“Good morning to you, too,” I mutter, righting myself with a grunt of my own. Now that one of the people I’m trying to avoid is here, I pick up the pace, pushing out of the room and letting the door fall closed behind me with a thud.
So much for bridging a gap.
I head to the set, knowing Grayson still has prep work ahead of him. If I have to face Liz, I’d rather do it without the full cast and crew there to witness my humiliation.
But when I arrive in the kitchen, where we’ll be filmingthe morning-after scene (where Josh makes Isobel pancakes like a gentleman and not an imbecilic asshole who can’t even say hello), Liz is tucked behind a monitor, headphones covering her ears. I wave to her, but whatever she’s watching is so engrossing she doesn’t even acknowledge me.
Which seems to be happening a lot lately.
I mosey over to the craft services table and help myself to some more coffee. Watching Liz over the rim of my cup, I wait for her to see me and for the Spanish Sexquisition to begin. But she never once looks up from her screen. If I hadn’t just had my face painted and hair curled and body dressed, I might start to think I’d swallowed some kind of invisibility pill, which on a normal day would be fucking awesome.
But today, not so much. Today I need someone to see me. I know Liz and I had that talk about boundaries between our friendship and our professional lives, but today I could really use her in the role of best friend instead of in the role of intrepid director.
The moment Grayson steps onto set, the energy shifts, like everyone was in some kind of cloudy haze until he blessed us with his majesty and now we are all ready to kick it into high gear.
Deidre guides him into position behind the large kitchen island, which is already set with a series of bowls and flour, eggs, and spatulas.
Liz finally comes over, giving me a quick hug before getting right down to business. She walks both of us through the blocking for the scene, and we mark it a few times. Grayson doesn’t look at me once.
I’m well aware that we didn’t actually sleep together the day before, but honestly, in a lot of ways, it felt like more than that. I told him I trusted him—and I meant it. I covered for him when he needed it most, and he thanked me, genuinely.
He held my fucking hand.
And so, no, I can’t pretend like this behavior doesn’t sting. Not only are things not magically better between us, it feels like we’ve taken ten steps back. The rejection is a stark reminder not only of who Grayson is now but also of who he was in the past, and I can’t help the flood of negative feelings his rebuff stirs.
I don’t like it.
At the very least, when the cameras start rolling and we’re both in character—a couple who are actually happy they shared an intimate experience with each other—he’ll have to look me in the eye. Maybe even give me some sort of smile.
Wishful fucking thinking. When Liz calls action, we’re right back at day one. Grayson mutters his lines with zero inflection, as if he literally can’t be bothered to put in the bare minimum level of performance. And instead of pushing through and trying my best, I succumb to the anger pulsing inside of me. Anger always has been easier for me to handle than sadness, and so I sink into it, not willing to admit Grayson has the power to make me feel sad.
And all of a sudden, Josh and Isobel seem really pissed about the mind-blowing sex they shared the night before.
Liz calls cut and redirects us so many times that I lose track of what number take we’re on. All I know is that the number is high—as high as the tension mounting in theroom the longer the day drags on. This is meant to be a short scene that we should have finished in only a couple of hours, and yet, we work through the evening, shooting the same dialogue and motions over and over again until I hate the very words I wrote on the page.
Finally, Liz calls a wrap for the day and the room exhales a sigh of relief. Except for me, because she’s stalking in my direction, and I can’t remember the last time I saw my best friend look angry enough to put someone in a choke hold and WrestleMania them to the ground.
I take a few steps back, forgetting that Grayson is behind me until my butt bumps into his hip. He moves away from me like I burned him. I turn and give him my best icy-cold glare, but he still won’t even look at me. Shock of shocks.
Liz doesn’t stop until she is two inches outside my bubble, and I have never regretted more being the same height. Great for sharing clothes, not so fun when she’s staring me down with venom in her eyes.
“You two will meet me in my room tomorrow morning at ten a.m., where we will spend however long it takes to figure this shit out. The jig is up. I get that things were weird in the beginning, and I think I’ve been very understanding about that. I’ve given you eight entire days of this production’s time to pull your heads out of your asses, assuming you could get over yourselves, but I can see now it was eight days too many.” She turns her menacing glare on Grayson, and I’m happy to see him shrink back. “Enjoy tonight, because starting tomorrow, you are mine. The games are done. We’re putting on our big girl panties andmaking a fucking movie.” She spins on her heel and storms off, calling over shoulder, “Don’t even think about being late!”
Grayson and I share a quick glance, like siblings who just got in trouble for fighting and share a brief moment of unity against Mom.
I ruin it first. “Try to dig up some of those acting skills you claim to have before tomorrow, yeah?”
“Even the best acting skills can’t turn shit writing into a good movie, sweetheart.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me defiantly.
I mimic his pose. “You suck, West.”
He leans in just enough for me to get a good whiff of pine and charcoal. “You wish, Harper.”
He doesn’t even get to see the outrage and horror—and, yes, maybe a hint of lust—on my face, because he’s already striding across the room and pushing out through the kitchen door.
Chapter Ten
I show up to Liz’s room early the next morning, determined to arrive first. Not that I necessarily needed to, because Grayson clearly doesn’t seem to keep the same time as the rest of us, but I also want to squeeze in a moment alone with Liz. I know we’re maintaining professional boundaries, but I owe her a best friend check-in. I rap softly on her door and keep my head down when she lets me in, like the chastised child I am.
