Beefcakes

by Katana Collins

  “Yes, we can,” Rich said, his voice even and calm. “But that isn’t going to help us, moving forward, to get the focus of future scenes correct. We can fix the mistakes as they happen, but if we don’t address and alter the actual problem, then we’re not truly solving anything, are we?”

  I pressed my lips together and felt my face flame hot.

  Rich sighed and lifted a cup of coffee, sipping it before continuing. “BDSM is a weird thing, isn’t it?”

  My shoulders knotted around my ears. I wasn’t exactly protective of my lifestyle; I didn’t care who knew I was a Dominant, but I didn’t like it being called weird either. It was kink—a damn fun one if you asked me—and I wasn’t broken or emotionally damaged because I enjoyed it. I was broken because of other shit, but not because of this. So hearing my boss, someone I admired and respected, call me weird wasn’t exactly what I was ready for this morning before I’d even had a chance to have my fucking coffee. When I started in the lifestyle, I was fine. Healthy. Emotionally in tact. Happy. So fucking happy.

  Some men become hermits after a loved one dies. I, on the other hand, dove headfirst into sex as my escape. I felt guilty the first few times, but ultimately, Brie had been the one to teach me that sex and intimacy weren't exclusive. She had been the one to show me how emotionally freeing sex and the scenes could be. I told myself daily that I needed it to move on from her—but the truth? Being an active Dominant in the community was what kept me close to her. She was a masochist—she loved pain. And before Brie, I’d never enjoyed sadism. Before Brie, I never enjoyed a lot of things.

  Beside me, Jude cleared his throat. “How do you mean that, Rich?” he asked, way calmer than me, but also, if you knew Jude at all, he was just as concerned by what Rich said as I was.

  Richard examined us, his eyes drifting to my hands, clutching my knees. “Relax,” Rich said. “I know you’re both Dominants. I’m not calling you weird… I'm saying that the different perceptions of it can be strange.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath as Jude and I exchanged quick looks. “You know we’re Doms?” I asked.

  Rich shrugged. “Of course. I recognized it in you the second we first met eight years ago. Jude, it took me a little longer to figure out, simply because he is quieter of the two of you. Do you belong to a club?”

  “LnS,” I said quietly. Jude and I had been exclusive members at LnS, a secret BDSM club, for years. As far as I knew, there were only ten clubs similar to LnS in all of California. LnS had private quarters in the upstairs section of the fetish club. Downstairs was a normal goth bar—it had elements of the BDSM lifestyle, but in a playful, voyeuristic way. Upstairs? That was the real thing. A place for high profile Los Angeles personalities to get their kink on without being outed. It was highly secretive. And the club made sure that you didn’t mention a word about its members to anyone. They had files of dirt on every member, and revealing anything would result in them leaking your darkest secret to the tabloids, or worse.

  Out of reflex, I touched my fingers to Brie's ring again, cursing myself for the nervous tick.

  I stood, moving to the French press Richard kept in the corner of his office, and poured myself a cup.

  From across the room, still seated behind his desk, Richard nodded. “LnS. Of course. I was never a member there. It came after I had left the scene.”

  My coffee mug froze halfway to my mouth. “So, then you're a...?” I let the question dangle between us like a swinging pendulum.

  "A Dom," Richard answered. If he was fazed by the question, it didn't show. It wasn’t exactly a shock that Richard was also a Dom. Everything about his personality screamed it. From the strict regimen he had in the mornings, to the way he commanded a room from the moment he walked in. But just because someone was powerful in a boardroom didn’t necessarily mean they were like that in the bedroom. Hell, I knew high-powered attorneys and senators who spent so much of their professional life in charge that when it came to the bedroom, they wanted a someone to dominate them. “I’m not a part of that life anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect it.”

  Again, I snuck a glance at Jude, and his expression shifted so subtly that, if you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t have even noticed the quick twitch of his brow. “Is this why we were both chosen to work on this film?” he asked. “Because you knew we were each in the lifestyle?”

  Rich nodded. “That was part of it. I knew that by being in the lifestyle, you could both bring a nuance to your roles in the film. But it wasn’t the sole reason.” Rich paused. “That being said, there’s still something lacking in last week’s shoot.”

  “Lacking?” Defensive anger inflated in my gut like a helium balloon. “We’ve been working our asses off—”

  “I know, I know. But I see what I see, Ash. Don’t take this the wrong way. The studio has a lot of money in this and we want it to do well.” He cleared his throat, setting his coffee mug down and resting his elbows on the desk. “Jude, you reviewed some of the footage with me. What do you think?”

  Jude chewed the inside of his cheek in thought for a moment before turning to me. “He’s not wrong. Something’s off with the shots. Like I said before, it’s partially the script and interpretation of the script. And I think we made a casting mistake in the supporting role. Chase is a good guy and a good actor, but I think we should have gone with Pierce Whitley to play my brother.”

  I took a deep breath. “I begged you and the producers to go with Pierce. He’s an incredible actor and he’s been wanting to break out from his HBO show.”

  Jude put up two hands in surrender. “I know, I know. And I can see now that you’re right.”

  Rich nodded, pressing his fingers to his lips, deep in thought. “I can admit when I’m wrong. Pierce is the better actor for this role.”

  “How air-tight is Chase’s contract?” I asked.

  “We could buy him out,” Rich said quickly. “None of our contracts are air-tight.” Jude cleared his throat beside us, and Rich rolled his eyes. “Except yours, of course. Let’s touch base with Pierce Whitley and make sure he could still commit to the role. No need to fire Chase and stir the pot if Pierce is no longer available.”

  I nodded, my heart pounding at the thought of getting Pierce in here for the role. His interpretation could change the whole tone of the film, and for the better.

  Just as I was feeling better, Rich cleared his throat and added, “But there’s something else that’s been bothering me with these shots. I get the feeling that the perspective is wrong.” Rich tapped the mouse, rewinding the footage and letting it roll silently before us as he spoke. “It’s very focused on the lifestyle itself versus the fact that the true story is about entry into the lifestyle—the learning process that begins when someone is first introduced as a submissive. I started as a submissive… trained as one first before becoming a Dom, which I know is how a lot of us entered.”

  “I started as a sub, too,” Jude said.

  I sat there silently and swallowed hard. I didn’t want to talk about my entry into the lifestyle. I couldn’t talk about Brie’s involvement in BDSM and our time together. I couldn’t destroy her legacy, betray her like that. I might not care who knew about my kink, but she definitely cared. And therefore, I couldn’t answer Rich’s unspoken question. Couldn’t share our journey together. Explain that Brie trained me as a Dominant, not a submissive. That she guided me, formed me into the best Dominant I could be for her. Because I didn’t care about learning to be a Dom for anyone else. I never thought I’d have to be.

  I opened my mouth to answer, my voice cracking. “I—”

  “You’ve never trained anyone, Ash,” Jude said, cutting me off. I lifted my gaze to him and he blinked, his expression solemn, unreadable. But I knew him. I knew what was behind those eyes. He was throwing me a life raft. He knew how important Brie’s legacy was to her—to me—and in that moment, I could have kissed the man.

  I shook my head no. “I haven’t.” A breath pushed past m
y lips as I fell back in the chair, relieved for the time being to escape answering the question. Involuntarily, my knee bounced and I squeezed my hand over my thigh to stop the movement.

  Richard looked surprised by that. “You’ve never trained a new submissive? That was one of my favorite things, introducing a new sub to the lifestyle. Showing her the pleasures within pain and submission. Watching it in her eyes as she shifted, gave up control, and fully submitted to her pleasure.”

  The line of my throat was drier than if I had swallowed sand in place of my coffee. I’d never had any desire to train a submissive. That was a little too close to home. None of the sex I’d had in the last five years ever felt like I was betraying Brie. I could fuck every woman in Los Angeles—whether kinky or vanilla sex— and it wouldn’t feel like I was forsaking the love we’d had. But training a new submissive? Introducing a new partner to the life Brie and I had started together? I swallowed, ignoring the buzzing sensation in my sinuses. It would cross the emotional line I had drawn in the sand.

  I shook my head, focusing not on the burning emotion in my chest, but on the cool metal of her ring on my pinky finger. My rock. Both in life and in death. “No. I’ve never introduced a submissive to the lifestyle. And I don’t plan to.” I fuck, I wanted to say. A lot. But I don’t commit. Being a Dominant; feeling the power over a woman… over her pleasure, her pain… was my Xanax. It gave me control in a chaotic world where I had zero of it. It gave me a piece of Brie. It gave me a fake reality where maybe, just maybe, I could have saved her.

  Rich nodded, his expression impassive, revealing nothing. But for a brief moment, his gaze dropped to Brie’s ring. Rich had known me five years ago. Not well, but I had been one of his assistant directors. Did he suspect? Did he know that Brie was in the community back then? No. Her dad, a pastor, made sure that never leaked out. “Ash," Richard said, his voice gentle, quiet in a way I’d never heard it before. "Look, moving on isn't easy. I know—"

  I snorted, shaking my head. "What do you know—"

  "Ash," Richard's voice boomed, rich with authority. "I know."

  Oh. Understanding washed over me like a warm, healing wave, lapping at my toes. Rich knew. Knew like I knew. I could see it in the way his mouth tightened. The way his brown eyes filled momentarily with moisture, then receded with a quick blink. I wanted more details. Wanted to know every painful memory and ask about who Rich had lost. Whoever said misery loves company knew what they were talking about. Five years later, and I was still drowning in pain—and more than anything, I wanted to grab the ankles of other people around me and pull them underwater, too. But instead, I just sat there, listening. Sinking.

  "Experiencing the moment that another person enters this crazy world of ours is empowering and that feeling is indescribable. It’s intimate, more intimate even than sex itself. This movie is all about that process. It’s not about the lifestyle… it’s about the entry into the lifestyle. From a submissive woman’s perspective. Not a Dominant man’s.”

  I stole another glance at Jude who was sitting silently beside me, brushing his pointer finger over his top lip in thought.

  I took another sip of coffee and the hot liquid burned a path to my stomach. “Right. Entry into the lifestyle. That is what we’re portraying with these shots,” I said, gesturing at the monitor with my coffee cup. But I didn’t buy it myself. What Rich had just described? It was nowhere near what I had directed last week in those shots. I cleared my throat, not ready to admit that aloud. “Maybe when you see some of the scenes cut together—”

  “You’re not succeeding,” Richard interrupted. “You think it’s what you’re doing… but it’s not reading that way.”

  “But I’ve been using the script—”

  Richard interrupted again. “Whatever you’re doing isn’t working.”

  I threw my hands up. As they fell to the armrest of my chair, I leveraged my weight and pushed to my feet, pacing across the room. I fucking hated being wrong. It pissed me off to no end. “Well, what the hell do you expect me to do, Rich? We’re a week into filming. Should we reshoot last week’s scenes?”

  Rich shrugged. “If we recast the movie with Pierce, we’ll need to reshoot some.”

  I blew out a tight breath. The thought of re-filming a week’s worth of work made my stomach turn. Then again, it was for the best: recasting it with Pierce.

  “But either way,” Richard added, “as I said, Pierce isn’t the only factor here. There’s something else fundamentally wrong with the piece—”

  “What am I supposed to do? Go spend the night at LnS… find some newbie submissive and train her just to see what the hell it is you’re talking about?”

  Rich snorted something that sounded half-amused, half-annoyed. “I don’t believe for a second you’re actually up for that. But sure… you could. If you think it’d help. There’s method actors out there… why not method directors?”

  Jude cleared his throat. “Or… what if you interviewed some of the subs at LnS? Asked about their entry into the lifestyle?”

  My eyes clamped shut. “I guess I could do that.”

  Rich nodded. “Then you should also interview a Dominant who has trained subs. I would suggest Jude, but I think you need more separation since you two know each other so well. You need to tell the story from both angles, both POVs.”

  I snorted, shifting my gaze out the window. But I couldn’t even focus on the beautiful view of Hollywood hills. “You really think a couple of interviews is going to completely change my vision for this film?” I asked.

  “It can’t hurt.”

  “But… you think me training a submissive would do more?”

  Rich shrugged. “It’s a moot point.”

  “Pretend for a second that it was an option. What in the hell do you think I would get out of that?”

  Richard lifted his eyebrow. “Perspective.”

  I grabbed the clipboard from beneath my arm, clutching it tightly in my hand, and adjusted the headset against my ear. There was an excitement around the studio today, which only made my stomach sink more. I was letting them down. All of them. If only they knew. If only they knew how disappointed Richard was in us... In me.

  I grabbed my phone and texted my assistant, Raina to get me Pierce Whitley’s agent on the phone as quickly as possible.

  "Ash Livingston, you're needed in wardrobe," a voice echoed in my ear.

  Cupping the earpiece, I spoke into the microphone. "Be right there, uh, Callie."

  "This is Kelly."

  I cringed at her sharp tone. Shit. Off to a good start. It had been four months since we met—passing strangers at a party. Callie—wait, no… Kelly, was just a one-night stand. I thought we were both on the same page about that. Apparently not.

  I sighed. Maybe there were two costume designers on the project now, I thought, picking up the pace toward wardrobe. Maybe Callie and Kelly were the both a part of the wardrobe team. Pushing through the door, I entered the workspace that was filled with lines of clothing like fabric tunnels forming a giant maze.

  I didn't have to go far though, Callie/Kelly was standing there waiting for me, hand gripping her hip and Prada-clad toe tapping against the marble floor. Oh boy. She did not look happy. Please, oh please, let that frown on her face be because of something business related and not because of our history together.

  "I've been told my budget was cut by $80,000."

  Thank God, I thought, a deep breath releasing from my inflated lungs. Those blue eyes of hers—which only sixteen weeks ago had been so sweet, so alluring—were now like two poison darts attempting to take me out at the jugular.

  "We talked about this in last week's meeting,” I said. “I don't have a lot of sway over this Ca—”

  "Kelly! My goddamn name is Kelly!"

  Fuck. "I know. You didn't let me finish. I was gonna say I don’t have a lot of sway over this caaaaatostrophic budget cut."

  "You know, Ash. I really thought you were different. I thought you were t
he kind of guy who stuck to his word."

  "My word? What word? We talked about this at the meeting. The eighty-thousand budget cut is not my decision. The producers need us to cut back, and it makes sense that a working-class administrative assistant would be wearing Gap, not Gucci."

  I was used to dealing with high maintenance actors. But a high maintenance costume designer? This was a new one.

  The flush high on her cheeks heated to an apple-like red. She took a deep breath and I couldn't help it as my eyes drifted to the swell of her breasts, expanding with the inhalation. Hell, I was human, after all. "But that's not what you said the other night," Kelly said, her voice suddenly quiet and sweet in a way that was completely in contrast to her bedroom eyes and the sultry jut of her bottom lip.

  My gaze jerked back to hers and narrowed. "What do you mean what I ‘said the other night’?”

  Her smile curved along her jaw, trailing toward her eyes in a malevolent way that could give Hannibal Lector a run for his money. “You know. The other night. In our private meeting.”

  “We didn’t have a private meeting the other night.” Anger swelled in my chest, growing and swirling like a fireball. Was she trying to blackmail me? Fuck that shit.

  “No…” she said, stretching the word out to be multi-syllabic. “But we could have one. I know I sure wouldn’t mind a repeat.”

  My anger dissolved into a wave of humor as my mouth tilted into a smirk. “You’re offering to fuck me in exchange for getting your budget back?” Well, this was a new one. "That’s not a good idea.” That was a total fucking lie. At the moment, it felt like a great idea. “And it wouldn’t change a damn thing about the budget.” That one? Not so much a lie. I truly had no say over the budget cuts.