Page 7 of One Filthy Kiss

The director calls time, and the actors head off. Perhaps, one of them will be able to tell me who she is.

Before I can speak to them, Ric, my driver, intercepts me with a message from my security team back in New York. A member of the Russian bratva has been asking for me personally—they have a proposition that I will be unable to resist.

“Tell the guys to handle it.” I’m about to move on, when I realize that Ric must’ve seen the woman and the kid leave the studio. I describe them. “Honey-blonde hair. Green eyes. British accent. The kid is strawberry-blond.”

I don’t even know why I’m giving him a description of the girl; how many kids are there on a film set?

“Sorry, boss, I didn’t see them.”

Ric matches my height, but his frame is broader, his belly heavier; he enjoys a bowl of pasta and a bottle of red wine more than most. He has been with me since I was old enough to climb a tree without scraping my knees, and he probably knows more about me than either of my siblings.

I hook my thumb towards the closest exit. “They left that way. People don’t just vanish into thin air.” He quirks an eyebrow at that. “People I don’t have a problem with, that is.”

“You want me to go look for them?”

I recall the fear in her eyes. “No. She bolted like a deer in headlights, and she doesn’t even know who I am.”

Ric chuckles like a man twice his age after a lifetime spent smoking unfiltered cigars. “Must’ve been your charming persona and approachability.”

“I’m approachable.” I feign hurt by rolling out my bottom lip. It’s a gesture that women seem to find irresistible. “And charming.”

“Said no Prince Charming ever.”

Ric is still chuckling at his own jokes when the director comes over to discuss the next scene on today’s schedule.

I interrupt him first. “The woman with the strawberry-blonde kid.” At his blank expression, I add, “The extra I kissed on set.”

I hear Ric snort and ignore him.

“What about her?” The director glances around the set. “Where did she go? I might want to use her later.”

I can imagine her reaction to that, and I know exactly who would get the blame if she was still here.

Yours truly.

“You know her?” Finally, I think I’m getting somewhere, and my pulse inexplicably speeds up. “What’s her name?”

“Never seen her before.” The director is already checking out and moving onto his next conversation. “I assumed she was with you.” Then he’s gone.

He won’t give her a second thought; he’ll find someone else to fill the gap he had in mind, and it will be as if she never existed in his world.

“Kiss?” Ric doesn’t miss a thing. “You kissed a woman without asking her name. Isn’t that an all-time low for you?”

“It isn’t how it sounds.” Or is it?

Why didn’t I ask her name or check that she was an extra before I dragged her onto the set? I don’t even need to ponder the answer. I saw a beautiful woman, and my cock took control.

I can’t see Nikki anywhere, but Arthur is still hanging around talking to one of the cameramen. I stride over and ask if he knows them.

He shakes his head. “I think they were with Nikki. She was talking about her friend from the UK while we were in makeup.”

I thank him and set off in search of Nikki, but she isn’t in the dressing room, and no one else seems to have heard of Nikki’s whereabouts either.

Then I remember the pass on the lanyard around her neck.

I catch up with Ric at the security post outside.

The guard, a young lad, with a buzzcut and eyes that are too close together, greets me with, “Hello, Mr. Sabatelli.”