Off Script

by Anna Paige

  Off Script

  Anna Paige

  Copyright © 2017 by HEA Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is Amazon-exclusive. If you purchased it in the iBookstore or anywhere else, you have bought a pirated copy and are stealing.

  To Lindsay, for a multitude of reasons.

  Contents

  1. Kaiti

  2. Kaiti

  3. Gavin

  4. Gavin

  5. Gavin

  6. Kaiti

  7. Kaiti

  8. Kaiti

  9. Kaiti

  10. Kaiti

  11. Gavin

  12. Gavin

  13. Kaiti

  14. Gavin

  15. Gavin

  16. Gavin

  17. Kaiti

  18. Kaiti

  19. Gavin

  20. Gavin

  21. Kaiti

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Anna Paige

  Acknowledgments

  One

  Kaiti

  Dear Lord, please let me get through my bourbon chicken and fried rice without stabbing that loud-mouth asshole in the eye with this spork. Amen.

  I speared another dripping chunk of deliciousness with a little too much force and tried my best to tune out the obnoxiously loud businessman pacing at my back, talking on the phone at a volume only slightly lower than a bullhorn. The mingling smells from the various food court establishments were thick in the air. Burgers, pizza, and sizzling international cuisine flavored every inhalation so well you could almost fill up on the fragrance alone. The low hum of conversation drowned out the soft music playing through speakers hidden far into the high ceiling, and the skylights let in just enough light to assure at least one corner of the dining area was bathed in blinding mid-day sun. Not that I ever had that problem from my usual vantage point.

  Sitting on the fringes was a habit of mine. After the Dippin’ Dots kiosk relocated to the lower level, they’d added a few extra tables in the empty spot, just on the other side of the wall that partitioned off the food court. It was like being there but not really being there at the same time, and gave me a great angle to people watch; an endlessly entertaining pastime I’d taken up. Unfortunately, that meant I was basically sitting in the main corridor and subject to whatever loud-ass, inconsiderate passersby might come my way.

  “Are you sure that’s the last of them? There’s no one else? Fuck. We don’t even have any decent candidates for callbacks.”

  On second thought, God—if you’re feeling generous—hitting him with a case of spontaneous mutism would be a better option for everyone within a half mile radius. Just saying.

  “No, no, no. She didn’t test well. I’ve seen more spark out of a wet dishrag. We’ll have to put out another call,” he huffed in frustration.

  Seriously, did he have to pace right behind me? The hell?

  His steps halted and he fell silent for the first time in nearly fifteen minutes. If the food court hadn’t been so packed, I would have moved ages ago, but the overcrowding meant I was stuck. And my skin was prickling because he’d stopped directly behind me.

  His voice was almost conversational when he said, “Joey, I’ll have to call you back.”

  Oh, thank you, God. He’s leaving.

  Only he never moved away. I would have heard his shiny black shoes clicking on the tile, just as I had while he’d paced well within the bubble of my personal space.

  There it was again; that prickling, tingling feeling on the back of my neck. Slowly, I turned to my right and caught sight of him standing there. “Can I help you?” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Tried and failed.

  He was unaffected, though, as he looked me over. Please don’t ask to join me. I’m so not in the mood to be hit on. Not that he was bad looking. He wasn’t exactly my type, though. Technically, he was attractive with his perfectly styled auburn hair and expensive suit, but rudeness was one of my pet peeves, so I didn’t give a shit how technically attractive he was. All I saw was an entitled jerk.

  “Look at your plate.”

  Startled both by his lowered voice and the actual words, I jumped slightly and did so, expecting to find an enormous bug or something. There was only chicken and rice, though; nothing amiss.

  “Perfect structure and an excellent profile,” the man muttered.

  I glanced back at him, more annoyed than ever and losing my tenuous grip on my manners. “What the hell is your problem, creeper?”

  “Have you ever done any acting?”

  Oh, give me a break. I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my freaking brain and turned to face him more fully. “You mean modeling,” I drew out the word slowly, pouring on the sarcasm. “You’re supposed to ask if I’ve modeled before. Then you’ll offer me a great opportunity that will cost me thousands of dollars to build my ‘portfolio’ with photos you’ll generously offer to take yourself.” I gave him a look I usually reserved for piles of shit I’d nearly stepped in. “Or maybe you’ll take me to your crappy strip-mall office and offer me a cold beverage, after which I’ll awaken missing either a kidney or my panties, probably both.”

  “You have a cynical outlook on the world, don’t you?” He seemed unfazed as he studied me like a bug under a magnifying glass.

  I stood and faced him, not caring that he had at least six inches on me, and looked him in the eye without flinching. “No, asshat. What I have is a fully charged taser and an acute case of bullshit intolerance. Now, you can either walk away while you have the ability or continue annoying me and ride the lightning. Which is it?”

  His eyes widened as I thumbed the little holster on my belt, and he backed up a step, which I expected. What I didn’t expect was to be laughed at. And definitely not at ear-splitting volume, which had every head in the freaking mall swiveling in our direction. His face turned beet-red, and his eyes narrowed to slits that never left my face.

  That’s it. I’m gonna zap him.

  Fingers crossed that he pisses his pants while writhing on the floor.

  He finally saw the rage in my eyes and stepped back, bringing his hands up. “We’re good. No need to go all Zeus of Olympus and fry me. I’ll stay back, I promise. Though technically it looks like a stun gun, not a taser.”

  I crossed my arms, mostly out of annoyance but also because the amount of attention we were getting really squicked me out, and I felt embarrassed. “It’s not the best idea to correct the woman who is two seconds away from frying your ass. If I want to use the terms interchangeably, I can fucking do that because I’m the one with the taser. And if you don’t quiet that behemoth mouth of yours,” I hissed in a hushed tone, “I’m gonna keep hitting you with the juice until your hair catches fire. Now, shut up and go away.”

  “I can’t. I have got to hire you before I leave. I wasn’t sure at first but that attitude, the way you threatened me, you’re fucking perfect.”

  “For what?” I ground out, wishing he would disappear.

  He reached into his double-breasted suit jacket and removed a silver business card holder. “I wasn’t pulling your leg about the acting thing.” He gingerly handed me his card, his eyes straying to my belt with the movement. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the TV series that’s filmed nearby.”

  I nodded, looking at the card.

  No. Way.

  I jerked my head up to stare wide-eyed at him. “You mean you’re…”

  Oh, shit!

  “Bryce Harrison, director/producer and co-creator of Savages, among other things too numerous and boring to mention. And y
ou are?”

  “Kaiti Oliver,” I supplied automatically, still stunned. “Wait. Boring? Your show just got like five Emmy nominations.”

  He nodded, offering a wry smile. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t boring. Not all my ventures get such warm reviews, though.”

  “Like your gig as a walking, talking megaphone?” I blurted before I could stop myself. I had no filter. It was a curse.

  He chuckled, this time at a reasonable decibel. “Sorry about that. Many years of yelling direction across bustling sound stages have put me in the habit. And Joey—the casting director on the phone—was on one as I was talking to him, so I had to be doubly loud.” His eyes strayed to my half-eaten meal. “I hope I haven’t ruined your lunch.”

  I turned the card over in my hand, flipping it between my fingers. “Up to this point, yes, you have. From here on out depends on what else you have to say. Because I’m not buying that you picked me out of this crowded mall to be on your show.”

  “You have a great profile.”

  “So you mentioned. I’ll be sure to add that to my résumé,” I quipped on the heels of another eye roll.

  He motioned for me to sit—which I made no move to do. “May I join you? Five minutes is all I ask. Then, if you still think I’m some perv looking to scam you or snatch your organs for the black market, you can break out the taser.”

  I gave a hesitant nod and retook my seat, blowing out a big breath before sipping from my straw as I waited for him to sit in the chair across from mine.

  When he settled in—after he’d unbuttoned his jacket for comfort and leveled his most earnest expression in my direction—he smiled. I took a quick moment to really look him over. He had a polished, self-important air that, despite his obvious attractiveness, kept my defenses up.

  “Thanks for hearing me out. I want you to know this is highly irregular, my approaching someone off the street with an offer to audition. I’ve never done it, actually, in all my years in the business.”

  “So, I’m supposed to feel special, right?” I eyed him warily. “Because that’s kind of the same thing as some guy saying, ‘I’ve never had a one night stand in my life, but you’re just so beautiful and amazing and blah, blah, blah’ while he tries to chew your panties off.”

  He chuckled low in his throat and smiled even wider. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re blunt and brave. You’re exactly what we’ve been looking for.” He clasped his hands on the table, getting down to business. “You never answered before. Have you ever done any acting?”

  I offered a halfhearted shrug, humoring him. “I took drama in high school, but that was it. Never got any leads, though. They usually went with the more popular kids.”

  “You weren’t one of the popular kids?”

  “Nope. And I never wanted to be. It looked exhausting, having to please the masses of blind followers. The only reason any of them even took drama was that they thought it would be an easy A. They didn’t care about it.”

  “Did you?” He was watching me with an expression of kinship like maybe he understood what I was saying.

  “At first. But being passed over for every part I tried out for sucked the fun out of it for me. I took it my sophomore and junior years, but senior year, I didn’t bother.” Not the whole truth, but there was no way I was going to share the real reason.

  No. Effing. Way.

  All the real-life drama that had happened the summer between my junior and senior years—the scandal that had forced me to give up on acting forever—didn’t need to be rehashed. Ever.

  He tilted his head, pursing his mouth. “Out of curiosity, which characters did you try out for?”

  “Lady Macbeth. Eliza Doolittle from Pygmalion. Emily Webb from Our Town.” I thought back, squinting, hoping that if I indulged his pointless questions he’d see he was wasting his time. “I can’t remember them all, but it doesn’t matter. I never got cast for anything substantial. I was usually a non-speaking extra or had one line parts. So, as you can clearly see, I’m not exactly what you’d call an experienced actress.”

  “Just because you weren’t chosen doesn’t mean you weren’t qualified.”

  “And you think I’m qualified to audition for your award-winning series based on two minutes of conversation and my ‘perfect profile?’ ”

  “Damn straight,” he announced without hesitation. “There are a lot of things I don’t profess to know, even after decades in the business, but I know a perfect fit when I see one. There’s a click, like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place. Granted, that usually happens during auditions or callbacks, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen anywhere else. Like a mall food court, for example.” He looked around and shrugged, offering a smile. “All you need to do is make up your mind that this is finally your time to take the stage and show the world what you’re made of.”

  “The world?” My mouth dried up in an instant at the thought, and I felt a little wave of nausea. “Shit. I hadn’t considered the scope of what you were saying, mostly because I was convinced you were blowing smoke up my ass. The world?”

  He laughed softly. “Well, they won’t be on the set with us of course, but yes. Savages is aired and viewed all over the world. We’re not the number one series because our mommies are doing the voting. Millions of real people—loyal fans—watch every week.”

  Savages was a TV drama series that followed lead characters Tyler and Tia Savage, orphaned siblings who had inherited a vast empire and fifty percent of a company they knew nothing about. Fighting off the machinations of the other shareholders and finding their way in a new place full of secrets and hostility became the focus of the story, one that had people everywhere addicted. Including me.

  And they wanted me to actually be on the show? My insides did a strange, shuddering flip.

  I closed the foam container of food, suddenly not wanting to look at it. “I don’t think I can—”

  “Don’t be intimidated by the numbers. It’s overwhelming to think about, trust me, I know. It’s something all artists struggle with when starting out, but in the end, you realize you have to do it for just one person. Yourself. After that, the nerves will disappear.” He reached across the table and tapped the spot right beside my hand with his pointer finger. “Take the first step. Come in tomorrow and read for the part. That’s all you have to do. Read some lines with Gavin and let us see how the chemistry is between you. If it goes well, we can talk about step two. Okay?”

  Holy shit. He wanted me to read lines with Gavin-fucking-Lane?

  He was the star of the show—well, there were several stars but he was the top-billed name for a reason. He was gorgeous and talented and rich, and I was so far out of my depth it was laughable.

  Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

  “I…he…no fucking way,” I sputtered. “I can’t walk in there and pretend to know what I’m doing while sitting across from Gavin Lane. I’ll faint dead away and embarrass the hell out of myself.” I was shaking my head so hard my long, dark hair slapped my face. “I’m sorry Mr. Harrison but I’m so not your girl.”

  My chair made a sharp screeching sound as I stood and bolted through the food court, in the direction of the exit. I could feel eyes on me, lots of them, and that spurred me to move faster, my heart racing more from anxiety than exertion.

  Harrison was still protesting and calling out my name as the elevator doors closed behind me, but I didn’t look back.

  I gulped lungful after lungful of air for a while after tucking myself safely in my car, the illegally-dark tint giving me a much-needed sense of security while I calmed myself. I tapped the tips of my fingers to my thumbs in the rhythmic pattern I’d learned as a teenager. It was a way to stave off my anxiety that I rarely used anymore, having learned how to avoid my triggers in the first place. Today, though, I was tap, tap, tapping away so fast it was like watching a video in extreme fast-forward because some designer label wearing douche wouldn’t leave me alone.

&nb
sp; There was no fucking way that was legit.

  And even if it was, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I was going to humiliate myself in front of someone like Gavin Lane.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Nuh uh.

  Screw that.

  Two

  Kaiti

  I unlocked my apartment door that afternoon and let out an audible sigh of relief. Home at last. It was my sanctuary. My safety net. The only place on earth where I was one hundred percent at ease. And I was in desperate need of it after what happened at the mall.

  The second half of my day was uneventful, thank goodness because I was barely able to concentrate on anything except thoughts of my run-in with Bryce Harrison.

  My factory job—where I was surrounded by the machines I oversaw and very few people bothered me throughout the day—was decidedly boring. Today, though, I was grateful for the solitude as I mentally replayed the strange encounter.

  I’d never even asked what the role was.

  Would it have been a recurring thing?

  Only one episode?

  A small part or something integral to the story?

  Would I have been a love interest?

  That last one had my palms sweating.

  If contemplating reading lines with Gavin Lane made me feel faint, the idea of kissing him was enough to cause serious heart palpitations.

  Stop doing this to yourself. That guy was full of shit. He probably wasn’t even the real Bryce Harrison anyway. Anyone can print up a business card. He was conning you; it was all a setup from the start. Wait until Evie gets back from her cruise; she’s going to have a field day with this one. Only I could manage to find myself in situations like these.