Unscripted

by Swallow, Lisa

  I finally fell for his bullshit, blinded by my own ambition too.

  I built my confidence and self-esteem up after Miles because I achieved this on my own, that I walked forward leaving behind people who lied to me for their own ends. In a few short minutes, that’s shattered again.

  The idea people know and judge me based on the truth, rather than my acting skill sickens me further. I’ve walked around as if I’m an accomplished actress who found her big break. To them, I’m another girl in Tate’s long line who’s benefitting from her connection to him.

  I’m no different to Savannah using her uncle to land a part. I’m the type of actress I always swore I’d never be.

  Angry sickness twists my stomach, embarrassment joining for good measure. A few day’s filming left. After that, I’ll ensure the whole bloody world knows exactly what happened between Tate and me. I refuse to be the one pigeonholed as the girl sleeping her way into this position.

  Everybody can go to hell—and I can go elsewhere because my future making a life in Hollywood just crumbled to dust.

  29

  My mood interferes with mentally preparing for the scene with Tate. The small room in Brit’s flat takes up half a set space, positioned next to the areas that’s Brit and Dev’s office we spend many shooting hours in. For the first time, Dev’s in Brit’s apartment and will move beyond a kiss. Thank god for fade to black, but my acting skills will be put to the ultimate test when I have to fall for the charms of the man I currently want to slap.

  There isn’t time for the conversation I need with him about this before we film, but he’ll know how I feel by the end of the day. The anger continues to tremble through my body, and everybody I see I imagine them gossiping.

  Things run smoothly in the early scene. Brit and Dev share a meal she cooks, as they small talk about the case they just solved. The wine lowers their inhibitions and pushes at the sexual tension Tate and I never needed to work hard on.

  Tonight, the tension is higher than ever—and it’s not sexual.

  “Are you okay?” Tate whispers on my third refusal to engage in any conversation between takes.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  Tate purses his lips. “When a woman says ‘fine’ like that, there’s no way she is. What happened?”

  We’re interrupted by the director, who’s spent the last ten minutes chatting with the lighting crew. “We need to get the lighting right for the next scenes.” He gestures at a spot in the kitchen area, close to the sink. “Both of you stand in position while we sort the levels.”

  I rest against the counter, and Tate stands opposite me. His arms wrap around my waist and I tense, looking at a spot over his head.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, moving forward to whisper in my ear.

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Look at me.”

  I pull my gaze from over his shoulder and look straight into his eyes. Surprise reflects back. “Wow, you’re fifty shades of pissed off. With me?”

  A lighting technician appears, holds a meter above my head for a few seconds, then steps back and nods.

  “Sit on the counter, Myf,” says Roger.

  Tate slides his hands beneath my ass and lifts me onto the counter, the silk material of Brit’s blue dress sliding against his fingers and riding up slightly. I detach his hands from my thighs.

  Why does his subtle, clean fragrance and hair touching my cheek fire a different kind of heat inside? Last night, in his bed, the place we went together nobody else could ever take me. And now the thought of his lying self against me... I want it to piss me off, not hurt.

  Tate places his hands back on my skin. I push them away. “No need to grope me just for a lighting test.”

  “Okay. Wow.” Tate lifts his hands, palms outwards. I swing my legs so he has to step back, feigning nonchalance while my betraying heart races. Anger. This is anger.

  He catches my eye, dark gaze marred by confusion. “Is this about the weekend?”

  “No.”

  “Was gonna say, you seemed enthusiastic at the time.”

  “Mmm.” I look away again, dismissing the memories he’s teasing into me.

  We rehearsed this playfully over the last couple of days, although the version we took part in was pornworthy and not suitable for network TV.

  This time? Staying in the character that should never have been mine is bloody difficult.

  “Let’s go with the wide shots first, then close up,” calls Roger. “Take five first.”

  I push Tate to one side and jump down, moving away before he can speak.

  How many times will I need to repeat the scene today?

  * * *

  I’m back at the sink in character this time, both of us aware where this evening’s leading. Following the kiss the day Brit gave in and admitted she needed Dev’s help—and wanted him—her attempt to avoid discussing the situation failed. He sweet-talked himself into a meal at Brit’s place with an offer to cook. I never queried why my apartment and not his, but her side of the city feels safer after the pursuit by strange men over the last few days.

  Brit and Dev spoke over the meal, his broody refusal to tell Brit everything in case he puts me in danger ramps up the tension. Pissed off by his evasiveness, Brit clears plates and slams them onto the nearby kitchen counter.

  “I wish I could tell you everything you wanted to know.” Dev’s presence in the kitchen triggers the same reaction in Brit as I have to Tate, wary he’ll touch but aching for him also.

  I turn, resting my hands behind, on the counter, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think I’m in more danger if I don’t know the full story? Tell me what’s happening, and I can dig up info on these people and protect myself.”

  The Dev move follows: the piercing eyes, vulnerable hair pushing as he debates what needs to be said. “They won’t be in the FBI system.”

  “They will. These people aren’t new to crime. They’re a syndicate. That’s bloody obvious.”

  Tate steps forward, and I shrink back. He looks down at my mouth. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.” I’m breathless, wanting, while Myf feels anything but. I fight to stay in character as his long fingers stroke my hair.

  “You won’t.” His mouth hovers close to mine, the tiny space like a gulf as his hands slide around my waist. “Don’t ask.”

  I close my eyes, his breath touching my lips, Dev hesitating, waiting for the green light from me. I stall. I’m Brit. This isn’t Myf yielding to him again.

  “Myf,” he says softly, mouth touching mine as he does.

  “I don’t want to kiss you,” I murmur back but the sentence is too late considering our lips already brush.

  “No choice. Do it.”

  Tate’s chest presses against mine, the shirt Dev’s wearing is unusual dress for him, and the warm cotton touches my exposed skin, where the dress scoops low revealing more than Brit normally would. Her signal to him that she can be more than the prim and proper, snarky partner; the one who’s prepared for this, has dreamt of him with her.

  Our mouths meet properly, Tate gripping my waist and pulling my hips into his. I wrench my mouth away. He can kiss me; I’m not kissing him. This works for his character, who lays kisses along my neck, hand sliding beneath my dress as he lifts me onto the bench. I tip my head back, eyes closed still. Brit and Dev. Brit and Dev.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the weekend,” Tate whispers.

  I move my head in the pretence of kissing his neck, and place my lips by his ear. “And I can’t wait to get away from you, you lying bastard.”

  Tate’s hands grip my waist. “Huh?”

  “You. I know what you did.”

  He presses himself between my legs and a thrill runs through me. I fight the desire heating my skin as he follows the moves we rehearsed.

  I curl my fingers into his hair and pull—hard. “Ow!” he hisses against my neck.

  “Just being passionate.�
� I fight a smile, not releasing his hair.

  Thank you, thank you for the wide shots.

  Tate lifts his head, Dev looking into Brit’s eyes with darkened desire. I hold the look, summoning Brit’s parted-mouthed, “don’t stop” response. I curl a hand around his neck and drag his face closer. “Apparently I landed Brit’s part because I’m fucking you.”

  “Who told you that?” He freezes, Dev’s seduction attempts disappearing.

  “Doesn’t matter.” I play my lips across his cheek and continue to speak in a low voice. “But you humiliated me. All the rumours, you controlling asshole.”

  Tate pulls his face away. “It wasn’t like that. You have this all wrong.”

  “Really?” My mouth thins and Brit disappears.

  “What’s with the cosy chat?” yells out Roger. “Start again.”

  Tate releases me and steps back, and I adjust my dress as he crosses his arms. “We need to talk,” he says.

  “I’m not interested, but I’ll be talking to my lawyers tomorrow.” I bite back further words as a girl appears to straighten mine and Tate’s hair, and my eyes continue to sear my anger into his skin.

  “No, Myf. Not yet.”

  “Time’s nearly up anyway, right?”

  The girl disappears, and we’re yelled at to start again. Tate smooths my hair again, the same action as before. He draws me close. “Be professional, Myf.”

  “Asshole,” I murmur.

  I may’ve landed this part because Tate arranged it, but my skills as an actress shine through today as I spend the day pretending I’m falling for a man I’d rather shove from a great height.

  * * *

  Several hours with Tate’s body pressed against mine, and I’m at least immune to his effect and exhausted by acting as if I want him. Following the last few words we had, I refused to go off script and say anything else. The moment Roger gave us the all clear, my backside left that room before anybody could say a word to me.

  My thoughts churn over and over, as they have since Savannah’s words earlier. Sure, her motivation was to be a total bitch, but I’m happy somebody told me. I internally cringe every time memories of interactions with other cast and crew congratulating me on the part surface.

  My months coming to terms with the fact Miles dumped on me and holding onto my “screw him I’m moving onwards and upwards” evaporates. This major slug in my self-worth rewinds me back to the uncertain, cautious Myf who Miles created that day.

  My trailer’s in sight, so close yet so far, when a strong hand grips my upper arm. “Myf.”

  “Let go.” I attempt to keep walking, but one weird look from a passer-by and I halt, spinning on my heel to look at Tate. “I’m too mad to talk to you right now. And I’m sick of your hands on me today.” He frowns and releases me as I slap his fingers.

  “Let’s talk about this now. I’m not leaving you to think the worst of me.” Tate drags me around a corner to a space between two trailers.

  “The worst? Ha!”

  “Sorry I helped you land a part, which pushed your career up the ladder.”

  “I’m pissed off because you lied. You told me you didn’t get me this role.”

  “Myf, it was down to two girls. You and somebody I didn’t feel fit Brit as well as you did. I put in my recommendation, that’s all. I didn’t make the decision.”

  “Did you know the cast and crew think otherwise? That I slept with you to get the part.”

  He crosses his arms. “Since when did you give a shit what people rumoured?”

  “Since I was lied to and humiliated on my wedding day earlier this year!” I swallow. “That kind of thing changes someone and takes some getting over.”

  “Really, Myf, I don’t want to belittle what you went through, but that wasn’t my intention. I was stupid to think nobody would find out.”

  Donna passes and I fix a bright smile on my face as I say goodnight. The moment she’s gone, I turn a sour look back to Tate.

  “You’re a talented actress, Myf. You always were. This part was perfect for you.”

  “But why lie about it?”

  “Because of this. I knew you’d freak out.”

  “Don’t do that!”

  “What?”

  “The Tate Daniel’s seductive smile and wicked look in his eyes girls can’t look away from. You did this to control me!”

  “I didn’t realise I was.” Liar. He continues the steady look, the one I saw earlier. “Myf. I want to be around you. I wanted another chance to show you what you mean to me, but knew you’d refuse to see me.”

  “You’re the one who didn’t want to be seen together.”

  “As a couple, yes, but this way I had a chance to spend time with you and try again.” He seizes my cheeks in both hands. “And. Because. You’re. A. Good. Actress.”

  My face scrunches beneath his warm fingers. “Please let me go. You’re hurting my head. This might not be a big deal to you, but it hits me hard. I’ve spent years refusing to be that girl and taking offers based on what favours I can do, or my connections. This industry doesn’t forget, Tate!”

  “I’ve said I’m sorry, but tomorrow speak to the show runners, and they’ll tell you it was my suggestion who took the part, the way it would be any two ordinary girls. I can’t help rumours, can I?”

  “Like Vegas weddings?” I snap. “You’re pretty damn keen on hiding those rumours. Well I’m not doing that anymore. This is over.”

  The hysterical edge to my voice sends alarm across Tate’s face. “Myf. Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to bloody calm down!” I blacken against anything else around me, against anything but the hurt from Miles’s call today and this man’s deception. “Oh yeah, and how about the girl you slept with when you promised me you hadn’t touched someone else. You’ll never change!”

  “What the fuck? I didn’t!”

  “And telling Savannah to terminate her pregnancy.”

  “Whoa!” Tate steps back, face darkening with anger. “There was no pregnancy. She lied. And that is not what I said. The bloody—”

  His words fly by my ears as the sum of frustration and anger tightens as I interrupt. “I don’t want to be married to you anymore, Tate!” I half shout.

  “Jesus, Myf!” Tate’s green-blue eyes lose their concern and widen in surprise. “Keep your bloody voice down.”

  I swing my head over my shoulder. Two girls, extras on the show, stroll several feet away holding bottles filled with water and sliced lemon as they chat. They swish past us, the heavy perfume cloying and turning my already sick stomach.

  We both have the same thought as icy silence falls. Did the girls hear us? Their conversation continues, uninterrupted, with no second glance at us.

  No.

  Leaving a pale Tate with worry lining his features, I stalk away before he can continue the conversation.

  30

  Audrey isn’t home when I burst through the door ready to vent my frustration at somebody, so I kick several cupboard doors and almost break a wine glass in the kitchen instead.

  Bottle and glass in hand, I plonk myself on the sofa and hit the TV remote. Fate laughs at my situation, as I’m immediately greeted by Tate’s face as Norsemen appears. I click the TV off and pour my wine.

  My laptop lies on the nearby table, and I lean across to grab it. I’m a master at balancing laptops and wine glasses. I may not’ve practiced much recently but the skill hasn’t left me.

  Wales. I need out of this city and situation.

  One productive search through airline websites later, and I have dates and times of flights back to the UK. The gap in filming between November and January affords free time I desperately need. Time to face the people I haven’t seen since The Day that Screwed Up My Life. Family Christmas? Maybe, or catch up with old friends. People from the past who haven’t taken the crazy plane to La La Land.

  I settle back in my seat and rest my head on the cushion, eyes closed. A trip back to the UK will be good
, not just to see friends and family, but to step outside of this world into another and slow the pace down. However much I hated Pembrokeshire as a teen, the thought of the Welsh countryside and stony beaches far removed from California beckons me.

  Sold.

  I daydream about my trip to Wales, wine bottle half empty by the time Audrey arrives home. She drops her purse on the floor next to the door and calls hello as she passes.

  “Have a glass of wine with me,” I call back. “Bring a glass.”

  She returns with one, and a plate of salad, then sits in the armchair opposite me. “Just one. I’m heading out again soon.”

  In an effort to conserve her savings while she looks for work, Audrey took on the waitressing job she joked about. I’m tempted to ask if there’re any more jobs available since I may need one soon. Or maybe I could ask for my old job at the fish and chip shop in St Davids. The one I had aged sixteen.

  “What’s happening, Myf? I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. I thought you were hiding out with Tate, doing unspeakable things with him.” She nudges me with her foot. “Finally.”

  I grunt and gulp more wine. “Was.”

  Audrey’s blue eyes narrow. “Please don’t tell me he screwed, then dumped you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what? Is it the show? Are the network cancelling? Surely not.”

  “Don’t know but I won’t be involved.”

  Audrey sets her glass down and leans forward. “Shit, Myf. Are you losing your part? Is this all wrapped up with Tate?”

  “No and yes. I’m quitting.”

  “Why?”

  I swill the wine around my mouth, then swallow. “Today, I found out I only have the part because Tate made the show runners cast me!”

  Audrey’s brow tugs for a moment. “So you’re going to quit?”

  “I have to. I’m not allowing people to think I slept my way into a role, that I’m a talentless hack.”

  “Um. Stop there.” Audrey takes the wine glass from me. “You’re not talentless. Didn’t you receive the callback before Tate discovered you were involved? You were shortlisted before he knew.”