He doesn’t reply, but he’s probably in the air already.
I put my phone away to do some deep breathing and get centered.
Nearly three hours later, I get called in. I’m the last one for the day, and it’s already 5:30 p.m. Pavel will already be waiting for me at the hotel—not that I can think about that now.
I draw a steadying breath and walk in.
Blake Ensign is not behind his desk, but on a loveseat. He’s in beachwear—shorts and a Tommy Bahama type shirt. One bare foot is crossed over his knee.
“All right, come in. You’re the last one, right?”
“Yes.” I look around, not sure where to stand. Or do I sit? I have no idea how this works.
“Read the lines,” he commands with a wave.
I stand directly in front of him and hold the script. I had enough time to memorize the part while I was waiting, but I’m afraid I’ll screw up, so I keep it at the ready, my trembling fingers making the papers shake.
He reads the male part in a monotone voice, and I pick up my lines. They don’t come out nearly as well as they sounded rehearsing in my head in the living room. Nothing like the way they sounded at the first casting call.
Still, I give it my best, making it through a couple pages before he stops me.
“All right, Kayla. That’s enough.”
I screwed the pooch on this one.
“I’m sorry—I’m just nervous. I did a much better job at the first audition. Can I try it again?”
“Come here.” He crooks a finger at me.
I walk closer, but he keeps beckoning. I stop when my toes hit his, then sort of look around, trying to figure out where he wants me. To sit beside him? Kneel at his feet? “I’m a very hard worker. If you give me a shot, I will do everything it takes to please you.”
As it turns out, my choice of words were all wrong.
Ensign sits back and adjusts his cock like I just gave him a boner. No—he’s not adjusting it. He’s holding it. Squeezing it.
Oh God—I can’t take my eyes away!
My heart hammers in my chest.
“Everything it takes, hmm?” he says, his voice suggesting. “I like that in an actress. One of the most important characteristics, really.”
Oh my God. I’m going to #MeToo right now. This is not happening. Please no.
He catches my wrist and tugs my hand down to his dick, covering my fingers to make me squeeze it.
Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
I don’t know what to do. I mean, I do. I slap his face and leave. Right?
Of course, that’s what I should do. But burning bridges in Hollywood would be a terrible mistake. So I need to get out of this nicely. If that’s possible.
“Show me how you’d please me,” he says.
I want to barf. Literally. The contents of my empty stomach churn as I pull my hand away.
I stumble back. “With my talent,” I say quickly. I will please you with my talent. I p-promise.”
“Yes, and I’d like to experience that talent right now.” He says it like he’s totally sure of himself. Like every other actress who came in sucked him off.
Did they?
Or am I just the lucky one at the end of the day?
Wait—why am I even wondering? It doesn’t matter—I just need to get myself out of this.
“Well, that’s not…” I try to swallow. “I need to go. I’m sorry this isn’t going to work…” I make a beeline for the door.
“You sure? I could open a lot of doors for you, Kayla Winstead.”
I hate myself for even hesitating. I mean, I really, truly hate myself. But that’s how bad I want this dream.
Tears prick my eyes as I turn. “Thanks, but I’d rather get there a different way.”
Why did I even thank him? Seriously. What is wrong with me?
I throw the door open and stumble out, ignoring the assistant, who is on her phone, and the assistant’s assistant, who is also on his phone.
I throw open the front door and run out, straight to my car. Once I’m in it, I back out as quickly as I can. It’s not until I’m on the road driving that I break down into sobs.
I need to talk to a friend. I could call one of my roommates, but something makes me call Sasha, instead. She’s the strongest woman I know. She’ll make me feel better.
The moment she answers, she hears me sniffing. “Kayla? What is it? Did Pavel do something? I will kill him.”
“No, it’s not Pavel. I’m supposed to be with him right now, but…”
“But what? What’s going on?” Sasha’s Russian accent gets thicker with urgency.
“I just got...casting couched.” I sniff.
“Aw, fuck!” Sasha has the cutest way of saying fuck. I love her accent. “What happened? Are you okay? You should go to the police.”
I suck in a breath. “No. I don’t want to go to the police. Nothing actually happened. I mean, he didn’t force himself on me or anything. It was just sexual harassment. He wanted me to give him a blowjob to prove how far I’d go to please him.”
“What a dick! I’m so sorry that happened to you. God, don’t tell Pavel, he will literally kill the guy.”
I sniff but my sobs subside as I suddenly focus on her words. “Um, when you say literally…”
“I mean...seriously, Kayla—Pavel will kill him. Like shoot him in the head and kill him. Bratva men are serious about protecting their women.”
My pulse races. “I… I can’t let that happen. He already told me he’s wanted for murder in Russia. At least, I think that’s what he implied.”
“Really? I didn’t know. But that’s how it’s supposed to be—we’re not supposed to know such things. Honestly, I don’t think I’d tell him if I were you. He’s going to want vengeance. Pavel is not a forgiving guy, I know that much about him.”
I mop my tears with one hand while steering with the other. I probably shouldn’t be driving in the state I’m in.
“I think you should #MeToo him on social media,” Sasha declares. “It could win you sympathy points and get you other casting calls. You know—use this to your advantage while shaming the hell out of him.”
“I don’t know…” I say slowly. I still fear getting blacklisted.
“Yeah, actually, Pavel could see it, and that could backfire. Nevermind. Bad idea. And, I mean, if you want Pavel to kill him—I’m not judging. It could be nice having your warrior slay dragons for you.”
“No,” I say quickly. “God, no. I would never want to be the reason he killed. I mean, I don’t want any of that.”
“Of course you don’t. Well, maybe cancel with Pavel for this weekend if you’re not up to seeing him. Tell him you’re sick. He doesn’t have to get his dick sucked every single weekend, right?”
For some reason, the thought of not seeing Pavel sends a whirlwind of anxiety rushing through me.
“No, I’m okay. I’m an actress. I know how to change my mood—or fake it.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I think you need a big hug right now, not Pavel domming you around.”
Actually, the thought of diving straight into that role—the fantasy role where all I have to do is surrender—sounds perfect. “No, I’m good. Thanks for talking me through this. I knew there was a reason I called you and not Ashley or Kimberly.”