Page 74
Story: Fake Married to the Grumps
"What happened today was just the usual drama."
"Well, you're the king of drama, aren't you?"
He chuckles, appreciating my attempt to lighten the mood. "Guilty as charged. Thanks for being the voice of reason."
"It's what I'm here for. Just focus on making movie magic. And who knows, maybe this movie will win you an Oscar."
He playfully rolls his eyes. "Ah, the elusive Oscar. Maybe one day."
Taking a deep breath, I gather the courage to broach a question that has been nagging me since Amanda assigned me as his assistant. "Bryce, can I ask you something?"
He nods, a curious expression in his eyes. "Of course. What's on your mind?"
My throat tightens. I avert my gaze, stalling to find the right words.
"Well ..." I begin, meeting his eyes briefly before dropping them back to the table. "I was just wondering ... why did you request me specifically to be your assistant?" I hold my breath, bracing for his reaction.
"Honestly, I knew you would be the perfect person for the job. I've always known you to be organized and efficient, and I thought that would be invaluable for the project."
I nod slowly, a lump forming in my throat. My hands twist together in my lap as I struggle to find the right words.
"I see," I murmur. "Well, thank you for clarifying. I'm honored you think so highly of my skills."
I force a small smile, hoping it masks the swirl of emotions inside me. Of course, that's why he requested me. There was no deeper meaning to his request. He simply saw me as the perfect assistant to help manage this important project.
Professional.I'm here to do a job, nothing more.
Bryce reaches across the table, placing a comforting hand on mine. "Marissa, I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you're doing for me. It means a lot."
His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I struggle to maintain a casual demeanor despite the butterflies in my stomach.
"I know, Bryce."
The way he looks at me with those soulful eyes, I feel like he can see right through my facade. The feelings I've tried so hard to bury come rushing back all at once.
I can't let myself get carried away. I cannot let Bryce Alston's charm sweep me off my feet, not again.
Chapter 6
Bryce
The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. With a groan, I drag myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Another day, another chance to show the world what I'm made of—to prove that I'm not just another pretty face in the sea of Hollywood starlets.
Acting is more than a job; it's a passion that ignites every cell in my body, a fire that consumes me from within. It's the one thing I know I'm good at.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, blinking away the remnants of sleep as I scroll through the notifications.
Among the barrage of messages, what stands out are the headlines from the media about my escapades with the ladies.
Most of what these gossip-hungry blogs say about me isn't true, but I don't have it in me to debunk the rumors.
Shuffling into the kitchen, I grab a pan and get ready to make pancakes when the persistent ringing of my phone pierces through the quiet morning. With a sigh, I retrieve it and glance at the caller ID—Cindy. I debate ignoring it, but guilt tugs at me like a persistent child.
No one knew that I was coming back because I didn't mention it. In fact, I haven't been in contact with them for years because I wanted to avoid the drama while I built my career. But Cindy never offended me in any way, so reluctantly, I answer.
"Hey, Cindy," I greet, trying to inject some semblance of cheer into my voice.
"Well, you're the king of drama, aren't you?"
He chuckles, appreciating my attempt to lighten the mood. "Guilty as charged. Thanks for being the voice of reason."
"It's what I'm here for. Just focus on making movie magic. And who knows, maybe this movie will win you an Oscar."
He playfully rolls his eyes. "Ah, the elusive Oscar. Maybe one day."
Taking a deep breath, I gather the courage to broach a question that has been nagging me since Amanda assigned me as his assistant. "Bryce, can I ask you something?"
He nods, a curious expression in his eyes. "Of course. What's on your mind?"
My throat tightens. I avert my gaze, stalling to find the right words.
"Well ..." I begin, meeting his eyes briefly before dropping them back to the table. "I was just wondering ... why did you request me specifically to be your assistant?" I hold my breath, bracing for his reaction.
"Honestly, I knew you would be the perfect person for the job. I've always known you to be organized and efficient, and I thought that would be invaluable for the project."
I nod slowly, a lump forming in my throat. My hands twist together in my lap as I struggle to find the right words.
"I see," I murmur. "Well, thank you for clarifying. I'm honored you think so highly of my skills."
I force a small smile, hoping it masks the swirl of emotions inside me. Of course, that's why he requested me. There was no deeper meaning to his request. He simply saw me as the perfect assistant to help manage this important project.
Professional.I'm here to do a job, nothing more.
Bryce reaches across the table, placing a comforting hand on mine. "Marissa, I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you're doing for me. It means a lot."
His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and I struggle to maintain a casual demeanor despite the butterflies in my stomach.
"I know, Bryce."
The way he looks at me with those soulful eyes, I feel like he can see right through my facade. The feelings I've tried so hard to bury come rushing back all at once.
I can't let myself get carried away. I cannot let Bryce Alston's charm sweep me off my feet, not again.
Chapter 6
Bryce
The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. With a groan, I drag myself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Another day, another chance to show the world what I'm made of—to prove that I'm not just another pretty face in the sea of Hollywood starlets.
Acting is more than a job; it's a passion that ignites every cell in my body, a fire that consumes me from within. It's the one thing I know I'm good at.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, blinking away the remnants of sleep as I scroll through the notifications.
Among the barrage of messages, what stands out are the headlines from the media about my escapades with the ladies.
Most of what these gossip-hungry blogs say about me isn't true, but I don't have it in me to debunk the rumors.
Shuffling into the kitchen, I grab a pan and get ready to make pancakes when the persistent ringing of my phone pierces through the quiet morning. With a sigh, I retrieve it and glance at the caller ID—Cindy. I debate ignoring it, but guilt tugs at me like a persistent child.
No one knew that I was coming back because I didn't mention it. In fact, I haven't been in contact with them for years because I wanted to avoid the drama while I built my career. But Cindy never offended me in any way, so reluctantly, I answer.
"Hey, Cindy," I greet, trying to inject some semblance of cheer into my voice.
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