Page 11 of Vain

“One of the props failed. The helmet saved me.”

Chapter Five

AIDEN

The color has bleached from her face. If I didn’t think it might push her over the edge, I’d pick her up and put her in my lap.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to know what happened next but needing to, all the same.

“The set was made to look like an abandoned warehouse. My character had ridden her bike there to hide from the mob chasing her. It was raining, and water was artificially added to the set, but it wasn’t water. It was acid,” she whispers.

It takes me a minute to process, but I freeze solid when I do. “Acid? Someone tried to burn you with fucking acid?” I all but roar.

She blinks but doesn’t pull away. “I was the only actor on the set, but two crew members got hurt. They didn’t have helmets to protect them like I did.” Her voice drifts off as she thinks back to the pandemonium. “At first, I didn’t understand what was happening until I realized my arm felt like it was on fire. By the time the ambulance crew had arrived, I’d passed out and wouldn’t wake up for another two days.”

She says it with a note of disbelief in her voice, as if she still can’t believe it happened, even though it happened to her.

I let go of her hands and stalk away, pacing backward and forward across the room. I need space to move and think. I should say something, anything, but my rage burns out of control, threatening to swallow us both.

She stands and moves to leave, her head down, likely so I can’t see her fighting back tears. Fuck this.

I walk over, and without conscious thought, I tug her into my arms and hold her tightly to my chest. She freezes, but I won’t let go unless she tells me to.

“I’ve got you now, Tilly. I swear to fucking god, nobody else will hurt you, not on my watch.”

As if someone cut all the strings holding her up, she collapses in my arms as a violent sob tears through her body. I tighten my grip, holding her up and giving her all my strength.

My eyes drift close as I breathe in, feeling something unlock in my chest. I’m not someone who’d usually buy into kooky bullshit like that, but it’s impossible to deny some kind of connection between us. I felt it the second I laid eyes on her. I don’t know what I was expecting, someone larger than life perhaps, someone bitchy who believes their own hype. This isn’t the first time I’ve guarded a celebrity, though she is the most famous. They all have an air about them. I don’t want to say it’s a sense of entitlement because not all of them were dicks. But there is detachment between them and us. I always felt like the hired help—and I’m not saying that’s wrong—but that’s not how I feel here.

I press my lips to the crown of her head, wondering if the feeling is one-sided. I wonder if I’m imagining everything because she sparks something in me, bringing every protective instinct to life.

Fuck, this could get messy. I should back off now. I’m a temporary measure here only to keep her safe. And then I’ll fly back home to my small town, and she’ll stay here rubbing shoulders with the elite.

I pull back as she looks up at me with her pretty eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. My reaction was shit. I hate that some motherfucker did this to you. I want to wrap my hands around their throat and squeeze the fucking life out of them.”

“Threats of murder shouldn’t give me butterflies, should it?”

I can’t help but twitch my lips as I fight back my grin. So fucking adorable. She’s gonna be the death of me; I know it.

“Do you feel up to telling me the rest? I promise I’ll keep my attitude in check.”

“I don’t mind you being mad. I just thought you were mad at me.”

“What? No. Why would I be mad at you?”

“I should have called off the shoot when I found out my hair had been cut. People got hurt because I?—”

“Gonna stop you right there. People got hurt because of some psycho. It had nothing to do with you. And with all due respect, babe, it was the director who should have shut shit down. He had a duty of care to you, not vice versa.”

She sighs before shrugging. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

I lead her back over to the sofa and wait for her to sit again before retaking my seat on the table. “Tell me about Andrew Summers.”

She looks to the window, her face turning pensive. “I don’t really remember him from before the trial. He was a runner on set, so I vaguely recall him handing me a script or bringing me coffee, but nothing beyond that.”