Page 23 of Romance Is Dead

“Noted.” I opened the door and motioned toward it. “Although I promise none of my horniness past, present, or future has anything to do with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Jigsaw.” He winked, and the cockiness of it made me bristle.

“Out.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” His voice was singsong, his eyes twinkling.

“Bye.” I shut the door firmly behind him.

Still feeling foolish, I changed into pajamas, removed my makeup, and washed my face, replaying the series of events over and over again. It was ridiculous, thinking he’d been propositioning me for. . . what? Sex right there against the wall?

But climbing into bed, I couldn’t help but imagine what he would have done if I’d taken him up on the offer.

Base camp was eerily quiet the next morning.

At first I assumed everyone was hungover, considering the entire cast and half the crew had been out drinking the night before.

But then I noticed the PAs huddled in groups, whispering.

The set dresser and wardrobe supervisor stared at me as they walked by, almost colliding with a golf cart as they gawked.

Even the AD, usually joined with Natasha at the hip, was tucked behind a trailer having a quiet conversation with one of the camera operators as they kept an eye out for eavesdroppers.

By the time I climbed the steps into hair and makeup, dread was balling in my stomach. I pulled open the door, hoping Mara would be her usual sunny self, offering a reprieve from the weird vibes.

But instead, Mara also seemed off. Her face was tired; she hadn’t done her makeup, and rather than one of the fun sundresses she’d been favoring, she was wearing a dark tee and leggings. She waved limply in greeting as I slid into her chair.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” Stealing a sideways glance at me, she grabbed her tote and started pulling out foundation and concealer.

“I went back to my room. I told you, I was tired.” This wasn’t a lie. I was just conveniently leaving out the fact that Teddy had come over, too.

“Alright.” Mara glanced out the window before she grabbed a bottle of primer and started dabbing it on my face. I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.

“What’s going on?” I cracked open an eye, risking getting the milky liquid sponged into it. “Everyone’s acting weird and now you are, too.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are. You’re not even wearing your false eyelashes.”

Mara sighed wearily. “It’s been a long morning.”

“Why?”

“Chloe and Audrey were both here early, having panic attacks.” She put down the primer and grabbed some foundation. “Have you heard what they’re saying about Trevor?”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

She gestured out the window with the brush. “Everyone. A rumor’s got out that he was murdered.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

She stared at me in the mirror, like the answer was obvious. “Really, because it sounds like everyone heard it from you.”

“What?” The room seemed to tilt beneath me and I grabbed onto the armrest. “Where the hell are they getting that?” This was not good.

Worse than not good. If everyone was gossiping about Trevor being murdered — and worst of all, saying that I was to blame for the gossip — it would surely get back to the killer.

It probably already had.

Mara propped a hand on her hip. “If there’s something you’re not telling me — ”

“There’s not.”

Her mouth set into a hard line. “You could tell me.”

“I know. But there’s not. I swear.”

“Fine.” Mara grabbed some setting powder and picked up a clean brush. “I believe you.”

But I could tell she didn’t.

By the time I made it to set, the feeling in the pit of my stomach had only gotten worse.

My brain flashed through different explanations — had someone overheard Brent and I talking the night before?

Had Teddy let something slip? Had I blacked out after my rehearsal with Teddy and actually spread the rumor myself?

Walking into the house, it was clear we had a serious problem.

Audrey was talking to Teddy, eyes wide and brow furrowed, and Brent was slouched in the corner, sunglasses on and staring at his phone.

No one was smiling or laughing — least of all Natasha, who was behind her camera with an expression that could only be described as livid.

I slid up to Chloe, who was standing alone by the wall, biting her fingernails. “What’s going on?”

“Natasha’s pissed.”

“I see that.”

Chloe glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Are you really surprised?”

“Kind of, actually.”

Chloe gave me a curious look, and I decided to press further.

“What are people saying?”

“Do you really not know?”

“No!” Now I was getting frustrated. How had everyone on this production heard a rumor that hadn’t existed six hours ago?

“Ok, well. . .” Chloe leaned closer, lowering her voice. “After you and Mara left last night, Brent was really upset. He kept taking shots and got super drunk, and then he started saying you’d accused him of killing Trevor.”

“He what?”

“He told literally everyone at the bar. Us, the crew, complete strangers.” She gave me a look of pity. “Sorry.”

“Great.”

Before I could ask any follow-up questions, Natasha strode to the middle of the room, clapping her hands loudly once and then twice. “Listen up, everyone. We need to have a little chat.”

I tried to catch Teddy’s eye as we all gathered around. Spotting me, he maneuvered through the crowd to stand by me.

“We’re totally fucked,” I whispered. I was still less than pleased about his teasing the night before, but the possibility of the killer — Brent or otherwise — knowing we were onto them trumped my annoyance.

Teddy glared at Brent. “I knew I hated that guy.” He reached down and squeezed my wrist. “We’ll figure it out.”

I appreciated the reassurance, but I was starting to think that wasn’t a possibility.

“It’s been brought to my attention,” Natasha began, “that a certain rumor has begun floating around set.”

Standing on the other side of me, Chloe bit her lip. Audrey peered around the crowd as Brent stood skulking at the back of the group. Crew members hovered nearby, obviously trying to eavesdrop. Scott studied us from across the room, a curious expression on his face.

“Let me be clear.” Natasha made stern eye contact with each of us in turn.

“These rumors will not be tolerated. The police were very confident in their findings that what happened to Trevor was an accident. It was tragic enough, without someone” — she paused as her eyes landed on me — “spreading insidious untruths.”

Teddy raised his hand like he was in school and trying to get a teacher’s attention.

Natasha waited, but when he didn’t speak, she rolled her eyes. “Yes, Teddy. What is it?”

“I don’t think they’re trying to be malicious. The person saying these things.” He looked down at me, a beatific smile on his face. He may be trying to do me a favor, but the extra attention couldn’t be helping my case.

I stomped on the side of his foot. “Shut up.”

“What?” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “I’m helping.”

“Are you?” I covered my face with my hands. If everyone didn’t already know Natasha meant me, Teddy had just confirmed it.

“Regardless,” Natasha continued, “I don’t want to hear anyone speak a word about this again. Not a single one.” She glanced at Teddy. “Malicious intentions or not. Now let’s get to work.”

As we filed onto set, I understood why Natasha wanted to squash rumors. As director, she didn’t want anything to distract us from what we were here to do: finish the movie on time and within the budget. But as I got into place to start blocking the scene, something nagged at me.

If there was a possibility that someone had been murdered on her set, shouldn’t she want to find the truth?

And if not, why?