Page 7 of Reckless
When I don’t say anything, she starts to babble. “I won’t take up much of your time. Since we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future, I wanted to introduce myself and say hello.”
She may be pretty as a peach, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m officially allergic to peaches. Women like her are about as dangerous as jumping from a plane in a war zone. Fun while it’s happening, but you’re still landing in the middle of hell. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Hart, but I was just leaving.”
Seth glares at me as I excuse myself, but glaring is his default state these days anyway. He’ll get over it. He always does.
My mind wanders back to the sweet-as-pie Ms. Hart. It would have been a fun distraction to take her for a roll in the sheets. Would work off the frustrated energy that’s been pinging along my skin like zaps of electricity. But there’s no way in hell I’d tangle with my publicist, even if I didn’t already have the producers up my ass. I’ve learned my lesson about sleeping with coworkers. It never ends well.
Despite myself, my gaze is drawn to her as she walks around the room, introducing herself to various people. Her body is tight and lithe beneath the starched cotton. Would she be as buttoned-up as she seems if I were to strip her out of her respectable little skirt?
Too fucking bad I won’t ever find out.
Chapter Three
Phoebe
“These are gorgeous. They’re exactly what I’m looking for,” I say, holding up a crisp, black and white print and squinting through my exhaustion. It’s nearly midnight, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Fresh nerves and pure, potent ambition have me jazzed about my first day on set. That’s why I didn’t object to extending the spur of the moment consult back to my apartment. “Sorry again that I don’t have more to offer you for dinner than takeout pizza. I just moved in.”
“Don’t sweat it. Fast food is my drug of choice. I was hoping to get more of Oswald, but for someone in film, he sure likes to hide away from the camera.” Emily Benson, the still photographer, tugs on the beanie covering her mop of dark and shaggy but stylish hair, and then rips a pepperoni off another slice and pops it into her mouth. “I figured you’d like the behind-the-scenes look rather than the professional headshots for the social media campaign you mentioned.”
I study a candid of Arthur Oswald’s welcoming speech to the cast and crew. He’s magnetic—there isn’t a more appropriate word for it. The crowd is rapt listening to him, and I can’t lie, I’d been mesmerized, too. The passion he has for his work is evident in his steely gaze, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s attractive and speaks with the confidence of his years of experience. I have no doubt the public will be just as captivated looking at this picture, getting a glimpse at the man behind the screen. Which is exactly what we’re going for.
“This is perfect,” I murmur again, thinking of how we can push these on social media. “Let’s get more film like this throughout the first week. Especially of Mr. Oswald and Mr. McNalley. Better if you can catch them together. When we do our first push, I want it to coincide with shots like these everywhere.”
Emily pushes her wire-rimmed glasses up her pert nose, then nods. “Cool, cool. I can definitely do that for you. Thank you for letting me come by so late.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, biting into my own slice of pizza and realizing it’s the first thing I’ve had to eat all day. I’d been too nervous to partake in the staff breakfast and then too busy the rest of the day with brainstorming and observing and meeting all the crew and cast. “I appreciate your dedication. Besides, it won’t be the first, I’m sure.”
“You got that right. Word is Oswald is going to have us filming at all hours.”
Which means I’ll have to be on set at all hours. At first, it’ll be supervising the background shots for my campaign and stills of the actual filming, then coordinating on-set press events and interviews around the myriad of the actors’ busy schedules. I’m exhausted merely thinking about it. Exhausted and excited. Revived. This change was exactly what I needed to pull me out of my melancholy—the perfect distraction.
“Is this your first film?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. She’s the first of my new colleagues I’ve been able to have more than ten minutes with. Maybe I even want to consider Emily, a friend. God knows I could use one here. All my colleagues in the industry have moved up and on, and my friends from back home feel worlds away.
Emily lifts a shoulder, then sucks back a grande mocha like it’s water. I hide a smile. Maybe I’ve found a like-minded soul. “Nah, I’ve done a couple in the past few years. This is my first time working with someone like Oswald, though. No pressure, right?”
“Right,” I parrot back with a half-laugh. No pressure.
She cocks her head. “So, you said you just moved here. Where are you from? You don’t look like the typical Hollywood exec type.”
“Definitely not. I lived here for a while a few years ago, but I’m originally from Florida.”
Nodding, Emily says, “That must be hard being so far from home. I wouldn’t know. I’m one of those rare native-born Californians. I’m hard-pressed to admit there’s anywhere better on Earth.”
“What I’m hearing is you’re volunteering to show me around. It’s been a while since I’ve been in L.A.”
“Girl, stick with me, and I’ll hook you up. If we get some time in the next couple of weeks, we should hang out sans the work.”
My tense muscles relax, and I give her a genuine smile. “I’d love that. Where do people hang out these days?”
There.
My first steps at reentering the world of the living. My therapist would be so very proud. There’s a hollow ache somewhere in the center of my chest. Like a part of me is missing, but my efforts to fill it with the new job and new life are just prodding at the still tender edges.
A couple hours later, once the food is nearly gone and the coffee is long drunk, I walk Emily to the door. I’ve reached the point where I’m too exhausted to be tired. My brain and nerves are alight with the effects of caffeine. Opening the door for her, I say, “Thank you again for coming out so late. I can’t say enough how impressed I am with your work so far. It’s incredible.”
“I knew I was going to like you,” she answers and shoulders her boho-style bag. “Don’t forget to call me next time you’re free, and we’ll go out for drinks or something. I have a feeling we’ll need some before too long.”
Thinking of Oswald and McNalley, I say, “I have no doubt about that.”