I nod and walk toward the spread Craft has set up but before I reach the table I turn and look toward the set. My eyes greedily scan the area, but there’s no Isaac. He’s gone. My stomach plummets with disappointment. No. No! He was so close, and I missed the opportunity.
Why didn’t I run straight to him? Because I don’t want to seem crazy and desperate. Only, that’s exactly how he makes me feel. Crap. I snatch an apple from the table on my way to makeup, pissed that I missed my chance.
Nine
Isaac
Cora is here. She’s here. The last six weeks I’ve looked for her every late-night shift at the coffee shop. Waiting. Hoping. Praying she walked in the door, only to be left disappointed and questioning why. Did I scare her off the night we messed around in the kitchen? I’d replayed those moments in my head so many times, looking for a reason why she’d ghost me, but coming up short.
She enjoyed what we did. The taste of her arousal was still sharp in my memory. The shake of her limbs as she let go, too uninhibited to fake.
Now here she is, and while I should play it cool, I can’t find it in myself to tamp down the joy in seeing her again. At least until I notice the prick with his arm around her. The famous actor. Yeah, I’ve seen Scott what’s-his-name in a few films. Actually liked his work until a few minutes ago when he was all over Cora. Are they together or something?
He’s everything I’m not. Famous. Clean-cut. Rich.
Jealousy rips through my chest at the idea of her spending nights with him. Is that where she’s been? Why she stopped coming by the coffee shop? Our conversations had long become the highlight to my week. After our back room tryst, I allowed myself to believe she might want me. Foolish to even think, let alone hope. I have nothing to offer a woman like Cora Bentley. I’m barely able to take care of David and myself.
“Okay, man.” Nate slaps me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. He nods to where one of the movers is uncrating a painting inside the trailer. “Once the last of these are ready to go, lock ’er up.” He hands over a key, dropping it into my open palm. “Then hang out.”
I almost laugh. “Hang out?”
“Yeah. They might need you to move one of the paintings. Or switch them out with something in the trailer if they get ahead of schedule.” He leans in and drops his voice to a whisper. “Which never happens.”
“Okay.” I pull the bandana from my back pocket and wipe beads of sweat from my brow. The heat’s not too bad yet, but it’s fucking hot moving around. “That’s it? Nothing else I need to do?”
“Don’t leave the set until I or the afternoon guy, Frank, comes by to relieve you.” He nods to where Gwen sits to the side with a producer, her original art on display in the re-created studio of her youth. “As long as these paintings stay on the premises, we’re good.”
“Easiest gig of my life.”
“Boring as fuck.” He shrugs. “I’ll be back at noon to show Frank the ropes, but after today, you guys can switch off without me. Call if you need, or if anything happens I should know about. The paintings are the priority.” His stare says what I already know. The paintings are worth more than I make in a year—probably more valuable than my life. “We good?”
“Yeah. I got you.”
“Cool.” He slides his hand against mine and we hug, slapping each other on the back before separating.
After Nate’s gone, I climb back into the trailer. My mind still buzzes with the information that Cora is here—on this movie set. As much as that fact clamors to steal my focus, I need to keep busy so I stop obsessing over a woman who obviously hasn’t given me a second thought. “You need a hand with that?” I ask the movers as they remove another piece of wood from the crate housing one of Gwendolyn Wright’s masterpieces.
“Yeah. Thanks, man.”
We work together for the next hour, removing the paintings and securing them inside the trailer. We bring a few onto the set, and I help carry the final piece off the trailer, a six-by-six oil canvas. Stopping to secure the deadbolt first, I help shuffle the precious painting through the open bay and onto the set where one of the directors or producers tells us where they want it hung. I take my place off to the side as the different sound and lighting crew members work to set up for filming. People watching is fascinating in itself, but this—observing the behind the scenes of a high-budget film—quickly passes the time. Of course, I still do my job, keeping my eyes on the paintings. I only think of Cora a little. Liar.
“Hey.”
Speak of the devil. I’m so wrapped up in taking in my surroundings, I don’t see her approach until she’s at my side. She’s obviously stopping by to be polite, because that’s the woman she is. I don’t know whether I should be relieved or disappointed.
“Hey.” I school my features, tamping down the pleasure at speaking to her and being close.
Her face is painted in a thick layer of makeup. I’ve never seen her wear so much foundation or lipstick, though it makes sense given she’s about to go on screen. She’s as beautiful as ever. Breathtaking. But I prefer the natural look she rocks during our late-night chats at the coffee shop.
“So, you moonlight on movie sets?” She smiles, but it’s tentative. Is she embarrassed to be talking to me? Or maybe she’s not supposed to?
Either way, I’ll take what I can get. My body prickles with awareness, thrilling in her presence. “Uh, yeah. No.” I shake my head. “Not until today. My buddy needed a favor. I’m always down to make a few bucks.” I rub my hands down the sides of my jeans in an attempt to wipe away my nerves. She does this to me. “Not a bad gig, playing bodyguard to Gwendolyn Wright originals.”
“You didn’t know I’d be here.” It’s not a question, and I might imagine it, but there’s a hint of disappointment in her tone.
“No.” I blow out a breath and chuckle. “Today’s been full of surprises.”
“Good ones, I hope.” She takes a step closer, invading my personal space. Her gaze studies mine, her smile widening. Her lips curve, her perfect white teeth flash, and my heart races as if I’ve won the jackpot. In a way I have. She’s happy to see me.
“Definitely.” I can’t chase the stupid grin from my face, and why would I want to? Cora Bentley’s smile sparks all kinds of delight, bringing to life parts I thought were dead. I’m crushing hard on this woman.
“Good.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but she’s cut off.
“Cora, the writing team needs to go over a few script changes.” A young man with a headset over his ball cap says.
She glances at him, her disposition kind. “Okay, I’ll be right there. Thanks.”
He nods, then takes off to another corner of the busy space.
“I should . . .” She bites on the inside of her cheek, hiking a thumb over her shoulder.
“Yeah.” I glance at the busy studio. Not complete chaos, but the sheer number of people working to prepare equipment and ready for filming is astounding. The ripping of tape as electrical cords are taped to floorboards. The hustle and call of shouts through the crowded space. The murmur of dozens of conversations. All of it melds together, building to create an environment buzzing with energy. This is her world, one I’ve never thought much about or considered. “Of course.”