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“Alright, she was here and you want to …?” Mark questions and it pisses me off.
“I want to know why. I want to know everything about her,” I say and my voice comes out firm and absent of negotiation. I’m fully aware of how fucked up my request is. “I want her here,” I add. I don’t give a shit if it’s crazy. I couldn’t give a damn what he thinks. “Just make it happen,” I tell him words I hear these assholes tell their agents all the time. I’ve never requested anything from Mark, ever, but I need this. I need to know if it was really her.
“She wasn’t in the pilot, so if she is here, she’s no one important,” Mark says easily and then seems to think twice about his word choice. Maybe it’s because my eyes narrow and that uneasiness I’ve been trying to shake comes back full force.
“Give me five minutes,” he says as he starts walking briskly to the door. “I’ll know exactly who she is, where she is, what she’s doing, and who she’s fucking in five minutes,” he says and then flinches when my eyes flash with anger.
“I don’t want to know who she’s fucking,” I spit back at him and then regret it. Not because of how pissed off I sound, but because it’s a lie. I do want to know. I close my eyes and run a hand down my face in frustration as my head throbs while I listen to the door opening and closing.
I know she wasn’t in the pilot. He didn’t have to tell me that.
One episode down, and five to go for this season. If things go well and the show gets picked up for the next season, then ten episodes are tentatively slated for season two. Even starring in so many damn episodes, the shooting time is only thirty days. Television production is proving much faster than cinema.
Which means fewer days with her. If she’s even here for the show. I try to ignore the hope I feel at seeing her again. I try to ignore the way my stomach churns at the thought of being close to her again.
Hally was a mistake all those years ago. She brought chaos to my life. A torrent of emotion I thrived on, a tension between the two of us that I was addicted to. I know it was the same for her. The two of us together was nothing but destructive. Both of us tearing at each other, even if it was only to get closer. Desperate for one another in every way.
If she’s here, I’m fucked. I already know that much.
I’m on edge as I open up the door to my room and stand there, watching everyone move about and praying for a distraction. The fourteenth and fifteenth floors are booked for production. Different sets on each and our rooms are scattered throughout the building.
My eyes drift from one person to the next, each on a cell phone or getting their makeup done or preparing in some way for the long days ahead of us. It’s showbiz and it moves a mile a minute. Or at least it does around me.
I used to be eager for this. To play a role that someone else chose and fade into a life that wasn’t my own. Even if it was just for a moment. I could be someone else and forget my own name. Forget where I grew up and how I had no one. Forget how I ran away from the one person who had ever made me feel anything but anger.
Scripts and gigs were easy to become consumed with; I was that desperate to be anyone besides the person I’d become. And not a damn thing could stop me from playing the part Mark gave me. I wasn’t bred for this lifestyle, but after years of being shoved in front of cameras and taking over the spotlight, nothing fazes me anymore.
But knowing she’s here somewhere in this building, or was … She may have already left.
The realization makes my blood spike with adrenaline, and the need to run to her and stop her from getting any further is sobering.
I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want to walk away. But that’s the way it had to happen. Life decided that, not me. I never thought I’d see her face again. I’ve been running from her for years.
Chapter 3
Harlow
* * *
You’re going to do great, sweetheart. Break a leg!
I stare down at the text from my father and I can’t even reply. He’s so damn proud of me and I know he chuckled when he typed up that second line. But my lips are unmoving and in a grim line.
My butt is firmly planted on Lydia’s bed by the desk in her room, laptop open and script in hand. I haven’t budged from my spot in her room, but I know this is temporary.
