Page 7 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

I’m sweaty as I pass through the doors of the studio set where the movie Late Nights begins filming today.

“Ivy, you made it,” Lillian greets with her usual bright smile.

I want to ask how she’s so cheery at seven in the morning, but the five cups of coffee I’m balancing in my arms has me more preoccupied.

“What’s this?” she asks, pointing to the cups.

I nod at the cup in the front right square of the holder. “That one’s yours,” I tell her. “Stopped by The Coffee Shop this morning. Did you know they open at five a.m.?”

She laughs. “Of course. I can’t count how many times I’ve stopped there early in the morning on my way to a set for some much-needed caffeine.”

“Right, well, I knew you guys would be here, so I stopped to get everyone’s coffee orders this morning.”

I wasn’t asked to do this task, for once, but I thought it would be a good way to start our first day of filming. My first day, anyway. Many of the design staff who’re also working today have been at this for years.

“That’s sweet of you,” Lillian says, taking her cup and then the second holder to help lighten my load. “Not necessary at all, though, since?—”

“Craft services have already been here this morning,” Rebecca’s voice sounds behind Lillian.

I peek over Lillian’s shoulder with a wide smile. “Yes, but The Coffee Shop is an office favorite, and since I know everyone’s order, I figured …” I hold out the coffee in my hands to finish the sentence.

Rebecca looks me up and down silently, but she plucks the cup that has her name written on it in black marker, before spinning on her heels and walking away. I look at Lillian.

She shrugs and then laughs. “Come on, Drake’s in the back in steaming hell.”

“He hates steaming clothes,” I say.

“Tell me about it, I’ve been listening to him complain for the past thirty minutes. He’s going to hand the steamer over to you as soon as you walk in the door.”

I don’t mind that one bit. Steaming clothes for dozens of on-set extras might not sound like a glamorous job, but given that this is my first day on a real movie set, and I get to be a part of the team responsible for the clothing on said film, it doesn’t matter how minuscule my job is.

I’m up for the task.

Butterflies flit in my belly as I wonder if my Aunt Gloria, felt this excited when she worked as a seamstress on Broadway.

A smile touches my lips as I think of my aunt, who was the one person I could share my love of fashion with as a kid.

Would she be proud of me?

An hour later, after steaming countless pairs of pants, shirts, socks, and even underwear, I emerge from the back room to help some of the extras for the film get dressed, ensuring they’re wearing the right size and fit.

The hours pass like a bit of a whirlwind as extras and crew come in and out of the closet space where my team and I are set up, asking for one thing or another. By the time my stomach starts growling, it’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon.

I haven’t eaten since the night before.

“Let’s grab lunch while the actors are on break.” Lillian doesn’t even wait as she takes my hand and tugs me out of the room.

I’m starving, so I don’t put up a protest.

“Oh yes, they brought in the good stuff today,” Lillian says as she eyes the various hot plates and salad serving dishes. “I think they ordered from Miguel’s Taco Truck. The studio often splurges on the first day of a movie shoot. Kind of a ‘good luck’ type of gesture. Eat up,” she encourages.

Contemplating what it is I want, I stare at the display for a while. The lack of actors around us means that they’ve already gotten their food and have retreated to their trailers for the break.

This knowledge relieves any guilt I might have about taking too much.

I decide to load my plate up with the pulled pork, rice and beans, tortilla chips, and a healthy portion of guacamole.

After squeezing a little lime on everything, I dive in, using a chip to scoop some rice, chicken, and guac on it before taking my first bite.

The rich, smoky flavors from the paprika, cilantro, and other seasonings burst on my tongue. The lime juice adds the right amount of tartiness to enhance the flavors of everything else.

Lillian was right, Miguel’s Taco Truck is deceptively delicious. I know there are a few locations around the city.

I’ll have to get Mya to come with me sometime to visit one. Or maybe even Ari when she comes into town next month.

That thought lights me up. It’s been six months since I last saw Ari and I miss her dearly.

Now that I’m getting a regular paycheck, I mentally add to the list of tourist attractions I want to drag Ari to once she gets here. Mya hates doing anything remotely touristy.

“I hope that smile is for me.”

The voice washes over me like a fresh, hot cup of coffee on a Northeast winter morning. It enlivens all of my senses.

“Oh my God,” I blurt out before covering my mouth upon realizing that I’d actually coughed out a mouthful of food. Directly onto Andreas Knight’s light blue T-shirt.

Gasping at the stain forming on his shirt, I instantly put my plate down on the food table and search out some napkins and cold water.

“I’m so sorry,” I say while dabbing at the stain. My movements are hurried and just this side of frantic. “Is this shirt for the next scene? We should have an extra in the closet,” I tell him.

“Calm down.” He covers both of my hands with one of his, halting my movements.

An electric current races through my entire body.

What the hell is that?

For way too long, I stare at Andreas’ hand over mine. The urge to flip my palm and press our palms together, allowing my fingers to curl into his, is almost overwhelming. Way too intense.

I start to pull my hands away from his body, but he tightens his hold. My eyes shoot up to meet his.

“It’s fine. This is a T-shirt I threw on while eating during our break.” He punctuates his comment with a squeeze of my hands, which, yes, he’s still holding.

“That’s excellent news.” I push out a breath.

“Is it?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yes.” I nod sharply. “Our staff spent two hours this morning making sure everything was cleaned, steamed, and in the exact condition needed for each of today’s scenes.”

“The design team works hard.”

“Everyone on set works hard, I imagine.” I look around the room at the cameramen and lighting guys who’ve begun trickling back in from their break. They’re checking their equipment and getting things set up for more filming.

“True.”

Andreas’ comment brings my attention back to him. Dropping my gaze, I find that, yep, his hand is still covering mine.

“Um,” I say before pulling my hands free of his, which requires a little more effort than it should have.

“That must include you as well, right?” Andreas asks.

“What includes me?”

“Everyone’s working hard. Are you including yourself?”

Why is he asking about me? “No harder than anyone else.”

I allow my eyes to meet his again.

“I imagine the actors and director are working the hardest out of everyone. Next would be the crew. I heard you all have been here since about five this morning.”

“Six,” he corrects. “But it’s not anything most of us aren’t used to. What are you doing after today’s filming?”

My eyebrows spike. “Today?”

He nods.

“Going home to work,” I answer without thinking.

Confusion wrinkles the space between his brows. “You’re working now.”

“I have a part-time job, too.”

This seems to displease Andreas if the way his lips frown is any indication.

“Ivy,” Rebecca calls me, garnering my attention. “Lillian needs your help with preparing the clothes for tomorrow’s filming and cleaning up from this morning.”

“I’m on my way.”

She looks briefly between me and Andreas before sauntering off without another word.

“Enjoy the rest of your filming,” I tell Andreas before turning to head to the closet, but his hand around my arm stops me.

“Do you have to work tonight?”

My mouth nearly falls open. I wasn’t expecting that question at all. The answer is no. I log into Style Box only when I want to. There aren’t any set hours, but for some reason I don’t want to tell Andreas that.

“Why?” I ask instead.

“We could get dinner once I’ve wrapped for the day.”

My head starts shaking before the second half of the sentence is out of his mouth, which makes his expression fall.

He parts his lips to say something, but Michael Keith calls him from across the room. It’s time to get back to work. Only once I step away does Andreas release his hold of my arm.

I don’t think about whatever that exchange was as I hustle back to assist the rest of my team.

Though it’s only a little after five p.m., I’m dragging by the time I exit the doors of the set. The thought of driving home in rush hour traffic almost brings me to tears, but the idea of waiting an hour or two until traffic calms down is just as horrible.

At least if I start my drive now, by the time I reach my apartment and eat, that’ll give me a couple of hours to do some work for Style Box before heading to bed to get up for another early day tomorrow.

All of these thoughts are spiraling through my mind when I hear someone call my name. The chill that pulses down my spine makes it glaringly obvious my body knows exactly who it is.

“Leaving so soon?” Andreas asks, sounding a little breathless as he approaches.

Did he run to catch up to me?

“We’re done for the day,” I tell him.

He nods. “We’ve got a post-shoot meeting with Michael. He has some follow-up notes.”

“Right,” I say because I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.

“It shouldn’t take too long, though,” he adds. “Wait for me.”

My eyes bulge. “Excuse me?”

“There’s an excellent Italian place not too far from here. We could catch dinner.”

“I have to go.”

“To your part-time job,” he states.

“That and … well, no need to put off my run-in traffic for too long.”

His eyes roam over my face. “You don’t like driving.”

“Hate it,” I blurt out. “One of the best things about living in New York was the ability to use public transportation just about everywhere.”

“New York?”

I pause and realize I’ve said more than I planned. “I went to university there.”

“Then what … dammit,” he growls at the same time he turns to face the person calling him.

A young guy, who appears to be around twenty-three, stands by the door, calling Andreas.

“Michael’s assistant is on my ass, which must mean Michael’s ready for that meeting.” He reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Wait for me. Won’t be long. Promise.”

I don’t have time to give him a yes or no before he’s off. I watch his back as he retreats inside. And now I have a choice to make.

Do I stay and wait, or do I leave? Of course, the overthinking starts. I wonder if he really wants me to stay or if he was just being nice?

Either way, the most dominant question in my mind is why? What I’ve seen and heard about Andreas Knight is that he has an easy-going rapport about him. He gets along with everyone and anyone, but he didn’t ask everyone to dinner.

“You’re not being paid extra just because you stayed late to flirt with the lead actor.” Rebecca’s harsh words startle me while bringing me back down to reality.

Her tone also rattles me to the point of annoyance.

“Did I do something to you?” I ask.

Her mouth falls open for the briefest moment as if she wasn’t expecting my response.

“Because, so far, I’ve done nothing but show up early and complete every task that’s been asked of me. I haven’t heard any complaints from anyone else on the team about my performance.”

“They’re not your boss. I am,” she needlessly reminds me.

“Great, so I’m asking, as my boss, is there anything in my work performance that isn’t up to standard or incorrect? If so, I’d like to know so I can change it.”

My heart hammers inside of my chest as I confront Rebecca, but I fight to keep my therapist, Dr. King’s words in mind about not keeping everything locked inside.

Not an easy task when I was raised to just suck it up and perform because that was what was demanded of me.

“And where has that gotten you ? ” Dr. King’s question plays in my mind, reminding me of exactly where holding everything inside got me.

One very embarrassing panic attack which turned into a full mental breakdown in front of thousands of people.

While Rebecca’s jabs are nowhere near the level of reaching my breaking point, it’s probably a good idea to nip it in the bud before it goes too far.

“Your performance?” she asks. “Which one? The one where you’re pretending to be interested in costume design and fashion when we both know you don’t have a degree in design because you dropped out?”

She doesn’t allow me to respond.

“Or maybe you only took this job to meet stars like …” She trails off but looks over her shoulder behind her. The door where Andreas Knight just entered.

“I would never.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “I’ve heard that one before. Listen, if you want to keep your job, do yourself a favor and stay away from the actors. Don’t let whatever stunt you used to get Andreas to pull that shit in my office, or go over my head to make sure you’re working on this set.

“I can and still will use the power I have to fire you if you get out of line.”

She steps back.

“It’s the end of the day and you need to be here at six a.m. tomorrow. I suggest you go home.” She turns on her heels and retreats from whatever sixth circle of hell she came from.

I watch her, letting her comment sink in. Should I go home? Andreas asked me to stay. But did he mean it?

The gleam in his eyes when he asked me to wait for him didn’t look playful at all. But he is an actor. An extremely talented actor according to critics.

I take a beat to check-in with how I’m feeling, as Dr. King recommends whenever I’m feeling especially conflicted.

That hopeful part of me wants to stay, to wait.

But I just started this job and I do not want to piss off my boss any further than she already is.

Taking all of that into account, I decide it’s definitely best that I leave.

Right now.