got back to Tripp, he was done.
In every sense of the word.
I mentally reviewed where we were in the schedule. “I thought there was still more?”
“They’ve got enough,” he said before his gaze went above my head.
I glanced over my shoulder and followed his line of sight to see Alfie was looking my way rather than paying attention to what he was doing.
And he very nearly took a metal pole to the head for it.
That close call snapped him into action, and I turned back with a laugh.
A laugh that died in my throat at the way Tripp was watching me.
Uh-oh.
If texting during work is a no, socializing is definitely not good.
Especially since I missed the end of things.
“New friend?” he asked.
“He helped me find the water.” I presented him with the bottle and the protein bar. “I wanted to get you something in case you were hungry or thirsty.”
His expression lightened as his lips tipped. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. It’s my job.”
He must’ve been more tired than he seemed because he didn’t force his good-natured mood. His small smile fell as his face went blank.
A surprising amount of disappointment hit my chest. Those small smiles that crinkled his eyes always seemed more genuine than the easy grins he gave everyone.
Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was the opposite, and the eye crinkle was actually a smothered eye twitch of annoyance.
He scanned around the room and added, “I’ll let you know when I need something.”
“If I wait for you to tell me, it’s not as impressive.”
That got his attention back. “You’re always impressive.”
I knew those kinds of statements from Tripp were automatic and likely came as instinctively as breathing. The interviews of him that I’d binged were filled with the same kind of banter. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t the exact right thing to say to an overachiever like me.
I still rolled my eyes, though.
He finally glanced down at my offerings. He didn’t go for the bar, but he did accept the water and chugged half of it in one go.
He was thirsty.
Success!
One of the assistants for the day hustled over as Tripp was still drinking.
The jittery man looked two seconds from vibrating across the floor.
“Good, you’re still here. I’m prepping the first video to drop on socials because you know how these things are.
Gotta do it quick, or it’s cringe. I was going to tag you, but I think I have an outdated handle. ”
The guy finally stopped talking to inhale—maybe for the first time in his life—and I looked at Tripp for his answer.
Pulling the water bottle away, he wiped the back of the hand holding it across his mouth. If I was a photographer, I would use that pose in a future shoot. It would go mega viral.
But I wasn’t, so I kept my mouth shut and enjoyed the view for myself.
He really does have good lips. Nicely shaped. Accentuated by the stubble, not hidden by it.
“I got no clue,” he said. Silence stretched, and he quietly cleared his throat.
And I’m still staring at his good lips.
My gaze shot up to meet his, and I hoped like hell that the blush spreading across my cheeks wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.
“You’ve got my phone,” he reminded me, that small smile back on his face.
Oops.
“Sorry, zoned out,” I muttered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d just zoned out while ogling my boss.
I pulled his phone from my bag and tried to hand it over, but he made no move to take it as he drank the rest of the water.
Okay…
I typed in his passcode, thinking again how it was absolutely insane that he gave his assistants access to something so personal. One disgruntled employee, one bad text, email, or online comment, and his world would go up in smoke.
Especially if he had intimate photos or messages that could be shared.
My only guess was he kept that stuff on a separate phone. If he was smart, he kept it on a separate phone armed with two-step authentication and biometrics, and he stored it in a safe only he had access to.
That was what I would do. Just sending slightly risqué texts had turned me into a neurotic mess who triple checked that I hadn’t hit the wrong button to somehow send it to my professors, mortal enemies, and gynecologist.
As a precaution, I even had him saved as TC in case I lost my phone. As if there weren’t countless other Tripp’s in the world it could be.
My brows lowered as I opened Instagram and went to his profile.
This can’t be right.
I clicked the little toggle to see if there was another username to switch to, but there wasn’t.
Huh.
The follower count of over two million was impressive but still not as high as I would expect.
But since the only picture was of a random sky from four years prior, it was no wonder.
Despite the blue check certification, most probably thought it was a scam account that would hit them up for money, claiming he needed it to fund his next project.
Or worse, ask for nudes.
“Is this your only account?” I asked, making sure. At his chin lift, I gave the other man the username.
“Is it the same on TikTok?” he asked.
“Probably,” Tripp said.
I opened the app to be sure, expecting a bouncing booby video or something similar. Instead, it was one of those countdowns of the best classic comedies.
“It’s the same,” I confirmed. The handle might’ve been the same, but the rest of it was different. He had a higher follower count on that app, but he didn’t follow anyone at all. And there wasn’t a single video or picture. Not even a lone repost.
The man looked at the screen before his face twisted in horror. He quickly masked it. “You should hire someone to handle your socials. I can recommend some companies.”
Tripp shook his head. “I’m good.”
“But it’s—” the man started, and I could see Tripp’s instant annoyance form.