Beautiful Lie (Dirty Hollywood Book 3)

by Claire Raye

  “Um yeah, out of the movie, but I’m um, I’m staying in L.A. at the moment.”

  “Really? But who’s looking after you? Are you on crutches?”

  “I am,” I tell her, wondering how much I can admit to my sister. It’s not that I don’t trust her not to say anything, but I just don’t want to risk word of my new living arrangement getting out. “Look, if I tell you, Lyss, you gotta swear not to tell anyone, okay?”

  “Tell anyone what?”

  “Just promise me.”

  “Okay, okay,” she says. “I promise.”

  Taking a deep breath, I blurt it out. “I’m staying with Sadie Washington.”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” I say. “You there?”

  “Holy shit,” Lyss eventually murmurs.

  “Yeah I know,” I reply, scrubbing a hand over my face. “She sorta feels like it’s her fault and she wants to make sure I fully recover and it’s stupid but anyway, whatever, that’s what I’m doing.”

  Alyssa laughs. “No idiot, I mean holy shit, you like this woman.”

  “Yeah we’re friends,” I immediately say, a little defensive.

  She laughs harder now. “Um no, Paul,” she says. “You’re more than friends, trust me.”

  “Whatever,” I say, dismissing her. “In any case, don’t tell anyone, okay? The press can’t find out I’m here. She’s got a movie to finish and with everything going on with her ex, she doesn’t need the added drama of this too.”

  “Okay, okay,” she says. “Your secret’s safe with me. But you might want to check out the net. The stories about what happened on set are everywhere, so you know. It might be only a matter of time before they get wind of the totally inappropriate, but still totally hot sleeping arrangements.”

  I switch my phone to speaker so I can surf the net at the same time, the stories of my accident getting top billing on all the entertainment sites. Someone’s even interviewed Noel about it, who of course is going on about how this shit never happened on set when he and Sadie worked together. It’s like he trying to say this is all her fault.

  “Shit,” I murmur, almost to myself.

  What the fuck is this going to do to her now?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sadie

  The set has an eerie feeling of tension that looms over everyone, and while we’ve shot a few scenes and it’s going well, most people are silent. On most days I don’t interact directly with Paul, but it’s obvious he had a huge presence among the cast and crew. He was a smiling face on set, a leader and one of the best stuntmen I’ve ever worked with. But his absence is creating an uncomfortable factor and rightfully so. He was hurt and I should address this directly with all of them.

  I imagine the rest of the stunt crew is concerned for their safety, and as much as I want to appease their fears, I know I can’t give them a guarantee that nothing will happen. I keep telling myself Paul’s accident wasn’t my fault. I remind myself of all the accidents that have happened since I started in this business, but with Paul it feels different.

  I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, but I’d like to think that I’d feel this way if any of my crew were hurt. I know this isn’t true though. I’ve had stuntmen injured before and while I always followed up to see how they were doing after the accident, I never let any of them move into my home.

  I need to focus on the day and get my head back in filming. We’re already behind, losing a day to the accident, and I can’t have that hanging over my head too.

  The next scene is a small stunt that follows what occurred yesterday. It should’ve been the scene I started with today, but nerves got in the way and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I take in a deep breath, checking all the camera angles and the lighting, placing and re-adjusting the actors on their marks, but I hold back calling “action” when I see Gus suck in a hard breath.

  “Hold up!” I call out and heads whip around, shoulders sag in response and the camera crew step carefully away so as not to disturb the angles. “We need to talk about something.”

  I scrub my hands over my face, blowing out the breath of air I’ve been holding. How do I appease these people? How do I tell them I care about their safety and show it? Is that where my problem lies? Am I too attached to them? Noel never cared what happened on his set, clearly. He threw chairs and swore and screamed, never once concerned that he’d hurt someone or that his direction would lead to someone getting hurt.

  No, I’m human and what’s riding on all of this isn’t just my career, it’s the careers of everyone under me. I owe them so much.

  “Okay, let’s address the elephant in the room,” I start, injecting a little humor into the situation because if I don’t, I might cry. “I know all of you are concerned about Paul and what happened yesterday.” A few heads nod in response, but no one says anything. “He’s going to be okay. It was a minor accident in the grand scheme of things, but your safety is my number one priority, so if there’s a scene you’re not comfortable with please say it. I’ll re-work it. I’ll meet with stunt coordinator. Whatever you feel you need, I will do it.”

  The set is still silent, everyone’s eyes looking at me and when my heart begins to pulse hard and loud in my ears, I begin to wonder if I’m really going to make it. Maybe the production company made the biggest mistake attaching my name as director to this film. They should’ve just left me as the writer, quiet and unassuming in the background.

  A hand shoots up and it’s one of my cameramen, a young guy, this is maybe his second full-length high-budget film. He’s less intimated and more wet behind the ears than the rest of them. He’s also far less jaded and worn down by the industry.

  It feels like I’m back in school and I’ve taken on the role of teacher as I call on him to speak while everyone turns to look at him.

  “Yeah, Ben?” I ask, my heart racing and preparing myself for this kid’s brutal honesty. What does he have to lose?

  “I can’t speak for everyone on set because I’ve only been doing this a couple of years, but this is the best set I’ve ever worked on. Again, I might be way off with this since I’ve only worked on shitty budget gigs, but I feel heard and respected and whenever I suggest changes you hear me out.”

  My heart drops from my throat into my stomach at his words and when I look around at everyone else, they seem to be smiling in agreement.

  “I agree,” the stunt coordinator states. “I’m just so damn happy to be working with you. And if anything, what happened yesterday is something I’m responsible for.”

  I took some risks with this movie, and I’m so grateful the production company let me, but hiring Andrew as the stunt coordinator wasn’t one of those risks. He’s the best there is and while it’s hard to stop smiling at his words, tugging at the back of mind is the weird tension that still floats in the air despite this conversation.

  Gus, the other stuntman, is the next to speak up, echoing the sentiments of those before him but he adds, “None of us blame you for what happened yesterday, you know that, right?”

  I nod, but it’s not convincing at all and I steel up the courage to ask what’s been on my mind since I set foot on the set this morning.

  “If you all feel this way, why is the set so…” I trail off, trying to find the right words to explain it, because as I do, I begin to wonder if maybe it’s just me that feels it. Maybe I’m the one putting this undo pressure on myself.

  “So awkward,” Gus replies, finishing my thought and it sounds better coming out of his mouth than mine.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders, at a loss for a better word.

  Again the set falls silent and back is the awkwardness that had dissipated. No one wants to address the real concern that everyone is aware of except me.

  “Well…” Gus starts and stalls out. He looks around hoping for someone to jump in, but when no does, he continues. “There’s an article…”

  I cut him off immediately. �
�Shit, about the accident?” The press has a field day with these sorts of things and I’m sure it’s blown way out of proportion. But in saying that, I’ve always run with the idea that all press is good press. People will be following the production of this movie now and as long as we aren’t plagued with any more issues, all that will come of this is positive news.

  “Not exactly,” Gus says, his nose wrinkled up. “It’s about the accident, but it’s more about your… hus…ex-hus…Noel. They’ve interviewed him and he just said some shitty things.”

  I feel the color drain from my face and if I were standing in front of a mirror right now it would be as white as the paper I’m currently holding in my hand. I look around for my assistant, Shannon, in the hopes she’s already on top of this, but I forgot she’s with the props coordinator today. It’s a job I put her on so I would have more time on the set. Now I wish I was anywhere but here.

  “Don’t read it,” Ian, the male lead says, shaking his head and giving me a sympathetic smile, but I can see the disgust with Noel burning behind his eyes.

  He’s been in the industry since he was young. Making a name for himself on a family sitcom and eventually outgrowing those roles and seamlessly transitioning to the big screen. He’s been around the block and knows what it’s like to be subjected to this kind of scrutiny. But he’s also worked with Noel and knows the effects of that.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I snap back, not angry at Ian but angry at the fact that Noel has the balls to continue to step in and outshine anyone who may dull his brightness. He sets the fire and steps back and watches it burn.

  “I have an interview booked today with Hollywood Live and you can bet your ass I’m going to set the record straight,” Ian asserts, and a few of the crew chuckle a little. Knowing that while Noel is gigantic asshole, Ian will definitely call him out.

  “Thank you, but I don’t need…”

  “I know you don’t need anything. You’re Sadie Washington, paving the path for women in this industry to be badass, but we need more men supporting women, more men talking about the things that hold women back. Noel Robinson holds women back.”

  His words are said with finality, but they hit home. Noel always made it seem like he was there to support my career, but what he really needed was someone to make him seem more human, more likeable and that someone was me.

  “Thank you again,” I say, swallowing back the lump that has formed in my throat. It’s interesting to see what support looks like and to think for all these years I thought that’s what I had. “Now we kinda need to get back to work before someone else writes an article about my set being unfocused.”

  Everyone laughs, including me and we reset the scene in seconds, back to filming as it should be.

  It’s later than I plan when I walk in the door and I almost forget Paul is home. I feel bad leaving him alone all day and well into the night, but I was able to make up some of the missed shoots from yesterday and things were flowing well. I hated to break up the momentum we had going and the crew seemed to agree.

  I call out when I walk in, “Honey, I’m home!” I hear Paul laugh and then I hear the sound of his crutches thumping on the wood floor.

  “Hey! There’s dinner in the fridge,” he calls back, eventually appearing in the kitchen and hobbling over to the refrigerator.

  “What? Did you order dinner?” I ask.

  “Nope, I cooked dinner. Ordered some groceries too.” He sounds way too proud of himself and I hate to burst his bubble.

  “You’re not supposed to be on your feet!” I chastise, my hands on my hips as I narrow my eyes at him.

  “Sadie, I’m going to lose my mind doing nothing all day. Don’t get too excited it’s just pizza and salad.” He shifts his crutches to one side and leans against the counter. His shirt bunches a little revealing his low-slung sweats and peeking out is his flat, muscular stomach, all tanned and perfect. It’s clear I haven’t gotten laid in a while because this has my body on fire.

  “Okay, well, I’m home now so thank you. Now go lie down on the couch.” My words come out in a rush and it’s obvious I’m being weird. I shoo him back to the couch, my hands flicking in that direction.

  “I’m only going back to the couch if you bring your dinner in here and sit with me,” Paul announces, standing firm and not moving.

  “Fine.”

  I open the fridge and find a neatly prepared margherita flatbread pizza and a perfectly chopped salad.

  “Paul!” I yell out and he starts laughing immediately. “This isn’t just pizza and salad. You actually made this shit. How long did this take you? How long were you on your feet? Or should I say foot?”

  He’s still laughing and again I hear the telltale sound of his crutches connecting with the floor.

  “Don’t you dare come in here!” I scream, a smile plastered on my face. “You are supposed to be resting and now you have to make up for the dinner you spent all that time making.”

  “Sadie, seriously, I’m fine.”

  “I guess I’ll give you a pass because this dinner looks amazing. Who would’ve thought you were a cook?”

  “Why do you say it like that? Because my apartment looked like I live the life of a bachelor who orders in every night?’

  “Yeah, kinda,” I admit, sheepishly.

  “I like to cook, but when you don’t live in one place very long or you work long hours like us, it gets hard. I had some downtime.”

  I stick the pizza in the oven and portion out some salad into a bowl. I’m starving and even thought about it eating it straight from the serving bowl, but I don’t want Paul thinking I’m that sloppy. Even if I am.

  “How was your day?” I ask, shoveling salad into my mouth.

  “It was boring. It’s much better now that you’re here.” His words make me nearly choke and I grab for a glass, filling it with water. He smirks at me. He’s cheeky and he knows it, but like hell if I want him to stop. “How was your day?” he adds.

  “It was good. Made up for some of the time we missed yesterday. Noel did an interview about the accident,” I say, slipping it in there, but kinda hoping Paul overlooks it. Saying it out loud makes it obvious that it bothers me, that putting it out there in the world means I feel the weight of it.

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “That’s true, but he sure knows how to make me look bad.”

  “He can only make you look bad if you let him. Stand taller, be the better person and promote the hell out of your accomplishments. He’s only trying to outshine you because he’s failing.”

  “I know all this, and I swear if I sing, he sings louder.”

  “Because he’s insecure and he can’t possibly have a woman doing something well. He’s the type of guy who wants to keep you in your lane. Fuck him, Sadie and his bullshit.:

  “Fuck him and his bullshit,” I say, quoting his words back to him. “I like that. I think that will be my new motto.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Paul

  By the time the weekend rolls around I’m starting to wonder if I’m not going a little bit crazy. I’m not used to being this inactive, this dependent on someone else and I feel constantly restless. I’m unable to burn off the energy that’s coursing through my body on a nearly permanent basis.

  I can’t believe I have five more weeks of this shit to go.

  On the flip side, my rib is starting to feel a little better. It was only a hairline fracture to begin with, but the pain that first week whenever I used my crutches nearly knocked the wind out of me. Of course, I faked it a lot of the time in front of Sadie, but that’s because she didn’t need the added guilt of seeing me in pain. Nor did I want to remind her I shouldn’t even be using the crutches.

  But today, after waking up at the ass crack of dawn again, I have a plan. I’d done a test run yesterday after she left for work and I knew it wasn’t going to kill me. Hurt a little, yeah, but whatever. I could put up with the pain.

  But I need to move q
uickly before she finds out and also because I’m going to look like a total idiot trying to accomplish my plan too. And that I definitely don’t need to do in front of Sadie.

  I drag myself up so I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. Reaching for the shorts and t-shirt on the floor, I brace myself for the pain in my ribs, which seems even less again today. Exhaling, I get myself dressed and up, before hobbling into the kitchen as quietly as possible.

  After I grab a bottle of water, I make my way toward the stairs, knowing this is the one part I need to do quickly and without Sadie seeing me. When I finally get to the top, I pause, trying to catch my breath as I listen to the reassuring silence of the second floor.

  I move in the opposite direction of where I now know Sadie sleeps, instead heading down to the amazing personal gym she has set up with floor to ceiling glass doors overlooking the Hollywood Hills.

  Why the fuck she wanted to give this up to come work out in a gym with me, I’ll never know. The view is spectacular, and the equipment is all state of the art. So much so, that I’m tempted to suggest we never go back to my gym, even after my ankle is healed.

  Just as I think this though, another thought pops into my head. One that also involves this room, a workout and hot sweaty bodies, but not of the wearing clothes variety.

  “Jesus, Paul,” I say, shaking my head as I pop my ear buds in and hobble over to the bench.

  I flick through my music, selecting a playlist before turning the volume up. Then I settle myself on the bench, propping my crutches beside me before attempting to go through some exercises.

  I take it easy at first, knowing as much as my rib might be starting to feel better, it is still cracked. I can’t do anything with my legs, which is frustrating, but even a half-assed workout feels better than the nothing I’ve done all week.

  I’ve been working out for about thirty minutes when movement by the door catches my eye. I instantly know who it’s going to be as I reset the weights I’m lifting and slowly sit up.