“Tobin,” Nick says. “If you’re responsible for some gross dudes with cameras coming in here and harassing Annie and also peeing on the toilet seats—”
“Did I do something wrong? You guys talk about Annie’s life all the time, and you’re really loud,” Tobin says. “I didn’t know it was, like, confidential or whatever.”
I’m annoyed, but being mean to Tobin is like rubbing a puppy’s nose in the carpet it peed on.
I sigh. “It’s okay, Tobin. Just . . . don’t give random callers information about me anymore, okay?”
Chloe wipes off the counter. “That really shouldn’t have to be said.”
Tobin still looks troubled, and I’m worried the stress might cause him to drop even more cups than usual, so I say, “Really, Tobin, it’s fine. But if that guy calls again, hang up.”
Tobin nods, then drops the latte he’s holding, and then I head back to set.
Chapter Twelve
I hand Tommy his coffee and I’m about to go grab a prop he asked for when I hear someone yell, “Hey!”
I turn around to see a woman I’ve noticed on set before but haven’t met. “Me?” I ask, pointing to myself.
She nods. “Do you wear a size eight shoe?”
I look down at my feet and back at her. “How did you know that?”
She keeps her eyes on my feet, like she’s studying them. “I’ve been working in wardrobe for fifteen years. I can guess all your measurements just by looking at you. You’re a thirty-six B.”
I cross my arms over my chest and my puffy coat. She is good.
She waves me over, finally meeting my eyes. “I’m Angela, by the way. I’m trying to see if these heels will work for Tarah’s scenes tomorrow, but she’s busy rehearsing. Can you try them on for me?”
I look over my shoulder to see Tommy talking to Brody and Drew about something. Brody is eating, again, and Drew is nodding intently, his eyes completely focused on Tommy—
“Well?” Angela asks. “Can you?”
I snap to attention. “Yeah, sure.”
I pull off my boots and the thick socks I typically wear from November through March and slide my feet into a pair of red heels that have to be at least five inches tall. Even when it’s not winter, I’m more of a flats girl, so wearing these makes me feel a bit like I’m swaying in the breeze.
“Hmmm,” says Angela, still staring at my feet. “Could you take a few steps?”
“Uh . . .” I say, starting to walk, but it’s difficult since I’m basically on stilts. I balance on my tiptoes as I walk across the bricks and—
“Crap!” I shout as my heel gets stuck between bricks and I topple to the side, my ankle twisting violently.
“Are you okay?” Angela shrieks, leaping to my side.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I mutter. I try to stand up, but a sharp pain shoots through my calf and I buckle back down. “Maybe I’m not fine.”
I look up and see that everyone is now crowded around me—Tommy, Drew, and Brody have abandoned their conversation to stand over me. Brody, however, has not abandoned his burrito, and a black bean falls on my head.
“Sorry,” he says as Drew shoots him a dirty look.
“Annie!” Tommy shouts, as if I’ve injured my eardrum instead of my foot. “Are you all right?”
Carter appears (seriously, it’s like I’m in a dream but also a hospital bed, all these good-looking men and Tommy floating above me) and kneels down. “Are you okay?”
“People keep asking that. I just twisted my ankle,” I say, sliding my feet out of the heels before attempting to stand up again. This time I make it up, but I wince a little too obviously the second I put weight on my left foot.
“I’m taking you home,” Carter says, placing a guiding hand on my back.
“I can’t go home,” I say, despite the fact that a man saying, “I’m taking you home” makes tingles run through my body, even though in a fantasy situation he’d be saying it for much sexier reasons and not because I injured myself in a particularly treacherous pair of shoes.
“We’re almost done for the day anyway,” Tommy says, waving a hand at me. “You go on home, put your feet up, see how you feel tomorrow.”
Heat flows to my cheeks as I realize that everyone’s staring at me, the little injured girl. This is my job—the one shot I have to work on a movie—and I’m not throwing it away because I fell down.
“I can stay,” I say quickly. “It’s not even that bad. I—”
“Annie,” Tommy says, leaning forward to look me in the eyes. “I don’t run the kind of sets where people have to walk around injured, okay? Go home, tell Donny to make you some soup, come back tomorrow.”
His kindness almost brings a tear to my eye. “Okay,” I say, then sit down in a chair Drew dragged over so I can put my socks and boots back on.
“You sure bit it, huh?” Brody asks, his mouth full.
“I sure did,” I say as I slide on my boots, trying to avoid touching my ankle as much as possible. “If you’re sure it’s okay, Tommy, I’ll head home.”
“I can take her,” Drew says, looking at Tommy and then me. “I’ve got her.”
I stare at him slack-jawed, then close my mouth. Carter’s hands are on my body (again, in a completely helpful and nonsexual way, but still), so you’d think Drew could see I don’t need his help whatsoever.
“I’ve got it, man,” Carter says with a tight smile.
“I’m not even in this scene,” Drew says, taking another step toward me. “Whereas every scene of this movie needs proper lighting. Seriously. It’s fine.”
“Seriously, I’ve got it—” Carter starts, and then someone calls his name. He looks over his shoulder and groans.
“I’m fine, everyone,” I say, addressing the small crowd that’s rapidly dispersing. “I just have to . . . walk it off. It’s only a couple of blocks.” I attempt to take a step on my own and almost fall down.
“I’m not letting my assistant fall into some shrubbery because she’s injured,” Tommy says. “Carter, I need you here on set. Drew, make sure Annie gets home.”
“You want me to order a Lyft?” Brody asks, but before he even has the question out, Drew’s lifted me up.
“Excuse me!” I shriek. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home,” he says with more of a grunt than I think is absolutely necessary. “What’s the point of having all these muscles if I never get to use them?”
“Oh, my God,” I mutter as we walk past everyone on set, all of them staring at us. I look over Drew’s shoulder at Carter and mouth, “Sorry!” as I wave. He gives me that raised-hand dude wave, a look on his face that I can’t entirely decipher.
But I find it very hard to worry about Carter when I think about where I am: in Drew’s capable arms.
“Wave to the people, Annie,” Drew says. “Your loyal subjects await your greetings.”