Guilt edged into my chest. There were so many people on this set who had worked hard to get here. Interns and runners and glorified coffee gofers had assisted on B-movies. It didn’t seem fair that I had this leg up when so many others had been scraping their way up the ladder.
But for the love of all things holy, getting the position here was the only nepotism I was going to use. No one on set would know I was the boss’s niece. Not if I could help it.
Staring at Ash Livingston as he strolled out of the wardrobe department, I felt that little pulsing flutter low in my belly. Good God, that man was hot. Not just his looks… but something else. Something about how everyone seemed to stare as he walked by. Rooms would go silent when he walked in. The static energy shifted when he entered—like the sound waves in the air were vibrating with excitement at his presence.
“Lucy!” Kelly snapped, and gestured to the empty rack beside me.
I shook off my stupid, childish crush and rushed forward toward the empty wardrobe. I would not be getting all cozy with Ash Livingston or anyone else on the set for that matter. Uncle Rich made me and everyone else on set sign a non-fraternization clause. I understood why. With all the ugliness in Hollywood these days, everyone was trying to protect themselves from that corrupt behavior.
Uncle Rich didn’t have to worry about that with me, though. I was focusing on my budding career. Besides, of all the men not to be with? Ash was number one. He had a serious reputation. He liked women. A lot of women. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but based on his previous arm candy, and penchant for tall, sinewy blondes? My 5'3" curvy frame and frizzy brown hair wasn’t exactly his type.
“Um… should I just hang them up?” I asked.
"Yes,” Kelly said, drawing out the word so that it was twenty syllables long. "Hang up each blazer, facing out so that I can see them."
I ignored her patronizing tone and did as I was told. I would rather be treated like shit by everyone on this set rather than deal with all the faux niceties and behind my back shit-talking that was bound to occur once people knew I was the boss’s niece.
Kelly tapped her chin, pacing back and forth and scrutinizing each blazer. It was fascinating to watch. Up until I had started design school four years ago, I would have thought all six blazers could have been perfect for the movie. But they weren't. Not to a trained eye.
I watched carefully as Kelly ran her hands across the fabrics, pulled at the seams, checked the pockets, and inspected the tags.
"This cashmere one is too pricey," Kelly said, taking it off the rack and dropping it carelessly into my arms. I wasn't sure I could ever get to the point where I would feel comfortable flinging expensive designer clothes around. I’d seen my uncle do the same thing, almost as if it were a rite of passage, a way of displaying wealth to a point that demonstrated expensive items mattered very little to you. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my uncle, but that seemed more than a little excessive. Uncle Rich loved his wealth. And he never wanted to be poor—or seem poor—again.
When I was seven, Uncle Richard stepped in and took on as much of the father roles as he could handle after my dad left. And despite all the years that my dad would grab my mom, hit her, slam her slim body into the wall when she didn’t have his coffee made in the morning, or if his clothes weren’t folded exactly how he liked, she still cried when he walked out. She’d been devastated that she was single again, and that she had lost a man she supposedly loved.
How anyone could love a man who hit her was freaking beyond my understanding. I made myself two promises that day as I watched Mom beg for Dad to stay as he shoved his belongings into a duffel bag and walked out of our lives. One, I would never act so pathetic, like my mom. And two, I would never be with a man like my dad—controlling, domineering. Abusive.
Because that love Mom had for him? It not only did irreparable damage to her… but to me, as well. Though she may not have prioritized me over her fucked up emotions, I sure as hell will never put my future children through what I went through.
I swallowed, my throat tightening with the last memory of him and Uncle Rich in a stand-off with Uncle Rich nearly shoving him out the door.
When it came down to it, Dad didn’t want to hit someone who he knew would hit back. And we all knew Uncle Rich would hit him back. Gladly, he would have.
My mom had been loving, affectionate, and attentive before my dad left. But after? She pulled back. She went into emotional hiding, shutting me out. For weeks, she stayed in her bedroom while Uncle Rich took care of me. When she reemerged from three weeks later, she was like a new person. A shell of the mother she once was. Where we used to have water balloon fights at the park, now she feared the bacteria within the water, and worried I might have an unknown latex allergy. We used to get soft serve once a week, now she worried what the fat and sugar would do to my health. On Easter Sunday, I asked her why the Easter Bunny didn’t bring me candy anymore and she answered, The Easter Bunny doesn’t want you getting diabetes. Everything scared her. Everything was a threat to our lives, and she responded by trying to control every little aspect of mine—my clothes, my hair, my hobbies, my friends… she even chose my first boyfriend for me. Her mission not to lose me was her only motivation. It was almost as though she believed that if she had been this way before, maybe Dad would have been kinder. Maybe he would have stayed. That night my dad left us, I actually lost both my parents.
I swallowed, my throat tightening.
“Lucy! Are you even listening?”
“Huh? Oh. Oh, um, yeah. I was listening.”
Kelly's eyebrow arched in the most impressive way, like a cat stretching its back after a long night sleep. “Oh, really? Then, could you please grab the blazer I chose and have it dry cleaned before we begin shooting?”
Aw, crap. I should've guessed I’d be caught in the lie. I needed to get my head in the game. Stop thinking of my abusive father. My emotionally absent mother. Stop thinking of my uncle. And definitely stop thinking about how hot Ash Livingston's ass looked in those black Armani slacks he was wearing. “Of course.” I scrutinized the five blazers left hanging. The Navy blue one and the camel-colored suede were both off the rack from department stores. No way in hell would Kelly choose those for Jude to wear, even with the budget cut. The black jacket is Prada, and way out of budget. So that one is out. That left the gray pinstripe, and the brown slim cut. And seeing how the role of Leo is a playboy, I’d guess that brown wasn't exactly in the character’s color palette.
Reaching over, I grabbed the pinstripe off the rack and draped it carefully over my arm. My smile wobbled, but I did my best to swallow down that nervousness. “Is there anything else you want laundered, Ms. Harman?”
Kelly's already icy blue eyes seemed to freeze over even more, but that arched brow relaxed along with her forehead muscles. "No, Lucy. That will be all for now." I nodded, adjusting my glasses higher on my nose and turned to leave the room. Kelly's bony grip caught my bicep before I got even two steps away. "But next time you zone out while assisting me, you'll be the one washing the clothes. Not helping me choose the costumes. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal, Ms. Harman," I said, my voice sounding small.
Kelly snorted, letting go of my arm. "Lucy," she scoffed. "That name is very… suited for you."
Though what she said wasn’t technically an insult, my cheeks burned all the same as I spun in the opposite direction, walking away. The implied, unspoken words hung between us: a plain name for a plain girl. But if Kelly had really paid attention to me… if she’d looked at my paperwork, she would have seen Lucy was short for Luciana Blair Rodriguez. Blair. My mother's maiden name. Also, Uncle Richard's last name. If someone wanted to piece the puzzle together, they could, and I’d be powerless to stop them. Luckily, because of my history with my mom, I was used to fading into the background. I was damn good at it.
Chapter Three
Ash
I looked around the set at the various people hustli
ng. Like worker ants, they moved quickly and efficiently, cleaning up as we wrapped the shoot today. It was the first day all week that actually stayed relatively on schedule, leaving us only forty-five minutes later than I had planned. Damn, that felt good.
Lucy crossed past me, rolling a wardrobe draped with a of variety outfits. I smiled at her as her gaze lifted, meeting mine. Her eyes widened, her spiky black eyelashes nearly brushing her eyebrows they went so wide. She finally gave me a weak smile in return before scurrying off with the freshly dry-cleaned costumes.
I stole a quick glance at my phone. “Okay, everyone,” I shouted. “That’s a wrap for today. Tomorrow, we shoot on location and it’s going to be a long day. We have thirty extras coming, and we need to get both daytime shots and nighttime shots. Call is at six a.m. Actors go into makeup and wardrobe at seven sharp, and I want the stand-ins on set for lighting at seven as well, so we’re ready to roll as soon as all the actors are ready. But the good news is most of you have off Saturday and Sunday since it’s a closed set. Those who are needed this weekend—you know who you are.” I had shifted the scenes around tomorrow and next week so that we weren’t shooting any supporting character scenes with Chase—just in case Pierce finally got back to me. Word on the street was that he was out of the country. I leaned into my assistant director, Jon. “You get all that?”
“Yep. I’m typing it up now and will send it to everyone on the crew.”
“Great.” I hit the button on my headset that linked to wardrobe. “Kelly,” I said. “I’ll see you in my office in ten minutes for our meeting.”
Her breathy chuckle on the other end of the line made me halt in my tracks. “You got it, Ash.” I gritted my teeth, hearing Jude’s warnings in my head over and over. Don't shit where you eat, man. Most of the time, Jude was overly cautious. He’d been burned by that bitch ex-wife of his, and as Rich always said, like any fire—you can smell the smoke long after the flames had been extinguished.
But this time? He was right. And Richard would annihilate me if I was caught alone in my office with the one woman I fucked before pre-production. It had ‘lawsuit’ written all over it. Warning bells fired off in my brain. “Why don’t you bring your assistant, too.”
“Lucy?” She snapped in my ear, suddenly louder and far less sexy sounding than a moment earlier.
“Yes,” I said, keeping my voice tight. Business-like. “Lucy can take notes of the meeting.”
There was the briefest pause before she answered, “Yes. Of course. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I clicked the button to my headset, turning it off and pulling it from my ear. Whatever else needed to be said to me would have to wait…or more realistically, be emailed.
“Did I hear you say Lucy?” Richard said, surprising me by being right behind me.
Startled, I nodded. “Yeah. New girl in the costume department. Dark hair, glasses—”
Richard smiled. “Oh yes, I know her. I hired her. That girl is going places.”
Since when does the CEO of Silhouette Studios waste time hiring a wardrobe assistant? I pulled back, examining my boss. This cynical bastard didn’t take notice of anyone. He was a great guy and in some ways, we were like family, but he barely knew Jon, my assistant director who had worked on three Silhouette films, by name. Suddenly, he knew who the new wardrobe assistant was? “What makes you say that?”
“You don’t agree?”
I folded my arms, considering the question carefully. “I honestly don’t know. I only just met her. She seems nice, but it’s hard to know if the talent is there.”
“You’ll see. There’s a spark in that girl.” With that, Richard exited smoothly off the set, the yellow lights hitting his salt and pepper hair.
Well, that was weird. Richard fought this project tooth and nail—he didn’t want to make this film at all, despite the fact that apparently, he himself, is a Dominant. And now here he was on set; reviewing last week’s footage, admitting to being a Dom, not only invested in my BDSM experience, but also focusing on my crew?
Something wasn’t sitting right here.
Ten minutes later, both Kelly and Lucy were in my office, sitting across from me. The difference between the two of them was drastic. Kelly was tall and lean with the sort of muscles I knew all too well were sculpted from hours of time invested in yoga and spin class. Lucy was thin, but with soft curves that looked lush and silky. Kelly wore tight black skinny dress pants and a leather blazer that hugged her waist and hips, almost tailored to be a second skin with a sheer lace camisole beneath. Lucy wore loose-fitting jeans and a fitted white t-shirt that seemed to have some sort of coffee stain at the top of her cleavage.
And she was fucking adorable.
I cleared my throat while Kelly tucked her white-blonde hair behind one ear. “So,” Kelly said. “This budget cut—it’s not a big deal for the next week or so because we’ve already received those costumes. But what about the gala Leo and Holly are supposed to attend? The scene we’re shooting in three weeks. Do you want them in JCPenny prom attire?”
Damn, Kelly was a driven little thing. I’d give her that. Driven and also really fucking annoying. I rubbed my hand down my face, scrubbing at my stubble. “It doesn’t need to be JCPenny, but we just need to be mindful. Jude’s character is wealthy—but he isn’t a millionaire. And Holly… she’s an administrative assistant. Her lifestyle has to reflect that.”
“Hollywood is about giving viewers something to strive for. It’s fiction,” Kelly continued. “It’s not like Leo or Holly could afford these apartments they live in either, but you don’t seem to mind that that’s not as realistic for their salary levels.”
She had a point there. But it didn’t change the fact that this was Silhouette’s smallest budgeted production for the year. The executives didn’t have a lot of faith in a film that wasn’t centered around a superhero or best-selling novel. I looked to Lucy who had her gaze cast down in her notebook, scribbling notes furiously. “What do you think, Lucy?”
Her head jerked up and she drew in a sharp breath. “Me?”
“Her?” Kelly repeated.
“Yes, her. She’s your assistant. She must be knowledgeable. Lucy, what are your thoughts?”
She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. Her fingers flew to her glasses, pushing them higher on her nose as she glanced to her right at Kelly. Then, almost as if watching a wave overtake someone, she changed. Right before my eyes. Lucy sat taller, stopped fidgeting and answered calmly. “Well, for the gala scene, I think we could stay in budget by finding some local boutique designers. A lot of times, clothing that’s tailored to an actor’s body will look richer, more so than off the rack, but also more in our price range than a well-known designer we can’t afford and the characters also wouldn’t be able to afford. There are so many young and hungry new designers in LA who would be thrilled for the chance for their designs to be in a movie and would be more affordable than say, Prada—” Lucy’s gaze dipped to Kelly’s Prada pumps, and Kelly’s cheeks turned a fiery red as Lucy bit down on her bottom lip and shrunk back in her seat. The change was noticeable as she melted back into shy and uncertain, whereas seconds before she had been strong and assertive. And somehow this flip-flopping personality shift was intriguing as hell.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” I said. See? I wanted to say. Your assistant fucking gets it faster than you. This is what happens when nepotism supersedes talent. And it’s fucking annoying. I had to hand it to Richard, though. He was one hundred percent right. Lucy had something. Shit, based on that little speech alone, apparently we should have hired her as the lead designer, not Kelly. She was young, but knew her shit. “A new designer who’s up and coming should fit right into the budget and they’ll be thrilled for the exposure. They could do most of the wardrobe as well, not just the gala scene. Do either of you know anyone who might fit the bill here?”
“I’ll do some research and let you know,” Kelly said, her nostrils flaring. I glanced at Lu
cy, watching the nervous way she nibbled that plump bottom lip. And then, those eyes. Those striking, dark eyes lifted and met mine, stealing me of my breath. Fuck, I wanted to kiss her. Claim her. Teach her. The non-fraternization clause popped into my thoughts, but… well, Richard was the one who issued this damn challenge in the first place. Besides, there’s also a consent contract—if Lucy was a consensual partner…
I swallowed, shaking the thought from my head. Nope. No. There was no way to even approach that without a massive power play. And then what if she wasn’t interested? If she said no? I know I wouldn’t hold that against her, but then she could be uncomfortable for the remaining three months of filming. I couldn’t do that to her.
“What about you, Lucy?” I asked, finding my words. “Do you know of any local designers?”
She moved to look at Kelly, but I tapped my pen to my desk. “No need to look at Kelly first. We all want the same thing here… A well-planned, under budget film that looks gorgeous. And characters who are stylish and chic. Isn’t that right, Kelly?”
Kelly gave me a tight smile. “Yes, of course.”
“Well,” Lucy said. “I do know of one designer. She’s young and new but her collection for this season just recently got bought by a little boutique in West Hollywood. She’s well on her way to becoming a name, I’m sure of it.”
Kelly snorted and rolled her eyes. “What is she… your roommate?”
It was Lucy’s turn to flush bright red. The adorable blush spanned from cheek to cheek and across the bridge of her nose, emphasizing a spray of light-colored freckles. “Actually… yeah.”
“I think that’s great,” I said, smiling. “You know, Jude and I started out as roommates. We used to always help each other out when we could. I love seeing that camaraderie. Especially in this industry that has such a reputation for being cut-throat.”
Role Play (Silhouette Studios) Page 3
