6. Emma
SIX
Emma
I’m a woman on a mission, armed with suspicion. I’ll be damned if I let Matt’s charm derail my goal of finding the truth behind all of his schemes and fake smiles.
Like the ones he’s been giving me for the last three days that have kept me up at night more than I’d ever admit to anyone.
So, despite the message he sent me last night, which I left unanswered, telling me he’d be on set at nine, I show up an hour earlier. I’m hopeful I can get people to open up more when he’s not around, or maybe overhear someone conveniently cursing him out, in which case I will happily join.
I use Ben as my guide, letting him lead me to where the crew and directors are currently filming a scene. He snoops around with me, as if he were the Watson to my Sherlock, until he’s called back to the trailer.
After two days of following Matt, everyone’s used to seeing me around, and they don’t seem bothered by it. They love free press. And right now, that’s what I am.
I spot Zoe lingering behind the camera crew. Matt has to be respectful with the people who fund this film, but I’m sure he’s not above being his usual unpleasant self around the folks who can’t fire him.
“Hi, Zoe,” I chirp, with extra enthusiasm.
She turns to me, the same tight smile on her face.
“Emma, right? The journalist?”
“Yep. That’s me!” I answer. “Listen, I was wondering if I could steal you away for a couple of minutes, five tops, and ask you some questions about how it’s been working here with Matt.”
“Me?”
I can tell she’s surprised by the way she brings her hand up to her chest, as if I’d been pointing at someone behind her.
“Wouldn’t you rather speak to the director? I’m just an assistant. I don’t think I’d be much help.”
“What?! You’re probably going to be the most help of all,” I say, hoping it butters her up.
“I am?” she asks, still uncertain.
I motion for her to come closer, and she does.
“You’re always around, and I’m sure you work harder on this set than anyone else.
” That might be an exaggeration, seeing as how Matt is hanging off moving vehicles, but it’s a different kind of work.
“The higher ups are only going to praise Matt, which hey, if he deserves it, great. But I want to know about you.”
Zoe nods slightly, and I continue my speech to bring the point home before she can decline.
“What makes an actor great are the people around him. He would be a nobody if not for a crew like this. So I take value in knowing your experience, your day-to-day.”
There’s some truth in what I’m saying. Except, for someone of Matt’s caliber, after having been named Actor of the Year, the crew is not as important. At this point in his career, he probably has his pick of action movies to star in.
“Okay.” She squares her shoulders and nods. “Five minutes. Then I have to come back in case they need me.”
We don’t go far. And true to my word, I don’t take more than a couple of minutes of her time. Zoe is a sweet girl, and I let her rant about how she moved here from Montana to pursue her dreams. But when I ask about Matt, I get the same cookie-cutter response I got from Ben, Luna, and Riley.
Matt’s a pleasure to work with… I have seen plenty of TV shows about celebrities and before coming here, I prepared myself to deal with them… he’s a breath of fresh air. So polite and soooo dreamy (clear emphasis on the latter). I’ve lucked out landing this job…
I still thank her for her time and stick around to wait until the director yells cut to see if I can have a go at him—Jude Ace, the man when it comes to action movies. He’s been involved in some drama himself, but personally, his work is a piece of art.
“Take ten,” he calls, rising from his chair, giving his headset to another PA.
He moves to discuss something with one of the cameramen and once he’s done, I take it as my chance to steal the spotlight.
“Hi, sir,” I say stepping in front of him. I stretch my hand out. “I’m Emma Miller, with Golden Magazine. I’m writing a feature article about Matt Hunt, and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
“Sure,” he answers with a grin, taking my hand in his. “Walk with me.”
The man’s tall, not as tall as Matt, but enough to make my little heel-clad legs work overtime to keep up. His brown curly hair flops over his forehead with every step.
“Did you ever think of casting someone else for the role or was it always Matt?” I ask, turning on my recorder.
We finally come to a stop by the drinks table. He grabs a water and offers me one. I take it, even though I’m not thirsty.
“King was made for Matt. The whole movie was written with him in mind. I don’t think we would’ve done it if he had declined the offer.”
“What is it like working with someone like him? I’ve heard he can be very cocky.”
I’ve also experienced it firsthand, so if he denies it, I’ll know he’s been briefed by Jennifer.
“He is cocky. But only because he can be,” he explains.
I nod in understanding. Although, internally, I want to bang my head against the table.
“He’s a professional. Dare I say the best I’ve ever worked with.
And above all, he’s a wonderful person. I’ve had him over for dinner plenty of times.
My wife’s a big fan, but I’ve never had to worry. That’s how much I trust him.”
“Even with all the articles that claim he’s a ‘playboy?’”
“I can’t attest to what he does in his own time, but I’ve never had to deal with a problem of that kind with him.”
“What about all the partying?”
I push, and I can see his brows furrow under his hair.
“Again, all of my interactions with him at work have been the most professional. As much as he might be out there, it never shows up on set.”
“Thank you. You were extremely helpful,” I answer, not wanting to test my luck. “I’ll let you get back to filming.”
He nods and heads back to his chair. I groan loudly.
Am I ever going to move past square one?
“I heard you’ve been sneaking around asking questions about me.”
The sound of his voice, drier than usual, and his breath brushing against my ear, makes me turn toward him.
He’s already dressed, his face bruised and a nasty cut bleeding across his cheek. It looks so realistic I catch myself raising my hand, wanting to ask if he’s okay. Because apparently my traitorous instincts care about his well-being.
Instead, I use the motion to push him away.
“Yeah. That’s my job. I wouldn’t be doing it right if I didn’t interview everyone around here.”
He hums, a knowing smirk on his face that confirms what I’ve been thinking all along.
“And…” he teases, “did you get anything useful? Maybe some Pulitzer-worthy quotes?”
“You know I didn’t because you probably paid everyone off so they would keep their mouths shut about you,” I hiss. “You’re putting on this good-boy show that couldn’t be further from who you really are. Where’s the partying? The girls?”
His face hardens under my words.
“You said to me I don’t know you. Well… you don’t know me either, honey.”
“I know the person I’ve been following around is another Hollywood puppet twisting the story for his own benefit.”
Silence. My favorite form of confession. I take pleasure in knowing I’m close to hitting the jackpot.
“How about you show me the real Emma?” he fires back. “Not the one that hides behind overalls and a notebook.”
“What’s wrong with my overalls?!” I exclaim, a little too quick. Great. Now I’m defending denim. “You know what, I don’t even care.”
I try to move past him, but his hand comes out toward me, and his palm lands flat against my belly.
“It’s only fair,” he continues. “You show me your secrets, and I’ll show you mine.”
“How would that work, huh? You expect me to believe what comes out of your mouth?”
“No, because I’m not going to use my words. I’m going to show you, and you’ll do the same,” Matt explains, as if he’s made things any clearer. “Not only that, but if you want your article to reflect the truth, this is the only way.”
I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me, getting ready to be unleashed. I take two deep breaths and remind myself to be professional. This is the break you’ve been waiting for. You can deal with Matt Hunt.
“And what way would that be?” I ask, not thrilled he’s got the upper hand.
“We plan outings for each other that reflect who we really are. I’ll take you somewhere that means something to me—a never-heard-before exclusive—and you do the same. No cheating, no lying. We take turns.”
I blink slowly.
“Dates? Your big master plan is to take each other out on dates?”
“I believe I called them outings,” he corrects. Outings. Sure. And sharks are enthusiastic fish. “But hey, if that’s what you want to label it… I just can’t be held accountable when they turn out to be the best dates you’ve ever been on.”
“Why are you so intent on ruining my life?”
He shrugs, not a single stress line on his face. Unlike mine, which probably looks ready to wrinkle into a raisin.
“I have my reasons.”
“Care to share with the class?”
He shakes his head.
“If you agree, I promise I’ll tell you why before the end of the three weeks.”
I take a whole minute to think about it. And I really think about it. I have absolutely no desire to spend more time with this man than necessary, but I also want this article to truly earn my move out of The Scoop.
If the rest of the days here are going to be the same as they have been, and knowing if I refuse, he’s going to take matters into his own hands to make it worse, I seem to be left with only one choice.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” I answer. And once the words are out of my mouth, I realize I’m not as annoyed as I was before. I’m intrigued, which is deeply concerning. Once again, he’s baited me with mystery and I have succumbed. “On one condition…”
“Go on.”
“You have to start.”
His hand moves down to my waist and pulls me closer to him.
“You’ll be glad to know I’m willing to start anytime, honey.”
Olivia is taking the pizza out of the oven while I type up the quotes from the day. My younger sister attends UCLA, and we make it a weekly habit to have dinner together. She plops down next to me setting the plate between us on my living room floor.
“It’s fun that you finally get to do some writing instead of being behind the scenes,” she comments when I close my laptop to give her my full attention.
If not for the seven-year age difference, we’d probably be considered twins. She’s a copy of me when I was at university, except for the longer hair and fair skin. Olivia is the girly version—the kind that owns lip gloss and knows how to properly use contour—of my sporty self.
I’ve always felt guilty that they don’t know what I actually do for work. I wish I could be open with my family about it, but it was made very clear when I started no one—absolutely no one—outside the office could know.
And I already dropped the ball with Julia and Harrison.
As much as I trust my sister, I can’t take any more risks. Another reason I need this article to blow Martha’s mind. Once I’m out, I can come clean.
“Yeah, except for the fact that I have to be around him all the time.”
“Emma, you do realize literally anyone would kill to be in your position right now, right?” She rolls her eyes at me. “He was nothing but kind to me at the wedding. I don’t know how you can resist him.”
“Why does everyone keep insinuating I should get it on with him?”
I take a bite of my pizza, still in disbelief. She shrugs.
“The bickering.”
I scoff.
“Playfully and fun fits only so long, and then it’s too late, and you’re looking through divorce papers and arguing about the shared custody schedule of the family dog and who gets to keep the ugly wedding china.”
She’s about to answer when my phone rings with the Kim Possible text alert.
“Who is ‘My man?’” she says, grabbing it.
Shit. I forgot to change his contact information.
Too late now. I don’t even make a move for it. She likes to snoop as much as me and will put me in a chokehold to read what it says.
“Our first date is planned for tomorrow,” she says aloud, and then gasps.
“Calm down. It’s Matt.”
“YOU LITERALLY JUST SAID YOU WEREN’T INTERESTED!”
“I’m not. He saved himself like that on my phone. But it’s just work related, Liv.”
I snatch the phone and text him back.
It’s not a date.
“Dates are work now?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s an outing. It was the only way to get him to open up,” I explain. She motions for me to continue, her mouth full of cheese and pepperoni. “He’ll plan one, then it’ll be my turn.”
“A rom-com in the works.”
“Shut up.”
My phone rings again.
My man
Whatever you’d prefer, Mills.
Don’t call me that.
Send me the details.
My man
It’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, you don’t have to come to set.
I hope for your sake that you’re not coming up with another fake Matt Hunt layer to add to your already crafted persona.
“You sure text a lot for something that’s for work.”
“I thought we said no office talk during our dinners,” I say, trying to get her off my back.
“You were the one on your phone.”
Right on cue, it goes off again. Does this man not have anything better to do?
“Give me a minute. I’ll deal with him.”
My man
Wow, you wound me, Mills.
Good.
My man
If I’d fabricated someone, he’d be way cooler than me. I’d go under the alias Mateo Hunter… sounds badass.
I stifle a laugh and Olivia brings her full attention back to me.
Mateo sounds like he runs a drug cartel and owns three tigers.
My man
The tigers were a mistake. It’s why he’s missing an arm.
I’m already regretting this.
My man
You’ll be thanking me tomorrow.
For what?
My man
For the kind of ‘outing’ you won’t be able to stop thinking about.
Don’t push it.
My man
I only push you, Mills.
“Awe,” says Olivia, giggling. “Look! He made you smile.”