Page 22 of Unscripted with Mila

I took a sip of coffee, casting my gaze around the set. The author was arriving today, and I knew Lacey was anxious to meet with her. Or him. There was a lot of interest and even a pool on the identity of the writer. I’d gotten in on it, certain it was a woman, but older. The sensitivity in the writing suggested someone with experience and wisdom. But regardless, man or woman, I had a lot of questions to ask as to my character, then I doubted we would see the author again. Or if we did, it would be in passing. They often came in, did their duty, and left. A few hung around for some filming, but they ultimately found it boring and departed back to their keyboards.

I scanned the vast room again, but there was no sign of the little gofer. It was a shame since I enjoyed sparring with her. Plus, the coffee thing. Even I didn’t mix it as well as she did.

My thoughts drifted back to Mila. The sparring I had done with her. Namely with her tongue in my mouth.

That was another mystery. I had never met a woman like her. Another one who liked the shadows. She said little yet intrigued me more than any person I could recall meeting. She drew me to her like a moth to a flame. And I wanted to get burned by her. I felt emotions I had never experienced with her. The strange feeling of needing to watch over her. The sense I had met her before, somehow already knew her. It wasn’t possible, yet that was how it felt. And the few moments of pure, unadulterated joy I felt with her. A simple water fight in a pool. I hadn’t enjoyed myself that way for years. The women I knew were too invested in how they looked and acted to be so spontaneous. To get their hair wet and giggle like a schoolgirl. To let themselves be real with me.

And although I had kissed her, held her in my arms, Mila was a complete enigma to me. I wasn’t sure I would recognize her in daylight, aside from the fact that she was small and had dark hair. At least, I thought she did. It had been wet the two times I’d seen it. For all I knew, it was red or light brown. Even her eyes had been obscured by the shadows of the trees and dim lights. They, too, were dark, I thought. Yet the sense I knew her went deeper than her physical attributes. It was as if something inside me recognized her.

I shook my head at my thoughts. I sounded deranged.

I was feeling a bit deranged. Even obsessed.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Mila. How she felt in my embrace. How she tasted. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to sit with her and talk. Get to know her. I had tried to find her in the hotel, attempting to charm the front desk clerk, but she insisted there was no one registered with the first name Mila, and I could only assume she was staying under a different name.

I also wanted to know why when I thought of Mila, the little gofer invaded my thoughts as well.

It had to be because both of them were mysteries, and each ran from me.

I saw Lacey head toward the conference room, and I drained my coffee, tossing the empty cup in the bin.

I needed to stop thinking about anything but this role. It was time to go meet the author and get some questions answered.

At least I would solve one mystery and finally know the answer as to the author’s real identity.

I picked up my well-read script, covered in notes, and headed toward the other side of the studio, stopping to grab another coffee. I had a feeling I would need it.

* * *

I saw the infamous A.M. Archer from behind as I walked into the conference room. I was right and it was a woman, but unless her face showed me something different, far younger than I expected.

Her back was to me, the curve of her shapely butt somehow familiar. Her skirt hugged the swells of her ass like a lover. She was tiny, barely reaching Bradley’s shoulder, and he was a good six inches shorter than I was. She wouldn’t break my chest. Her hair was spectacular, falling over her shoulders and halfway down her back. The colors were indescribable. Caramel, gold, blonde, soft browns all woven together. It was one hell of a dye job. She had shapely legs and wore low heels.

What I didn’t expect was the sound of her voice or her words.

“Mila is fine,” she said to Bradley.

Mila?

As in the pool nymph Mila?

I highly doubted I would meet two Milas so close together. Which meant the woman I had kissed in the pool had to be the author. It also meant she knew exactly who I was. Why I was there.

And she’d decided to play me. Have a little fun with the lead actor.

Anger, cold and insistent, dripped into my chest. It canceled the disappointment that hit me first. And the surprise that the seemingly shy woman I had kissed had written the steamy script in my hand.

She was a pretty damn fine actress herself.

She turned slowly, and our eyes locked. Another shock hit me as I took in her wide eyes and saw her face fully.

Mila was not only the author and the pool nymph; she was also Shortcake. There was no denying those full cheeks and big eyes. The color of which I now saw clearly. Golden in their tone with a dark rim around the outside, they were as unique as the face of the woman they were set in. She was a fairy brought to life with her lovely hair, pretty eyes, and full mouth.

For a moment, nothing changed. Our eyes stayed focused on each other. No one else in the room moved. It was as if they felt the raging emotions between us.

My confusion. My anger.

Her…fear?