If there is one thing this new assignment solidified, it’s that I’ll never be an actor.
I’ve lived before the cameras for my entire life, but never for shit like commercials or TV shows. Reading lines for the camera without sounding like a broken robot is harder than I would have thought, even when I genuinely put in effort. Well, as much effort as I can muster up.
My guess is Dad gave me this task either to keep me busy or to get under my skin. In what world is playing the actor with the Wrights going to help me get back into the life? It’s not, and Xavier’s too smart a man not to get that. My assignment was on purpose.
What really boils my blood isn’t that he still wants out of the way; it’s that he gave me busywork to waste my time. I was fine on my own and would have stayed that way if he hadn’t bothered me. But at least him pissing me off means I care somewhat.
Rip, Thomas, and I have filmed every day for the past three days. I’ve spent more time with those two than I have with anyone in a year, and it should be exhausting, but when I leave them for the day, I realize the urge to run home and have a beer alone isn’t as pressing.
We aren’t friends by any means—especially not Rip and me after our conversation at the golf course—but they haven’t been terrible company. It’s a work relationship, but I overlooked how nice it is to be in people’s constant company.
Rip’s company, specifically. Considering his attitude and how I had to put him in his place, he should be halfway back to the hole he crawled out of in England already. Anyone else would have fired him, because you can’t tame someone who thinks they’re better than everyone. But I didn’t.
Call me crazy, but I want to see this play out. It’s a first, having an employee act so sickened toward me, especially a close colleague. Rip’s entire vibe, his messy blonde hair, the tattoos wrapping up his neck, and that damn tongue piercing showing when he talks, all caught my attention since that night at the club. These few days of getting to know him have only made me want to learn more, which meansnotfiring him.
I’m on my way to my sister’s bedroom after receiving her “hurry up before I change my mind”text. I’ve had twists for a bit, but with all the filming, they need a refresh. That’s where Odette comes in handy. She’s been styling my and Aralynn’s hair since we were kids, and it’s why she is now a hairstylist in her day job. She is going to fix me up for tomorrow.
I’m passing through the kitchen when Zara, chopping celery on a cutting board, stops me.
She sets the knife down, eyes lighting up at the sight of me. “Kingsley, good afternoon!”
“Afternoon, Zara.” I eye the state of the kitchen, ingredients scattered all around and the smell of tomato paste wafting through the air. “What are you making?”
“Spaghetti,” she says proudly. “But I’m trying a new recipe. Will you try it?”
My teeth gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Odie’s waiting for me.”
“Oh, nonsense. Your sister can wait; she’s all bark and no bite, Kingy.”
Zara’s food has always been a delight, but right now, the thought of having any is daunting. I swallow the excess saliva in my mouth. For all the picking I’ve done lately, she probably thinks I’ve grown to hate her cooking. That’s anything but the truth.
I guess a taste won’t kill me.
Zara claps, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she removes the lid from the pot, causing the low flame beneath it to sizzle. Using her ladle, she scoops sauce onto it and holds her hand beneath as she brings it to me, blowing on it.
She makes sure it’s alright before holding it to my lips. “Don’t hesitate to tell me if it isn’t up to par with my usual meals. I trust your judgment, Kingy.”
I’m not sure that’s wise.
The warm paste slides down my throat as I swallow, and all the spices attack my taste buds in the way every one of Zara’s meals does. “It’s good.”
Wrinkles appear on her face when she frowns. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” I say, but I don’t think it came out sounding genuine.
The woman’s lips press together. “I can tell when you’re lying, love.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s the impatient Odette without even having to look. “Zara, I wouldn’t lie to you. Your food is and will always be amazing.”
She stares, seemingly unconvinced, but then sighs. Zara gives my arm a comforting rub, but in a way like a grandmother who knows something but is keeping a secret for my sake.
“Okay, I believe you. How about I bring some to your room when it’s done?”
So half of it can end up in the trash? “That’d be great, thank you.”
Zara gets back to cooking with a gentle kiss on my cheek.
The older woman has been making scrumptious dinners for our family forever, making her one of the few employees who actually know what the Beaumonts get up to behind the scenes. She may be an employee, but Zaraisfamily, and she’s always been a pro at sensing shit about me, not even Odie and Ara can sniff out.
