5. Celina
FIVE
CELINA
The afternoon sun filtered through the small windows of her trailer, casting geometric shadows across the script pages scattered on her makeup table.
Celina sat perfectly still while Tasha applied touch-ups to her lipstick, but her mind refused to cooperate with the familiar routine.
Instead of focusing on the upcoming scene with Braxton, her thoughts kept drifting back to those impossibly blue eyes and the way Osias Fellan’s voice had wrapped around her like velvet.
“The nomination announcements haven’t even happened yet,” Celina said, her voice carrying a distracted edge as Rennick shuffled through papers behind her. “They’re not until next week, and we don’t know if I’ll even receive any nominations.”
Rennick’s reflection appeared in the mirror beside hers, his expression radiating the kind of absolute certainty that had guided her career for thirty years. “Of course you’ll receive a nomination for Best Actress. Your portrayal of Victoria Snow in The Eden Chronicles was extraordinary.”
The mention of Victoria made something flutter in her chest—not pride in her performance, but recognition of why she’d been drawn to that particular role.
Victoria had been a woman fighting for truth, refusing to accept the suffocating expectations of her wealthy family’s world.
By the film’s end, she’d broken free from her gilded cage and ran away with the stable keeper who saw her as more than an ornament to be displayed and managed.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that she’d filmed that story of liberation two years ago, right before her mother died unexpectedly while visiting the European set.
The grief had been crushing, but it had also sparked something rebellious inside her—the desperate need to create something that belonged entirely to her.
Bates Films had emerged from that raw emotional space, and within their first year they’d managed to produce two incredible films that earned critical acclaim despite their limited budgets.
But now, sitting in this trailer with Rennick hovering behind her like a well-dressed guardian, her mind wasn’t on Oscar campaigns or even the romantic scene she needed to film with Braxton in twenty minutes.
Every thought circled back to Osias Fellan’s quiet intensity, the way he’d listened to her without interrupting, and his immediate offer to invest in her company.
More than that, she couldn’t stop replaying the moment their hands had touched, remembering the electric shock that had raced through her system and left her feeling unsteady.
A slow smile spread across her lips without her permission as she remembered how his blue eyes had darkened when their fingers brushed, and how he’d gripped her hand just a fraction longer than professional courtesy required.
“What’s got you so distracted today?” Rennick’s voice cut through her daydream with surgical precision. “You’re practically glowing.”
The observation snapped her back to reality with uncomfortable force.
She hadn’t realized her expression had betrayed her thoughts and hadn’t noticed the dreamy quality that had apparently settled over her features.
The lie came with practiced ease, honed by months of increasingly creative ways to avoid Rennick’s probing questions about her personal life.
“Nothing important. Just remembering something Daya said earlier.”
The deflection felt necessary because telling Rennick about Osias would invite exactly the kind of interference she’d been trying to escape.
For fifteen years, he’d steered her away from romantic entanglements with lectures about how love didn’t fit into her career trajectory, and how relationships were distractions that could derail everything they’d built together.
The few times she’d shown interest in someone, Rennick had somehow managed to create scheduling conflicts or professional complications that made dating impossible.
She stood up abruptly, smoothing her costume—a flowing sundress that Savannah would wear for the garden confession scene. “I need to get to set.”
Before Rennick could press her for details about Daya’s supposed comment, she grabbed her script and headed for the trailer door. The afternoon heat hit her immediately as she stepped outside, but it felt like freedom compared to the suffocating attention inside.
Braxton was already waiting near the garden set, looking effortlessly handsome in the casual shirt and jeans that made him perfect for the role of Devon Matthews. His smile was warm and familiar as she approached, the kind of easy charm that had made their previous collaborations so successful.
“Ready for the big confession scene?” he asked, falling into step beside her as they walked to their marks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Her response came out more breathlessly than she’d intended, but not because of Braxton’s proximity.
Instead, she found herself wondering what it would be like to film a romantic scene with someone whose presence made her pulse race the way Osias’s had.
Stop it.
The internal command was sharp and necessary.
She was a professional who’d been acting since childhood, someone who could compartmentalize emotions and deliver authentic performances regardless of her personal state of mind.
She’d kissed dozens of co-stars over the years without her real life bleeding into the work.
But as Tasha appeared for final makeup touches and the director called for everyone to take their positions, Celina realized that her usual ability to slip seamlessly into character was faltering.
Instead of becoming Savannah Voorhies, the fiercely independent woman ready to confess her love to her boss, she kept thinking about blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her constructed celebrity persona.
“Action!”
The familiar word should have triggered her complete transformation into Savannah, but as Braxton stepped closer and delivered Devon’s lines about taking risks, all Celina could think about was the way Osias had looked at her across his desk—not like she was a famous actress or a potential business partner, but like she was a woman worth discovering.
When Braxton cupped her face in his large hands and leaned down for the scripted kiss, she closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the moment.
But instead of Devon Matthews, her traitorous imagination conjured Osias Fellan’s face, his quiet intensity, and the way her skin had tingled everywhere their hands had touched.
The fantasy was so vivid that when Braxton’s lips met hers, her body reacted with shocking disappointment.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t who she wanted to be kissing.
She pulled away abruptly, her eyes flying open to meet Braxton’s confused expression, and the concern in his green eyes made her stomach twist with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice carrying just enough breathlessness to sound believable. “I’m feeling a little sick. Just need a minute.”
Before anyone could respond, she hurried away from the set, her heart pounding with a mixture of embarrassment and something dangerously close to longing. She’d never lost control of a scene like that, never let her personal feelings interfere with her professional performance.
The door to her trailer slammed behind her as she locked it quickly, ensuring Rennick couldn’t follow her inside for another interrogation. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening to her.
Get it together, Celina.
In a few hours, she would meet Osias Fellan for drinks at Mancini’s.
It was a business meeting, nothing more.
She needed to approach it with the same professional composure that had guided her career for three decades, not like some star-struck fan who couldn’t handle being in the same room as an attractive man.
But even as she told herself to maintain professional distance, she couldn’t shake the memory of how alive she’d felt during those few minutes in his office, or the way her pulse quickened every time she thought about seeing him again.
Hours later, the leather seats of Trent’s SUV felt cool against her skin as they glided through the evening traffic toward Mancini’s.
Celina watched the familiar blur of Hollywood through tinted windows, her reflection ghostlike against the glass.
For once, she hadn’t consulted Rennick about her evening plans.
The omission felt less like deception and more like finally exhaling after holding her breath for too long.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” Trent said as he pulled to the curb. “Text me if fans become overwhelming or if anything unusual happens.”
She appreciated that he gave her space instead of assuming she needed him—a courtesy Rennick had never mastered despite thirty years of practice.
“Thank you.”
The moment she stepped onto the sidewalk, she spotted Osias near Mancini’s entrance.
He stood with a stillness that made everyone else seem restless by comparison, his dark suit impeccable despite the late hour.
When their eyes met across the distance, his smile transformed his entire face from intimidating executive to something warmer and dangerously inviting.
Her answering smile felt genuine in a way that surprised her.
“Celina Bates! Oh my God, is that really you?”
Two young women materialized beside her with the enthusiasm of people who’d been waiting for exactly this moment. Their phones were already out, faces bright with the particular excitement that fame generated in strangers.
“Could we get a selfie? Please? We’re huge fans of The Eden Chronicles.”