by Trisha Grace
“Nothing happened. The models were already there with Spence, and I was just going to grab him and go.”
“But you didn't.”
“He didn't want to leave unless I drank with him. One glass led to the second.” He shook his head.
“Wait. You drove him home while you were drunk?”
“I didn't drive him home.” He ran his hand through his hair, then paused.
“What?”
He swallowed the curse on the tip of his tongue. “Spence’s car wasn't stolen. He got into his own car and drove off.”
Sarah closed her eyes, and her chest deflated at a slow, steady rate. “Did you drive yourself home?” She opened her eyes, revealing the simmering rage behind her lids.
“Um … yes?”
“Drunk?”
He grinned and lifted her hand to his lips. “I’m perfectly fine. Home—safe and in one piece.”
Sarah snatched her hand from his. “You’ve just been lucky thus far.” She sighed softly. “Don't do that again. I’m sure you can afford a cab.”
“I’d rather just not drink again.” He leaned back on his pillow. Why did he use to drink so much that he could barely function the next day? “Six months. You’ve been in my life for six months and already you’ve changed my life so drastically.”
“Drastically good, I hope.”
“Of course.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him when she rubbed her hands against her arms. “Why are you so cold?”
“Why are you sleeping in a fridge?”
“My room is way nicer than a fridge.” He took a deep breath, breathing in her shampoo. Was that mint? Whatever it was, he didn't like it. “Did you change your shampoo?”
“I used the one Elena had in the bathroom. I was too lazy to grab mine.”
“I don't like it.”
“Just because I’m your assistant, doesn't mean you can dictate the shampoo I use.”
He tightened his arms around her. “You smell so good in your own shampoo.”
She laughed softly. “Fine. I’ll use my own shampoo.”
“Great.” He pushed himself up off the bed and helped Sarah to her feet. “I think now’s a great time for a tour of my place.”
“Headache gone?”
Nope. But he was excited to show her around. More importantly, he wanted to see if she’d like his place the way she did Elena’s.
Chapter Seven
Spencer cringed and knocked the base of his palm against his forehead as the director instructed him and Elena on where they should move and where and when the different explosives around the set would go off.
He really should pay more attention, but the director was talking so loudly. And why did he have to keep waving his hands about? The distracting hand movements were making Spencer’s headache worse.
“Spence, are you listening?” the director yelled at him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Elena asked the director something else, but Spencer didn't bother to pay attention. He trudged toward the back of a set and leaned against the green panel hiding him from the cameras and lights.
He seriously needed some aspirin. Maybe he shouldn't have fired his assistant before she could get him that bottle of aspirin.
“Action!”
Spencer opened his eyes when he felt a slap on his arm. He shot Elena a glare, and she returned an equally frustrated one as she pointed forward.
Right. That was the director shouting. Spencer was supposed to run. He bolted out without bracing himself for the loud blasts from the explosive, and he jumped back when the first one went off closer than he was comfortable with.
He glanced over his shoulder, and Elena was right behind him.
“No!” Elena reached toward him, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
His feet were in motion. The trigger had been fired, and his system—marred with remnants of alcohol he’d tried to drown himself in—was too slow to react to the panic in Elena’s voice.
He heard the loud bang before feeling the heat and the powerful impact throwing him back.
Then an equally strong force hit him in the back. He turned to his side and coughed, exhaling the air that was trapped in his chest.
“Spencer, are you all right?”
He groaned and cursed. “What happened?”
“What happened was you didn't bother to pay attention!”
Spencer cringed at the director’s voice.
“Don't move.” Elena’s soft voice lulled his eyes open. “Where’s the medical team?” Her hand rested on his arm, and she looked down at him. “Don't move.”
He nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Elena’s brows drew closer when he didn't reply.
Her genuine concern caught him off-guard. He’d always thought Elena despised him, so shouldn't she be glad that he was—he still didn't know what happened to him. “What happened?”
A corner of Elena’s lips hooked into a wry smile. “You ran toward an explosive, you idiot.”
Despite her words, her tone, so gentle and infused with frustration, disbelief, and amusement, made him laugh.
“I think he hurt his head,” she said.
The director snorted. “I think he’s still drunk.”
Elena grinned, and Spencer thought she looked beautiful.
He closed his eyes. He probably had hurt his head because he definitely wasn't still drunk, and he still remembered that he despised Elena as much as she did him.
Poor, struggling waitress got the opportunity of a lifetime only to be accused of being the reason behind her best friend’s overdose. Now, she was Hollywood’s baby sister. She could do no wrong.
The most annoying part about that? She really behaved as if she was a saint.
Nothing good would come out from a dalliance between a saint and a hell-raiser like himself. Which was why Keith’s relationship with his good-girl-next-door was bound for failure anyway.
Keith opened his eyes when he felt a sudden chill on his arm, right where Elena’s hand had been.
Another woman knelt in front of him, raising a small flashlight to his eye level. He glanced over the woman’s shoulder at Elena, who was standing right in front of a crowd that had gathered around him.
“Look at my finger.”
He turned his focus to the gloved index finger in front of him and followed whatever the woman from the medical team instructed him to do. He peered over at Elena again when her assistant led her away.
“I think you’re all right. But if you find yourself having shortness of breath or feeling nauseous, then you need to get yourself to the hospital.”
He nodded, and several crew members came forward and helped him to his feet. He stretched his neck and pushed his shoulders back. “Ugh.” The headache that had subsided for a moment returned with a vengeance.
He trudged toward his dressing room while the director yelled for the pyro technicians to get to work.
Once he got back to his room, he plopped down on the couch and leaned his head back against the arm rest while his feet dangled over the edge. “Go away,” he said when someone knocked on his door.
He frowned when he heard the scraping of the bolt and the small click before the door opened. He tipped his head back. “I said—Elena.”
“Gina said you fired your assistant this morning.”
“Gina?”
“My assistant.”
“Oh.” He leaned back on the arm rest. “Yeah. She was annoying me.”
“How many assistants have you fired over the last month?”
He shrugged. He hadn’t kept count.
“Here.” Elena took his hand and shook two pills onto his palm. “Aspirin.” She grabbed a bottle of water from the dressing table and handed it to him as he sat up.
“Thanks.”
“Are you all right?” she asked after he’d swallowed the pills.
He nodded slowly. “Why are you being so nice?”
“You ran into an explosive.�
�� She put the bottle of aspirin down on the dressing table. “I think you deserve some sympathy. I’m leaving this here. In case you need it tomorrow before your new assistant arrives.”
“Keith was with me last night.”
“I’ve seen the photos.”
“You should join us. Have some fun.”
“I don’t think hangovers or almost getting blown up is fun.” She turned to him after giving his dressing room a scan. “Did you ask Keith to join you last night?”
“Yeah.” Technically, he’d tricked Keith into joining him. But he was enjoying Elena being nice to him, and he’d rather not ruin it with honesty.
“Don’t you have any other friends who can be your wingman? I’m sure there are plenty of models who are willing to sleep with you even without a wingman.”
So this was why she was being nice? She came over to tell him to stop asking Keith out to parties? He rolled his eyes. “Is your new bestie upset? Or are you jealous?”
Her brows drew together.
“Keith can make his own decisions, and he chose to meet me last night. Whatever you Christians don't agree with, that’s your problem.”
Elena’s lips curled into a small smile, a hint of gentleness dancing along her lips. “I’m not blaming you or Keith. I was merely curious. And I don't have a problem with you partying. It’s your life. You can choose whatever you want to do with it.”
“You clearly don't approve.”
“It's difficult to approve of something when you see the zombie-like after effects. And I cherish the people around me too much to chase them away just because I’m constantly in a foul mood due to hangovers.” She grinned when he squinted. “Yes, I’m talking about you.”
Was Elena always this beautiful? No. It was the lights from the dressing table behind her, which weren’t switched on.
No. It was his head. “I think something’s wrong with my head.”
“Do you want me to call the doctor?”
He shook his head.
“FYI: I don't know how to do CPR.”
He laughed. What? Was he friends with Elena now? He cleared his throat. “I tricked Keith. I told him my car had been stolen and I needed a ride.”
Elena shook her head. He would’ve expected her to give him a stern lecture on what a terrible person he was and storm away if it wasn’t for her small smile.
“Why?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I thought he needed to have an excuse to get out and have fun.”
“Are you sure it isn’t because you’ve lost someone to party with and you’re just bored of doing it by yourself?”
“Are we in therapy now?”
“No.” Elena stood. “You wouldn’t be able to afford me.” She walked over to the door. “It isn’t easy to find someone you’re willing to give up the world for. I don’t know Sarah well, but Keith sure looks happy.”
“Are you in love with Keith?”
She laughed. “You’re funny.”
“You would’ve known that if you hadn’t stuck your nose up at me.”
“I what?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend as if you don’t know what I’m talking about. You look down on people like Keith and me. You only started talking to Keith after he changed for the better.”
“I started talking to Keith because he wouldn’t leave me alone. And I don’t talk to you because I don’t think we have anything in common to talk about. You and Keith were always going on about the women you guys saw at the club, rating them like they were meat.”
“See, you do look down on us.”
“For being absolute—” She waved it off. “If you guys had topics fit for proper conversation, I would’ve participated.”
Spencer slapped his hand against the space next to him. “Then sit. Let’s talk.”
Elena arched a brow. “About?”
“So what did you do last night?”
“I went home and slept. I would ask about you, except I already know what you did.”
“Okay.” He hesitated, and Elena’s lips curled. “I’m thinking,” he said before she could speak.
She nodded slowly, then reached for the door handle. “Take your time. I’ll be in my dressing room.” She stepped out of the room before he could stop her.
Spencer stood and slumped back down when his head spun. “Ugh.” Last night’s fun so wasn't worth the pain he was suffering. He shook his head, then got up again and went after Elena.
Elena had turned the corner, so he lengthened his strides.
“What are you staring at?”
Elena backed right into him as he turned the corner.
He hooked his arm around her waist and steadied her. “Are you retreating from Miriam?” he asked when he saw who was ahead.
Elena shot him a glare over her shoulder.
Spencer grinned, then looked forward at the scene ahead. Miriam had her arms crossed in front of her chest while her sister, and manager, had her hands on her hips. Both of them were now glaring at Elena and him.
“We’ll leave the two of you alone.” Elena turned, grabbed Spencer’s arm, and headed back toward his dressing room.
“I didn’t think you’d be afraid of Miriam.” He grinned, opened the door to his dressing room, and ushered Elena in. “Stop glaring at me. I’m giving you a hiding place.”
“I’m not hiding from Miriam.” She sat on the couch and crossed her legs. “I was merely giving them space because I thought I barged into them having an intimate conversation.”
“Intimate conversation?”
“Did you not see the—never mind.” She sighed and glanced around his dressing room, her eyes stopping on him. “Did you by any chance sleep with Miriam over the last few months?”
He frowned. “Are you jealous?”
She laughed at his question, and he couldn’t help but get irritated.
“What’s so funny?”
She cleared her throat and shook her head. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I have no idea.” He moved toward the dressing table and had just sat on the chair when the door next to his slammed closed.
Elena stood. “Looks like they’ve decided to take their conversation back to her room.” She walked over to the door.
“We haven’t had our conversation yet.”
“Another time.” She opened the door. “I’m sure Gina’s back with my lunch. Get some rest so you actually know where you’re supposed to run. Small tip: you’re supposed to run away from the explosive, not toward it.”
“Ha ha. Funny.”
She smiled and closed the door without another word.
Miriam exhaled heavily as she sat on the couch and stared at Beatrice when she slammed the door.
“How could you be this careless?” Beatrice stood across from her and waved the pregnancy test wand in her hand.
“It isn’t as if I have any role lined up after this.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “And you think getting pregnant will help?” She threw the pregnancy test into the trash can. “Were you going to tell me about it if I hadn’t seen this?” She took a deep breath. “How far along are you? Get rid of it.”
“I have a plan.”
“A plan?” Beatrice threw her hands in the air. “You’ll be the death of me.”
Miriam rolled her eyes. “Afraid that this is the end of your cash cow?”
“Miriam, your character is getting killed off in this movie.”
“How could I forget? You’ve been harping about it since the last movie ended.”
Beatrice ran her hand through her hair. “You need to get rid of it.”
“I said I have a plan,” she said through clenched teeth.
“What plan?” Beatrice sat next to her. “Do you know who the father is?”
Of course she knew who the father was. “I’m tired of going for auditions.”
“You’re an actress. That’s what you need to do.”
“Elena doesn’t have to do that.”
“Because she’s Elena Pattison!” Beatrice raised her hands palm out and took a deep breath. “What’s your plan?”
“I need you to arrange an interview.”
Chapter Eight
Keith exhaled heavily through his nose when another crew member gave Sarah a small, sad smile along with a shot of sympathy through the split-second eye contact. Everyone had been sending Sarah that look since they’d stepped into the studio.
But he couldn’t really blame anyone but himself—and Spencer.
He scanned the set, but Spencer wasn’t in sight.
Letting go of Sarah’s hand, Keith put his hand on her back and led her down the hallway toward his dressing room.
“Keith?”
He looked down at Sarah.
“You need to slow down. My legs aren’t as long as yours.”
He grinned and kissed her hair. “Are you all right?”
“You mean how I seem like the most pathetic woman to have ever walked into this studio?” Her lips parted in a mischievous smile, which made him frown. “I think I could ask for any present now and get it. You’re rich, right?”
He laughed. “Yes, I am. Ask away.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going to ask you for anything so you’ll continue to feel guilty.”
He hooked his arm over her shoulders and tugged her close against him, holding her head against his chest.
Sarah laughed and struggled to get out of his hold.
“Why are you always squirming to get away from me?”
“Why are you always manhandling me?” She straightened when he released her and stuck his tongue out at her. “Very mature,” she said and pinched his cheek.
When they got to his dressing room, he opened the door and ushered her in. “Stay here for a while. I’ve got something to do.”
She arched a brow.
“I’ll be right back.” He winked and closed the door, then strode down the hall to the room next to his and knocked on the door. “Elena?” he asked as he opened the unlocked door.
Gina was standing in the doorway, blocking the entry the moment the door was opened. “She isn’t here. Spencer almost got blown up by explosives; she’s with him.”
