Last night I felt so stupid sitting there—waiting and hoping he’d show. Then staring at my phone expecting a call, or text at the least. I allowed myself to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Not today, motherfucker. I yank the gearshift into park and hop out of my Hummer, bracing myself for when I undoubtedly run into the dumb man who stood me up.
“What’d that curb ever do to you?” Scott says from the side of his car. His gaze is teasing, but I’m not in the mood.
“It’s how I drive.” I roll my eyes and alarm my Hummer with the touch of a button. I strut past him. “Don’t complain just because your tiny little car can’t handle a speed bump going twenty.”
He jogs to catch up, his mouth falling open and gasping as if offended. He’s not though, and his good mood beckons me to join in. “Are you calling my car girlie?”
“If our vehicles had dicks, mine would be bigger.”
His burst of laughter brings the start of a smile to my lips. “Damn, don’t hold back. What else is on your mind?”
“Men suck.”
“Ohhh.” He nods as if he suddenly understands.
I hate that I’m transparent. “Don’t.” I walk ahead a step to shove open the studio door before he can hold it for me. “Don’t act like you know.”
“Who is he and should I beat him up?”
The thought of Scott and Isaac grappling on set is so absurd, I actually laugh. “Thanks, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I handle myself just fine.”
He smiles, kindness and understanding in his gaze. “No doubt.” He reaches out to touch my arm, and grabbing my attention, his stare sobers. “Jokes aside. Of course you take care of yourself, but it doesn’t mean you have to. If there’s anything I can do, ask. Please. I’m here if you need to talk or vent or whatever.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives a shrug. “Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I am married and grew up with three sisters. Therefore, I’m highly qualified in the art of listening.”
My earlier irritation at the entire male population melts with his sincere offer. “Thank you. I’m good for now. I’ll let you know if something changes.”
He squeezes my side in a hug. “Chin up. You might have to kiss a few frogs, but there’s a guy out there who’s worthy of all your awesome.”
“I’m beginning to think I should go back to meaningless hookups.” I glance up at the ceiling with a groan. “Or maybe my relationship standards are entirely too high.”
“No. Don’t do that. As long as you expect what you are willing to give, it’s not too much.”
My spine straightens, because he’s right. If I bail on an agreed-upon meeting, for work or pleasure, I would at least have the decency to call or cancel. Unlike some people. My gaze darts across the room, instantly finding Isaac.
He’s staring and he almost appears—hurt?
Fuck that.
I want to drag my gaze away, but a weaker part of me stares a little too long.
A soft chuckle fills my ear, and then Scott dips his head to block my view. “Maybe he’s closer than you think.” He winks, and I realize he’s referring to Isaac.
I don’t correct Scott or let him know that guy is the reason for my current distress. I know how bad it would look with me dating Isaac. It’s something I hadn’t given much thought to, but I should have. As one of the lead actors on this film, I shouldn’t be dating any of the support staff. Not without clearing it with HR.
Doesn’t matter anyway. It’s a moot issue now.
“I’m going to my trailer.”
“Yep.” Scott nods, tipping his chin to one of the stage crew in greeting. He waves at someone else across the room. “See you soon.” He offers another smile. “We’re both gonna kick today’s ass. Got it?”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes and shake my head with a laugh.
Scott heads toward the craft table.
I glance once more back on set. To the corner. Isaac’s corner.
The second our eyes lock his jaw tightens, but everything else about his gaze is indifferent. Cool. Casual. I don’t know whether that pisses me off more, or that the sight of him reminds me how humiliating it was to sit by myself last night at the restaurant, stuffing my face with guac. TMZ would have a good time with that story.
“Stupid little girl,” I mutter to myself, turning away and retrieving my cell as I walk to my trailer. There’s a text waiting in my inbox.
Trent: You back? Wanna grab dinner and catch up soon?
Now, there’s someone who won’t stand me up. Our relationship is also completely platonic. Has been for years, and if I’m being honest, I like spending time with Trent a lot more now that he and I are just friends. Maybe that’s all I’m meant to have. A few good friends are more than most. It’s always been enough, and maybe my mistake was expecting something more from someone who is basically a stranger.
Only Isaac isn’t a stranger. Not really. And what he did last night hurt.
I type out a quick response to Trent.
Me: Yes! Let me know when. I’m filming at Americana.
His reply comes within minutes.
Trent: Tonight? I have meetings in Burbank till six.
A friendly face and a shared meal are just what I need. Plus, I still feel bad about missing Austin’s wedding. Trent will fill me in on all the good details.
Me: We probably won’t wrap until at least seven. That good?
Trent: I’ll swing by and wait till you’re done.
It’s enough to right my bad attitude and direct my focus on getting through this day.
And keeping Isaac off my mind.
Mostly.
Fifteen
Isaac
I was excited about this job. The added money was lucrative enough on its own, but reconnecting with Cora was like a treasure I never expected to find.
Until I stood her up last night.
She won’t look at me, not since she walked in two hours ago. She doesn’t come over to chat between takes. There are no side glances or flirty smiles. It’s the worst.
I already feel like shit. Last night sent my nerves through the wringer. Worry consumed most of my sleeping hours and I finally was able to take a breath when I talked to Papá this morning. He seems fine, the doctors are optimistic, and he’s being discharged in a few hours. At least my phone isn’t broken, thank God, because I can’t afford a new one. Life is back to normal. Or it should be.
Except right now this wonderful, unexpected gig of babysitting famous artwork feels a lot like a penance. Watching Cora in her element is a captivating thing, but knowing she may never talk to me again is a special kind of torture. She probably hates me. I wouldn’t blame her if she does. God, I really screwed things up.
“Everyone take twenty,” the assistant to the director shouts after the next scene break. The volume of voices on set rise to a loud buzz as people move around to prep for what’s next. This is my chance to apologize.
I attempt to catch Cora’s gaze, but she struts in the opposite direction. I’d chase her down, but I don’t need to add ‘getting fired’ to this week’s list of accomplishments. I’m paid to stay put. I’m stuck.